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eretriaTitle: Burns
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eretria
Size: 3080 words
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Doppelganger
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Summary: "Rodney had never understood the concept of not complaining about something - after all, a complaint at the right time often led to problems being fixed. But John rarely complained. Rodney sometimes wondered if John even knew how when he was in actual discomfort. Complaining when it suited him, when he wanted to be whiny, sure. But actual, heartfelt complaints? John just didn't. "
Thank you: Thank you toauburnnothenna and murron for quick and lovely beta-reads, and especially to Auburn for helping me think out of my corner. Written with sheafrotherdon's skin hunger challenge in mind.
Note: Can be read as gen or slash, whatever you prefer.
The first hints of pink tinted the horizon and the waves underneath the mess hall's window when slowly, one after the other Sam, Keller, Ronon and Teyla began to file out of the messhall with stifled yawns and quiet apologies and wishes for a restful remaining hours of sleep.
Rodney picked at the last piece of the orange B'atee fruit on his plate. They'd traded for it in exchange for medical supplies, it was juicy and sweet-tart; one of the few he'd been able to salvage from tonight's onslaught of the people around the table. Of course, no one had said they were hungry. Of course, none of them had felt the need for a midnight snack. Strangely enough, that hadn't stopped them from helping themselves to Rodney's midnight snack.
A rustle of paper caught his attention and a glance to his left showed him that John was still aimlessly flipping through his golf magazine. The bowl of chips in front of him was empty, too. It had been one of the first things to go - John hadn't had a chance against Sam and Keller. In retrospect, it hadn't looked as though he minded much. He hadn't helped himself to any of Rodney's fruit either. That was weird. Normally, John would have done that just to get a reaction out of Rodney.
He'd had time to unwind a little, feel the tight knot in his stomach unfurling as the team gathered around the table, as three became four became five became six. It'd been a good feeling. Rodney hated to call it sheltered, but maybe that's just what it was. A small bubble of warmth, of safety.
More light began to filter in from the outside. Atlantis dimmed the inside lights now, plunging the waves lapping between the piers into darkness for the remaining minutes until the sun came up. On the horizon, two moons were losing their battle against the sun.
Another rustle of paper. John closed the magazine. "All right," he said. "I guess that's our hint."
The chair scraped against the metal floor, the sound echoing in the empty room. Rodney pushed his chair back as well, gathering up his tray and trudging after John. Finally, finally, fatigue seemed to settle in. Which was just perfect, with only three hours left before they all had to be up again. Maybe he could Sam talk into giving them the afternoon off; after all, she'd be just as tired, too. Besides, Zelenka could handle the science staff.
They set their plates and bowls down without much clatter. The morning shift in the kitchen wouldn't be surprised to find dirty plates here when they came in. Irritated, maybe, but not surprised. It was well known that teams came in during the night. There were more midnight munchers in Atlantis than just Rodney.
He fell into step next to John. In just a few hours, Atlantis would wake up and the corridors would bustle with people again. For now, though, everything was quiet, only the sound of their boots echoing in the long corridor leading up to the transporter. It was moments like this that Rodney didn't feel the need for conversation. There'd been enough talking during the night so that the silence between them didn't feel stifling or unpleasant. Few people came close to understanding this, but there were only a handful of people Rodney knew how to be quiet with and John Sheppard was one of them.
In the transporter, in just those few seconds it took for the device to bring them from the lower levels to the crew quarters, Rodney saw something from the corner of his eye. He'd noticed a couple of times before during the night, but hadn't really paid any attention. It made him frown now: John was rubbing his midriff. Rodney doubted he was doing so consciously, but the gesture was obvious. Repeatedly, with careful touches, as though the skin was itching, but too tender to actually scratch. The burns from the shock paddles bothering John.
Rodney knew what his chest felt like after the shock-paddles had been used on him - a low-level pain that came close to the sensation of a million ants running over his chest, biting from time to time, just out of sheer random spite. It was worse than a sunburn, worse than the occasional electric burn he'd received while working on open conduits. John had to have bad memories of the shock paddles on top of everything else, Rodney realised as he thought back to the first Iratus incident.
John rubbed again and winced as he hit an obviously oversensitive spot.
Of course John didn't say anything. He never did. Rodney had complained about the side effects of the paddles to Keller despite being more than happy they had brought him back from the place where the teeth had closed around him, had torn him apart, severed limb from limb while no one heard his scream, while every sound was drowned by water and the whale's noise--
The transporter door opened and Rodney shook his head, pushed off the wall, pushed back the memories. There was no need to go back there. He was here now, here on Atlantis, here with John, as alive as he was, next to him ... in obvious discomfort.
Rodney had never understood the concept of not complaining about something - after all, a complaint at the right time often led to problems being fixed. But John rarely complained. Rodney sometimes wondered if John even knew how when he was in actual discomfort. Complaining when it suited him, when he wanted to be whiny, sure. But actual, heartfelt complaints? John just didn't.
"I still have that slimy stuff Teyla gave me when I had a sunburn after working on the repairs of the East pier a couple of weeks ago," Rodney said as he stepped out of the transporter after John.
John's hand stopped rubbing, his gaze snapped up to meet Rodney's, a questioning frown in place.
"It's paddle burn, isn't it?" Rodney nodded toward John's hand just below his ribs. "And let me tell you, Teyla's gel looks disgusting, but it works little Athosian voodoo miracles on burned skin. Instant relief." Rodney waved his hand in explanation. "The good kind of voodoo."
John twitched a small smile. His hand sank down, as though uncomfortable being caught showing a weakness. "Going native, Rodney?" he asked.
"Yes, of course," Rodney retorted, not even trying to dim the sarcasm. There was no need around John. "Next week I'll go live in a tent and wear animal skin and go hunting."
"I'll pop by for a steak," John answered, body falsely relaxed and already well on the way to deflecting Rodney, and, oh, no, he wasn't getting away this easy.
"So, the voodoo gel should work on the paddle burns just as well as on the sunburn. Come on. The jar she gave me is still half-full."
John tensed, all deflective shields visibly going up one after the other. "Look, Rodney, I--"
"Are you coming?" Rodney interrupted him, impatient, and turned toward his quarters.
He didn't suppress the satisfied smile when he heard John's boots shuffle over the floor, following him.
***
"Hah!" A quick search in his drawer presented him with the small clay pot Teyla had given him - hidden somewhere between a pair of rolled up socks and an old hard drive.
He turned around, seeing John standing in the middle of his room, hands in his pockets and looking more uncomfortable than Rodney had seen him in a long time.
"It's a burn-gel, not a lethal injection," Rodney noted, dryly.
John pulled a face. "Funny."
"You act as though I'm trying to inflict torture on you, here," Rodney noted, not quite able to keep the twinge of hurt out of his voice.
John shrugged. "It's been a long day."
"Huh," Rodney said. "You're telling me." He gave a full-body shudder. "Stupid boat," he murmured. "Stupid whale."
That, Rodney noticed, made John grin. "We don't even know if this planet's ocean has whales, Rodney. I think you're safe for now."
"As long as I don't get your clown here. And don't tell me that didn't come from you, because he was never there before." He frowned, then looked at John sharply. "Has anyone ever told you you're weird?"
John's right eyebrow rose. "Whales, Rodney," was all he said.
"It's a perfectly valid-- Yeah, okay. Fine." Rodney decided to not go there again. "Now take your shirt off."
John's eyebrow climbed higher, was joined by the other. "Rodney?"
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Okay, then don't take it off, Miss Prim and Proper, pull it up, but the gel won't do much good if you apply it to your shirt." He lifted his chin, daring John to disagree.
They stared at each other for a good minute until John shrugged and began to pull the sleek black overshirt up, then the T-shirt up from under his belt. Rodney turned his back to him, reaching for the glazed clay pot. He lifted the lid, set it to the side carefully. The colour of the gel was unpleasant - a greyish-brown mass that sat in the pot like jell-o gone moldy. The scent, however, was invigorating, like fresh-cut grass, pleasant but not over the top.
"Ready?" Rodney asked, not wanting to turn back before John was ready.
John's voice was gently mocking. "Now who's Miss Prim and Proper?"
Rodney turned on his heel. "Oh, please, like I never--" he trailed off, staring at the angry red squares on John's stomach in horrified fascination. His own burn marks twinged in sympathy.
He shook himself out if the stupor. "Here," he said, holding out the jar to John. "You need to use both hands and really rub it in." John's eyebrows quirked again, this time in disbelief. "It'll hurt at first," Rodney acknowledged, saving John the trouble of asking, "but believe me, the effect will be almost immediate once it's absorbed. After that's done, apply an extra layer and let it sink in."
"Both hands, huh?" John nodded toward his hand holding the shirt.
"I told you to take it off."
"Maybe another time," John answered, and that was too quickly and Rodney only now realised the reason for John's odd attitude: The other man had goosebumps all over.
Rodney huffed. Just once, just for once he'd like John to actually say it out loud when he wasn't feeling well. Instead, he set the gel on the cabinet, stepped around John and twisted his hand in the rolled up fabric, holding it in place. John stiffened, already tense muscles growing rigid. "Both hands," Rodney said. "Now start, I want to catch an least one hour of sleep before I go back to work."
Still tense - and how could John even walk with all those tense muscles without screaming in pain? - John reached out for the pot, scooping up some of the gel and spreading it between his hands, warming it up. The slick squelching noise was loud in the room.
Rodney felt the muscles in John's back tense even more as he started rubbing the gel in, heard the suppressed hiss of pain. John worked fast, efficient, almost ruthlessly, but Rodney noted the tremors growing from light to heavy, John's breath picking up, the shivers going from bad to worse and began to worry if John was more than cold, if he was beginning to go into shock. Not an unknown effect when it came to burns.
He set a hand to the small of John's back, stopping him. A shudder ran through John's frame as though he'd been stung and Rodney removed the hand quickly. "Easy," he said. "Go for the layer now."
John bent forward again, pulling Rodney along ever so slightly and scooped up another dollop of the gel. The same slick squelching sound, but this time upon spreading it, John seemed to breathe a sigh of relief instead of pain. Rodney smiled.
A few more moments, then John's hands sank down.
"Done?" Rodney asked.
"I guess," John answered.
"Okay." Rodney took a step back, releasing the fabric of both shirts. The t-shirt slid down a few inches, then stopped. Rodney saw goosebumps racing down John's sides and back.
"Ah, Rodney?"
"Hm?"
John lifted his hands, presenting the slickness of the gel still covering them.
"Oh," Rodney said. Without giving it a second thought, he gently peeled the fabric back from John's skin, lifted it and pulled it down, careful to not scrape off the layer of the gel John had applied. The he reached for a Kleenex, handing it to John.
"Thanks." John rolled his shoulders, visibly trying to work out some of the kinks that had settled in there during the day. It made Rodney wonder if John had taken back as much from his nightmare as Rodney had from his. If John still felt the kicks and punches the entity had delivered to him. Even from the short time he had been watching, Rodney had figured that it had gone on for a long time, or John wouldn't have been on the ground in a broken tangle of limbs.
The thought made him shudder and without thinking about it, he set both hands on John's shoulders, pressing down against taut muscles. "I really don't even want to know what the bastard did to you," he murmured, pressing the heel of his right hand between John's right shoulderblade and spine.
John gave a guttural groan but surprisingly didn't stop Rodney. From between clenched teeth, John said: "No, you don't."
John's head sank, chin resting on his chest when Rodney dug his fingers into muscles that were hard and tense. A deep breath, somewhere between a sigh and a hiss escaped John every now and then while Rodney worked methodically, between shoulderblades and up toward the shoulders.
Over the quiet rustle of cloth against skin he heard John murmur, just two words, almost drowned by his own breathing, matter-of-factly "You died," and John's voice wasn't broken, wasn't laden with emotions (this was John, after all), but it was edgy, rough and there was a hitch to it on the died, like John couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs. Rodney felt something indescribably cold radiating off him, saw it in the tensing of John's shoulders, felt it in the tremble that moved John's shoulder blades like butterfly wings, like John was freezing from the inside out.
Rodney shifted his weight from one foot to the other, halted the movement of his hands, trying to digest what it was he'd just heard John say. "You died." Just two words. Rodney had figured it had been painful for John when he heard the entity taunt John that it was his fault Rodney was dead, just as much as it would have hurt Rodney to have John die. He remembered watching John being drained by the Wraith only too well, but that didn't help now, didn't help at all, because the actual realisation came so suddenly the cold seeped into his bones: the entity had gone for their worst fears. To that which would hurt them most. For John, that meant failing his friends. Failing Rodney.
"You died."
If he hadn't insisted on following John tonight, he'd never have found out because he doubted John ever would have talked about this. It didn't give Rodney the need to crow in delight that John obviously cared more than he normally let on. Instead, it pained him, made him want to go back to the damn planet and destroy the entities, then purge every last bit of information about it from the Ancient database.
Because the entity had done more than tap into the worst fears and the darkest places. It had spread paranoia. They had assumed John had inadvertently helped the entity begin to move from host to host by mere touch. John hadn't touched anyone after that realisation hit. No one had touched anyone. There was no reason to worry anymore now the entity was gone, but the apprehension was still there, lurking. Rodney moved his hand minutely, a solid, soothing touch, trying to undo some of the damage that had been done. He didn't know if John was even aware of the way he inclined his head backward ever so slightly, leaned into Rodney's touch.
Comprehension was a swift, one-two punch to the gut. There was a hunger for warmth in the goosebumps along John's tilted neck, in the tight set of his jaw and the minute way his hand twitched as if to reach out - but stopped before it could finish the gesture and Rodney couldn't stand it, couldn't stand it for one more minute. So he did the only thing he could think of, the one thing he never would have done in another situation: he took a step forward, letting his hands move from John's shoulders to his wrists in a fluid move. Pulled slightly, a suggestion, an invitation, a nudge rather than a command.
John stiffened, his breath hitching, the usual fight for control and in surprise over being touched that Rodney was so familiar with. Rodney longed to just curl his arms around John and make this easier for him, but this wasn't easy for him either. It would be nothing short of the one-eyed leading the blind. He just waited. Waited for what seemed like an eternity until John finally relaxed, took a small step backwards and leaned against Rodney, careful of Rodney's burns, just barely making contact. Rodney exhaled, long and slow and let his head drop, forehead resting on John's shoulder so that he could feel John fighting for breath, feel him shivering against a chill Rodney wasn't aware of, smell the stale scent of dried fear-sweat and the fresh, green scent of Teyla's cream.
Rodney inhaled and exhaled, his breath deflected by the fabric of John's shirt and John's breath hitched just before he moved his wrists and twisted out of Rodney's grip only to adjust it so that their palms were to each other, coolness against warmth, skin against skin, just rubbing light circles over nicks and calluses.
"Not while I'm around," John murmured.
Rodney nodded against his shoulder and closed his hand around John's.
Fin
Author:
eretriaSize: 3080 words
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Doppelganger
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Summary: "Rodney had never understood the concept of not complaining about something - after all, a complaint at the right time often led to problems being fixed. But John rarely complained. Rodney sometimes wondered if John even knew how when he was in actual discomfort. Complaining when it suited him, when he wanted to be whiny, sure. But actual, heartfelt complaints? John just didn't. "
Thank you: Thank you to
auburnnothenna and murron for quick and lovely beta-reads, and especially to Auburn for helping me think out of my corner. Written with sheafrotherdon's skin hunger challenge in mind.Note: Can be read as gen or slash, whatever you prefer.
The first hints of pink tinted the horizon and the waves underneath the mess hall's window when slowly, one after the other Sam, Keller, Ronon and Teyla began to file out of the messhall with stifled yawns and quiet apologies and wishes for a restful remaining hours of sleep.
Rodney picked at the last piece of the orange B'atee fruit on his plate. They'd traded for it in exchange for medical supplies, it was juicy and sweet-tart; one of the few he'd been able to salvage from tonight's onslaught of the people around the table. Of course, no one had said they were hungry. Of course, none of them had felt the need for a midnight snack. Strangely enough, that hadn't stopped them from helping themselves to Rodney's midnight snack.
A rustle of paper caught his attention and a glance to his left showed him that John was still aimlessly flipping through his golf magazine. The bowl of chips in front of him was empty, too. It had been one of the first things to go - John hadn't had a chance against Sam and Keller. In retrospect, it hadn't looked as though he minded much. He hadn't helped himself to any of Rodney's fruit either. That was weird. Normally, John would have done that just to get a reaction out of Rodney.
He'd had time to unwind a little, feel the tight knot in his stomach unfurling as the team gathered around the table, as three became four became five became six. It'd been a good feeling. Rodney hated to call it sheltered, but maybe that's just what it was. A small bubble of warmth, of safety.
More light began to filter in from the outside. Atlantis dimmed the inside lights now, plunging the waves lapping between the piers into darkness for the remaining minutes until the sun came up. On the horizon, two moons were losing their battle against the sun.
Another rustle of paper. John closed the magazine. "All right," he said. "I guess that's our hint."
The chair scraped against the metal floor, the sound echoing in the empty room. Rodney pushed his chair back as well, gathering up his tray and trudging after John. Finally, finally, fatigue seemed to settle in. Which was just perfect, with only three hours left before they all had to be up again. Maybe he could Sam talk into giving them the afternoon off; after all, she'd be just as tired, too. Besides, Zelenka could handle the science staff.
They set their plates and bowls down without much clatter. The morning shift in the kitchen wouldn't be surprised to find dirty plates here when they came in. Irritated, maybe, but not surprised. It was well known that teams came in during the night. There were more midnight munchers in Atlantis than just Rodney.
He fell into step next to John. In just a few hours, Atlantis would wake up and the corridors would bustle with people again. For now, though, everything was quiet, only the sound of their boots echoing in the long corridor leading up to the transporter. It was moments like this that Rodney didn't feel the need for conversation. There'd been enough talking during the night so that the silence between them didn't feel stifling or unpleasant. Few people came close to understanding this, but there were only a handful of people Rodney knew how to be quiet with and John Sheppard was one of them.
In the transporter, in just those few seconds it took for the device to bring them from the lower levels to the crew quarters, Rodney saw something from the corner of his eye. He'd noticed a couple of times before during the night, but hadn't really paid any attention. It made him frown now: John was rubbing his midriff. Rodney doubted he was doing so consciously, but the gesture was obvious. Repeatedly, with careful touches, as though the skin was itching, but too tender to actually scratch. The burns from the shock paddles bothering John.
Rodney knew what his chest felt like after the shock-paddles had been used on him - a low-level pain that came close to the sensation of a million ants running over his chest, biting from time to time, just out of sheer random spite. It was worse than a sunburn, worse than the occasional electric burn he'd received while working on open conduits. John had to have bad memories of the shock paddles on top of everything else, Rodney realised as he thought back to the first Iratus incident.
John rubbed again and winced as he hit an obviously oversensitive spot.
Of course John didn't say anything. He never did. Rodney had complained about the side effects of the paddles to Keller despite being more than happy they had brought him back from the place where the teeth had closed around him, had torn him apart, severed limb from limb while no one heard his scream, while every sound was drowned by water and the whale's noise--
The transporter door opened and Rodney shook his head, pushed off the wall, pushed back the memories. There was no need to go back there. He was here now, here on Atlantis, here with John, as alive as he was, next to him ... in obvious discomfort.
Rodney had never understood the concept of not complaining about something - after all, a complaint at the right time often led to problems being fixed. But John rarely complained. Rodney sometimes wondered if John even knew how when he was in actual discomfort. Complaining when it suited him, when he wanted to be whiny, sure. But actual, heartfelt complaints? John just didn't.
"I still have that slimy stuff Teyla gave me when I had a sunburn after working on the repairs of the East pier a couple of weeks ago," Rodney said as he stepped out of the transporter after John.
John's hand stopped rubbing, his gaze snapped up to meet Rodney's, a questioning frown in place.
"It's paddle burn, isn't it?" Rodney nodded toward John's hand just below his ribs. "And let me tell you, Teyla's gel looks disgusting, but it works little Athosian voodoo miracles on burned skin. Instant relief." Rodney waved his hand in explanation. "The good kind of voodoo."
John twitched a small smile. His hand sank down, as though uncomfortable being caught showing a weakness. "Going native, Rodney?" he asked.
"Yes, of course," Rodney retorted, not even trying to dim the sarcasm. There was no need around John. "Next week I'll go live in a tent and wear animal skin and go hunting."
"I'll pop by for a steak," John answered, body falsely relaxed and already well on the way to deflecting Rodney, and, oh, no, he wasn't getting away this easy.
"So, the voodoo gel should work on the paddle burns just as well as on the sunburn. Come on. The jar she gave me is still half-full."
John tensed, all deflective shields visibly going up one after the other. "Look, Rodney, I--"
"Are you coming?" Rodney interrupted him, impatient, and turned toward his quarters.
He didn't suppress the satisfied smile when he heard John's boots shuffle over the floor, following him.
"Hah!" A quick search in his drawer presented him with the small clay pot Teyla had given him - hidden somewhere between a pair of rolled up socks and an old hard drive.
He turned around, seeing John standing in the middle of his room, hands in his pockets and looking more uncomfortable than Rodney had seen him in a long time.
"It's a burn-gel, not a lethal injection," Rodney noted, dryly.
John pulled a face. "Funny."
"You act as though I'm trying to inflict torture on you, here," Rodney noted, not quite able to keep the twinge of hurt out of his voice.
John shrugged. "It's been a long day."
"Huh," Rodney said. "You're telling me." He gave a full-body shudder. "Stupid boat," he murmured. "Stupid whale."
That, Rodney noticed, made John grin. "We don't even know if this planet's ocean has whales, Rodney. I think you're safe for now."
"As long as I don't get your clown here. And don't tell me that didn't come from you, because he was never there before." He frowned, then looked at John sharply. "Has anyone ever told you you're weird?"
John's right eyebrow rose. "Whales, Rodney," was all he said.
"It's a perfectly valid-- Yeah, okay. Fine." Rodney decided to not go there again. "Now take your shirt off."
John's eyebrow climbed higher, was joined by the other. "Rodney?"
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Okay, then don't take it off, Miss Prim and Proper, pull it up, but the gel won't do much good if you apply it to your shirt." He lifted his chin, daring John to disagree.
They stared at each other for a good minute until John shrugged and began to pull the sleek black overshirt up, then the T-shirt up from under his belt. Rodney turned his back to him, reaching for the glazed clay pot. He lifted the lid, set it to the side carefully. The colour of the gel was unpleasant - a greyish-brown mass that sat in the pot like jell-o gone moldy. The scent, however, was invigorating, like fresh-cut grass, pleasant but not over the top.
"Ready?" Rodney asked, not wanting to turn back before John was ready.
John's voice was gently mocking. "Now who's Miss Prim and Proper?"
Rodney turned on his heel. "Oh, please, like I never--" he trailed off, staring at the angry red squares on John's stomach in horrified fascination. His own burn marks twinged in sympathy.
He shook himself out if the stupor. "Here," he said, holding out the jar to John. "You need to use both hands and really rub it in." John's eyebrows quirked again, this time in disbelief. "It'll hurt at first," Rodney acknowledged, saving John the trouble of asking, "but believe me, the effect will be almost immediate once it's absorbed. After that's done, apply an extra layer and let it sink in."
"Both hands, huh?" John nodded toward his hand holding the shirt.
"I told you to take it off."
"Maybe another time," John answered, and that was too quickly and Rodney only now realised the reason for John's odd attitude: The other man had goosebumps all over.
Rodney huffed. Just once, just for once he'd like John to actually say it out loud when he wasn't feeling well. Instead, he set the gel on the cabinet, stepped around John and twisted his hand in the rolled up fabric, holding it in place. John stiffened, already tense muscles growing rigid. "Both hands," Rodney said. "Now start, I want to catch an least one hour of sleep before I go back to work."
Still tense - and how could John even walk with all those tense muscles without screaming in pain? - John reached out for the pot, scooping up some of the gel and spreading it between his hands, warming it up. The slick squelching noise was loud in the room.
Rodney felt the muscles in John's back tense even more as he started rubbing the gel in, heard the suppressed hiss of pain. John worked fast, efficient, almost ruthlessly, but Rodney noted the tremors growing from light to heavy, John's breath picking up, the shivers going from bad to worse and began to worry if John was more than cold, if he was beginning to go into shock. Not an unknown effect when it came to burns.
He set a hand to the small of John's back, stopping him. A shudder ran through John's frame as though he'd been stung and Rodney removed the hand quickly. "Easy," he said. "Go for the layer now."
John bent forward again, pulling Rodney along ever so slightly and scooped up another dollop of the gel. The same slick squelching sound, but this time upon spreading it, John seemed to breathe a sigh of relief instead of pain. Rodney smiled.
A few more moments, then John's hands sank down.
"Done?" Rodney asked.
"I guess," John answered.
"Okay." Rodney took a step back, releasing the fabric of both shirts. The t-shirt slid down a few inches, then stopped. Rodney saw goosebumps racing down John's sides and back.
"Ah, Rodney?"
"Hm?"
John lifted his hands, presenting the slickness of the gel still covering them.
"Oh," Rodney said. Without giving it a second thought, he gently peeled the fabric back from John's skin, lifted it and pulled it down, careful to not scrape off the layer of the gel John had applied. The he reached for a Kleenex, handing it to John.
"Thanks." John rolled his shoulders, visibly trying to work out some of the kinks that had settled in there during the day. It made Rodney wonder if John had taken back as much from his nightmare as Rodney had from his. If John still felt the kicks and punches the entity had delivered to him. Even from the short time he had been watching, Rodney had figured that it had gone on for a long time, or John wouldn't have been on the ground in a broken tangle of limbs.
The thought made him shudder and without thinking about it, he set both hands on John's shoulders, pressing down against taut muscles. "I really don't even want to know what the bastard did to you," he murmured, pressing the heel of his right hand between John's right shoulderblade and spine.
John gave a guttural groan but surprisingly didn't stop Rodney. From between clenched teeth, John said: "No, you don't."
John's head sank, chin resting on his chest when Rodney dug his fingers into muscles that were hard and tense. A deep breath, somewhere between a sigh and a hiss escaped John every now and then while Rodney worked methodically, between shoulderblades and up toward the shoulders.
Over the quiet rustle of cloth against skin he heard John murmur, just two words, almost drowned by his own breathing, matter-of-factly "You died," and John's voice wasn't broken, wasn't laden with emotions (this was John, after all), but it was edgy, rough and there was a hitch to it on the died, like John couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs. Rodney felt something indescribably cold radiating off him, saw it in the tensing of John's shoulders, felt it in the tremble that moved John's shoulder blades like butterfly wings, like John was freezing from the inside out.
Rodney shifted his weight from one foot to the other, halted the movement of his hands, trying to digest what it was he'd just heard John say. "You died." Just two words. Rodney had figured it had been painful for John when he heard the entity taunt John that it was his fault Rodney was dead, just as much as it would have hurt Rodney to have John die. He remembered watching John being drained by the Wraith only too well, but that didn't help now, didn't help at all, because the actual realisation came so suddenly the cold seeped into his bones: the entity had gone for their worst fears. To that which would hurt them most. For John, that meant failing his friends. Failing Rodney.
"You died."
If he hadn't insisted on following John tonight, he'd never have found out because he doubted John ever would have talked about this. It didn't give Rodney the need to crow in delight that John obviously cared more than he normally let on. Instead, it pained him, made him want to go back to the damn planet and destroy the entities, then purge every last bit of information about it from the Ancient database.
Because the entity had done more than tap into the worst fears and the darkest places. It had spread paranoia. They had assumed John had inadvertently helped the entity begin to move from host to host by mere touch. John hadn't touched anyone after that realisation hit. No one had touched anyone. There was no reason to worry anymore now the entity was gone, but the apprehension was still there, lurking. Rodney moved his hand minutely, a solid, soothing touch, trying to undo some of the damage that had been done. He didn't know if John was even aware of the way he inclined his head backward ever so slightly, leaned into Rodney's touch.
Comprehension was a swift, one-two punch to the gut. There was a hunger for warmth in the goosebumps along John's tilted neck, in the tight set of his jaw and the minute way his hand twitched as if to reach out - but stopped before it could finish the gesture and Rodney couldn't stand it, couldn't stand it for one more minute. So he did the only thing he could think of, the one thing he never would have done in another situation: he took a step forward, letting his hands move from John's shoulders to his wrists in a fluid move. Pulled slightly, a suggestion, an invitation, a nudge rather than a command.
John stiffened, his breath hitching, the usual fight for control and in surprise over being touched that Rodney was so familiar with. Rodney longed to just curl his arms around John and make this easier for him, but this wasn't easy for him either. It would be nothing short of the one-eyed leading the blind. He just waited. Waited for what seemed like an eternity until John finally relaxed, took a small step backwards and leaned against Rodney, careful of Rodney's burns, just barely making contact. Rodney exhaled, long and slow and let his head drop, forehead resting on John's shoulder so that he could feel John fighting for breath, feel him shivering against a chill Rodney wasn't aware of, smell the stale scent of dried fear-sweat and the fresh, green scent of Teyla's cream.
Rodney inhaled and exhaled, his breath deflected by the fabric of John's shirt and John's breath hitched just before he moved his wrists and twisted out of Rodney's grip only to adjust it so that their palms were to each other, coolness against warmth, skin against skin, just rubbing light circles over nicks and calluses.
"Not while I'm around," John murmured.
Rodney nodded against his shoulder and closed his hand around John's.
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no subject
Date: 2007-10-29 06:20 pm (UTC)Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-29 07:13 pm (UTC)I'm glad the atmosphere came through, because that has got to be one of the hardest things to get right.
I'm especially glad that you picked that sentence, because ... well. I do think it takes a lot of trust and time to be quiet with someone. But I also think that John and Rodney have managed by now.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-29 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-29 07:11 pm (UTC)It takes both of them a long time and lot of exhaustion to get so close to each other, but once they're in each other's space? There's no stopping. It's like a meltdown. Not just for John - Rodney needs this just as much.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-29 06:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-29 07:06 pm (UTC)But, yes. John will not talk about this sort of thing, and Rodney may be smart, but he's not normally the kind who would seek out other people's emotional discomfort to help out, simply because he feels too unsure himself.
And I do think that John's biggest fear was failing his friends, especially Rodney.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-29 08:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-29 09:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-29 09:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 01:31 am (UTC)Beautiful ending =)
no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 01:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 02:41 am (UTC)Oh, yes. You've given me chills; thank you.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 02:53 am (UTC)Seriously.
Made. Of. Awesome.
Awesomecakes.
Yum.
*incoherent*
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no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:44 pm (UTC)Heeeeeeeeeeeeeh
Date: 2007-11-20 11:58 pm (UTC)And psst - don't make me bring auburn into this. ;p She'll totally back me up.
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no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 05:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 12:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:46 pm (UTC)So, I'm glad this worked for you. And, please, do excuse the abyssmally long delay in answering your comment.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-30 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:47 pm (UTC)Also: Sorry for the delay in answering!
no subject
Date: 2007-10-31 06:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:48 pm (UTC)(And, thank you!)
no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 04:44 am (UTC)So, recing this.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-02 05:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-03 12:46 am (UTC)Just the Doppelganger story I was waiting for!
no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-03 04:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:52 pm (UTC)Thank you for the lovely comment. And I'm sorry I only answer it now.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 01:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-20 05:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-26 10:45 pm (UTC)