![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
tigs.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashficTitle: [Untitled]
Author: tigs
Challenge: Dark Side
Characters: Rodney, Ronon
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, OC Death
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Summary: When Rodney finally cuts him free, Ronon grins up at him. He says, "I knew you'd think of something, McKay."
Author's Notes: No spoilers. Unbeta'd.
When Rodney finally cuts him free, Ronon grins up at him. His dreads are sticking out at all odd angles, his left eye is swollen shut, but still he smiles. He says, "I knew you'd think of something, McKay."
And Rodney, smears of blood still drying on the palm of his hand, the sleeve of his jacket, the handle of the knife that's still sawing through ropes, says, "Yes." He swallows, his mouth dry, tasting of ashes and dust. "Yes, of course I did."
*
Back in Atlantis, Elizabeth says, "You should be proud of yourself, Rodney." Then, more softly, "Thank you."
Teyla pats his arm and tells him that he acted bravely, with honor.
Sheppard mentions suicidal heroics. Then he says, "But don't think I'm going to be letting you and Ronon go off world without an escort again anytime soon, okay?" To which Rodney says, after a long moment, "You didn't actually think I'd protest that, did you?"
The minute he finds himself alone in his room, though, the door closed and locked behind him, he dashes for his bathroom, sinks down in front of the toilet, and empties the contents of his stomach into the bowl. He stays there until the heaves become dry, until the spasmodic gagging fades to bitter swallows. Until he collapses against the wall of the tub, his legs pulled up to his chest, his forehead coming to rest in the 'v' between his kneecaps.
He stays there until he's moved beyond shivering and into numbness, until the only things he can feel are the memories of the gun in his hand, the warmth of the sprayed droplets of blood that no longer cover his skin.
*
It shouldn't have happened.
Well, if it had *had* to happen, it should have happened the other way around, of that Rodney was sure. Because, see, in this little technological upgrade of a "favor" he was doing for these Old Friends of Ronon's, Rodney was the commodity, Ronon the protection.
*He* should have been the one that the three men jumped, then attempted to hustle out of the village before Ronon could notice.
It should have been Rodney and not Ronon, because then *he* wouldn't have had to be the one to hear the sounds of the commotion out in front of the building he was working in. He wouldn't have looked out the window in time to see Ronon being dragged off towards the woods, his head slumped down against his chest, obviously unconscious. He wouldn't have suddenly needed to be aware of his "fellow scientist" standing just outside the door, guarding him from unnecessary distractions. To react with all of the instincts that Sheppard had tried to train into him over the last three years: pulling his gun out before he could second-guess himself; moving step by silent step across the room; hitting the other man in the back of the head with the handle of his pistol before he even knew Rodney was there.
If he'd been the one who was taken, he wouldn't have had to make the decision about whether to go back to the Gate and get help, or try to follow where Ronon had gone.
They'd dragged him through grass, though, into trees, and while the trail might be clear enough now, Rodney had no guarantee it would stay that way. There were mountains up ahead, and a river, and Rodney wasn't sure *any* of them were good enough trackers to follow a trail gone cold on a hostile planet.
Slowly, his stomach churning, he followed. He followed through grass and trees and over rocks and into a creek, followed until Ronon's abductors stopped, dropped him to the ground. Until they started talking death, a hundred ways for Ronon to die, and Rodney found his gun in his hands, pointing in their direction.
He'd learned enough from Sheppard to find a hiding place, to set up his first shot carefully, because he'd only have the element of surprise once. One shot, go for the kill, because this was a world of kill or be killed, Rodney had learned that long ago. Still, though, for a moment he hesitated. He blinked, he breathed. He tried to think of another plan—any other plan—but then the leader unsheathed a knife and Rodney fired.
Sheppard, he thought almost hysterically, watching the man crumple, would be proud. But it was just a flash of thought because the leader wasn't the only one with a knife and both of the other guys were turning in Rodney's direction, coming towards him. He fired again. This time he didn't have a chance to set up the shot, though, and he hit the man in the arm. A third shot—this time in the stomach—and the man went down. But the third guy was right in front of Rodney now, his knife close enough to slice Rodney's sleeve when he lunged, and now Rodney was too close not to miss. Too close not to feel the spray of blood on his hands, face.
He stared at the body in front of him for a long moment, watching as blood turned the grass below bright red, pooling beneath the body, dripping down torn skin before being absorbed. He flexed his hands, the blood drops already tacky to the touch, and then he swallowed, gagging. Wanted to run to the nearest bushes and vomit.
He didn't have time for that, though, because Ronon was still lying five meters away, his hands bound behind him, a rope running down to his feet, and oh, God, they really needed to get out of there in case someone had heard the gunfire. In case someone decided to follow up on the status of Ronon, of his captors. Swallowing one more time, he bent down to pry the knife out of the still-warm fingers of the corpse in front of him.
When Rodney finally cut him free, Ronon smiled.
*
Later, Ronon knocks on the door. It could be only minutes later, it could be hours, and Rodney probably wouldn't have opened the door at all except that Ronon just keeps knocking. Also, he says, "Come on, McKay. I know you're in there. McKay, open up. McKay?" over and over again.
Rodney eases himself off of the floor, using the side of the tub to balance himself. He takes a quick look in the mirror, at the newly dark circles underneath his eyes, the seemingly deeper lines at the corner of his mouth. He splashes water across his cheeks, then uses the cup of his palm to bring a handful up to his lips. He swirls it around his mouth, spits, then wipes his face with the front of his shirt.
Ronon is still knocking when Rodney finally opens the door.
They stand there for a moment, staring at each other. Rodney doesn't invite Ronon in, but after a beat or two, Ronon invites himself. He slips by Rodney and then stands awkwardly in the center of the room until Rodney sighs, rubs a hand across his face, and pinches at the bridge of his nose.
"If you're here to thank me for saving your life," Rodney says, finally, "let me assure you that there's no need."
Ronon just stares at him until Rodney looks away. Until he feels the babble building up inside of him, overflowing, spilling out.
"I just did what anyone would have done. I just did what you all have trained me to do, isn't that right? And I should be proud, right? According to Teyla, I was very brave. So, yes, you know. Hero here. Always ready to kill the bad guys, save the day—"
"McKay," Ronon interrupts, and Rodney finds his mouth snapping shut, biting off the flow of words.
There are things he expects to hear Ronon say. The thank you, maybe, or how Rodney had done the right thing. How it was appreciated, or, well, something else entirely. Probably complimentary.
What Ronon ends up saying, though, is "I know."
The words are spoken awkwardly, sounding like the lies of comfort that they're probably meant to be, and for a moment, Rodney just stares at him, blinks once, twice. Then he says, "No, I think I can say that you really, really don't." Because Ronon is a soldier. He's used to doing this sort of thing for a living.
But Ronon just looks at Rodney and says again, "I know."
And, after a long moment, as Rodney takes in the set of his shoulders, the look in his one good eye, he begins to think that maybe Ronon actually does.
Author: tigs
Challenge: Dark Side
Characters: Rodney, Ronon
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, OC Death
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Summary: When Rodney finally cuts him free, Ronon grins up at him. He says, "I knew you'd think of something, McKay."
Author's Notes: No spoilers. Unbeta'd.
When Rodney finally cuts him free, Ronon grins up at him. His dreads are sticking out at all odd angles, his left eye is swollen shut, but still he smiles. He says, "I knew you'd think of something, McKay."
And Rodney, smears of blood still drying on the palm of his hand, the sleeve of his jacket, the handle of the knife that's still sawing through ropes, says, "Yes." He swallows, his mouth dry, tasting of ashes and dust. "Yes, of course I did."
*
Back in Atlantis, Elizabeth says, "You should be proud of yourself, Rodney." Then, more softly, "Thank you."
Teyla pats his arm and tells him that he acted bravely, with honor.
Sheppard mentions suicidal heroics. Then he says, "But don't think I'm going to be letting you and Ronon go off world without an escort again anytime soon, okay?" To which Rodney says, after a long moment, "You didn't actually think I'd protest that, did you?"
The minute he finds himself alone in his room, though, the door closed and locked behind him, he dashes for his bathroom, sinks down in front of the toilet, and empties the contents of his stomach into the bowl. He stays there until the heaves become dry, until the spasmodic gagging fades to bitter swallows. Until he collapses against the wall of the tub, his legs pulled up to his chest, his forehead coming to rest in the 'v' between his kneecaps.
He stays there until he's moved beyond shivering and into numbness, until the only things he can feel are the memories of the gun in his hand, the warmth of the sprayed droplets of blood that no longer cover his skin.
*
It shouldn't have happened.
Well, if it had *had* to happen, it should have happened the other way around, of that Rodney was sure. Because, see, in this little technological upgrade of a "favor" he was doing for these Old Friends of Ronon's, Rodney was the commodity, Ronon the protection.
*He* should have been the one that the three men jumped, then attempted to hustle out of the village before Ronon could notice.
It should have been Rodney and not Ronon, because then *he* wouldn't have had to be the one to hear the sounds of the commotion out in front of the building he was working in. He wouldn't have looked out the window in time to see Ronon being dragged off towards the woods, his head slumped down against his chest, obviously unconscious. He wouldn't have suddenly needed to be aware of his "fellow scientist" standing just outside the door, guarding him from unnecessary distractions. To react with all of the instincts that Sheppard had tried to train into him over the last three years: pulling his gun out before he could second-guess himself; moving step by silent step across the room; hitting the other man in the back of the head with the handle of his pistol before he even knew Rodney was there.
If he'd been the one who was taken, he wouldn't have had to make the decision about whether to go back to the Gate and get help, or try to follow where Ronon had gone.
They'd dragged him through grass, though, into trees, and while the trail might be clear enough now, Rodney had no guarantee it would stay that way. There were mountains up ahead, and a river, and Rodney wasn't sure *any* of them were good enough trackers to follow a trail gone cold on a hostile planet.
Slowly, his stomach churning, he followed. He followed through grass and trees and over rocks and into a creek, followed until Ronon's abductors stopped, dropped him to the ground. Until they started talking death, a hundred ways for Ronon to die, and Rodney found his gun in his hands, pointing in their direction.
He'd learned enough from Sheppard to find a hiding place, to set up his first shot carefully, because he'd only have the element of surprise once. One shot, go for the kill, because this was a world of kill or be killed, Rodney had learned that long ago. Still, though, for a moment he hesitated. He blinked, he breathed. He tried to think of another plan—any other plan—but then the leader unsheathed a knife and Rodney fired.
Sheppard, he thought almost hysterically, watching the man crumple, would be proud. But it was just a flash of thought because the leader wasn't the only one with a knife and both of the other guys were turning in Rodney's direction, coming towards him. He fired again. This time he didn't have a chance to set up the shot, though, and he hit the man in the arm. A third shot—this time in the stomach—and the man went down. But the third guy was right in front of Rodney now, his knife close enough to slice Rodney's sleeve when he lunged, and now Rodney was too close not to miss. Too close not to feel the spray of blood on his hands, face.
He stared at the body in front of him for a long moment, watching as blood turned the grass below bright red, pooling beneath the body, dripping down torn skin before being absorbed. He flexed his hands, the blood drops already tacky to the touch, and then he swallowed, gagging. Wanted to run to the nearest bushes and vomit.
He didn't have time for that, though, because Ronon was still lying five meters away, his hands bound behind him, a rope running down to his feet, and oh, God, they really needed to get out of there in case someone had heard the gunfire. In case someone decided to follow up on the status of Ronon, of his captors. Swallowing one more time, he bent down to pry the knife out of the still-warm fingers of the corpse in front of him.
When Rodney finally cut him free, Ronon smiled.
*
Later, Ronon knocks on the door. It could be only minutes later, it could be hours, and Rodney probably wouldn't have opened the door at all except that Ronon just keeps knocking. Also, he says, "Come on, McKay. I know you're in there. McKay, open up. McKay?" over and over again.
Rodney eases himself off of the floor, using the side of the tub to balance himself. He takes a quick look in the mirror, at the newly dark circles underneath his eyes, the seemingly deeper lines at the corner of his mouth. He splashes water across his cheeks, then uses the cup of his palm to bring a handful up to his lips. He swirls it around his mouth, spits, then wipes his face with the front of his shirt.
Ronon is still knocking when Rodney finally opens the door.
They stand there for a moment, staring at each other. Rodney doesn't invite Ronon in, but after a beat or two, Ronon invites himself. He slips by Rodney and then stands awkwardly in the center of the room until Rodney sighs, rubs a hand across his face, and pinches at the bridge of his nose.
"If you're here to thank me for saving your life," Rodney says, finally, "let me assure you that there's no need."
Ronon just stares at him until Rodney looks away. Until he feels the babble building up inside of him, overflowing, spilling out.
"I just did what anyone would have done. I just did what you all have trained me to do, isn't that right? And I should be proud, right? According to Teyla, I was very brave. So, yes, you know. Hero here. Always ready to kill the bad guys, save the day—"
"McKay," Ronon interrupts, and Rodney finds his mouth snapping shut, biting off the flow of words.
There are things he expects to hear Ronon say. The thank you, maybe, or how Rodney had done the right thing. How it was appreciated, or, well, something else entirely. Probably complimentary.
What Ronon ends up saying, though, is "I know."
The words are spoken awkwardly, sounding like the lies of comfort that they're probably meant to be, and for a moment, Rodney just stares at him, blinks once, twice. Then he says, "No, I think I can say that you really, really don't." Because Ronon is a soldier. He's used to doing this sort of thing for a living.
But Ronon just looks at Rodney and says again, "I know."
And, after a long moment, as Rodney takes in the set of his shoulders, the look in his one good eye, he begins to think that maybe Ronon actually does.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-26 01:15 pm (UTC)A great response to the challenge too.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-26 01:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-26 01:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-26 01:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-26 01:53 pm (UTC)I caught one little typo: followed until Ronon's abductor's stopped. Should be "abductors", plural not possessive.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-26 02:29 pm (UTC)Okay, I'm going to stop babbling now....
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-26 02:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-26 03:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-26 03:24 pm (UTC)I can really *hear* Rodney in this line, "So, yes, you know. Hero here. Always ready to kill the bad guys, save the day—" by the way. Nice voice even if you don't have a lot of dialogue.
One little typo, though: Complementary should be complimentary, with an i.
dark side
Date: 2006-07-26 03:40 pm (UTC)Nicely done on the voices for both of them. I really do wish the show would do an episode that shows Rodney having to kill someone to save the others and having to deal with the fallout of that. I think it would be a hard thing for him to accept.
A few things: complementary should be complimentary
Also: "He stays there until he's moved beyond shivering and into numbness, until the only things he can feel are the memories of the knife in his hand, the warmth of the sprayed droplets of blood that no longer cover him.
"
This really gave me the impression that Rodney had killed someone with a knife, but I believe he only uses the knife to cut Ronon free. It's a different sort of visceral experience to stab someone than to shoot someone, so I found that a bit ... misleading.
Re: dark side
Date: 2006-07-26 05:35 pm (UTC)Also, thanks for the con-crit. I've made a few changes which hopefully clears up the confusion that you had. I was actually wondering about that section, but I thought the changes I made before I posted cleared up most of the problems. Obviously not, though. So thanks for that comment, too! And hopefully it's clearer now. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-26 03:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-26 04:24 pm (UTC)Review
Date: 2006-07-26 04:24 pm (UTC)Silverthreads
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-26 07:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-27 01:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-27 10:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-27 12:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-06-24 09:00 pm (UTC)Liked that it was with Ronon not John. It is especially strong as Ronon could outrun the Wraith and is physically completely different to Rodney. He is a true warrior and that this sort of thing is his job is reinforced by the repetition of how Rodney feels it should have been the other way round.
Brilliant story.