sga_flashfic | Through the Mesh by Purna (Abandonment/Amnesty Challenge)

Through the Mesh by Purna (Abandonment/Amnesty Challenge)
McKay/Sheppard
~1,300 words
Rating: R
Summary: The taste of salt and ash.

Through the Mesh

He finds Rodney huddled on the crumbling concrete steps that form an odd amphitheatre with the ocean as the stage. The wind is damp and chilly and sand grains scour John's skin, but Rodney doesn't seem to notice. He is gazing out at the gray water, rolling endlessly up on the shore.

John breathes in the cold air, which tastes of salt and ash. He takes a seat beside Rodney and lets his thigh brush against Rodney's, using touch to ground them both. He's found they lose themselves too easily, in memory and fear, without touch.

"Hey." John is cautious; the last time Rodney was like this, things got ugly.

Rodney doesn't answer, just stares at the water without blinking, rocking slightly.

John knows better than to warn Rodney against coming out here by himself. Rodney wouldn't take it well, even though it's the truth. This planet may have been culled, but they are not alone here.

It had been a pleasure planet, an ocean world with archipelagos covered with resorts, but there is little pleasure to be had now. The team had learned the hard way not to wander off alone, and had nearly lost Rodney in the process. The planet's destruction was not total; there are supplies and fuel here to scavenge, but they're not the only ones here with that goal.

John tries again. "Teyla and Ronon think they found some of those control crystals you were talking about. You know, to get the long-range sensors back up. Want to come and see?"

Rodney says nothing but stands and follows John obediently. As they walk, John watches him. Rodney's face has been dead, emotionless, for a long time now, since the day the team had returned through the gate to smoke and blood and sparking ruin.

John and his team were off world when the Wraith finally took Atlantis, the only survivors through sheer luck. Sheer luck, but John wonders in his darker moments if they were not the unfortunate ones after all.

The puddle jumper is tucked away in the courtyard of what had once been a luxury hotel, close to the water. The jumper seems out of place parked beside an elaborate fountain, dry now and choked with debris.

Hiding the puddle jumper is another lesson they've learned the hard way.

Standing at the base of the puddle jumper's ramp, Teyla is solemn as she shows them the scavenged equipment. Ronon is her shadow, has been since they'd found the Athosian settlement deserted and it'd taken all three of them to hold her down in her grief.

Rodney takes the crystals from her with a wordless nod of thanks and disappears into the puddle jumper. He'll be there a while, and John settles down to wait.

They'd found the withered husk of Elizabeth in the control room, Major Lorne's body slumped beside her. He'd died trying to protect her, John knew in his bones.

"McKay?" The word is a question directed at John, Ronon's voice a low rumble.

John shrugs helplessly. Ronon's growl sounds like a warning, but John doesn't know how to fix this. It's not something that can be fixed.

Wandering the darkened corridors of Atlantis, they'd hoped to find survivors but found only horror. Atlantis was cold, dying; John could feel it. It made his lungs hurt, like drowning, but with no end in sight.

John's distraction meant that it was Rodney who'd found Zelenka. Rodney had dropped to his knees beside Zelenka's body, and when he'd looked up at John, his face was a mask, his eyes shattered. From the bodies, it was obvious that Zelenka had triggered a power conduit to overload and taken two Wraith with him.

By the time Rodney is finished in the puddle jumper, it is dark. John wishes they could risk a fire, but they eat their MREs silently by lantern light. Teyla and Ronon hole up in one of the rooms off the courtyard, and Rodney follows John into an adjacent room. It is dark inside and smells musty, but they'd set up a lantern and stripped the bed, laying out their sleeping bags on the mattress.

The agreement is unspoken, but there nonetheless. They share a bed here, sleeping together for protection, using each other's presence to ward off the gaping hollowness that threatens to eat them from the inside.

Their exploration of Atlantis had yielded flooded corridors and a few more bodies, but most of the personnel were gone. It was the thought of friends and co-workers horribly cocooned on some Wraith hive ship that had made John puke his guts up.

Rodney had tried to send a message to Earth but couldn't tell if it had gotten through. They had received no reply. There was only static broadcasting on the Daedalus' frequencies. They'd feared the worst, but concerns for their own immediate survival had taken precedence.

A muffled noise comes from the room Teyla and Ronon are sharing. An age-old rhythm thumps against the shared wall, and John is glad Teyla and Ronon are taking what little comfort available to them. Rodney's back is heavy and warm against his own, the soft noise of his breathing a constant reminder that John is not alone here. He needs that reminder, desperately, but the shudders still hover just beneath his skin. He's finding he needs something more tonight.

Greatly daring, John turns, wincing at the creaking this draws from the decrepit bed, and rests his forehead against Rodney's bare shoulder. Rodney doesn't protest, either willing or asleep, and so he stays there, eyes closed, breathing in Rodney's smell, iodine sea with a hint of ozone from working in the puddle jumper's control console.

It is raining now, heavy sheets coming down, pounding the window. The noises from next door start up again; John listens and feels trapped and hot in his own skin, a trembling tautness rising in him. Before he realizes it, his hand is on Rodney's hip, fingers caressing the fragile skin above the elastic of his boxers.

Rodney makes a sound, and John freezes, but then Rodney's hand is covering his own. John is suddenly aware of the tension in the body alongside his, the air of expectancy, the quickening breathing, and he realizes Rodney is awake, has been awake all along.

Rodney's hand tightens on John's, pushes it down into the front of Rodney's boxers. There is no finesse to the movement; it's a clumsy press of fingers on fingers, and John's palm pressed down onto the unbearable heat of an erection not his own. A loud sound is torn from Rodney, and he's moving, wringing more creaking from the bed. Rodney shoves his boxers down just enough, exposing them to the chilly air, giving them room to work with.

Then it's quick and rough and almost brutal, but John's mouth on Rodney's shoulder is as soft as his hand is not. Rodney's grip is painful on him, closing John's fingers around Rodney, moving his hand up and down, jerking him ruthlessly.

Rodney is making noise, loud sounds deep in his throat, his breath catching on John's every upstroke. John can feel the muscles in the body next to his tensing, tensing, more and more, and then Rodney is coming, long and hard. John's hand wrings the last shocks from Rodney, and then he's pulling Rodney into his arms, almost grappling, because Rodney resists at first but lets go at the last moment.

Rodney's sobs of completion flow seamlessly into real sobs, but John is there to catch him as he breaks. John holds him through it, the storm that Rodney's held off for so long, the break in the mask Rodney's carried around since Atlantis. John holds Rodney tight, holds him together, because he can't do this, can't do this alone, and the rain pounds against the window.

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birdsflying

Then it's quick and rough and almost brutal, but John's mouth on Rodney's shoulder is as soft as his hand is not. <-- I got stuck on this sentence, had to reread it and flail a little before I could move on.

:whimpers a little: But you know, in a good way.

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