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dani_the_girlTitle: Silence
Fandom: SGA
Summary: John and Rodney are held captive and used against each other. Afterwards, Rodney helps John not to talk about it.
Warnings/rating: Non-con.
Notes: I'm not 100% sure how I ended up writing this fic. It started off with me thinking about John being forced into sex somehow and then evolved into thinking about how the hell that could be done and then that got pretty dark pretty quick but somehow I couldn't leave it alone.
John wakes up to find himself on an unfamiliar bed. There's a pillow and an extremely thin mattress. Starting off with a plus, he thinks, and swings his legs off to sit up. What ever they knocked him out with has left a hell of a head ache but fortunately, it's fairly low light in here - dawn or dusk. There's a window over to one side letting in what light there is. Another plus. There's also a tray of food and drink on the floor, which he ignores for the moment. He's no memory of being knocked out so the most likely thing is something in the food.
That's about all the good there is. The window, when he gets up to look, has bars on and looks out onto what looks like an closed courtyard of some kind, which is a minus. He has no radio, no gear and no tac vest, just his combats and t-shirt. The door is solid wood with a barred window let into it; it's locked and bolted. Minus about a million. He glares around and wishes that he was confident enough that he wasn't about to be interrogated to drink the water.
The room gradually darkens, so it must have been dusk. There's no lamp or candles in the room, so he rolls back onto the bed and tries to get some rest. Either his team are in the same situation or he's on his own and they're coming to find him. Either way, not a lot he can do about it from here.
Two guards come to get him around three hours after the sun comes up. They're pretty efficient and they take precautions - John's in cuffs before he's allowed to step outside of the cell. The guards are both carrying weapons John doesn't recognise but they look pretty much like projectile weapons the universe over so he doesn't ask for a demonstration.
He's dragged along and eventually pushed into some kind of audience chamber containing two men, lounging over some sort of drink. One, pale and dark haired, he doesn't recognise, but the other, he remembers from the talks session yesterday, or whenever the hell was the day before he ended up here. "Tarek," John spits out. "Hey, you don't want to trade, that's fine, I get it. We'll go home." Tarek, who'd spent the whole session saying that they couldn't afford to anger the Wraith and hinting darkly that the Atlanteans would sell them out to the Wraith first chance they got anyway.
Tarek simply ignores him. "I hope you enjoy him, Regan," he says. "He's spirited, but you should be able to keep him under control." The two men shake hands and Tarek leaves.
"Hey," John yells after him, "thanks for nothing!"
"You will speak when spoken to," the other man, Regan, informs him calmly. "Kneel."
"Look," John says, trying for a reasonable tone of voice. "This is totally unnecessary." That's as far as he gets before one of the guards punches him in the stomach and another one kicks the back of his legs. He drops onto his knees, struggling to recover his breath.
"Indeed it is," Regan agrees. "You have only to do as you are instructed and no harm will come to you."
"I'm a diplomatic rep" John starts before he gets a boot in the guts. He bites down on a yell.
"Now, that will do," Regan says firmly to the guard. "There are more effective methods and I don't want him damaged." He looks down at John's face and says "He's too pretty for that." He reaches out his hand to trail it down John's cheek and it's becoming increasingly clear to John what his role in this scenario is. He turns his head and bites one of Regan's fingers.
Regan laughs. "I thought you might need a demonstration," he says, wiping his fingers and not sounding at all put out. "Hold him," he says to the guards behind John, who both put their hands onto his shoulders, keeping him kneeling. Regan moves to the other door. "You can bring him in now," he says to someone outside and two more guards come in pushing Rodney between them.
John bites down on the urge to call out to Rodney. He looks fine, no evidence of blood, or anything like that so they've presumably been brought here the same way. Tarek must have waited for Ronan and Teyla to head back for the medical samples and then grabbed them when he thought he had better odds.
"So," Regan announces with a smile, looking straight at John. "Let me put this simply for you. You belong to me."
"Now, look!" John protests. One of the guards slams Rodney across the shoulders with the butt of a weapon and Rodney drops to the ground with a startled yell.
Regan continues as if there had been no interruption. "You will be trained to provide pleasure for others. If you misbehave in any way, your friend there will suffer the appropriate punishment in order to preserve your long term value."
John tries to shake off the hands holding him down but he gets nowhere and Rodney's guards start to kick him. There's almost nothing Rodney can do to protect himself with his hands tied, but at least he manages to keep his head out of the way. John grits his teeth and sits back on his heels, tense but still. Regan raises a hand and Rodney's guards cease and desist. For a second, the only sound is Rodney, panting, trying to get his breath back.
When Regan opens his robe, he has nothing on underneath. His cock is erect and roughly level with John's eye line. John knows what's coming and instinctively jerks back. Immediately, Rodney's guards start to lay into him again with their feet, cutting off Rodney's startled "What the hell?"
Keep Atlantis safe, keep his team safe, keep himself alive, John thinks. He repeats the words over and over in his head like a mantra. He clenches his fists and forces all his tension down into his shoulders and back. He sits up a little, getting into position, and drops his jaw. Immediately, Regan gestures again, and Rodney's guards stop what they're doing.
Keep Atlantis safe, keep his team safe, keep himself alive.
Afterwards, he's taken back to the room he woke up in. He rinses his mouth out, downs the rest of the pitcher of water and eats the food, wishing it was drugged after all.
He finds a state of mindlessness which lets him cope with what happens. Lets him hear and react to orders without dangerous hesitation. He shuts out any awareness of Rodney's presence, any communication between them is immediately punished. After a few days, they stop binding his hands and Regan begins get more detailed in his demands. John is forced not only to accept but to participate, learns to respond with some facsimile of enthusiasm. After a couple of weeks, they stop bringing Rodney into the sessions at all, John's mistakes rare enough that they can be punished after the fact, John's guards the only continuing witnesses. He waits, looking for his opportunity.
He loses track of the days, trying to let it just all blur into one vague smudged memory that he doesn't examine at all. It can't have been more than a month, he thinks. He tries not to think about the fact that no-one from Atlantis has come for them, about what that means. Finally, when he's bought to Regan for their daily session, the guards are ordered out before anything else, the two of them alone for the first time. He mechanically follows instructions, keeping himself distant as he puts on the usual required performance, while he opens himself up, oils Regan's cock in preparation but now it's so that this bubbling reckless excitement won't show. They think he's safe now, that he's broken. They're wrong.
That night, he keeps his knife from dinner and tucks it away under his mattress. It should be fairly simple. Dispose of Regan, quietly. Drop the guards, grab a gun, find Rodney, get out.
He's thinking about it, almost ready to drop off, when the guards push purposefully into the room, drag him up and cuff him. He's pulled along to Regan's chamber with barely enough time to get his feet underneath him, startled protests ignored.
Rodney's guards are there already, Rodney standing between them uneasily. He glances at John and then looks away, obviously wondering what's going on. John turns to look at Regan, who is leaning on the desk. The guards push John's shoulders and he drops to his knees.
"This is a great disappointment," Regan says in a bored voice. "I had hoped that you had accepted your position here." He gestures to Rodney's guards. Two of them hold him still and the third bends his finger back. "No, no, no," Rodney starts to beg as he realises what's happening. "Please." It cuts off in a scream as the guard breaks his finger. John tries to get to his feet but his guards hold him down.
"The punishment for stealing is most severe, the punishment for attempting to depart even more so," Regan continues, ignoring Rodney to look steadily at John. "I am letting you off lightly." He gestures again and the guards begin on a second finger, Rodney whimpering as they do.
"Then give me the punishment," John yells, still struggling to get up. "Leave him out of it, you fucking bastard." The finger snaps and Rodney screams again.
"That would hardly be effective, would it," Regan replies with a smile. "However, I am inclined to be merciful. After all, you are so very enjoyable. Tell me where you have hidden the knife and you will be forgiven."
John tells him, immediately. A servant is sent for, retrieves the knife and brings it back to Regan who smiles. Rodney's guards take him away again, John's arms are uncuffed and the guards leave them alone for Regan to enjoy his victory. John feels sick for having taken such a crazy risk, so sick that he stays present, lets himself feel it as Regan fucks into him, a reminder of how dangerous their situation really is, how far out of his control.
For the first time, the guards take John on a different route out of his cell. He tries not to let the uptick in tension show on the outside. Somewhere new. Could be good, he tells himself. More he knows about the layout of this place, the easier it will be to escape.
They take him into a room pretty much like the room they keep him in. Regan is already waiting for him, standing slightly to one side. On the bed, Rodney is lying there, flushed and muttering. He doesn't seem to register that anyone else has come into the room. His hand has swelled up like a balloon, and there's blood oozing out where one of the broken bones has pushed through the skin. Regan looks steadily at John and he drops smoothly to his knees, not waiting for the guards to give him a push. Keep Atlantis safe, keep his team safe, stay alive, he reminds himself.
"Your friend is in need of medical attention," Regan observes. John bites back the urge to retort 'And who's fault is that.' There's no point saying anything until Regan gets to the point. Regan smiles, and John thinks he's probably showing too much on his face. He tries to keep his features smooth, give nothing more away. "If you choose, you can provide it for him."
The silence stretches, Regan watching, waiting. Waiting for John to participate, he realises. Forcing him to engage. His eyes cut involuntarily over to Rodney lying on the bed, feverish. The threat is real, he might as well at least hear the trade before he decides not to take it. "How?" he asks.
"You are," Regan smiles a small satisfied smile, "very talented. For the right clients, your talents could easily earn enough to cover everything he needs."
He deliberately doesn't wince, doesn't tense up. It makes sense of a lot of things, actually. Regan just doesn't seem sybaritic enough to want a bed slave but he's certainly enough of a bastard to be a pimp. He's just been waiting for the right opportunity to force John to agree. If he says no, John reasons, Regan won't bother to keep them around for further training or personal use. He'll sell them on or have them put down. And Rodney's not going to be worth anything in that state. It's the same deal he's already tacitly made, in most ways. He lets his body be used, they don't harm Rodney.
"I get to see him every day," John replies slowly. "Otherwise you could just let him die and I'd be wasting my time."
He sees the satisfaction in Regan's eyes. "If your behaviour is perfect," Regan counters, "then you may spend an hour here with him at the end of every week as a reward."
"Okay," John agrees after a pause, trying to sound defeated. It's more than he expected. An hour means a proper visit, communication. It means Regan is moving on, trying to get him to accept this as his life now.
He gets a couple of days grace before it really starts, being given instructions and having the hopelessness of his position thoroughly explained to him. The room where he'll be working is next to one where his guards will wait for him and they can hear every sound while they do. Anything out of the ordinary, they radio Rodney's guards to go onto high alert. They have scheduled radio check ins every 10 minutes. The cells area has guarded doors and is all the way across the compound from the brothel so the chances of getting to Rodney in time are not good, even if he managed to wait until just after the check-in to deal with his guards. He turns it over and over in his head, lying on his bed in the cell but he can't see a way.
He's not supposed to converse with the clients unless they start it and anything suspicious will cause his guards to radio in. He's just supposed to put out and shut up, a pretty face and nothing more. Just look like you're enjoying it, the guard tells him with a leer on his face. Any complaints and he'll forfeit that weeks visit.
The first couple of visits, Rodney is pretty out of it on painkillers when John is allowed in to see him. His hand has been immobilized in some sort of fairly heavy duty splint and it does look less inflamed. There are clean sheets. The second visit, he's even cool to the touch.
John uses the time to explore the room. It's pretty much like his own, although it does have the advantage of being away from the corridor junction. More warning when the guards are patrolling. It's not much of a plus though. The lock is the same as the one on John's door - heavy and mechanical. Once they're locked in, the guards settle down in the corridor, not close enough to look in, but John can hear them shifting around boredly as he watches Rodney sleep.
It's a relief to just sit there, watching Rodney's chest go up and down. It's a distraction from his week. Apparently, Regan must have quite a few prostitutes already working because there's no wait to build up a client base. There's usually one or two a day, mostly men, but not all. I can wait this out, John thinks stubbornly. Keep Atlantis safe, keep his team safe, stay alive. That's all.
The third visit, Rodney is awake. "Hey," John says, awkwardly. Rodney's still in bed, hand immobilized, but sitting up. "How're you keeping."
"Oh, you know," Rodney replies waspishly. "Bored out of my skull. You?"
John wants to laugh at the wild inappropriateness of the question. He's sore and aching from yesterday's client, who hadn't bothered with any prep before slamming himself into John's ass. He's probably been the worse so far, but at least it was quick. The other men tend to take their time, enjoy the ride. The women, on the other hand, are physically less demanding but they want more of a performance, more pretended passion. He's not required to fuck them, in fact, he's not allowed to, but it's still exhausting. "Been better," he says.
"So you get visiting rights now?" Rodney asks, curiously. "I didn't think Regan was big on doing favours."
"We cut a deal," John says in his best 'we're not talking about this' voice. If Rodney doesn't know what that deal is, he doesn't need to. "How's the hand."
"Extremely painful," Rodney grouses. "I may never type at decent speeds again."
"Sorry," John replies.
"Hey, no, I didn't mean," Rodney says immediately and then tails off. "How're they feeding you? They're trying to kill me." He gestures at the tray on the floor, which holds the remains of a fruit not unlike an orange. John grins and walks over to grab it for himself. He slides down the wall to sit on the floor while he peels it. "I guess waiting for me to die of boredom is just too slow."
"At least they're not making you design weapons of destruction," John points out, straight faced.
"Is that what you're doing? Because I would be so much better at it," Rodney says, looking at the shadows starting to draw across from the window.
John snorts. "Yeah, so it could be worse."
They sit and watch the sunlight move until John's guards come back to take him away.
The next time he visits, Rodney has a new piece of furniture. A small table is covered in papers, all of which Rodney is ignoring with a mulish look on his face. John sighs internally - it was too much to hope that they weren't being paid attention to.
"Anything interesting?" he asks lightly.
Rodney snorts derisively. "Rifling mechanisms. I told them they could come back when they had a real question and a computer to work on it." John doesn't say anything but his surge of fear must show in his eyes because Rodney adds. "They didn't bother - I don't think they're really interested. I'm wasted here."
John slides down to sit on the floor and pinches the citrus fruit sitting abandoned on Rodney's lunch tray, forcing himself to relax. "How's your hand?" he asks. He vaguely hopes the reminder will translate into a reminder to be cautious in Rodney's mind, but immediately, Rodney brightens up.
"Still maimed." His voice, which is frustrated, bordering on whiny, couldn't be more of a contrast to his face. He looks almost eager, John thinks, bemused. "Come take a look at my fingers," Rodney invites, and John pushes himself up and walks over, feeling his stomach tightening up already.
The heavy duty splint has gone, replaced by some more lightweight looking bandaging. Rodney's holding his arm out awkwardly, palm up and shirt cuff open. His other hand is holding open the small opening in the cuff lining to reveal what looks like a pair of surgical needles for IV lines. He must have managed to liberate them from the medical kit his doctors have been using, John thinks. He can't help staring at Rodney.
Rodney doesn't notice because he's staring straight at the door, intent. "I can poke with them, probe around, but I can't put pressure on - they're not strong enough." He flicks his gaze sideways to meet John's eyes. "I need some new exercises or something. They're not getting better on their own."
John withdraws back to the table, shoves the paper to one side so he can sit on it, thinking furiously. "I don't know," he says, after a second. "Shouldn't you let the doctors sort that sort of thing out?"
Rodney snorts. "They can't even find their way here any more. Too many corridors to walk through. I just get the nurse who changes this." He gestures with his bandaged hand.
John grimaces. The trouble is, Rodney's right. If Atlantis could trace them, they'd be here by now. He tries to think of a way to remind Rodney that he's tried this once and it didn't work out so great. Although, he's gradually realised that must have been a set up. Regan was waiting for it, waiting to use the leverage, and he was dumb schmuck enough to fall into the trap and do the obvious thing. Now, they really do think he's broken. And they've got no idea what Rodney can do. He looks back over at Rodney, who is watching him thoughtfully. "If you push yourself too hard, you could end up right back where you started," he warns. He may not be entirely broken but he can't take this risk again without being sure, not knowing what the consequences are.
Rodney snorts, but his eyes are serious. "And if I just sit here, they'll stiffen up so much I'll never be able to type again."
He could almost wish Rodney hadn't agreed. Almost. "You could maybe wiggle your fingers," he suggests. He wiggles his own briefly into the OK sign and Rodney nods, looking simultaneously nervous and relieved.
They spend the rest of the hour using the papers on Rodney's new desk to draw mazes for each other. Rodney's all have mathematical solutions, like measuring distances between turnings using digits of Pi. John's look complex but actually all have the same simple solution, which John has memorised since they started allowing him to visit. Once each one is complete, they ball them up and throw them in the corner.
He lies awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, trying to come up with a plan for something he can safely steal. Something they won't notice, slim enough but strong enough for what Rodney wants. Something that can't be traced immediately back to him when it's missed. He feels frozen at the thought but he knows it's conditioning. He can't let himself give into it, has to be more stubborn than they are. Rodney's asked him to take the risk.
It'll have to be something from the rooms where he meets his clients, he decides. There's almost nothing in his cell anyway, and it's all like the cutlery - too obvious and easy to miss. Whereas his work rooms are furnished to suggest a little idle luxury - apparently, John is a high price whore, worth dressing the experience up for. There's also a proper bathroom which he's allowed to use before and afterwards and the state of it suggests that he's not the only person who gets the privilege. He turns over the contents in his mind and finally remembers there's a couple of slim metal nail files in the pile of brushes and cloths and other fripperies at the side of the bath. They're the only things he can think of that even remotely fit what Rodney will need for lock picking and he decides it'll have to be one of them. The frozen feeling doesn't subside as he tries to go to sleep.
He decides to do it in two phases. Phase one is to remove the file from the bathroom and simply drop it under the footstool near the door where sits to take off his boots before the client is shown in. Just the thought of what he's done makes his heart beat speed up but if it's noticed, there's nothing to tie it to him or Rodney yet, he reminds himself. No proof that anyone's done anything other than accidentally move the file from one room to another, although he knows in his heart that if Regan suspects anything, he won't worry about proof. Today's client turns out to be a woman, which is unusual, but at least she's not a repeat customer so if John's a little more tense than usual, she's got nothing to compare it to. He applies himself to licking her vagina, carefully listening to her breathy sighs, stretching it out but not too much, not teasing. He doesn't want any reason to be reported for anything today.
Phase two is worse. He has to wait two days. It's not uncommon for him to have a rest day between clients but now he tenses up every time he hears the guards on their regular patrol. He can barely eat his evening meal, but he forces it down, determined not to show any changes in his behaviour.
Finally they come for him the next afternoon. They don't even bother to cuff him anymore, just escort him through the corridor and shove him into the room. It's empty, same as always. He lets out the breath he's been holding since leaving his cell and bends down to take off his boots, letting his fingers slide across and under the footstool. The file is still there. He slips it into the seam of his pants and goes to get washed in the bathroom, trying not to let the relief make him light headed. The client is a guy he's seen twice before so John already knows what he's going to be asked for. He tries to blank his mind, as usual, put himself somewhere else while he's being fucked but the tension makes it harder. Still, it takes no longer than ever and then he's allowed to go wash himself up before he's taken back to his cell.
Rodney's sitting up on the bed looking defiant when they push John into the room. He's got a bruise coming up over one cheekbone which looks like it'll be really spectacular in a day or two. "What the hell happened?" John demands harshly.
Rodney won't look at him. "They got pushy about the rifling techniques." John glares at him, waiting, and eventually Rodney's eyes slide over and he adds "I did them some drawings. Apparently threatening me with violence works on me too."
John grimaces and lets it go. He sits down on the floor and palms the file out of his turn-up. He shows it, open handed, to Rodney before asking "So, fingers working well enough to draw now?"
Rodney nods decisively. "You were right, just needed some exercise. I mean it didn't happen right away but I've been doing them to help me sleep and it's worked wonders."
John resists the impulse to groan. "Really? I'd have thought it wouldn't take long with no distractions."
The corners or Rodney's mouth were firmly down. "These hands," he replied, glaring at the lock, "are precision instruments. Patience is a virtue."
The first time, it takes Rodney roughly forty minutes to get the lock undone. It's already dark by the time he's done and so he's working almost entirely by feel, never having been given the courtesy of any kind of light source in his cell. When the tumbler finally clicks into place, he sags with relief. He's about to open the door when he thinks again. Forty minutes is too long to spend in the corridor outside Sheppard's cell fiddling around. If anyone hears him, if anyone comes along to get Sheppard for something, they'll both be fucked. His fingers twinge at the thought. He applies himself to the door again, re-locking it.
Three hours later, he's locked the door three times and unlocked it four times. He's got the time down to about 10 minutes and that will have to do. The nights aren't long enough for any more practice, he's just going to have to go for it and hope Sheppard's lock is similar enough to his to make all this practicing worth while.
There's a breeze in the corridor. The feeling of stepping out into it makes him feel almost dizzy, fear and adrenaline warring in his bloodstream. For a second, he's convinced he hears the guards coming to investigate the noise of the door opening and he nearly darts back inside before reminding himself that it's up to him to get this done. He shuts the door as quietly as he can, thanking his lucky stars that the hinges don't creak and sets off in the direction John's mazes had shown.
He tries not to creep, knowing anyone who catches a glimpse will be immediately suspicious of anyone creeping around but it's hard not to. Twice he has to dart back around corners to avoid running into people and by the time he gets there he's sure he's going to have a heart attack before he gets the door open. "Sheppard!" he hisses through the door.
"About time," he hears Sheppard growl in reply.
"Do you want this door open, or not?" he asks irritably, not waiting for the answer before he starts working on the lock. It's not exactly the same as his but it's close - they're clearly the same design, thank god.
"Come on, McKay," Sheppard mutters.
"Look, I'm not exactly working with the optimum tools here," Rodney retorts softly, most of his attention focused on the feel of the tumblers through the needle. "Ah-ha! Got it." He presses and twists with the file, feels the last tumbler click into place and quickly shoots the bolts. He's just about to crow when he hears footsteps. "Shit!" he exclaims and darts through the door.
Sheppard stares at him, horrified, for a second. "Look, just do whatever you're normally doing about now," Rodney hisses. "Maybe they're just on their way past." He flattens himself to the side of the door where he won't be visible from the corridor. Sheppard lies down on the bed, hand behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
No such luck. The footsteps stop and a key rattles in the lock. Rodney grabs the only thing within reach - the dinner tray left behind from the evening meal. The door pushes open, and two guards step into the room. They're obviously expecting that the unlocked door means that Sheppard has already gone because they haven't got their weapons up. It's just enough to give the Atlanteans the edge. As soon as the second guard clears the doorway, Rodney steps forward to whack the tray down and around, catching him on the back of the head and the kicks the guy a few times on the way down to make sure. Sheppard steps up and floors the front guard with a couple of quick easy jabs, putting him off balance enough to swing into the wall hard enough to knock him out.
For a second, they stare at each other, breathing too fast, over the two unconscious men. "Man, I've been looking forward to that," Sheppard says after a moment. "Let's go." He bends over and disarms them, tossing one of the guns to Rodney before grabbing a radio off the belt of one.
"Where to?" Rodney asks once they step out into the corridor.
Sheppard looks indecisive for a moment and then shrugs. "This way," he says, and sets off at a jog trot back the way Rodney had come.
As usual, guard patrols are surprisingly easy to dodge. It's not quite as good as Wraith armour but those heavy boots have got a pretty carrying tread when you're not making an effort to keep quiet and the radio gives them some idea of what to expect. The confusion means that they manage to get the drop on the two guys who are supposed to be guarding the door out into the main building without even having to mark their position by firing shots. They're doing pretty well until they round a corner and find a youngish woman coming the other way in slippers, wearing some sort of light coat over her clothes.
"Why, John!" she says immediately, sounding pleased, of all things. "I've just been told you aren't available this evening. Perhaps your other business is concluded?"
Standing half a step behind Sheppard, Rodney can see him freeze in place for a moment before raising his gun to point at the woman. "You can call me Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard," he says, voice very level.
"John?" she asks, confusion and fright filling her eyes. "What?"
"We're leaving," Sheppard says, cutting her off. "And you can take us out. What's the quickest way past the rest of the guards?" Rodney glances back behind them, wondering who the hell this woman is and how she's so thoroughly pissed Sheppard off.
"Guards?" she asks, as if anyone can have missed all the armed idiots tramping around this place. "But I do not understand. If you wish to leave, you can arrange a rest day with Regan; surely your contract covers all such things?"
Rodney snorts. "Yes, and if we'd signed something instead of being brought here by force and locked up in separate cells, that might have been an option." He glances sideways at Sheppard. "Are you sure she knows a way?"
"She'll find one," Sheppard says flatly. He never looks away from the woman even for a moment.
The sound Rodney's ears have been straining for suddenly appears. More boots heading their way. "Well she'd better find one quickly," he says, trying not to let his voice go up.
"This room is not being used," the woman says, gesturing to the door on her right, which is slightly ajar. "We can conceal ourselves here for a few moments."
"Lead on," Sheppard says. His tone is still flat and Rodney can see how stiffly he's holding himself. There's something wrong about this woman, something bad to have Sheppard this wound up and Rodney wonders what it could possibly be. Has Regan been involving other people in his sessions with John? If she's seen Sheppard in a vulnerable position like that it might account for it.
They follow the woman into the room, which looks like someone's rather over opulent bedroom suite. There are throws and cushions scattered over the large bed, low lights and what looks like a pitcher of wine with a couple of glasses. It's all in pretty poor taste really, but at least she was right and it is un-occupied.
They listen to the boots pass by in strained silence, which remains unbroken for a few moments afterwards. Eventually the woman asks softly, "You were co-erced?" She's staring at Sheppard, looking like she's forgotten anyone else is even in the room and her expression has melted from confusion into dawning horror.
"Oh for crying out loud!" Rodney snaps quietly when Sheppard doesn't say anything. "Yes, of course we were co-erced. Hence the locked doors and the guards and the blackmail and the, you know, escape attempt. Which we should be getting on with here!"
Neither of them acknowledge him. They just stare at each other, Sheppard still holding the gun trained on her. "Yes," he says, eventually.
"Oh god!" she says softly, putting her hand to her mouth. "I.. Truly?"
"He said yes, he meant yes," Rodney says. He just wants to get them all moving before he has to hear anything else because he's already starting to get some very nasty suspicions about what the hell Sheppard might have been co-erced into doing that he hasn't said anything about and if Rodney knows anything at all about John Sheppard it is that if those suspicions are right, John won't want anyone else to know. Ever. "Can you get us out of here or not?"
She seems to shake herself, turning away from John towards Rodney. "Yes, I think so," she says thoughtfully. "I have been coming here," she pauses slightly, flicking her eyes over towards Sheppard with a guilty look, "for some years. If you will trust me to leave here and return to you, I can bring travelling coats from the cloakrooms and you can leave as my escorts."
"What are you asking me for," Rodney snaps, irritated. "I just met you. Ask him." He nods towards Sheppard.
She turns back towards Sheppard, but Rodney notices she can't quite look him in the eye. "I have done you a great wrong. I did not realise it at the time but I ask you to believe that I never would have chosen it so. I was led to believe that it was an exchange entered into freely by both sides. I hope that you will allow me to try to make amends."
There's another endless moment of silence. Then Sheppard lowers his gun. "Go," he says. "If you come back with guards it's going to be a fire fight and people will die. Just think about that."
"Thank you," she says, and turns to slip out of the room.
After they've stepped through the main gates unchallenged, Rodney feels weak with relief, even though he knows intellectually that they aren't out of the woods yet. Who knows what the rules regarding runaway prisoners or slaves or whatever they were are here? Who knows how far they are from the Stargate? Still, he can't help glancing over at Sheppard and grinning and when he gets a grin back, it just feeds back into his own, making them both look manic.
After they've walked a couple of streets, Rodney broaches the question of where they're going. Their liberator, who introduces herself as Anaia, tells them that she shares a single sex house in tones which suggest quite clearly that helping them escape is one thing and taking the chance of having a man found in her home is quite another. "What will you do?" she asks, full of uncertainty which makes Rodney wish he knew exactly what the cultural taboos here were, how far they can push her because of what was done to John. "Where will you go?"
"Through the Stargate," he says bluntly, when Sheppard doesn't seem inclined to say much. "How do we get there?"
"The journey is not far," she replies, looking worried, "but you will find it difficult to traverse unassisted."
"Can you get us through," Sheppard asks bluntly.
"I believe so," she says after a pause. "Follow this road until it leaves the city and rest in the forest close by. I will follow tomorrow; I will take the road and meet you there."
"Fine," Sheppard agrees and turns away immediately, striding away. Rodney shrugs at Anaia and turns away to follow, not willing to make any apology but bitterly aware that she's the best hope they have of getting back to Atlantis.
They trade off watches, once they find a clearing that's sufficiently concealed and doesn't seem to have too many rocks in to lay down in. The climate is pretty good for escapes, Rodney thinks vaguely while he watches out into the woods and John sleeps. It's chilled down, but not too much to allow them to sleep given that they're fully clothed. Not much darkness but a lot of dusk. Late summer probably.
When it's starting to look like some approximation of what a normal person would call morning, he gives Sheppard a kick and they transfer to a location where they can overlook the road. It's hard to relax when they're both alert to the slightest sound from the road and they end up both watching in an odd semi-companionable silence.
Eventually, Rodney can't take any more. "Where are we going if we can even get through the gate?" he asks. It comes out sounding more demanding than he means, like he thinks Sheppard should solve all his problems, but it is a question they need to ask.
"New Athos," Sheppard replies, without apparent thought. "We can use their radios to get back in touch with Atlantis."
It's the easiest way to get back home but given what he thinks he's reasoned out about Sheppard's last few months, Rodney is slightly surprised that John is ready to go straight back home. Still, he's more than ready for it himself so he decides not to argue, just agree; "Sure, that's the simplest way and I doubt they can log gate addresses here given their level of technology anyway."
They both go back to staring at the road for five minutes or so before Sheppard breaks the silence. "Look, McKay," he says and then dries up.
"Yes?" Rodney prompts.
Sheppard looks supremely uncomfortable. "When we get back, they don't need to know any of this stuff, OK. They knocked us out and locked it up, it doesn't need to be any more complicated than that, does it? Otherwise I'm going to end up going for sessions with Heightmeyer for the rest of my life."
"No," Rodney agrees quietly. "It doesn't."
When Carson finally gets around to seeing him, Rodney is practically dead on his feet. He's been hugged and congratulated by so many people, he's happy to just get to sit in the cubicle in peace. When Carson finally does draw back the curtains, there's something off in his expression, but frankly, Rodney's used up all the energy he has on dealing with people's reactions today and he's not going to put any effort in for someone he knows will let him off later. He lets Carson take his temperature and poke and prod him in all the right places and finally he gets the expected hug. "Good to see you back, Rodney," Carson says roughly, and then grins. "I never thought you'd do it!"
"Yeah, well, have a little faith," Rodney says with an answering grin. "There's always an engineering solution."
Carson gives him an odd look. "Just, y'know." He pauses for a moment, as if looking for the right words. "Take it a little easier now you're back though, can't you?"
Rodney just can't figure out what the hell his friend means for a minute, can feel himself staring blankly at the doctor until Carson looks uncomfortable and says "I can let you have some of the medical supplies for, well, lubrication, if you need them."
Suddenly it all clicks into place. Carson's known for a while about Rodney's crush, which at least means Sheppard has a chance of getting away with the lie. Rodney wants to be mortified but he can't let himself be, can't let Carson see his reaction at all if this is going to work. "Thanks, we'll be fine," he says in what he hopes are lofty tones and leaves the medical bay with the minimum of further conversation.
Sheppard at least has the grace to look abashed when he slides into the seat opposite Rodney in the mess. He looks around to make sure no one is close enough to hear and then leans towards Rodney to say softly "So look, Carson was asking a couple of questions."
"I know," Rodney replies waspishly. "I assume you didn't give him any specifics because if you did, I should probably know them. I've already been told I should be taking better care of you." He directs an enquiring look at Sheppard, who looks down at his tray.
"I couldn't think of anything else to say," he admits, looking ashamed, which makes Rodney feel guilty because the whole point of this was supposed to have been to try to make this easier for John and really, what else could he have said?
"OK, well, I have my pride," he says, trying to sound like it's no big deal, "so don't throw me over for any busty blondes for at least a week or two."
Sheppard snorts and relaxes back into his chair a little. "I think I can do that."
It feels like they spend for ever being de-briefed, hours talking to Elizabeth, talking to Carson, writing reports. They both end up having to attend sessions with Heightmeyer anyway, who asks about isolation and captivity and abandonment issues.
After the meetings and the sessions, he and John tend to seek each other out. They find some out of the way place, preferably outside and just sit. Sometimes they'll have a beer but they don't say anything much, just relax. It's a relief. He's realising that he's got too used to worrying about what's happening to John when they're not in the same room. There wasn't that much else to think about lying there staring at the ceiling and it's become a habit. He wonders if Sheppard feels the same but there's no easy way to ask and Rodney doesn't look too hard for one because he's pretty sure one of the things John's getting out of this time is enjoying not being asked questions and however much Rodney might want to talk it out, the more he thinks about what John was doing, must have been doing while he was just sitting staring at the ceiling, the more convinced he is that if John wants silence, then he deserves to have it at least for a while.
It's a strange sensation, being back at his desk, working. His typing speed has dropped, not so much because of the stiffness in his fingers but because the whole keyboard feels odd under his hands, as if a couple of months was enough for him to forget the ingrained skills of years. Zelenka has rearranged half the projects in his brief tenure as Chief Scientist in a way that must make sense somewhere in that crazy Czech head of his but no amount of sarcastic questioning can actually induce him to explain coherently. Plus he's let Robinson and Leintz do their really, truly idiotic experiment with the shield power conduits and it's a wonder Atlantis hasn't exploded in his absence, frankly.
"Tell me," he snaps at Sheppard when he puts his head around the door. "Have all your Marines re-organised themselves into different units while you've been away? Have they all been wiring up the nukes and leaving them under the gym floor in the hope that it will somehow improve the efficiency of their bench presses?" He glares at Zelenka.
"No?" Sheppard says, sounding bemused. "Wait, what?"
"Oh, just these idiots then. Honestly, you would think that some sense of self preservation would kick in around here at some point but apparently that's too much to ask."
"Glad to see you're enjoying being back," Sheppard says wryly and turns to go. Rodney looks up.
"Hey, didn't you want something?" he asks.
Sheppard looks abashed. "No, I was just off duty and wondered, you know, how things were going down here." He shrugs. "I'll leave you to it."
"No," Rodney says, a shade too quickly. There's something in Sheppard's eyes he doesn't like, something tense in his carriage. "I'll just lock all this down so nothing else can go horribly, drastically wrong and then take a break. I need to clear my head anyway."
They end up wandering down to the mess so that Rodney can get his blood sugar all the way up again before he has to try to figure out what the hell Radek was thinking again. Rodney keeps up a steady stream of complaints about the idiots who are nominally under his command and watches as John lets it wash over him, gradually relaxing.
They finish up the food and Rodney proposes a game of chess. Just for a second, he sees relief spark in John's eyes and knows it was the right call. He wonders what happened to get John all wound up again, but knows he's not going to be able to figure it out without more external clues. He sometimes thinks John is like a lock box with the keys on the inside - any attempt to pry them out of him just makes him close up even tighter.
They play two rounds of chess and they're into a third before John eventually says "So," and then stops, fiddling with one of the pawns he's captured.
Rodney lets a minute pass, finishes his move and then prompts "So?"
"Heightmeyer found out I've been sleeping with the doors open," John admits, looking at the board.
So that was it. Rodney could cheerfully strangle Kate Heightmeyer. For someone who's supposed to be a professional people reader, she really is a fucking idiot some times. "I rigged an alarm to tell me if someone locks or tampers with this one," he admits. "Check it every time I come back in here and every time I wake up in the night." He's about to suggest that he comes over and does the same for John's quarters, for all that it's late and he's tired, when he thinks of a temporary work around. "Why don't you stay over here?" he asks. "You could relax tonight and then I can fix up your doors in the morning."
The look Sheppard gives him is unreadable. "You could take the couch," Rodney hurries on, suddenly and belatedly aware that suggesting Sheppard stay over is probably skating into dangerous territory. "Or I could. I'm equally comfortable either way, really."
"Sounds good," Sheppard agrees after another moment. They both eye the couch, which is covered in papers, laptops and assorted crap and not really big enough to stretch out on. "It's a big bed, I think we can fit. Show me how to check the alarm."
When Rodney wakes up the next morning, John has rolled over and has one arm across Rodney's chest. It's comfortable, not a hug or anything like that, no pressure, just contact. It's probably the best night of sleep Rodney's had since getting back to Atlantis. He shows John how to open the door and reset the alarm and neither of them mention setting it up in John's quarters again.
It's not until it's been going on for a week or so that the strangeness of it really hits Rodney. When he'd vaguely fantasised about sleeping with Sheppard, in the way you do with any crush, he'd never imagined it like this. He'd assumed it would have to be furtive, snatched moments in hidden rooms, figured John would have to, would worry about the Marines finding out, would feel guilty and be soothed down by Rodney saying he didn't care.
Of course he'd also imagined there would be sex, so he shouldn't be that surprised that nothing else about this is how he expected.
They've hit a routine so fast that even that is unnerving. He works until he feels he's got to eat or go hypo, at which point Sheppard appears and drags him off to the mess hall. They eat, then head back to Rodney's quarters to play chess or watch a movie and then they go to bed and sleep through the night. Rodney complains about Zelenka, about all the other excuses for scientists under his command, the ridiculousness of his not being allowed additional fruit cup to make up for not having orange juice, talks about all the dumb shit he always used to talk about to John. John just kicks back, tells Rodney the stupid things the marines have done or the latest bone headed request from the IOA. He doesn't mention Heightmeyer again and doesn't look stressed so Rodney assumes she doesn't have a way of finding out that the closed doors to Johns quarters hides an empty room.
The increased comfort level for both of them must show somewhere though because they're cleared to go off-world again pretty soon. They've always shared a tent for overnight missions so nothing changes there apart from the fact that they're both doubly wary about what they'll eat or drink with new people and it's bizarrely like nothing ever happened. Except for waking up in the same bed.
It should be frustrating, Rodney thinks to himself, but actually, it's reassuring. Simultaneously knowing that John's there and that he's doing something to help seems to be quite enough for him. He feels guilty at the idea of jerking off thinking about John in the shower so he doesn't do that anymore, but that's pretty much it.
It's been nearly three months before they get a message via Halling. Elizabeth calls them into her office and closes the door before passing it on. Rodney wonders if she's guessed that there was more to their captivity than she's been told or it's just that she has super-human sensitivity about stuff like this.
Anaia wants to meet with John. To discuss "a matter of importance to both of them". Sheppard, predictably, immediately slips behind the mask, says flippantly that any unfinished business can stay unfinished as far as he is concerned.
"I understand your reluctance," Elizabeth says in her best diplomatic tones, which makes Rodney want to snap 'You really really don't' at her, "but I don't think we should ignore this, John. This woman helped you escape - she could potentially want to pass on valuable information for you."
Or she could be trying to get them back to get herself out of trouble for having let them escape in the first place. "If we go," Rodney says, "and that's if, we need full backup and cloaked jumpers. And we don't turn our backs on them for a moment. Or eat anything."
"Of course, Rodney," Elizabeth says, soothingly. "We'll take every precaution. You know that, but from what you've said, these people are technologically not far behind the Genii and it may well be worth our while hearing what they have to say. John?"
There's a pause, and then Sheppard shrugs, outwardly unconcerned. "Sure, lets find out what's so important."
What she wants turns out to be basically the worst case scenario. She wants John to talk about what happened, give a statement so that she can use it to get Regan arrested. Apparently, whatever Regan was doing it was pretty culturally taboo, but he's a big powerful guy there and she needs the first hand testimony John can provide. It's not like the idea of getting the bastard thrown in jail isn't appealing, Rodney thinks, but he's really not convinced it's worth what it will cost to John to get him to describe it.
Of course, Elizabeth's all for it, helping another culture to improve themselves, restitution through the legal process and all that shit, but then she doesn't know what she's really asking for. Although there is a look in her eyes which says she's starting to get suspicious; illegally imprisoning a couple of off worlders isn't really the sort of thing that topples evil oligarchs and she knows it but she doesn't push.
There should be time after the meeting for Rodney to finish a couple of simulations in the lab before John comes over to pick him up, but as soon as he sits down at the keyboard he realises he's too distracted to concentrate. He kicks them over to Zelenka and goes to grab a quiet beer on the pier.
John's ahead of him, sitting there staring out over the water. Rodney sits down without saying anything and they down a couple together, watching the waves.
"They raped me," John says eventually, breaking the silence. "Not just Regan. After they broke your fingers because I tried to escape. They didn't know, Regan sold my services and I guess they thought it was all ok, I was getting a cut or something but they raped me."
Rodney carries on looking out to sea, wondering what to say. He's not surprised, he'd pretty much guessed but he never thought he'd hear John say it. He wonders why John's decided to break their silence over it now. "You going to testify?" he asks eventually.
John takes a shuddering breath. "Yeah. Think Elizabeth will ask for a transcript?"
"She needs you, so no," Rodney points out.
They watch until it gets dark and then a little bit more, finishing the beers they brought out with them, saying nothing. Eventually, the chill coming off the night time water becomes too much and Rodney pushes himself up and reaches down a hand to John. For a second, John doesn't take it, still looking out into the night, gathering himself. Rodney waits, leaving space, not moving in, not moving away and eventually John reaches up, clasps his wrist and pulls himself upright but then he doesn't drop the grasp.
They stand there for a minute, up in each other's personal space, just looking. There's some light from the city, they're not in blackness but John's face is turned away from it, in the shadows. Rodney wonders whether that's deliberate or chance, not that he would have much of a hope of reading John's expression in any case. He thinks perhaps that John is getting ready to say something so he waits, wondering whether there are more confessions coming or if John wants to say thanks or if he's going to say he's decided to move back to his own room, if admitting what happened has broken the spell of whatever they've been doing the past few months.
What he doesn't expect is what happens; John takes another half step closer and suddenly leans in to kiss Rodney. Sheer surprise almost makes Rodney pull away, but by the time he's able to move, he's kicked his brain back into gear and is reaching for John with his free hand and kissing back. He tries to take it slow, not push for anything, but John's own spare hand has reached up and is resting gently on the nape of his neck, holding him close and John's mouth is hot and wet and demanding and he can't help it, he pushes back, opening up and pushing his tongue into John's mouth, stroking it along John's tongue. His free hand is now resting on John's hip, anchoring, keeping him close.
They just stand there for long minutes, kissing, holding on to each other, but eventually they have to break it off. They're both a little short of breath, Rodney notes, feeling slightly smug that at least it's not just him. He still can't really get a good look at John's expression, isn't really sure where this is going so he says "Look," wanting to clarify, not wanting to risk anything.
"Don't say anything," John whispers and tugs at him, pulling him towards the transporters. Rodney lets himself be towed, thinking that silence has worked so far, perhaps it can take them a little further.
Fandom: SGA
Summary: John and Rodney are held captive and used against each other. Afterwards, Rodney helps John not to talk about it.
Warnings/rating: Non-con.
Notes: I'm not 100% sure how I ended up writing this fic. It started off with me thinking about John being forced into sex somehow and then evolved into thinking about how the hell that could be done and then that got pretty dark pretty quick but somehow I couldn't leave it alone.
John wakes up to find himself on an unfamiliar bed. There's a pillow and an extremely thin mattress. Starting off with a plus, he thinks, and swings his legs off to sit up. What ever they knocked him out with has left a hell of a head ache but fortunately, it's fairly low light in here - dawn or dusk. There's a window over to one side letting in what light there is. Another plus. There's also a tray of food and drink on the floor, which he ignores for the moment. He's no memory of being knocked out so the most likely thing is something in the food.
That's about all the good there is. The window, when he gets up to look, has bars on and looks out onto what looks like an closed courtyard of some kind, which is a minus. He has no radio, no gear and no tac vest, just his combats and t-shirt. The door is solid wood with a barred window let into it; it's locked and bolted. Minus about a million. He glares around and wishes that he was confident enough that he wasn't about to be interrogated to drink the water.
The room gradually darkens, so it must have been dusk. There's no lamp or candles in the room, so he rolls back onto the bed and tries to get some rest. Either his team are in the same situation or he's on his own and they're coming to find him. Either way, not a lot he can do about it from here.
Two guards come to get him around three hours after the sun comes up. They're pretty efficient and they take precautions - John's in cuffs before he's allowed to step outside of the cell. The guards are both carrying weapons John doesn't recognise but they look pretty much like projectile weapons the universe over so he doesn't ask for a demonstration.
He's dragged along and eventually pushed into some kind of audience chamber containing two men, lounging over some sort of drink. One, pale and dark haired, he doesn't recognise, but the other, he remembers from the talks session yesterday, or whenever the hell was the day before he ended up here. "Tarek," John spits out. "Hey, you don't want to trade, that's fine, I get it. We'll go home." Tarek, who'd spent the whole session saying that they couldn't afford to anger the Wraith and hinting darkly that the Atlanteans would sell them out to the Wraith first chance they got anyway.
Tarek simply ignores him. "I hope you enjoy him, Regan," he says. "He's spirited, but you should be able to keep him under control." The two men shake hands and Tarek leaves.
"Hey," John yells after him, "thanks for nothing!"
"You will speak when spoken to," the other man, Regan, informs him calmly. "Kneel."
"Look," John says, trying for a reasonable tone of voice. "This is totally unnecessary." That's as far as he gets before one of the guards punches him in the stomach and another one kicks the back of his legs. He drops onto his knees, struggling to recover his breath.
"Indeed it is," Regan agrees. "You have only to do as you are instructed and no harm will come to you."
"I'm a diplomatic rep" John starts before he gets a boot in the guts. He bites down on a yell.
"Now, that will do," Regan says firmly to the guard. "There are more effective methods and I don't want him damaged." He looks down at John's face and says "He's too pretty for that." He reaches out his hand to trail it down John's cheek and it's becoming increasingly clear to John what his role in this scenario is. He turns his head and bites one of Regan's fingers.
Regan laughs. "I thought you might need a demonstration," he says, wiping his fingers and not sounding at all put out. "Hold him," he says to the guards behind John, who both put their hands onto his shoulders, keeping him kneeling. Regan moves to the other door. "You can bring him in now," he says to someone outside and two more guards come in pushing Rodney between them.
John bites down on the urge to call out to Rodney. He looks fine, no evidence of blood, or anything like that so they've presumably been brought here the same way. Tarek must have waited for Ronan and Teyla to head back for the medical samples and then grabbed them when he thought he had better odds.
"So," Regan announces with a smile, looking straight at John. "Let me put this simply for you. You belong to me."
"Now, look!" John protests. One of the guards slams Rodney across the shoulders with the butt of a weapon and Rodney drops to the ground with a startled yell.
Regan continues as if there had been no interruption. "You will be trained to provide pleasure for others. If you misbehave in any way, your friend there will suffer the appropriate punishment in order to preserve your long term value."
John tries to shake off the hands holding him down but he gets nowhere and Rodney's guards start to kick him. There's almost nothing Rodney can do to protect himself with his hands tied, but at least he manages to keep his head out of the way. John grits his teeth and sits back on his heels, tense but still. Regan raises a hand and Rodney's guards cease and desist. For a second, the only sound is Rodney, panting, trying to get his breath back.
When Regan opens his robe, he has nothing on underneath. His cock is erect and roughly level with John's eye line. John knows what's coming and instinctively jerks back. Immediately, Rodney's guards start to lay into him again with their feet, cutting off Rodney's startled "What the hell?"
Keep Atlantis safe, keep his team safe, keep himself alive, John thinks. He repeats the words over and over in his head like a mantra. He clenches his fists and forces all his tension down into his shoulders and back. He sits up a little, getting into position, and drops his jaw. Immediately, Regan gestures again, and Rodney's guards stop what they're doing.
Keep Atlantis safe, keep his team safe, keep himself alive.
Afterwards, he's taken back to the room he woke up in. He rinses his mouth out, downs the rest of the pitcher of water and eats the food, wishing it was drugged after all.
He finds a state of mindlessness which lets him cope with what happens. Lets him hear and react to orders without dangerous hesitation. He shuts out any awareness of Rodney's presence, any communication between them is immediately punished. After a few days, they stop binding his hands and Regan begins get more detailed in his demands. John is forced not only to accept but to participate, learns to respond with some facsimile of enthusiasm. After a couple of weeks, they stop bringing Rodney into the sessions at all, John's mistakes rare enough that they can be punished after the fact, John's guards the only continuing witnesses. He waits, looking for his opportunity.
He loses track of the days, trying to let it just all blur into one vague smudged memory that he doesn't examine at all. It can't have been more than a month, he thinks. He tries not to think about the fact that no-one from Atlantis has come for them, about what that means. Finally, when he's bought to Regan for their daily session, the guards are ordered out before anything else, the two of them alone for the first time. He mechanically follows instructions, keeping himself distant as he puts on the usual required performance, while he opens himself up, oils Regan's cock in preparation but now it's so that this bubbling reckless excitement won't show. They think he's safe now, that he's broken. They're wrong.
That night, he keeps his knife from dinner and tucks it away under his mattress. It should be fairly simple. Dispose of Regan, quietly. Drop the guards, grab a gun, find Rodney, get out.
He's thinking about it, almost ready to drop off, when the guards push purposefully into the room, drag him up and cuff him. He's pulled along to Regan's chamber with barely enough time to get his feet underneath him, startled protests ignored.
Rodney's guards are there already, Rodney standing between them uneasily. He glances at John and then looks away, obviously wondering what's going on. John turns to look at Regan, who is leaning on the desk. The guards push John's shoulders and he drops to his knees.
"This is a great disappointment," Regan says in a bored voice. "I had hoped that you had accepted your position here." He gestures to Rodney's guards. Two of them hold him still and the third bends his finger back. "No, no, no," Rodney starts to beg as he realises what's happening. "Please." It cuts off in a scream as the guard breaks his finger. John tries to get to his feet but his guards hold him down.
"The punishment for stealing is most severe, the punishment for attempting to depart even more so," Regan continues, ignoring Rodney to look steadily at John. "I am letting you off lightly." He gestures again and the guards begin on a second finger, Rodney whimpering as they do.
"Then give me the punishment," John yells, still struggling to get up. "Leave him out of it, you fucking bastard." The finger snaps and Rodney screams again.
"That would hardly be effective, would it," Regan replies with a smile. "However, I am inclined to be merciful. After all, you are so very enjoyable. Tell me where you have hidden the knife and you will be forgiven."
John tells him, immediately. A servant is sent for, retrieves the knife and brings it back to Regan who smiles. Rodney's guards take him away again, John's arms are uncuffed and the guards leave them alone for Regan to enjoy his victory. John feels sick for having taken such a crazy risk, so sick that he stays present, lets himself feel it as Regan fucks into him, a reminder of how dangerous their situation really is, how far out of his control.
For the first time, the guards take John on a different route out of his cell. He tries not to let the uptick in tension show on the outside. Somewhere new. Could be good, he tells himself. More he knows about the layout of this place, the easier it will be to escape.
They take him into a room pretty much like the room they keep him in. Regan is already waiting for him, standing slightly to one side. On the bed, Rodney is lying there, flushed and muttering. He doesn't seem to register that anyone else has come into the room. His hand has swelled up like a balloon, and there's blood oozing out where one of the broken bones has pushed through the skin. Regan looks steadily at John and he drops smoothly to his knees, not waiting for the guards to give him a push. Keep Atlantis safe, keep his team safe, stay alive, he reminds himself.
"Your friend is in need of medical attention," Regan observes. John bites back the urge to retort 'And who's fault is that.' There's no point saying anything until Regan gets to the point. Regan smiles, and John thinks he's probably showing too much on his face. He tries to keep his features smooth, give nothing more away. "If you choose, you can provide it for him."
The silence stretches, Regan watching, waiting. Waiting for John to participate, he realises. Forcing him to engage. His eyes cut involuntarily over to Rodney lying on the bed, feverish. The threat is real, he might as well at least hear the trade before he decides not to take it. "How?" he asks.
"You are," Regan smiles a small satisfied smile, "very talented. For the right clients, your talents could easily earn enough to cover everything he needs."
He deliberately doesn't wince, doesn't tense up. It makes sense of a lot of things, actually. Regan just doesn't seem sybaritic enough to want a bed slave but he's certainly enough of a bastard to be a pimp. He's just been waiting for the right opportunity to force John to agree. If he says no, John reasons, Regan won't bother to keep them around for further training or personal use. He'll sell them on or have them put down. And Rodney's not going to be worth anything in that state. It's the same deal he's already tacitly made, in most ways. He lets his body be used, they don't harm Rodney.
"I get to see him every day," John replies slowly. "Otherwise you could just let him die and I'd be wasting my time."
He sees the satisfaction in Regan's eyes. "If your behaviour is perfect," Regan counters, "then you may spend an hour here with him at the end of every week as a reward."
"Okay," John agrees after a pause, trying to sound defeated. It's more than he expected. An hour means a proper visit, communication. It means Regan is moving on, trying to get him to accept this as his life now.
He gets a couple of days grace before it really starts, being given instructions and having the hopelessness of his position thoroughly explained to him. The room where he'll be working is next to one where his guards will wait for him and they can hear every sound while they do. Anything out of the ordinary, they radio Rodney's guards to go onto high alert. They have scheduled radio check ins every 10 minutes. The cells area has guarded doors and is all the way across the compound from the brothel so the chances of getting to Rodney in time are not good, even if he managed to wait until just after the check-in to deal with his guards. He turns it over and over in his head, lying on his bed in the cell but he can't see a way.
He's not supposed to converse with the clients unless they start it and anything suspicious will cause his guards to radio in. He's just supposed to put out and shut up, a pretty face and nothing more. Just look like you're enjoying it, the guard tells him with a leer on his face. Any complaints and he'll forfeit that weeks visit.
The first couple of visits, Rodney is pretty out of it on painkillers when John is allowed in to see him. His hand has been immobilized in some sort of fairly heavy duty splint and it does look less inflamed. There are clean sheets. The second visit, he's even cool to the touch.
John uses the time to explore the room. It's pretty much like his own, although it does have the advantage of being away from the corridor junction. More warning when the guards are patrolling. It's not much of a plus though. The lock is the same as the one on John's door - heavy and mechanical. Once they're locked in, the guards settle down in the corridor, not close enough to look in, but John can hear them shifting around boredly as he watches Rodney sleep.
It's a relief to just sit there, watching Rodney's chest go up and down. It's a distraction from his week. Apparently, Regan must have quite a few prostitutes already working because there's no wait to build up a client base. There's usually one or two a day, mostly men, but not all. I can wait this out, John thinks stubbornly. Keep Atlantis safe, keep his team safe, stay alive. That's all.
The third visit, Rodney is awake. "Hey," John says, awkwardly. Rodney's still in bed, hand immobilized, but sitting up. "How're you keeping."
"Oh, you know," Rodney replies waspishly. "Bored out of my skull. You?"
John wants to laugh at the wild inappropriateness of the question. He's sore and aching from yesterday's client, who hadn't bothered with any prep before slamming himself into John's ass. He's probably been the worse so far, but at least it was quick. The other men tend to take their time, enjoy the ride. The women, on the other hand, are physically less demanding but they want more of a performance, more pretended passion. He's not required to fuck them, in fact, he's not allowed to, but it's still exhausting. "Been better," he says.
"So you get visiting rights now?" Rodney asks, curiously. "I didn't think Regan was big on doing favours."
"We cut a deal," John says in his best 'we're not talking about this' voice. If Rodney doesn't know what that deal is, he doesn't need to. "How's the hand."
"Extremely painful," Rodney grouses. "I may never type at decent speeds again."
"Sorry," John replies.
"Hey, no, I didn't mean," Rodney says immediately and then tails off. "How're they feeding you? They're trying to kill me." He gestures at the tray on the floor, which holds the remains of a fruit not unlike an orange. John grins and walks over to grab it for himself. He slides down the wall to sit on the floor while he peels it. "I guess waiting for me to die of boredom is just too slow."
"At least they're not making you design weapons of destruction," John points out, straight faced.
"Is that what you're doing? Because I would be so much better at it," Rodney says, looking at the shadows starting to draw across from the window.
John snorts. "Yeah, so it could be worse."
They sit and watch the sunlight move until John's guards come back to take him away.
The next time he visits, Rodney has a new piece of furniture. A small table is covered in papers, all of which Rodney is ignoring with a mulish look on his face. John sighs internally - it was too much to hope that they weren't being paid attention to.
"Anything interesting?" he asks lightly.
Rodney snorts derisively. "Rifling mechanisms. I told them they could come back when they had a real question and a computer to work on it." John doesn't say anything but his surge of fear must show in his eyes because Rodney adds. "They didn't bother - I don't think they're really interested. I'm wasted here."
John slides down to sit on the floor and pinches the citrus fruit sitting abandoned on Rodney's lunch tray, forcing himself to relax. "How's your hand?" he asks. He vaguely hopes the reminder will translate into a reminder to be cautious in Rodney's mind, but immediately, Rodney brightens up.
"Still maimed." His voice, which is frustrated, bordering on whiny, couldn't be more of a contrast to his face. He looks almost eager, John thinks, bemused. "Come take a look at my fingers," Rodney invites, and John pushes himself up and walks over, feeling his stomach tightening up already.
The heavy duty splint has gone, replaced by some more lightweight looking bandaging. Rodney's holding his arm out awkwardly, palm up and shirt cuff open. His other hand is holding open the small opening in the cuff lining to reveal what looks like a pair of surgical needles for IV lines. He must have managed to liberate them from the medical kit his doctors have been using, John thinks. He can't help staring at Rodney.
Rodney doesn't notice because he's staring straight at the door, intent. "I can poke with them, probe around, but I can't put pressure on - they're not strong enough." He flicks his gaze sideways to meet John's eyes. "I need some new exercises or something. They're not getting better on their own."
John withdraws back to the table, shoves the paper to one side so he can sit on it, thinking furiously. "I don't know," he says, after a second. "Shouldn't you let the doctors sort that sort of thing out?"
Rodney snorts. "They can't even find their way here any more. Too many corridors to walk through. I just get the nurse who changes this." He gestures with his bandaged hand.
John grimaces. The trouble is, Rodney's right. If Atlantis could trace them, they'd be here by now. He tries to think of a way to remind Rodney that he's tried this once and it didn't work out so great. Although, he's gradually realised that must have been a set up. Regan was waiting for it, waiting to use the leverage, and he was dumb schmuck enough to fall into the trap and do the obvious thing. Now, they really do think he's broken. And they've got no idea what Rodney can do. He looks back over at Rodney, who is watching him thoughtfully. "If you push yourself too hard, you could end up right back where you started," he warns. He may not be entirely broken but he can't take this risk again without being sure, not knowing what the consequences are.
Rodney snorts, but his eyes are serious. "And if I just sit here, they'll stiffen up so much I'll never be able to type again."
He could almost wish Rodney hadn't agreed. Almost. "You could maybe wiggle your fingers," he suggests. He wiggles his own briefly into the OK sign and Rodney nods, looking simultaneously nervous and relieved.
They spend the rest of the hour using the papers on Rodney's new desk to draw mazes for each other. Rodney's all have mathematical solutions, like measuring distances between turnings using digits of Pi. John's look complex but actually all have the same simple solution, which John has memorised since they started allowing him to visit. Once each one is complete, they ball them up and throw them in the corner.
He lies awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, trying to come up with a plan for something he can safely steal. Something they won't notice, slim enough but strong enough for what Rodney wants. Something that can't be traced immediately back to him when it's missed. He feels frozen at the thought but he knows it's conditioning. He can't let himself give into it, has to be more stubborn than they are. Rodney's asked him to take the risk.
It'll have to be something from the rooms where he meets his clients, he decides. There's almost nothing in his cell anyway, and it's all like the cutlery - too obvious and easy to miss. Whereas his work rooms are furnished to suggest a little idle luxury - apparently, John is a high price whore, worth dressing the experience up for. There's also a proper bathroom which he's allowed to use before and afterwards and the state of it suggests that he's not the only person who gets the privilege. He turns over the contents in his mind and finally remembers there's a couple of slim metal nail files in the pile of brushes and cloths and other fripperies at the side of the bath. They're the only things he can think of that even remotely fit what Rodney will need for lock picking and he decides it'll have to be one of them. The frozen feeling doesn't subside as he tries to go to sleep.
He decides to do it in two phases. Phase one is to remove the file from the bathroom and simply drop it under the footstool near the door where sits to take off his boots before the client is shown in. Just the thought of what he's done makes his heart beat speed up but if it's noticed, there's nothing to tie it to him or Rodney yet, he reminds himself. No proof that anyone's done anything other than accidentally move the file from one room to another, although he knows in his heart that if Regan suspects anything, he won't worry about proof. Today's client turns out to be a woman, which is unusual, but at least she's not a repeat customer so if John's a little more tense than usual, she's got nothing to compare it to. He applies himself to licking her vagina, carefully listening to her breathy sighs, stretching it out but not too much, not teasing. He doesn't want any reason to be reported for anything today.
Phase two is worse. He has to wait two days. It's not uncommon for him to have a rest day between clients but now he tenses up every time he hears the guards on their regular patrol. He can barely eat his evening meal, but he forces it down, determined not to show any changes in his behaviour.
Finally they come for him the next afternoon. They don't even bother to cuff him anymore, just escort him through the corridor and shove him into the room. It's empty, same as always. He lets out the breath he's been holding since leaving his cell and bends down to take off his boots, letting his fingers slide across and under the footstool. The file is still there. He slips it into the seam of his pants and goes to get washed in the bathroom, trying not to let the relief make him light headed. The client is a guy he's seen twice before so John already knows what he's going to be asked for. He tries to blank his mind, as usual, put himself somewhere else while he's being fucked but the tension makes it harder. Still, it takes no longer than ever and then he's allowed to go wash himself up before he's taken back to his cell.
Rodney's sitting up on the bed looking defiant when they push John into the room. He's got a bruise coming up over one cheekbone which looks like it'll be really spectacular in a day or two. "What the hell happened?" John demands harshly.
Rodney won't look at him. "They got pushy about the rifling techniques." John glares at him, waiting, and eventually Rodney's eyes slide over and he adds "I did them some drawings. Apparently threatening me with violence works on me too."
John grimaces and lets it go. He sits down on the floor and palms the file out of his turn-up. He shows it, open handed, to Rodney before asking "So, fingers working well enough to draw now?"
Rodney nods decisively. "You were right, just needed some exercise. I mean it didn't happen right away but I've been doing them to help me sleep and it's worked wonders."
John resists the impulse to groan. "Really? I'd have thought it wouldn't take long with no distractions."
The corners or Rodney's mouth were firmly down. "These hands," he replied, glaring at the lock, "are precision instruments. Patience is a virtue."
The first time, it takes Rodney roughly forty minutes to get the lock undone. It's already dark by the time he's done and so he's working almost entirely by feel, never having been given the courtesy of any kind of light source in his cell. When the tumbler finally clicks into place, he sags with relief. He's about to open the door when he thinks again. Forty minutes is too long to spend in the corridor outside Sheppard's cell fiddling around. If anyone hears him, if anyone comes along to get Sheppard for something, they'll both be fucked. His fingers twinge at the thought. He applies himself to the door again, re-locking it.
Three hours later, he's locked the door three times and unlocked it four times. He's got the time down to about 10 minutes and that will have to do. The nights aren't long enough for any more practice, he's just going to have to go for it and hope Sheppard's lock is similar enough to his to make all this practicing worth while.
There's a breeze in the corridor. The feeling of stepping out into it makes him feel almost dizzy, fear and adrenaline warring in his bloodstream. For a second, he's convinced he hears the guards coming to investigate the noise of the door opening and he nearly darts back inside before reminding himself that it's up to him to get this done. He shuts the door as quietly as he can, thanking his lucky stars that the hinges don't creak and sets off in the direction John's mazes had shown.
He tries not to creep, knowing anyone who catches a glimpse will be immediately suspicious of anyone creeping around but it's hard not to. Twice he has to dart back around corners to avoid running into people and by the time he gets there he's sure he's going to have a heart attack before he gets the door open. "Sheppard!" he hisses through the door.
"About time," he hears Sheppard growl in reply.
"Do you want this door open, or not?" he asks irritably, not waiting for the answer before he starts working on the lock. It's not exactly the same as his but it's close - they're clearly the same design, thank god.
"Come on, McKay," Sheppard mutters.
"Look, I'm not exactly working with the optimum tools here," Rodney retorts softly, most of his attention focused on the feel of the tumblers through the needle. "Ah-ha! Got it." He presses and twists with the file, feels the last tumbler click into place and quickly shoots the bolts. He's just about to crow when he hears footsteps. "Shit!" he exclaims and darts through the door.
Sheppard stares at him, horrified, for a second. "Look, just do whatever you're normally doing about now," Rodney hisses. "Maybe they're just on their way past." He flattens himself to the side of the door where he won't be visible from the corridor. Sheppard lies down on the bed, hand behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
No such luck. The footsteps stop and a key rattles in the lock. Rodney grabs the only thing within reach - the dinner tray left behind from the evening meal. The door pushes open, and two guards step into the room. They're obviously expecting that the unlocked door means that Sheppard has already gone because they haven't got their weapons up. It's just enough to give the Atlanteans the edge. As soon as the second guard clears the doorway, Rodney steps forward to whack the tray down and around, catching him on the back of the head and the kicks the guy a few times on the way down to make sure. Sheppard steps up and floors the front guard with a couple of quick easy jabs, putting him off balance enough to swing into the wall hard enough to knock him out.
For a second, they stare at each other, breathing too fast, over the two unconscious men. "Man, I've been looking forward to that," Sheppard says after a moment. "Let's go." He bends over and disarms them, tossing one of the guns to Rodney before grabbing a radio off the belt of one.
"Where to?" Rodney asks once they step out into the corridor.
Sheppard looks indecisive for a moment and then shrugs. "This way," he says, and sets off at a jog trot back the way Rodney had come.
As usual, guard patrols are surprisingly easy to dodge. It's not quite as good as Wraith armour but those heavy boots have got a pretty carrying tread when you're not making an effort to keep quiet and the radio gives them some idea of what to expect. The confusion means that they manage to get the drop on the two guys who are supposed to be guarding the door out into the main building without even having to mark their position by firing shots. They're doing pretty well until they round a corner and find a youngish woman coming the other way in slippers, wearing some sort of light coat over her clothes.
"Why, John!" she says immediately, sounding pleased, of all things. "I've just been told you aren't available this evening. Perhaps your other business is concluded?"
Standing half a step behind Sheppard, Rodney can see him freeze in place for a moment before raising his gun to point at the woman. "You can call me Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard," he says, voice very level.
"John?" she asks, confusion and fright filling her eyes. "What?"
"We're leaving," Sheppard says, cutting her off. "And you can take us out. What's the quickest way past the rest of the guards?" Rodney glances back behind them, wondering who the hell this woman is and how she's so thoroughly pissed Sheppard off.
"Guards?" she asks, as if anyone can have missed all the armed idiots tramping around this place. "But I do not understand. If you wish to leave, you can arrange a rest day with Regan; surely your contract covers all such things?"
Rodney snorts. "Yes, and if we'd signed something instead of being brought here by force and locked up in separate cells, that might have been an option." He glances sideways at Sheppard. "Are you sure she knows a way?"
"She'll find one," Sheppard says flatly. He never looks away from the woman even for a moment.
The sound Rodney's ears have been straining for suddenly appears. More boots heading their way. "Well she'd better find one quickly," he says, trying not to let his voice go up.
"This room is not being used," the woman says, gesturing to the door on her right, which is slightly ajar. "We can conceal ourselves here for a few moments."
"Lead on," Sheppard says. His tone is still flat and Rodney can see how stiffly he's holding himself. There's something wrong about this woman, something bad to have Sheppard this wound up and Rodney wonders what it could possibly be. Has Regan been involving other people in his sessions with John? If she's seen Sheppard in a vulnerable position like that it might account for it.
They follow the woman into the room, which looks like someone's rather over opulent bedroom suite. There are throws and cushions scattered over the large bed, low lights and what looks like a pitcher of wine with a couple of glasses. It's all in pretty poor taste really, but at least she was right and it is un-occupied.
They listen to the boots pass by in strained silence, which remains unbroken for a few moments afterwards. Eventually the woman asks softly, "You were co-erced?" She's staring at Sheppard, looking like she's forgotten anyone else is even in the room and her expression has melted from confusion into dawning horror.
"Oh for crying out loud!" Rodney snaps quietly when Sheppard doesn't say anything. "Yes, of course we were co-erced. Hence the locked doors and the guards and the blackmail and the, you know, escape attempt. Which we should be getting on with here!"
Neither of them acknowledge him. They just stare at each other, Sheppard still holding the gun trained on her. "Yes," he says, eventually.
"Oh god!" she says softly, putting her hand to her mouth. "I.. Truly?"
"He said yes, he meant yes," Rodney says. He just wants to get them all moving before he has to hear anything else because he's already starting to get some very nasty suspicions about what the hell Sheppard might have been co-erced into doing that he hasn't said anything about and if Rodney knows anything at all about John Sheppard it is that if those suspicions are right, John won't want anyone else to know. Ever. "Can you get us out of here or not?"
She seems to shake herself, turning away from John towards Rodney. "Yes, I think so," she says thoughtfully. "I have been coming here," she pauses slightly, flicking her eyes over towards Sheppard with a guilty look, "for some years. If you will trust me to leave here and return to you, I can bring travelling coats from the cloakrooms and you can leave as my escorts."
"What are you asking me for," Rodney snaps, irritated. "I just met you. Ask him." He nods towards Sheppard.
She turns back towards Sheppard, but Rodney notices she can't quite look him in the eye. "I have done you a great wrong. I did not realise it at the time but I ask you to believe that I never would have chosen it so. I was led to believe that it was an exchange entered into freely by both sides. I hope that you will allow me to try to make amends."
There's another endless moment of silence. Then Sheppard lowers his gun. "Go," he says. "If you come back with guards it's going to be a fire fight and people will die. Just think about that."
"Thank you," she says, and turns to slip out of the room.
After they've stepped through the main gates unchallenged, Rodney feels weak with relief, even though he knows intellectually that they aren't out of the woods yet. Who knows what the rules regarding runaway prisoners or slaves or whatever they were are here? Who knows how far they are from the Stargate? Still, he can't help glancing over at Sheppard and grinning and when he gets a grin back, it just feeds back into his own, making them both look manic.
After they've walked a couple of streets, Rodney broaches the question of where they're going. Their liberator, who introduces herself as Anaia, tells them that she shares a single sex house in tones which suggest quite clearly that helping them escape is one thing and taking the chance of having a man found in her home is quite another. "What will you do?" she asks, full of uncertainty which makes Rodney wish he knew exactly what the cultural taboos here were, how far they can push her because of what was done to John. "Where will you go?"
"Through the Stargate," he says bluntly, when Sheppard doesn't seem inclined to say much. "How do we get there?"
"The journey is not far," she replies, looking worried, "but you will find it difficult to traverse unassisted."
"Can you get us through," Sheppard asks bluntly.
"I believe so," she says after a pause. "Follow this road until it leaves the city and rest in the forest close by. I will follow tomorrow; I will take the road and meet you there."
"Fine," Sheppard agrees and turns away immediately, striding away. Rodney shrugs at Anaia and turns away to follow, not willing to make any apology but bitterly aware that she's the best hope they have of getting back to Atlantis.
They trade off watches, once they find a clearing that's sufficiently concealed and doesn't seem to have too many rocks in to lay down in. The climate is pretty good for escapes, Rodney thinks vaguely while he watches out into the woods and John sleeps. It's chilled down, but not too much to allow them to sleep given that they're fully clothed. Not much darkness but a lot of dusk. Late summer probably.
When it's starting to look like some approximation of what a normal person would call morning, he gives Sheppard a kick and they transfer to a location where they can overlook the road. It's hard to relax when they're both alert to the slightest sound from the road and they end up both watching in an odd semi-companionable silence.
Eventually, Rodney can't take any more. "Where are we going if we can even get through the gate?" he asks. It comes out sounding more demanding than he means, like he thinks Sheppard should solve all his problems, but it is a question they need to ask.
"New Athos," Sheppard replies, without apparent thought. "We can use their radios to get back in touch with Atlantis."
It's the easiest way to get back home but given what he thinks he's reasoned out about Sheppard's last few months, Rodney is slightly surprised that John is ready to go straight back home. Still, he's more than ready for it himself so he decides not to argue, just agree; "Sure, that's the simplest way and I doubt they can log gate addresses here given their level of technology anyway."
They both go back to staring at the road for five minutes or so before Sheppard breaks the silence. "Look, McKay," he says and then dries up.
"Yes?" Rodney prompts.
Sheppard looks supremely uncomfortable. "When we get back, they don't need to know any of this stuff, OK. They knocked us out and locked it up, it doesn't need to be any more complicated than that, does it? Otherwise I'm going to end up going for sessions with Heightmeyer for the rest of my life."
"No," Rodney agrees quietly. "It doesn't."
When Carson finally gets around to seeing him, Rodney is practically dead on his feet. He's been hugged and congratulated by so many people, he's happy to just get to sit in the cubicle in peace. When Carson finally does draw back the curtains, there's something off in his expression, but frankly, Rodney's used up all the energy he has on dealing with people's reactions today and he's not going to put any effort in for someone he knows will let him off later. He lets Carson take his temperature and poke and prod him in all the right places and finally he gets the expected hug. "Good to see you back, Rodney," Carson says roughly, and then grins. "I never thought you'd do it!"
"Yeah, well, have a little faith," Rodney says with an answering grin. "There's always an engineering solution."
Carson gives him an odd look. "Just, y'know." He pauses for a moment, as if looking for the right words. "Take it a little easier now you're back though, can't you?"
Rodney just can't figure out what the hell his friend means for a minute, can feel himself staring blankly at the doctor until Carson looks uncomfortable and says "I can let you have some of the medical supplies for, well, lubrication, if you need them."
Suddenly it all clicks into place. Carson's known for a while about Rodney's crush, which at least means Sheppard has a chance of getting away with the lie. Rodney wants to be mortified but he can't let himself be, can't let Carson see his reaction at all if this is going to work. "Thanks, we'll be fine," he says in what he hopes are lofty tones and leaves the medical bay with the minimum of further conversation.
Sheppard at least has the grace to look abashed when he slides into the seat opposite Rodney in the mess. He looks around to make sure no one is close enough to hear and then leans towards Rodney to say softly "So look, Carson was asking a couple of questions."
"I know," Rodney replies waspishly. "I assume you didn't give him any specifics because if you did, I should probably know them. I've already been told I should be taking better care of you." He directs an enquiring look at Sheppard, who looks down at his tray.
"I couldn't think of anything else to say," he admits, looking ashamed, which makes Rodney feel guilty because the whole point of this was supposed to have been to try to make this easier for John and really, what else could he have said?
"OK, well, I have my pride," he says, trying to sound like it's no big deal, "so don't throw me over for any busty blondes for at least a week or two."
Sheppard snorts and relaxes back into his chair a little. "I think I can do that."
It feels like they spend for ever being de-briefed, hours talking to Elizabeth, talking to Carson, writing reports. They both end up having to attend sessions with Heightmeyer anyway, who asks about isolation and captivity and abandonment issues.
After the meetings and the sessions, he and John tend to seek each other out. They find some out of the way place, preferably outside and just sit. Sometimes they'll have a beer but they don't say anything much, just relax. It's a relief. He's realising that he's got too used to worrying about what's happening to John when they're not in the same room. There wasn't that much else to think about lying there staring at the ceiling and it's become a habit. He wonders if Sheppard feels the same but there's no easy way to ask and Rodney doesn't look too hard for one because he's pretty sure one of the things John's getting out of this time is enjoying not being asked questions and however much Rodney might want to talk it out, the more he thinks about what John was doing, must have been doing while he was just sitting staring at the ceiling, the more convinced he is that if John wants silence, then he deserves to have it at least for a while.
It's a strange sensation, being back at his desk, working. His typing speed has dropped, not so much because of the stiffness in his fingers but because the whole keyboard feels odd under his hands, as if a couple of months was enough for him to forget the ingrained skills of years. Zelenka has rearranged half the projects in his brief tenure as Chief Scientist in a way that must make sense somewhere in that crazy Czech head of his but no amount of sarcastic questioning can actually induce him to explain coherently. Plus he's let Robinson and Leintz do their really, truly idiotic experiment with the shield power conduits and it's a wonder Atlantis hasn't exploded in his absence, frankly.
"Tell me," he snaps at Sheppard when he puts his head around the door. "Have all your Marines re-organised themselves into different units while you've been away? Have they all been wiring up the nukes and leaving them under the gym floor in the hope that it will somehow improve the efficiency of their bench presses?" He glares at Zelenka.
"No?" Sheppard says, sounding bemused. "Wait, what?"
"Oh, just these idiots then. Honestly, you would think that some sense of self preservation would kick in around here at some point but apparently that's too much to ask."
"Glad to see you're enjoying being back," Sheppard says wryly and turns to go. Rodney looks up.
"Hey, didn't you want something?" he asks.
Sheppard looks abashed. "No, I was just off duty and wondered, you know, how things were going down here." He shrugs. "I'll leave you to it."
"No," Rodney says, a shade too quickly. There's something in Sheppard's eyes he doesn't like, something tense in his carriage. "I'll just lock all this down so nothing else can go horribly, drastically wrong and then take a break. I need to clear my head anyway."
They end up wandering down to the mess so that Rodney can get his blood sugar all the way up again before he has to try to figure out what the hell Radek was thinking again. Rodney keeps up a steady stream of complaints about the idiots who are nominally under his command and watches as John lets it wash over him, gradually relaxing.
They finish up the food and Rodney proposes a game of chess. Just for a second, he sees relief spark in John's eyes and knows it was the right call. He wonders what happened to get John all wound up again, but knows he's not going to be able to figure it out without more external clues. He sometimes thinks John is like a lock box with the keys on the inside - any attempt to pry them out of him just makes him close up even tighter.
They play two rounds of chess and they're into a third before John eventually says "So," and then stops, fiddling with one of the pawns he's captured.
Rodney lets a minute pass, finishes his move and then prompts "So?"
"Heightmeyer found out I've been sleeping with the doors open," John admits, looking at the board.
So that was it. Rodney could cheerfully strangle Kate Heightmeyer. For someone who's supposed to be a professional people reader, she really is a fucking idiot some times. "I rigged an alarm to tell me if someone locks or tampers with this one," he admits. "Check it every time I come back in here and every time I wake up in the night." He's about to suggest that he comes over and does the same for John's quarters, for all that it's late and he's tired, when he thinks of a temporary work around. "Why don't you stay over here?" he asks. "You could relax tonight and then I can fix up your doors in the morning."
The look Sheppard gives him is unreadable. "You could take the couch," Rodney hurries on, suddenly and belatedly aware that suggesting Sheppard stay over is probably skating into dangerous territory. "Or I could. I'm equally comfortable either way, really."
"Sounds good," Sheppard agrees after another moment. They both eye the couch, which is covered in papers, laptops and assorted crap and not really big enough to stretch out on. "It's a big bed, I think we can fit. Show me how to check the alarm."
When Rodney wakes up the next morning, John has rolled over and has one arm across Rodney's chest. It's comfortable, not a hug or anything like that, no pressure, just contact. It's probably the best night of sleep Rodney's had since getting back to Atlantis. He shows John how to open the door and reset the alarm and neither of them mention setting it up in John's quarters again.
It's not until it's been going on for a week or so that the strangeness of it really hits Rodney. When he'd vaguely fantasised about sleeping with Sheppard, in the way you do with any crush, he'd never imagined it like this. He'd assumed it would have to be furtive, snatched moments in hidden rooms, figured John would have to, would worry about the Marines finding out, would feel guilty and be soothed down by Rodney saying he didn't care.
Of course he'd also imagined there would be sex, so he shouldn't be that surprised that nothing else about this is how he expected.
They've hit a routine so fast that even that is unnerving. He works until he feels he's got to eat or go hypo, at which point Sheppard appears and drags him off to the mess hall. They eat, then head back to Rodney's quarters to play chess or watch a movie and then they go to bed and sleep through the night. Rodney complains about Zelenka, about all the other excuses for scientists under his command, the ridiculousness of his not being allowed additional fruit cup to make up for not having orange juice, talks about all the dumb shit he always used to talk about to John. John just kicks back, tells Rodney the stupid things the marines have done or the latest bone headed request from the IOA. He doesn't mention Heightmeyer again and doesn't look stressed so Rodney assumes she doesn't have a way of finding out that the closed doors to Johns quarters hides an empty room.
The increased comfort level for both of them must show somewhere though because they're cleared to go off-world again pretty soon. They've always shared a tent for overnight missions so nothing changes there apart from the fact that they're both doubly wary about what they'll eat or drink with new people and it's bizarrely like nothing ever happened. Except for waking up in the same bed.
It should be frustrating, Rodney thinks to himself, but actually, it's reassuring. Simultaneously knowing that John's there and that he's doing something to help seems to be quite enough for him. He feels guilty at the idea of jerking off thinking about John in the shower so he doesn't do that anymore, but that's pretty much it.
It's been nearly three months before they get a message via Halling. Elizabeth calls them into her office and closes the door before passing it on. Rodney wonders if she's guessed that there was more to their captivity than she's been told or it's just that she has super-human sensitivity about stuff like this.
Anaia wants to meet with John. To discuss "a matter of importance to both of them". Sheppard, predictably, immediately slips behind the mask, says flippantly that any unfinished business can stay unfinished as far as he is concerned.
"I understand your reluctance," Elizabeth says in her best diplomatic tones, which makes Rodney want to snap 'You really really don't' at her, "but I don't think we should ignore this, John. This woman helped you escape - she could potentially want to pass on valuable information for you."
Or she could be trying to get them back to get herself out of trouble for having let them escape in the first place. "If we go," Rodney says, "and that's if, we need full backup and cloaked jumpers. And we don't turn our backs on them for a moment. Or eat anything."
"Of course, Rodney," Elizabeth says, soothingly. "We'll take every precaution. You know that, but from what you've said, these people are technologically not far behind the Genii and it may well be worth our while hearing what they have to say. John?"
There's a pause, and then Sheppard shrugs, outwardly unconcerned. "Sure, lets find out what's so important."
What she wants turns out to be basically the worst case scenario. She wants John to talk about what happened, give a statement so that she can use it to get Regan arrested. Apparently, whatever Regan was doing it was pretty culturally taboo, but he's a big powerful guy there and she needs the first hand testimony John can provide. It's not like the idea of getting the bastard thrown in jail isn't appealing, Rodney thinks, but he's really not convinced it's worth what it will cost to John to get him to describe it.
Of course, Elizabeth's all for it, helping another culture to improve themselves, restitution through the legal process and all that shit, but then she doesn't know what she's really asking for. Although there is a look in her eyes which says she's starting to get suspicious; illegally imprisoning a couple of off worlders isn't really the sort of thing that topples evil oligarchs and she knows it but she doesn't push.
There should be time after the meeting for Rodney to finish a couple of simulations in the lab before John comes over to pick him up, but as soon as he sits down at the keyboard he realises he's too distracted to concentrate. He kicks them over to Zelenka and goes to grab a quiet beer on the pier.
John's ahead of him, sitting there staring out over the water. Rodney sits down without saying anything and they down a couple together, watching the waves.
"They raped me," John says eventually, breaking the silence. "Not just Regan. After they broke your fingers because I tried to escape. They didn't know, Regan sold my services and I guess they thought it was all ok, I was getting a cut or something but they raped me."
Rodney carries on looking out to sea, wondering what to say. He's not surprised, he'd pretty much guessed but he never thought he'd hear John say it. He wonders why John's decided to break their silence over it now. "You going to testify?" he asks eventually.
John takes a shuddering breath. "Yeah. Think Elizabeth will ask for a transcript?"
"She needs you, so no," Rodney points out.
They watch until it gets dark and then a little bit more, finishing the beers they brought out with them, saying nothing. Eventually, the chill coming off the night time water becomes too much and Rodney pushes himself up and reaches down a hand to John. For a second, John doesn't take it, still looking out into the night, gathering himself. Rodney waits, leaving space, not moving in, not moving away and eventually John reaches up, clasps his wrist and pulls himself upright but then he doesn't drop the grasp.
They stand there for a minute, up in each other's personal space, just looking. There's some light from the city, they're not in blackness but John's face is turned away from it, in the shadows. Rodney wonders whether that's deliberate or chance, not that he would have much of a hope of reading John's expression in any case. He thinks perhaps that John is getting ready to say something so he waits, wondering whether there are more confessions coming or if John wants to say thanks or if he's going to say he's decided to move back to his own room, if admitting what happened has broken the spell of whatever they've been doing the past few months.
What he doesn't expect is what happens; John takes another half step closer and suddenly leans in to kiss Rodney. Sheer surprise almost makes Rodney pull away, but by the time he's able to move, he's kicked his brain back into gear and is reaching for John with his free hand and kissing back. He tries to take it slow, not push for anything, but John's own spare hand has reached up and is resting gently on the nape of his neck, holding him close and John's mouth is hot and wet and demanding and he can't help it, he pushes back, opening up and pushing his tongue into John's mouth, stroking it along John's tongue. His free hand is now resting on John's hip, anchoring, keeping him close.
They just stand there for long minutes, kissing, holding on to each other, but eventually they have to break it off. They're both a little short of breath, Rodney notes, feeling slightly smug that at least it's not just him. He still can't really get a good look at John's expression, isn't really sure where this is going so he says "Look," wanting to clarify, not wanting to risk anything.
"Don't say anything," John whispers and tugs at him, pulling him towards the transporters. Rodney lets himself be towed, thinking that silence has worked so far, perhaps it can take them a little further.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 05:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 06:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 06:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 06:29 pm (UTC)Good news, bad news - sorry.
Date: 2011-03-21 03:19 am (UTC)BUT.
The plotline has real trouble. That they were taken without being followed is ... troubling. Neither Teyla Emmagen nor Ronon Dex are people likely to let such a thing go personally, and they have the on-the-ground knowledge and the political knowledge to track them. They know where they started from, and there is only one individual between their previous location and their eventual one.
Additionally, Radek Zelenka is no slouch as an engineer and has worked with gathering information from Stargates before - and Evan Lorne and the Marines have chased John down from that information before.
In fact, people have tried to persuade the Lanteans that their people were dead before, and didn't get away with it for more than a few hours.
Why, then, were John and Rodney left captured for so long? What were the others doing? How did Regan manage to keep them for months? When will we have some indication of the work the others did to retrieve them, and where did they look?
I'd like to see you let this lie fallow for a while so your brain can work through the answers to these things, and then possibly give us a second fic describing what was going on At Home while they rested in durance vile, before you go on to the third fic in which there is, somehow, a valid political reason not to have gone and gotten Regan and vaporized him already.
Re: Good news, bad news - sorry.
Date: 2011-03-21 08:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-21 12:09 pm (UTC)While I'm as surprised as Rodney that John finally talked, I could see him just stating what happened as plainly as that, once he was able to talk about it at all. I also appreciate the ambivalence of the ending, because it could mean John is getting better and ready to reach out physically for support, or it could mean John is pushing himself to get back to 'normal' in an unhealthy way. John himself might not know which it is, so I think it works to end with Rodney's cautious hope.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-21 08:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-21 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-21 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-24 04:58 am (UTC)