sga_flashfic | Lose Your Bones by Purna (Seven Deadly Sins Challenge)

Lose Your Bones by

purna
McKay/Sheppard
~1,250 words
PG
Summary: "I've never felt like that before, so angry it was like a vise squeezing my skull." Rodney crosses a line.

Lose Your Bones

John goes looking for Rodney when it's all over, and they're back in Atlantis. John has to fight with Beckett for an early release from the infirmary. Twenty-four hours of observation, my ass, he thinks. Beckett's being cautious; John feels fine.

His kidnappers hadn't really wanted to harm him. They'd needed him healthy, able to use his gene.

John hunts all over Atlantis before he finds Rodney sitting on the deck of grounding station three, leaning back against a metal conduit. Rodney's eyes are closed, face tilted to catch the sun.

There's only a dim recognition as John takes in their surroundings. It looks completely different, here and now in the bright sun, no Genii threat to trigger John's more dangerous instincts.

John slides down next to Rodney. He sits cross-legged, elbows on his knees.

They sit there in silence, and John waits patiently. He's been here with Rodney before; he knows that Rodney will eventually respond if John keeps quiet. Prodding just makes him crabby and impossible to talk to.

Echoing Rodney's posture, he leans back against the sun-warmed conduit. It feels good against his back, the heat radiating through his T-shirt, and he lets out an appreciative sound. There's nothing but the sound of their breathing after that.

In the end, it doesn't take as long as John expected. Rodney doesn't open his eyes when he speaks. "Ronon lied when he gave his report. Teyla backed him up, although she couldn't have seen anything."

"Did he?" John isn't surprised. Ronon's spent so much of his life as a Runner, he sometimes forgets how to hide his thoughts. From John, anyway, who'd seen Ronon's face when he gave his report, his eyes darting uneasily over at Rodney while he talked about John's rescue.

John waits for Rodney to say more, but he doesn't. He looks over at Rodney's tightly shuttered face, eyes darting beneath closed lids as if he's dreaming or replaying a memory. There's something churning beneath that brittle exterior, John thinks. Rodney can't open up about this, not on his own. He needs John's help here, needs John to ask.

"Lied about what?" he asks, then holds his breath. If he's read Rodney wrong, the question may trigger Rodney to clam up.

He lets the breath out in relief when Rodney keeps talking. "You were pretty out of it, what with that head injury." Rodney's tone turns it into a question, one John answers readily.

"Yeah. And doped to the gills," he says, going for the playful tone that usually invites Rodney to trade barbs with him. He didn't really expect it to work, but had hoped for a smile, a look, some response, but Rodney doesn't react at all.

He's about to say something else, when Rodney speaks suddenly. "I didn't need to kill them." The words trip over each other, Rodney spits them out so fast.

John licks his lips carefully. "Ronon said they fired on you."

Rodney shakes his head. "No. No. I saw you lying there limp and bloody. I thought I'd lost you and I--"

Rodney opens his eyes finally, and John's never seen him look so lost. Empty-eyed in a way John hasn't seen since Afghanistan, and it's something he never wanted to see in anyone ever again, much less a civilian scientist he's supposed to protect.

Rodney's voice is low and rough. "I felt this rage. I've never felt like that before, so angry it was like a vise squeezing my skull. Next thing I knew, I'd fired."

Hands fisted in his hair, Rodney looks down at the deck and lets out a ragged sound. "I killed them."

John can't help it; he reaches out to put his hand over Rodney's, brushes his thumb across the curve of Rodney's forehead. "Rodney. Shhh. You had no choice."

It's a stupid thing to say, meaningless comfort, and they both know it. Rodney knocks his hand away. "That's a lie, John Sheppard. Don't you fucking lie to me. I had a choice." Rodney's voice is thick and wet, heavy with a burden that rightly belongs to John.

John closes his eyes. There's a long pause before he speaks. "Yeah, Rodney. I know. You had a choice."

Rodney lets out a ragged moan. "Who does that? Snuffs out three human beings in a blind rage. Without hesitation, because he thinks they killed his--"

"Lover?" John manages to say it, although he can feel blood rushing to his face. He's one up on Rodney, though, who choked on the word. "Light of his life?" he adds. He's going for humorous irony there, but it comes out much less sarcastic than he intended.

Rodney swallows. "I don't know who that person is. I'm lost here, John."

"Do you hate yourself now? Is that it? You're dying a little inside? Join the fucking club." John's voice is hard.

"What, you think you're special?" he asks derisively when Rodney looks up, startled.

Rodney's mouth moves, but no sound comes out. He's staring at John now, his eyes still wounded, but at least John can see the wheels starting to turn behind them.

"Rodney, believe me, I've been there. Probably three-quarters of the Marines on Atlantis have been there. You strap on a sidearm, carry a P90, and walk into a situation often enough...shit's gonna happen. You deal with it and move on."

Rodney's mouth turns down. "I'm sorry, but the tough love crap's not quite cutting it here, John. How am I supposed to deal?"

John sighs. "Come here." John motions Rodney over, but Rodney just sits there, face set mulishly. "I said, 'Come here.'" John reaches over and pulls Rodney to him bodily, wraps his arms around Rodney's tense shoulders.

He drops a gentle kiss onto Rodney's temple. "It gets better, Rodney. I promise."

They sit like that for a long time, until twilight has overtaken them and the warmth has faded from the conduit behind them. Rodney doesn't ever completely relax, but his breathing eventually slows down and his shoulders aren't quite so tense by the time true night falls.

Once it's dark, Rodney breaks the silence. "That dying inside feeling. You said it gets better. Does it ever completely go away, John?"

John tightens his hold on Rodney and goes in for a kiss. His lips feel stiff, the kiss tentative, but for a short time there is shared heat and wetness and tongue to distract them. John finally pulls his mouth away from Rodney's. He doesn't pull back completely though; he rests his forehead against Rodney's, their lips inches apart.

"No, Rodney," he finally admits. "I'm sorry. It doesn't."

Rodney's face crumbles, just a little, as if he wasn't quite prepared for John's honesty, was half-hoping John would lie to him. He's blinking rapidly, his breathing ragged again.

John kisses Rodney again. This time it's not to distract Rodney. It's a kiss to communicate all the things John can't manage to say out loud--you saved me, I'm alive, I'm here for you, I love you.

It doesn't change anything. He can't take the hurt away, and some part of John recognizes that even if he could he wouldn't. Because crossing that line shouldn't be easy. If it didn't hurt like hell, there was something not human in you, and it couldn't be any different for Rodney.

Rodney's making little sniffly sounds, on the edge of tears, maybe. John doesn't stop the kiss, though. It's something. Comfort of a sort, a burden shared. It's enough.

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farwing.livejournal.com

This is very good and lovely.

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