thegrrrl2002 | A little Atlantis ficlet

Yes, more Atlantis. Just a little Sheppard/McKay post-"Storm" ficlet, for

wickdzoot.

"Ow, that hurts--",

"I'm not surprised, but you have to let me work--I have to use butterfly stitches here, the skin's all wrecked up from where he twisted the knife."

"Yes, thank you, I remember that part." Rodney gritted his teeth but kept his arm still as Carson poked at it unmercifully.

"I'm afraid it's going to leave a scar."

"A scar? Really?" Rodney didn't have any scars. At least he'd have something to show for his little foray into being tortured. "That's kind of cool."

Carson rolled his eyes as he taped the bandage into place. When he finished Rodney moved to slide down from the table, but Carson held up a warning hand. "Wait--you need your shot. Just some antibiotics. Don't want a nasty infection."

Rodney sat back wearily. "No, of course not." As Carson readied the syringe, Rodney realized John had appeared beside him. "Major?"

"The services will be tomorrow. Elizabeth decided a burial at sea would be the most appropriate. There's no real way to preserve the bodies, to bring them home, if ever we…" his voice trailed off, and he shrugged. John's voice was uncharacteristically flat, and his eyes, hollow.

Rodney nodded, uncertain as to what to say. Two soldiers, shot point blank, without a chance to defend themselves. Or the city. He hadn't known them well, but they were good men. And there was nothing he could say, really. There was no solution he could conjure up to take away that awful, defeated expression on John's face.

Carson shook his head sadly. "It's an awful thing. No warning. Kolya didn't have to do it like that, did he?"

Rodney watched as John visibly winced, as if from a blow. "No telling what a madman will do," Rodney said, offering his arm for Carson to jab. "Ow, you know, that hurts, too."

Carson patted his shoulder. "Now go get some sleep before you fall down. You too--Major?"

But John was already gone.

*****

Rodney finally found John on a balcony, on the north side of the living quarters. He was sitting on the floor, back to the wall, staring out to sea, and didn't look like anyone who really wanted to be found.

"I don't feel like talking," John warned, without looking up.

Rodney hesitated, then sat next to him anyway, grunting as aching muscles protested. "Who said I felt like listening?" The sky was still grey and low, but the wind had calmed somewhat, and the rain, a gentle mist. Still, it was cold, and not exactly pleasant.

John was silent, but then plucked the coffee mug from Rodney's hand and drank from it. "How can you drink your coffee with so much sugar in it?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Key phrase there--'my coffee'".

John looked thoughtful, and then raised the cup to his lips again. "How's the arm?"

"It hurts."

"Good job, though with the misinformation."

Rodney nodded. "I thought so."

The ground was cold and hard, and Rodney felt uncomfortably damp, his clothes clinging wetly to his skin. He took back his coffee, plucking it from where John's hand rested on a bent knee and wondered what the hell he was doing. He could be in his quarters, warm and dry, getting some much-needed rest. He *should* be there, because this wasn't the kind of situation he was good at, there were no equations involved, and people were complicated, and, now with the whole sex thing, John even more so. But yet, even though he had nothing to offer in way of comfort, he couldn't bear the thought of John sitting all alone in the rain.

"I should have been there."

Spoken so quietly that Rodney scarcely heard it over the sighing wind. "Then you would have been shot, too."

"Maybe not. We don't know exactly what went down."

"You would have been shot and killed and no one would have been able to take down Kolya and his merry men and women, and there would be hell of a lot more dead bodies all around."

Now John did look at him, stared at him with intense eyes and Rodney met the pain head-on, refusing to look away, even though it left him shaken. "I know you've got this hero thing going on, but you can't save everyone."

John turned away abruptly. "So you're saying I'm not Superman either, huh?"

Rodney wanted to tell him he was pretty damn close to it. "No. Neither of us are. No matter how much we want to be."

They just sat after that. Rodney finished his coffee, watching the clouds shifting overhead, a patch of blue sky emerging, and then disappearing. He wondered if he should leave, if John needed to be alone. When a heavier band of rain blew in, ruffling his hair, and stinging his face, Rodney finally said, "As pleasant as this is I think I've gotten rained on enough over the past 24 hours."

"Yeah, what the hell." To Rodney's surprise he rose to his feet, albeit slowly and without his usual grace, and then reached for Rodney's hand, helping him up.

John's hand was icy cold but Rodney didn't let go of it. Instead he tugged, pulling John close, until he could carefully slip his sore arm around John's waist. After a moment, John wrapped an arm around Rodney's shoulders and with a heavy sigh, pressed his face into Rodney's neck. Cold, wet skin and bristly beard but Rodney held on tight for a long time, relieved that he might not be totally screwing this up after all.

"Come on," Rodney finally said, kissing John on the temple before leading him out of the rain.