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John tried to look around as the guards dragged him into the room. He needed to check for any tactical advantages – weak points, weaponry, exits – but he’d taken a bad whack to the head and things were looking kind of fuzzy around the edges right now. One eye was practically closed up, too, which didn’t help, and he stifled a groan as the guards dropped him into a chair, jarring the broken arm that he was trying to hold still.
The bigger of his two escorts – bigger, uglier and definitely damn meaner – snarled and grabbed John’s arms and tied them roughly behind the chair. John couldn’t help shouting out as the snapped bones ground together, sending ice-hot streaks through his entire body. He tried to breathe through it – one breath in, one breath out – but the pain from his ribs made it hard. He was guessing that a couple had been cracked along with his arm.
The guard laughed and aimed the butt of his gun at John’s head, probably wanting to black the other eye and get the matching set.
“Enough! He’s no good to us dead, you idiot,” an irritated voice shouted from somewhere over the big guy’s shoulder. Okay, that sounded promising. “Not yet, anyway.” Yeah, not so much.
John tried to paste on a smirk, but his bottom lip was split and raw and felt twice the size it should be. He gave it a shot though. “Sorry, Chuckles. You heard the man.”
The guard scowled but lowered his gun and stepped away.
“Colonel Sheppard. Welcome.”
John blinked away the sweat dripping into his good eye. The voice belonged to a grey-haired, older guy who would have been fairly non-descript except for the nasty looking twist of freshly scarred skin running down the side of his face and neck. John had seen that kind of scarring before in Iraq and Afghanistan; burn scars – and bad ones by the look of it.
“You’ll have to forgive Rako.” The guy gestured towards Chuckles, and John could see more twisted flesh not quite hidden by his sleeve. “He does enjoy his work, but I’m afraid he can be a little over zealous at times. I’m sure you understand.”
Jeez, the guy was talking like some evil overlord from a cheesy B-movie. If he started stroking a cat then John could wake up any time because this was obviously all a dream.
Chuckles grinned and twisted the leather shackles holding John’s arms more tightly, jarring the broken bones again, and John tasted blood as he tried to bite back another shout. Fresh sweat pooled in the small of his back as the flare of pain slowly subsided to a throbbing burn. Okay, so not a dream then. Shit.
The team had been visiting BDY-085 for a check-in with a small settlement of Hanari that they’d helped relocate there a few months earlier. The Hanaran home world had been ravaged by a planet-wide earthquake that had triggered a chain of volcanic eruptions, and Atlantis had helped in their evacuation. The check-in had gone smoothly, and they’d almost been back at the gate, Rodney trying to explain the intricacies of ice hockey to Ronon for the fiftieth time – ‘It’s not about trying to bludgeon your opponents to death, you caveman! There are rules! It’s a sport!’ ‘More fun that way, McKay.’ – when they’d come under attack from an unknown enemy firing from the tree line. They’d taken cover, John and Ronon laying down fire while Rodney dialled the gate with Teyla on his six. The wormhole had initialised, but as they’d moved forward there’d been an explosion – like a stun grenade but with crackling arcs of blue light – and the next thing he’d known, John had been falling and it was lights out.
He had no clue how long he’d been down and had woken up being dragged through a dingy network of corridors. He’d tried to break free, earning himself the broken arm and the rest of it – a three hundred pound gorilla stamping down hard would do that to a guy – and had been tossed into a bare cell. At least he’d managed to do some damage of his own; he really hoped that kick to the nuts was going to have Chuckles singing soprano for a while, and the broken nose was definitely an improvement. He’d cooled his heels, the pounding in his head making it difficult to keep track of time, before being hauled in here. He hadn’t seen or heard anything of the rest of his team the entire time and just prayed to God that they’d managed to get away.
“My name is Gira Tian.” Scarface was talking again, and John jerked himself back to the present. He needed to stay focussed. “My apologies. These accommodations are crude, but they will suffice for now.” Tian paused for a second, face clouding. “My previous home was… lost.”
Accommodations? This guy really was like something out of a bad spy movie. John made a point of slouching back in the chair – as much as his could anyway – and glanced around. It looked like they were in an old warehouse – he’d expected a hollowed out moon base or a moat filled with sharks, at least – and it was too dark to see much beyond the arc lights illuminating the small area they were currently occupying. He couldn’t make out any escape routes, except the way he’d been brought in, and that would only be useful if he could manage to get free and then take down Chuckles and the other guard. He flexed his good arm, but the leather shackles didn’t budge. Right, so that was probably a no go. He needed to stall for time until the cavalry arrived – or until he could figure some other way out of this mess.
“Yeah, well thanks for the welcome.” John smirked. “Don’t be too hard on yourself; it’s a really nice place you’ve got – a coat of paint, some throw cushions, and it’ll be just like home.” Tian flinched, hands curling into fists, and John began to get a bad feeling – okay, an even worse feeling. He tried a different tack, keeping his tone even. “Look – no one has to die today. Just let me know where my team is, and we can all walk out of here.”
Tian smiled, but there was a strange, unstable look in his eyes. Christ, the crazy ones were always the worst. Too unpredictable. “Have no fear, Colonel. Your team mates are quite unharmed. Well, perhaps a little dazed from the stun cannon, but I’m sure they have awoken and returned to Atlantis in perfectly good health.”
The cold fist that had been squeezing inside John’s chest since he’d woken up alone began to ease up a little. His team was safe – Rodney was safe, and Ronon and Teyla would keep him that way. And that had been Scarface’s first mistake; he’d let John’s team go and that meant that they were already looking for him. He doubted he was still on BDY-085, but Rodney would be analysing the most recent gate addresses dialled, and they’d be scanning for John’s subcutaneous transmitter signal. The Daedulus was due in a few days, meaning that it was already in Pegasus and could join in the search once Rodney had narrowed down the possibilities. So, all he had to do was sit tight and wait. He hoped things didn’t take too long, though; he really didn’t like the crazy look in Tian’s eyes.
“You know, this has been a blast.” John gritted his teeth as a sudden wave of nausea washed through him. Hopefully it was just from the hit to the head, and not internal bleeding from Chuckles doing a jig across his ribs. “Thanks for the hospitality and all, but I’d hate to overstay my welcome.”
Tian laughed, and the guy could definitely give Norman Bates a run for his money on the creep-ometer. “Oh, I really couldn’t think of letting you go yet, Colonel. We haven’t even started.” He waved his hands theatrically towards a rough wooden table behind him.
The table held pieces of gadgetry of differing styles, probably scavenged from various Pegasus races, and John’s heart sank as he recognised a familiar set-up that looked like old 1950s Earth tech – trademark Genii. It was a crude camera and video system with a transmitter. Damn, he had a feeling he knew where this was heading. What was it with these megalomaniac wannabes? Had Kolya run a seminar or something? Christ, he hoped there wasn’t a pet wraith this time. He doubted he’d be lucky enough to get one quite as pragmatic as Todd again.
“Thanks, but I’ve always been kind of camera shy…”
“Come, come, Colonel! I’m sure your friends will be wondering how you are. We wouldn’t want to disappoint them.” Tian spoke into a handheld communicator. “Dial the gate.” He adjusted the camera and flicked a series of switches on a control panel before speaking again, this time into what looked like a microphone. “Atlantis. I know that you are receiving this signal.” There was no TV screen, so the video feed must just be one-way. Atlantis would be able to see John, but he couldn’t see them. “Atlantis.” Tian was beginning to sound impatient. “I have Colonel Sheppard with me, and it really would be in his best interests if you were to reply.”
A static laden voice came over the loudspeaker. “This is Atlantis.” It was Woolsey. “Who is this please?”
Tian grinned. “Ah, good. I’m glad that you have seen sense. My name is Tian, former Prime Engineer to the Hanaran government.”
The guy was Hanari? What the hell? They were supposed to be allies.
Tian continued. “I suggest that you engage the analogue video feed that accompanies this transmission, if you wish to see Colonel Sheppard, that is.”
John lifted his head higher, trying not to show how badly hurt he was.
“Colonel Sheppard,” Woolsey stated calmly, and John could hear voices in the background. Rodney. And Teyla and Ronon. Thank God. The knot in his chest eased a little more – they’d made it back okay. “It’s good to see you.”
“Mr Woolsey.” John nodded and forced down the sickness roiling through his gut. Okay, staying still might be the best option for now. “Sorry, looks like I’m going to be a little late home for dinner.” He did his best to smile.
“Enough!” Tian motioned to Chuckles, who cuffed John heavily across the face with the butt of his gun.
It was so sudden and unexpected that John didn’t have time to brace himself, and his head snapped to one side, his vision reeling in loopy circles and making his stomach lurch. He heard a muffled shout – Rodney – and fought back the nausea, breathing hard through his mouth. Right, this was Tian’s party, and he obviously didn’t like being upstaged.
“As you can see,” Tian said tightly, “the Colonel is in reasonably good health – for now – but how long that continues depends entirely upon you.”
“What do you want?”
“Ah, what does any man want, Mr Woolsey? Happiness, a home, a family.” Tian’s face twisted and something ugly shone in his eyes. “Unfortunately, mine was taken away from me by Colonel Sheppard.”
“What?” John asked, and he could hear Rodney’s matching shout through the feed. He could picture the incredulous line of his mouth, eyes shadowed by anger and worry.
“Yes, Colonel. I lost my home, my family – everything – when Hanara was destroyed, and you let it happen! You left them behind. My wife, my children. You are the reason that I am alone!” Tian had completely lost the eerie veneer of politeness now and was raging, eyes wide and mouth spitting; zero to crazy in two seconds flat. He really was a cliché, but a dangerous one and that was never funny.
“Look, I’m really sorry about your family, but we saved everyone we could.” They had. They’d had all the jumpers and the Daedalus ferrying evacuees non-stop as the planet tore itself apart around them. The Hanaran leaders were pretty xenophobic and had been refusing help for weeks, swearing that their engineers had found a way to calm the seismic activity. But the plan hadn’t worked, and then the planet’s stargate had been destroyed, and so they’d finally relented at the eleventh hour and accepted Atlantis’ help. They hadn’t managed to save everyone though; there just hadn’t been enough time. “Tian, you have to believe me – we did everything that we could.”
“It wasn’t enough! You left them to die!” Tian screamed. He grabbed a weapon – John’s P-90 – from the table and fired blindly into the air, bullets spraying everywhere, the video camera shattering in a spray of glass. “You weren’t there when they needed you!”
John ducked, protecting himself as much as possible, the guards at his side doing the same.
Tian stopped firing as suddenly as he’d begun, staring with glassy eyes at the gun in his hands.
“John! John! Are you okay? What’s happening? Damn it! John!” It was Rodney, voice high and panicky. They must have lost the video feed.
“Colonel Sheppard?” That was Woolsey. “Are you all right?”
“I’m okay,” John shouted towards the microphone. “Everyone’s okay.” Christ. Tian was clearly insane, and even his men were starting to look freaked out.
Tian coughed and smiled weakly. “My apologies for my outburst, but, as you must agree, Colonel Sheppard is clearly responsible for the disaster on Hanara. You have six hours to launch a rescue mission and return my family to me or the Colonel dies.”
“What? But that’s impossible!” Rodney shouted. “There’s no one left to save!”
It was true. The planet’s surface was a smouldering pile of rubble, and the air was filled with toxic fumes. There was no one alive down there. The Daedalus had run exhaustive sweeps, hoping to find any last pocket of survivors, but it had been no good.
“Tian,” Woolsey said. “If we can just discuss this –”
“Six hours!” Tian snapped. “Six hours to bring my family to me or the Colonel is dead!” He slapped his hand down hard onto the control panel, cutting the signal, and strode out of the room.
Chuckles and the other guard seemed uncertain what to do after Tian’s abrupt departure. John suspected they were just hired muscle; they certainly didn’t seem like the brightest bulbs in the box. Maybe Kolya ran ‘Henchmen R Us’ alongside that ‘How to be an Evil Despot in Ten Simple Steps’ seminar?
John’s head was throbbing, and he was feeling kind of dizzy, making it hard to concentrate. Kolya was dead, wasn’t he? Yeah, John had shot him. Someone else wanted him dead this time – Tian, right. There were enough of them around. Probably had to get in line. Maybe they had a club – with a secret handshake. Actually, that would be kind of cool…
There was a hurried conversation, and then the guards were dragging him back through the labyrinth of corridors. He tried to keep track of the route, looking for exits, but he wasn’t feeling so good, and it was hard to keep his head up. God, he hoped Rodney would find him soon.
They eventually arrived back at his cell, and Chuckles shoved John inside, making him stumble and jar his arm as the old style mechanical lock echoed loudly as it clanged into place behind him.
The cell was a ten by ten windowless box with nothing but grey walls and the heavy, reinforced metal door that locked from the outside. John dragged himself to the far corner and clenched his teeth against a particularly violent spasm of nausea, avoiding throwing up pretty much through willpower alone, and eased himself down onto the cold floor. They’d taken his TAC vest when he’d been captured, so he’d had nothing to make a temporary splint and could only cradle his arm inside the sleeve of his shirt, immobilising it as best as he could.
Christ, what a mess. Tian was clearly insane and that made the chances of this thing ending without a body count pretty remote. Atlantis had a no-negotiation policy, but it didn’t really apply here anyway. There was no way that Atlantis could accede to his demands – Tian’s family were already dead. And Tian blamed John for their deaths.
John dropped his head back against the wall. His eyes kept slipping shut, and his head felt ready to explode. Was Tian right? Was it his fault? Had he done everything he could? They’d worked non-stop for over thirty hours, flying the jumper through the plumes of smoke hanging over the planet’s surface and landing on barely stable ground to snatch up the survivors. They’d only stopped when there’d literally been no place left to land or even hover, just rivers of lava and superheated oceans – and no one left standing to save. They’d still kept flying over though, scanning for any last life signs, but it had been beyond hope.
Tian had said he was an engineer. Presumably he’d been working on the plan to try and stop the seismic activity. The plan that had failed. Is that what this was really all about? Did Tian blame himself for the death of his family but couldn’t accept it? And so he was focussing his anger and grief onto a more tangible target instead – like John? Was this whole thing some kind of transference?
John snorted. He must have taken a harder beating than he realised, if he was starting to spout psychobabble. Heightmeyer would be proud of him.
Only Kate was dead…
He blew out a long breath. The thing was, he could appreciate what Tian was going through. He knew what it was like to lose people, to wish he could have done more. He had his own demons; dreams filled with faces of the ones he couldn’t save – Holland, Ford, Elizabeth, Kate… Too many losses, too many if onlys. And then there were all the other regrets, like Rodney and not having the guts to take a chance and let him know how he really felt…
He gave himself a mental shake – the only kind that wouldn’t result in his head going nuclear – because that piece of wishful thinking was hardly new and definitely not helpful. So yeah, he could relate to how Tian was probably feeling, but laying the blame on someone else wasn’t going to work. Hell, it hadn’t even been Tian’s fault. He was just one man against a self-destructing planet.
John snorted again. The irony didn’t exactly escape him; he was hardly the poster boy for dealing with this kind of emotional crap himself. His tried and tested method was to just bury his feelings down deep and try to forget about them. It probably wasn’t that healthy, but at least he wasn’t taking hostages and going all Doctor Evil on the galaxy… Huh, did Tian have a Mini-Me? A Mini-Tian?
Okay, he was drifting again. He needed to focus – he had to try and get out of here – but his head felt like it was stuffed full of marshmallow, and he slowly began listing to one side, sliding down the wall as his vision greyed out. Huh, at least it was his good side…
~
There were noises; running feet and voices – shouting – punctuated with sharp bursts of gunfire.
John was slumped over, the stone floor pressing cold and damp against his face, and he wanted to get up or open his eyes, at least, but it felt like the life had been drained out him. Christ, there hadn’t really been a wraith this time, had there? Everything was a jumble, and then the noises were closer, and he recognised the familiar whir and retort of a blaster. Ronon. His team had come for him.
The voices were outside the door now. He wanted to call out but couldn’t seem to get his mouth to work right, and then it didn’t matter because there was a shot and the door was opening.
“John! He’s here! I’ve found him!” It was Rodney, kneeling by his side, hands ghosting carefully across his shoulders and down his arms, a welcome warmth. “John? Can you hear me? John?”
“Rod-ney…” John croaked, finally managing to force his eyes open.
Rodney smiled – and, wow, that was so good to see – a crooked line of relief smoothing the worry from his face. “Oh, thank God… you have no idea what I’ve –” Then Rodney was turning away, a shout drawing his attention.
“McKay!” It was Ronon. “Down!”
And suddenly Rodney was pushing John back into the shelter of the wall, covering him with his body – shielding him – as a deafening explosion rocked the ground. John could feel the shockwaves vibrating through him as debris rained down, and his body was protesting, arm and ribs screaming, but it was okay. He tucked his face tighter against the soft warmth of Rodney’s neck and breathed in greedily, pressing closer as he felt the world fading away again…
~
John was floating, random thoughts chasing hazily across his mind and melting away before he could pin them down. Slowly, he began to swim back to consciousness, a familiar sound guiding him to shore.
“ – and thank God that that maniac wasn’t as clever as he thought he was – or, well, you know, as me, though really, when you think about it, who is? – because his whole transmission was so sloppily masked – a non-encrypted carrier wave? I mean, really? – that I was able to track down the source in next to no time, and so we pinpointed exactly where he was holding you. Thank God, too. The man was obviously insane and Jesus… John… when he grabbed that gun and the video went out and I heard those shots, I, I thought you were dead.”
John felt something wrap around his hand. Rodney was holding his hand and squeezing it tightly between his own. Huh. He willed his eyes open, managing just a crack, his lids feeling like lead weights. He was back on Atlantis – in one of the curtained-off alcoves in the infirmary – and Rodney was sitting by the side of his bed… holding his hand. It felt really nice.
“I thought you were really gone this time. That you’d finally used up all of the insane amounts of good luck that you always have… I just don’t know what I’d do if that – if I lost…” Rodney stopped, drawing in a long breath. “I don’t know how many more chances there might be.”
Chances for what? John waited, but Rodney didn’t say any more. He just bowed his head, long eyelashes a shadowed smudge against pale cheeks in the dimmed light, and held John’s hand.
John wanted to tell Rodney that it was okay, and that he was awake, and to stop worrying because he hadn’t died. He was tired, though, and his mouth didn’t seem to want to listen to his brain right now. Anyway, it felt good – having Rodney close like this. He’d imagined what this might feel like so many times over the years. Not the being kidnapped and beat up part – that kind of sucked – but the being with Rodney part. He’d dreamed about how one day they might actually get together, how he might get what he’d wanted for so long. It was an indulgence, but he couldn’t help himself – he just wanted to enjoy this moment.
He stayed awake for as long as he could, watching Rodney, soaking up the warmth where their skin touched, until his eyes began to close and he reluctantly slid back to sleep again.
~
The next time John woke up he definitely wasn’t floating. In fact, his whole body felt like one big bruise.
“Ow.”
“It is good to see you awake at last.”
John turned his head. It was Teyla. She was sitting where Rodney had been, with Torren on her lap.
“Unca John!” Torren waved a carved wooden… something at him and beamed happily. “Moo!” Right. It must be one of the cow things the Athosians raised.
“It sure is, buddy.” John smiled and then winced. He’d forgotten about the split lip. He ran his tongue over it; the swelling had gone down and it wasn’t actually that bad. He’d had worse.
“How are you feeling, John?”
He did a quick inventory of the rest of his injuries. His head was definitely clearer, with most of the fuzzy, disoriented feeling gone, and what was left felt more like medicated fuzziness than possible concussion and/or brain injury fuzziness, so he was counting that as a win. He could see out of both eyes again, as well, and, though his ribs were still sore, they had that weird tingling afterglow that meant Carson had used the Ancient bone knitter gizmo on them. It didn’t work miracles, but it did cut the healing time for broken bones by about half. His arm was tingling, too, and when he looked, there was a lightweight cast in place. “Pretty good, considering.”
Teyla’s smile grew wider. “We are all very relieved to have you back with us.”
“Yeah, me, too – and thanks for the rescue. How’d you find me?”
“Rodney tracked Tian’s transmission, and we were able to gate to the planet on which he was holding you.”
John nodded – right, Rodney had babbled something about carrier waves. He curled his fingers into his palm as he remembered the feel of Rodney’s hand in his.
Teyla smiled, a look that John couldn’t identify flickering across her face. “Rodney sat here with you until Doctor Beckett declared that you were out of danger. He wanted to stay longer, but he was persuaded otherwise.”
“You mean Carson threw him out.” John grinned.
Teyla’s smile turned a little impish, and John laughed. It wasn’t unusual for the team to sit guard when one of them was injured, but there’d been something about this time… It had felt different – special somehow. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on John’s part, reading more into a friend’s concern than was really there. He ought to know better after all these years.
“What happened to Tian?”
“It appears that he took his own life. He was killed in an explosion at the compound,” Teyla said sombrely.
Oh, right – the explosion. Ronon must have seen what Tian was up to and warned Rodney. “Was anyone else hurt? Is Ronon okay?”
“Everyone is fine, John.” Teyla put a reassuring hand on his arm. “Do not worry. There were no other casualties. Mr Woolsey has been in contact with the remaining Hanari, but they had no knowledge of Tian’s actions. It appears that he had been unable to come to terms with the loss of his family and had become increasingly mentally disturbed. He had left the settlement several months ago, and they had not seen or heard from him since.”
“And he blamed me for not saving his family.”
“Perhaps. But I believe that the person that he really blamed was himself.”
“Yeah. I can see –” John stopped as a sudden yawn took him by surprise. “Sorry. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”
Teyla shook her head and stood, easing Torren down and holding his hand as he toddled at her side. “Do not apologise, John. Sleep is a great healer. Rest and be well.”
Torren waved goodbye, pudgy, little hand holding tight to his toy, and John waved back, eyes drifting shut again. “Yeah, I guess so.” It didn’t seem that he had much choice.
~
“You’re awake!” Rodney was standing at the partially opened curtain.
“Um, yeah?” John answered warily, around a spoonful of pudding.
“I stopped by earlier, but Carson told me you were still sleeping.” Rodney scowled, pulling out the chair at the side of John’s bed and sitting down huffily. “He told me to come back later and so, well, here I am.”
“Thanks, buddy.” John’s smile was probably a little goofy, but he was going to blame that on the meds he’d just been given.
“Oh, are you going to eat that?” Rodney pointed at the extra pudding cup on John’s tray; the cup that John had purposely charmed out of one of the nurses on the off chance that Rodney might drop by again.
John waved at the tray. “I suppose I could share.”
Rodney grabbed the cup and spare spoon, making a happy, little yummy noise, but his smile quickly slid away. “Ronon’s been here!” He pointed an accusing finger at John’s arm. “And after Carson wouldn’t let me in.”
“What?” John glanced down at his arm where ‘Go, Cardinal!’ was sharpied in large black letters across the otherwise pristine white surface of his cast.
John had introduced Ronon to college football when he’d first come to Atlantis, showing him the classic Flutie ‘Hail Mary’ play, of course. When the city had been stuck back on Earth those few months, Ronon had become a diehard fan, going to games and getting Zelenka to route ESPN into his quarters. He’d also, a little weirdly, chosen Stanford as his team. John had a suspicion it was the whole ‘underdog beating the odds, one survivor recognising another’ thing, but, whatever the reason, Ronon was hooked. He’d even gotten Walter at the SGC to send the games in the weekly data stream, now they were back home.
“Oh, yeah. Ronon stopped by a little while ago. I was already awake, though, it’s okay – you don’t have to go gunning for Carson. There was no special treatment.”
“Hmmph.” Rodney shot a murderous look through the curtain in the direction of Carson’s office but dug back into his pudding. “So. How are you feeling now? You were completely out of it earlier.”
“Better, thanks.” So, Rodney must have thought that John had been asleep when he’d sat with him before. Huh, that could explain the hand holding, and what about what Rodney had said? It was hard to remember the exact words – John had definitely been feeling no pain at that point – but he remembered something about Rodney not wanting to lose him and about taking a chance. A tiny spark of hope flared in John’s chest. Could that mean that there was more to this than just friendship for Rodney, too? Or was he only seeing what he wanted to see through med-tinted glasses? A yawn helped cover his confusion, and he shrugged in apology. “Still a little tired, I guess.”
“Oh. Would you prefer it if I went?” Rodney stood, pointing towards the door with his spoon. “I can just…”
“Hey, no. No problem. Stay.” John reached out and latched onto Rodney’s free hand to pull him back. It was like a physical jolt, a sizzling recognition as skin touched skin, and John had to take a breath before he could let go.
Rodney gave him a sharp look that John recognised instantly – it was Rodney’s ‘working something out’ look. Shit. He didn’t need Rodney to start thinking too closely about this. He’d just given enough away as it was and was probably completely wrong about before, anyway. It probably hadn’t meant anything; Rodney had just been worried, that’s all. He gave a mental snort. In the way a friend feels about another friend. The irony was killing him. “So, I suppose you want to sign it, too, huh?” He lifted his arm, trying for a distraction.
Rodney rolled his eyes but grabbed the sharpie that was still on the stand. “Well, I’d better do it now while there’s still room. Before it gets filled with telephone numbers and salacious propositions… Colonel Kirk!”
“Telephone numbers? We’re in the Pegasus galaxy, Rodney. Who am I gonna call?”
Rodney waved John’s words away. “Oh, you’d manage it.” He leaned over, crowding into John’s space, one hand resting lightly on John’s shoulder as he wrote something on the cast.
John bit his lip against the sudden sense memory of being back in the cell, Rodney pressed up against him, warm and solid, covering his body. He swallowed thickly and willed himself not to react. He’d kept his feelings hidden all this time; he could hold it together a little longer until he wasn’t quite so spaced out on meds.
“There!” Rodney grinned and pulled away with a flourish.
John fixed a careful smile in place and looked down at his arm. “Is that?” He paused, peering at the symbols in Rodney’s unmistakable scrawl, and then grinned for real. “Rodney. Did you just write the chemical structure for caffeine on my cast?”
“Maybe.” Rodney beamed, blue eyes bright with humour as he bounced happily on his toes. He looked adorable – there was just no other word for it.
John couldn’t help teasing. “Wow, Rodney. You’re wishing me coffee? Guess it must be love, huh?” He froze, too late to censor himself, and then laughed, trying to brush it off.
Rodney paused and stared hard at John for a moment before tilting his chin in the determined, pugnacious way that John had seen a hundred times before. All the times that Rodney had been hell bent on doing something, even if it was dangerous, because he knew that he was right. “And what if it is, John?” Rodney asked, voice quiet but firm.
And what if it was? What if Rodney sitting at his bedside before and holding his hand, looking so, so broken had actually meant precisely what he’d wished that it did? What if this thing wasn’t just about him? What if – amazingly, miraculously, finally – Rodney felt the same way? What if this was his very own ‘Hail Mary’ and all he had to do was take the risk? Be willing to put it all on the line…
“I – ” He wanted to say ‘me, too’ and that he’d felt this way for years, that he’d loved Rodney for what felt like forever… But he couldn’t. There were so many questions, like ‘why now?’ and ‘I thought you were straight?’ and…
“John?”
Rodney sounded less sure than a minute ago, obviously taking John’s silence for dissent – and that was wrong on so many levels. Christ! Who cared about the why? He’d always done pretty well before without talking about stuff; now wasn’t the time to mess with a winning streak.
“And if it is, Rodney?” John smiled, face almost aching with the stretch. “Then that would be pretty damn cool…” And he was laughing, and Rodney blinked and then he was laughing, too … and, oh, wow. Rodney was kissing him. Kissing him through the laughter; beautiful and determined – and tasting just a little like pudding – and John couldn’t help himself. He had to kiss back…
Touchdown.
The end