![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
tzi.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashficTitle: The Sounds of Silence
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tzi & zaganthi
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay. Kind of. Sort of. Well. More or less.
Rating: This might be all of PG. But WHERE did the porn go!? *mourns*
Summary: Mission Status: Failure
Spoilers: Probably bits and pieces of S2
Length: 4,693 words. -ish
There was a zen state where the mind stopped giving him words and started to give him realities, where formulas ceased to matter and all that mattered was the space between his fingers and the wires, the space between the wires and reality, the reality that only tenuously held his creations together. It laid in the silence -- not just the silence of the room around him, but also the silence of his own brain and the air. Usually there was a buzz of thoughts and feelings and concerns, a thousand things that pulled away from that ease of zen, the moment between action and breath.
It was as close to religion as he ever treaded. There was a joy in it, in easing back from himself, from his own ego and from having to explain himself and just do, do it without threat or strain. It had been years since he'd just sat with equipment and enjoyed it, taught himself without a warning sign being flashed at him in the tone of someone's voice, their face. It was him and it was all self taught and every breath was in tune with the music of the solder and the music of the calibration.
It was wonderful, moving a hand, feeling that it was in the right place, like typing with his eyes closed because he knew that all of his fingers were on home and he was never going to hit a wrong key so he could just breathe and let the words flow, the reconnections flow.
There had been yelling, earlier, days ago. Screaming, and anger, intensity that practically flowed outward in a visible cloud, unbearable and fascinating and fierce. That fury wasn't something Rodney wanted to be exposed to at the moment. He needed the calm that came with moving, touching, fixing, and silence. Peace and quiet weren't anything he remembered needing for long before. He'd always been moving, constant, on to the next task almost before the last was finished. His parents had hated that, been driven to exhaustion, and had therefore hated him, as well. They hadn't like Jeannie much better.
Jeannie....
Jeannie was safe, if he could ever consider Earth safe. Maybe the better word for it was ignorant, and blissfully so, safe from the knowledge of all of the interesting things that could go wrong in a given day. One minute someone could be calling out to his or her teammates to come look at something, and then wake up flat on their back in the infirmary.
He supposed the Earth equivalent was wandering out into traffic unawares.
He'd never actually done that. Never gotten so wrapped up that he'd been unaware of the dangers surrounding him -- lemons, bees, horse flies, slippery sidewalks, oncoming traffic. Sometimes he thought some of the other Atlantis scientists (Parrish, his mind whispered, supplying the botanist's name surprisingly quickly) might have problems like that, but Rodney had never been as bad as most.
He wasn't that bad now, he'd just had an accident. It wasn't anything to write home about, considering the nature of the expedition and how very much worse it could have been.
At least, that was what he'd heard some of the others say.
Not Carson. Not Elizabeth, either, or Zelenka, and not....
But the ones who whispered that it could have been worse, they were right.
He couldn't shout and cuss, and he couldn't explain things anymore, but he could still think and that was what they needed him for. It was hard not to be a tiny bit grateful for that when he'd seen men take damage to their heads during the Wraith's siege of Atlantis that had left them drooling with all the wrong coordination.
He should be grateful.
It was easier than anything else, just like it was easier to assign himself the more difficult tasks in the quiet parts of the city and let Zelenka do the yelling, the quick snap of words that he couldn't. It was desperately amusing.
They had all thought Zelenka was the nice one.
Mission Report 2006-0216-SGA-1
Personnel: Commanding Officer Lt. Col. John Sheppard, Chief Science Officer Rodney McKay, Negotiator Teyla Emmagen, Specialist Ronon Dex
Additional Personnel: None
Gate Address: M7X-463
Vernacular Designation: Sinayot
Objective: Database listed Ancient outpost with possible power source.
Mission Status: Failure
Rescue Personnel: Chief Medical Officer Dr. Carson Beckett, Dr. Lindsay Biro
The problem, the only problem, was when he needed to say something to them quickly. That was frustrating, because time was usually of the essence and writing and reading things took time. Elizabeth had oh so helpfully suggested that he learn ASL. It was very diplomatic and politically correct of her, except for the huge flaw that everyone else on the base still wouldn't understand him, and that was the problem to start with.
So he'd learned every gesture for 'fuck you' that every member of the base recognized, and it was a start to expanding his understandability in the base. It was a shame that there wasn't a nearly universal gesture for 'what the fuck do you think you're doing?' because sometimes Radek needed to hear it. See it.
And not every job could be pawned off. Sometimes, they needed him off world, still, because Radek hated it and a scientist was a useful commodity. In his case, it was more of a necessary commodity because Rodney was, admittedly, invaluable.
They hadn't understood how much they needed him until he couldn't say anything to them anymore. Sometimes, he wanted to hit someone, just because no one had understood exactly how much he was responsible for keeping all of them alive, even in the face of something like Doranda.
Now they all had to slow down and pay attention when they asked him something because he couldn't rattle off words that all went over their heads anyway. They actually had to consult him instead of taking him for granted, most of the time.
Even though it was his first long mission, his first initial contact mission since he'd had the accident, Rodney found himself strangely not nervous at all. Excited, yes, and probably without reason because even Teyla had been inclined to write those people off as dirt farmers. Even dirt farmers had occasionally tasty crops, though.
He had hopes that there might be fruit, jams made from all of the wild something-like-roses they'd seen on the walk from the 'gate. The smell had been intense and deep, and if they had jams or something like a rose tea, he might just agree to move in with them.
It would be easier than watching Sheppard avoid his eyes.
The worst part about that was that he couldn't say any of the smart-assed things that came to his mind. Ronon and Teyla were up ahead a little, talking. He wasn't sure what about, but it was probably wildlife related. It might possibly even be about the mashed potatoes in the mess hall.
Sheppard hardly bantered on missions anymore. He and Ronon talked a little, and he talked with Teyla some, but it was nothing like before. He missed talking with John, but talking with John was impossible when he wouldn't even look at Rodney.
It wasn't his fault.
It could have happened to any of them, could have been brought on by Ronon, might have been brought on by Rodney himself with little or no provocation. The fact that John wanted to take all of the guilt for it on himself made Rodney impotently furious, because how was he supposed to be anything else when it was impossible for him to tell John exactly how pissed off he was?
He changed his pace a little; fell into step with John, almost shoulder to shoulder. He nudged him, and waved one hand at John, and maybe that would get his attention.
He hadn't felt so completely alone since just after Doranda.
Rodney wondered if John would ever forgive himself, since it seemed he had finally forgiven him.
Report:
SGA-1 moved through Stargate 10:23 AST. M7X-463 (v.d. Sinayot) also revealed to be early morning, roughly two hours behind AST. CSO McKay calculated days to be approx. 23.8 hours long. Village immediately accessible to Stargate, approx. 1.5km walk. Moon populated by primitive culture, rough Earth equivalent 12th century Europe.
Ancient outpost further from Stargate, approx. 2.5km from village.
Those moments of perfect zen concentration were still there, and he had to appreciate it. He could live inside of his own head now, as if the sound of his own voice was gone even from there and there were just words and thoughts that weren't loud and clanging, which made work strangely easier to do.
It was the only thing that he appreciated anymore. It wasn't that he'd thought he was mister popular on Atlantis, but not interacting with people was killing him. Not talking, not going back and forth to stir up ideas. He and Radek managed pretty well in fast fire IMs, but it wasn't the same as seeing a face and hearing someone talk to him, which wasn't often enough.
There was apparently an idiot assumption that he was deaf as well as mute.
Carson gave him stupid, sad looks all the time, and Elizabeth was still ridiculously insistent about the possibilities of ASL classes. Ronon at least acted as if nothing at all had changed.
Well. Mostly, with Ronon, nothing had. It wasn't like they'd ever done a lot of talking. That wasn't their thing. Ronon loomed, Rodney backed away, and they saved one another's asses when it became necessary. Mission accomplished.
Personally, Rodney thought most of Atlantis was taking cues from Sheppard, and he was starting to hate him just a little bit.
He had to confront the Colonel. Letting things lay and go on as they had was killing him. He needed to have words with Carson and Elizabeth, too, even if they were just angry words scrawled on sheets of paper until his fingertips were red.
He'd write until they bled if it would get John to look at him again, talk to him. Treat him like he wasn't invisible.
Treat him like anything, so long as he wasn't pretending Rodney didn't exist.
Determined, Rodney clutched his tablet and pen and moved out of his lab, steps firm and steady. He was going to have to be decisive, intent, and incredibly, unbelievably annoying to get his way, but he was going to get it.
If it meant sitting on top of John and holding the tablet in front of his face, then fine, he'd do it. He was desperate enough that it was looking like an option, particularly if John was going to be stubborn. It was just a matter of finding him first, looking for him in the hallways and offices and then the mess hall, which would have been nice, but no. He hadn't been there.
Frankly, Rodney thought he was hiding.
It was really cowardly if that was the case. Then again, John almost always seemed to know where Rodney was, and when he might end up alone with him, and he made an intense effort to make sure that didn't happen. Sometimes, Rodney thought he should be looking for new scars, little bumps under his skin to see if Sheppard might have had him tagged the way Rodney had tagged Heisenberg when he'd been a kitten.
It was tempting to stand in front of a mirror and look. Sometime, if the hunt for the base military commander grew much more protracted. He checked in the workout rooms as an off chance, and then he doubled back up to the control room, before seeking out John's tiny niche of an office again. Maybe he'd just assume that Rodney had given up, if he'd been actively avoiding him.
He ought to know better. Rodney had never been the type of guy who'd give up, barring life-threatening wounds and other complete and total disasters.
The yelling was what caught his attention. It was hard to miss, and Rodney cringed. If he could hear all that, there was no doubt that half of Atlantis had heard Elizabeth yelling at him a few months before. Not that he'd ever believed otherwise, but hope was a foolish, foolish thing on occasion.
"If you think I'm going to allow you to do this to him so that you can stop feeling guilty....!"
Do what, Rodney wanted to know, but he started towards her office, almost sneaking with his tablet tucked under his arm when he knocked on the door jam. It was a miracle that Atlantis had any doors that closed.
"Dammit, Elizabeth, I can't keep him safe anymore! Don't you get it? I'm the one that's responsible for this, and if I can't keep him safe then I want to give him to somebody who can!"
Maybe he should knock again. They'd obviously missed the first one.
He was sure that he wasn't that silent, and if he could have cleared his throat, he would have. So Rodney stepped into the room, and tapped the door jam with the back of his heel for a more satisfying noise in the room announcing his arrival.
"J... Rodney. Um." Seeing Elizabeth at a loss for words was somewhat disturbing. Okay. Strike that. More than somewhat disturbing.
"Rodney." John's voice sounded as if it had to grate out over ground glass to be heard. "I was just leaving."
Rodney back-stepped to block the doorway, and held a hand up at him before he started to scrawl on his tablet. No, you weren't.
He wasn't, because Elizabeth was yelling at him, and she could be a complete fishwife when she was pissed off. Having had that experience, it was obvious to Rodney that John would be there for quite some time to come.
"Okay, I wasn't, but I am now."
"No, you aren't."
You're running from me, Rodney scrawled on the tablet in block letters, and I'm tired of it. Sit down. He flipped it around and held it out at John like a weapon.
He had thought that John would bow up, hiss at him like a dangerous, coiled snake. The look of his shoulders drooping like something the biologists had forgotten to water made Rodney want to wring his hands.
"Okay."
He opened another document, and made sure that John sat down before he glanced at Elizabeth and realized that it wasn't a conversation he wanted to be having with her there but he was probably going to have to because if he tried to get John to go somewhere with him, John would run. This 'no one talk to McKay since he can't speak' shtick was old after the first week. You act like I'm not alive, you don't look at me on missions unless you need something fixed. I'm going to assume that you've owned dogs that you've treated better.
Assume because, well, John seemed like the guy who might have had a dog. Not something small and fluffy, like the one Rodney had when he was a kid that his dad didn't let him put tags on or anything. John would have had something big, something like a yellow Labrador, all puppyish enthusiasm and playfulness.
"McKay..."
"You know, I have a meeting I was supposed to be in fifteen minutes ago. I'm going to go and shut the door. Since I think both of you probably need this conversation, I'm also going to station Lieutenant Henderson outside of the door."
That was good. Henderson was Canadian Aircom, and he was much more likely to be on Rodney's side and refuse to let John escape. He also had a fair bit of knowledge as far as Ancient systems went, so Rodney could have him disable the door if it became a necessity.
"Fine." John was glaring at Elizabeth just as much as he was at Rodney.
This? Wasn't going to go well.
After meeting with Sinayotians, CO Sheppard and CSO McKay left Negotiator Emmagen and Specialist Dex bargaining for fruits and jams. Hiked to Ancient outpost. Outpost was mostly overgrown by vines, but seemed in working order. After some work, CO Sheppard and CSO McKay entered Ancient outpost.
John crossed his arms over his chest as soon as the door was sealed, and Rodney wanted to mimic the motion, but he needed his hands to write Why are you acting like this? on his tablet.
"Why do you think, Rodney?" The words almost held the same sarcastic tone Rodney had gotten accustomed to, but there was something missing, something John would have given him without fail three weeks ago, a month ago, a year ago.
Rodney glared at him, and backed up to sit on the edge of Elizabeth’s desk, writing again on the tablet. He'd written a program that made it easy to clear a page and start a fresh one with a tap, just like he'd created a logger for when he was doing actual useful things like writing down equations and theories. I have a few theories, and none of them are flattering to you. Is it a guilt complex? Because this isn't the mission to have a guilt complex on. He started to turn it around, but stopped and added, I'M STILL ALIVE.
The look that crossed Sheppard's face when he saw that was almost painful, probably for both of them. "Yes, you're alive! You're alive until you need to call for help and you can't do that, Rodney! You need to be reassigned to a team that doesn't.... doesn't get into as much trouble as we do. You need to be doing something safer, okay?"
He started for a moment, and then cleared a new page and started to scrawl, Then get me a whistle to blow when I'm in trouble. I know how to fire a gun into the air. If I do something safer, you're all going to die the next time you need McKay's Magical Scientific Touch, which is working better than ever. He turned it around again, thrust it out at John.
"No." No, like that answered everything. Ha! John could just keep dreaming because Rodney wasn't going to let him get away with this, and neither was Elizabeth. He was invaluable in so many ways that John couldn't even begin to imagine it, and if Rodney had to shove it down his throat, he would. "No. You're in more danger with us, Rodney!"
I can't talk -- how is that more danger? If anything, I won't be giving away our position to the enemy when I call you on your idiocy. It's just my voice, nothing else has changed. I can still fire a gun, I still think fast on my feet, and I'm not going to have my usefulness on this mission crippled because you can't -- son of a bitch, he ran out of space, so he flipped it around for John to read, waiting for the confused look that meant John had reached the bottom. Rodney cleared a page and scrawled upside down, because you can't get over your guilt.
That was the core of it. That was the whole of it, because John had the gene, and John had been with him.
That was everything. Right there.
Faint power signatures were emitted from outpost. CO and CSO continued their search. Outpost was not yet deteriorated beyond the point of safety, but had become eccentric. (See CO's previous entries re: Ancient technology). CSO located power source and began extrication.
You need to get over it. It triggered because it thought it could bring me to the 'next stage'. Admittedly I'm not interested in doing that, but I volunteered for the gene therapy. First one to get it, remember? And not the first one to have it bite him in the ass. Rodney held the laptop out again, waiting for John to say something.
"It triggered because I was bitching about all of your talking!" John yelled, shooting up from his seat. It wasn't often that Rodney saw him outright pissed, scary and uncertain. The fidgety way he moved said that he was both. "We both know it!"
So now you not only want me mute, you want me treated like a god-damned second class citizen on the base, too. Fantastic. He glared at John while he wrote it, even if John couldn't see the words yet. Everyone takes your cues. So now no one talks to me because I'm apparently deaf as well as mute. Funny that I hadn't noticed.
Conversation was held re: device attached to power source, possible uses, etc. Customary banter made, CO asserting CSO's verbosity. Trigger for the device is unknown at this time, but is perceived to be related to the ATA gene.
Cause for trigger and concurrent accident is also unknown at this time.
"That's not it! That's not even close to it! You're... I'm...."
He'd never seen John fall like that, slumping into the chair as if strings had been cut, sending him tumbling.
Rodney almost tossed the tablet onto the table, and he started forwards, startling, because that had never happened before, ever, that Rodney had ever seen. And he couldn't even yelp or call for help, because John had just collapsed on him, the worst chickenshit way to end a conversation ever.
His eyes were closed, had tilted back, but he hadn't passed out or anything desperately unmanly. He just seemed to have closed his eyes and fallen back, and it was a wonder he hadn't knocked himself out on the stupid chair.
"I'm sorry."
He was sorry, and his eyes were closed, which meant no reading anything, like the words, 'Don't scare me, you stupid shit!', which Rodney wished could flash in the air as violently as they were showing up in his own head.
He stopped beside the chair, and nudged John's knee with his own knee.
"I'm sorry I said you were being a loudmouth. I'm sorry for thinking you needed to shut up before some crazed native found us and decided to shoot us both in the ass this time. I'm sorry because it's my fault. Okay?"
No more crazed natives shooting at their asses because of Rodney's mouth anymore. Rodney frowned at him, and nudged his leg again, before he leaned down to put a hand on John's shoulder. Stupid. Of all the stupid things to blame himself over.
"What?" John opened his eyes then, looked up at him, and it was as good as over. It had been a long time coming, more months and years than it should have been, and the fact that it was the only thing surprising Rodney should have registered a little more.
It didn't.
He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell John he was being stupid and that Rodney missed working with him and that Rodney missed being on his team. He couldn't say it and the tablet was a few steps backwards and it meant starting over and giving John time to close his eyes again.
There was no reason that the stupid thing hadn't given him telepathy on top of muting him, doing a useful trade for him, but no. No, it hadn't. It had just left him this, and John looking up at him, and Rodney knowing that he had one chance, just the one, to get it right. To make things work the way they should.
He leaned forward, and pressed his mouth to John's.
There was no reason not to. Either John was Rodney's friend, which he hadn't been acting like, or he was too wrapped up in his own guilt to do it, or he wasn't, and Rodney had pressed things hard enough to break their friendship. He might as well shove it over the edge, because it hadn't been helping him much lately anyway.
A friendship like that at least deserved a goodbye kiss.
Ancient device gave flash of light followed by smoke. Temporary light blindness was followed by call to Neg. Emmagen and Spec. Dex. CSO McKay was not responding. Neg. Emmagen returned to gate in preparation for calling medical rescue personnel. Spec. Dex followed path to outpost to ascertain situation.
Upon arrival, Spec. Dex found CO Sheppard with unconscious CSO McKay. Evidence of trauma suggested that a medical team be called. Drs. Beckett and Biro responded to request from Neg. Emmagen and came immediately to outpost.
He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when John's mouth opened under his, almost tentative. After all.
John never did see it coming. Not when it was a hot alien bimbo, and not when it was Rodney McKay, fed up and tired and frustrated, kissing him hard, sliding his tongue into John's mouth once it was open because god that felt good, slick on slick, and the feel of John's teeth for a moment before Rodney relaxed and stopped trying to push John into the chair.
Stopped because John was kissing him back and oh. That was, actually, that was pretty good, that was phenomenal, that was... Even kissing Carter couldn't possibly be as good as kissing John, because by the time Rodney pulled away, he was panting, shaking just a little, hoping John didn't plan to deck him.
"Don't hit me," he thought, he rasped, staring down at John because John was staring up at him like he was supposed to say something which was stupid because he couldn't talk, he...
Oh.
Oh!!
"What the hell, McKay!?" John yelped, practically jumping out of the chair. They went down in a tangle of flailing limbs, Rodney smacking wildly at John's head and shoulders, John's feet mixed up with his, both of them a mess.
"What, I, oh, god, I can talk!" It was a bare whisper, but Rodney's voice dragged through it, rusty and aching and oh god, oh god, he could talk, he could say things and why was John not letting him pin him down?
"You can talk!"
Well. Rodney thought they'd covered that already.
"ELIZABETH!" John yelled, loud and clear and possibly ear rupturing. At least if he was deaf, he could ignore the whining of others. "ELIZABETH! RODNEY CAN TALK!"
It left Rodney kneeling back, breathing a little unsteadily, because there was a rush with it, a rush of thought and feeling that, hey, he could talk and it wasn't all going to be silence and notebooks anymore, but also, for how long? And what had made it go back, why could he--
John. God, that was obnoxiously easy to work out. There had to be a mental component to it, and maybe John had to get desperate enough to untrigger it, or...
CMO Beckett arrived shortly accompanied by Dr. Biro. CSO McKay was transferred back to Atlantis for further medical attention when no immediate damage could be ascertained. Later examination proved that no physical damage had been done, however, CSO McKay is currently mute and no determination as to precise cause has been determined.
Determination was made to leave outpost as is unless and until greater understanding can be achieved.
John kissed him again, and the room was flooded with people, Elizabeth, Carson, Radek, that Canadian guy who had replaced Grodin. Charlie or Cliff or something.
Carl?
And all of John's shouting amounted to a whole lot of nothing because Rodney couldn't talk when John was mashing his face against Rodney's, which was only a problem insofar as the crowd, not a problem for Rodney.
"You can talk," John whispered against his lips, barely heard over the babble of other voices, but oh, God, it sounded good. So good.
And when he managed to murmur back a cracked, "Yeah," that got swallowed in a kiss, too, and? It didn't even matter.
Addendum to Mission Report 2006-0216-SGA-1
Gate Address: M7X-463
Revised Mission Status: Qualified success, to be considered neutral
CSO deems power source worth studying, device to be transported back to Science Lab C.
Rodney McKay, CSO.
Authors:
tzi & zaganthiPairing: Sheppard/McKay. Kind of. Sort of. Well. More or less.
Rating: This might be all of PG. But WHERE did the porn go!? *mourns*
Summary: Mission Status: Failure
Spoilers: Probably bits and pieces of S2
Length: 4,693 words. -ish
There was a zen state where the mind stopped giving him words and started to give him realities, where formulas ceased to matter and all that mattered was the space between his fingers and the wires, the space between the wires and reality, the reality that only tenuously held his creations together. It laid in the silence -- not just the silence of the room around him, but also the silence of his own brain and the air. Usually there was a buzz of thoughts and feelings and concerns, a thousand things that pulled away from that ease of zen, the moment between action and breath.
It was as close to religion as he ever treaded. There was a joy in it, in easing back from himself, from his own ego and from having to explain himself and just do, do it without threat or strain. It had been years since he'd just sat with equipment and enjoyed it, taught himself without a warning sign being flashed at him in the tone of someone's voice, their face. It was him and it was all self taught and every breath was in tune with the music of the solder and the music of the calibration.
It was wonderful, moving a hand, feeling that it was in the right place, like typing with his eyes closed because he knew that all of his fingers were on home and he was never going to hit a wrong key so he could just breathe and let the words flow, the reconnections flow.
There had been yelling, earlier, days ago. Screaming, and anger, intensity that practically flowed outward in a visible cloud, unbearable and fascinating and fierce. That fury wasn't something Rodney wanted to be exposed to at the moment. He needed the calm that came with moving, touching, fixing, and silence. Peace and quiet weren't anything he remembered needing for long before. He'd always been moving, constant, on to the next task almost before the last was finished. His parents had hated that, been driven to exhaustion, and had therefore hated him, as well. They hadn't like Jeannie much better.
Jeannie....
Jeannie was safe, if he could ever consider Earth safe. Maybe the better word for it was ignorant, and blissfully so, safe from the knowledge of all of the interesting things that could go wrong in a given day. One minute someone could be calling out to his or her teammates to come look at something, and then wake up flat on their back in the infirmary.
He supposed the Earth equivalent was wandering out into traffic unawares.
He'd never actually done that. Never gotten so wrapped up that he'd been unaware of the dangers surrounding him -- lemons, bees, horse flies, slippery sidewalks, oncoming traffic. Sometimes he thought some of the other Atlantis scientists (Parrish, his mind whispered, supplying the botanist's name surprisingly quickly) might have problems like that, but Rodney had never been as bad as most.
He wasn't that bad now, he'd just had an accident. It wasn't anything to write home about, considering the nature of the expedition and how very much worse it could have been.
At least, that was what he'd heard some of the others say.
Not Carson. Not Elizabeth, either, or Zelenka, and not....
But the ones who whispered that it could have been worse, they were right.
He couldn't shout and cuss, and he couldn't explain things anymore, but he could still think and that was what they needed him for. It was hard not to be a tiny bit grateful for that when he'd seen men take damage to their heads during the Wraith's siege of Atlantis that had left them drooling with all the wrong coordination.
He should be grateful.
It was easier than anything else, just like it was easier to assign himself the more difficult tasks in the quiet parts of the city and let Zelenka do the yelling, the quick snap of words that he couldn't. It was desperately amusing.
They had all thought Zelenka was the nice one.
Mission Report 2006-0216-SGA-1
Personnel: Commanding Officer Lt. Col. John Sheppard, Chief Science Officer Rodney McKay, Negotiator Teyla Emmagen, Specialist Ronon Dex
Additional Personnel: None
Gate Address: M7X-463
Vernacular Designation: Sinayot
Objective: Database listed Ancient outpost with possible power source.
Mission Status: Failure
Rescue Personnel: Chief Medical Officer Dr. Carson Beckett, Dr. Lindsay Biro
The problem, the only problem, was when he needed to say something to them quickly. That was frustrating, because time was usually of the essence and writing and reading things took time. Elizabeth had oh so helpfully suggested that he learn ASL. It was very diplomatic and politically correct of her, except for the huge flaw that everyone else on the base still wouldn't understand him, and that was the problem to start with.
So he'd learned every gesture for 'fuck you' that every member of the base recognized, and it was a start to expanding his understandability in the base. It was a shame that there wasn't a nearly universal gesture for 'what the fuck do you think you're doing?' because sometimes Radek needed to hear it. See it.
And not every job could be pawned off. Sometimes, they needed him off world, still, because Radek hated it and a scientist was a useful commodity. In his case, it was more of a necessary commodity because Rodney was, admittedly, invaluable.
They hadn't understood how much they needed him until he couldn't say anything to them anymore. Sometimes, he wanted to hit someone, just because no one had understood exactly how much he was responsible for keeping all of them alive, even in the face of something like Doranda.
Now they all had to slow down and pay attention when they asked him something because he couldn't rattle off words that all went over their heads anyway. They actually had to consult him instead of taking him for granted, most of the time.
Even though it was his first long mission, his first initial contact mission since he'd had the accident, Rodney found himself strangely not nervous at all. Excited, yes, and probably without reason because even Teyla had been inclined to write those people off as dirt farmers. Even dirt farmers had occasionally tasty crops, though.
He had hopes that there might be fruit, jams made from all of the wild something-like-roses they'd seen on the walk from the 'gate. The smell had been intense and deep, and if they had jams or something like a rose tea, he might just agree to move in with them.
It would be easier than watching Sheppard avoid his eyes.
The worst part about that was that he couldn't say any of the smart-assed things that came to his mind. Ronon and Teyla were up ahead a little, talking. He wasn't sure what about, but it was probably wildlife related. It might possibly even be about the mashed potatoes in the mess hall.
Sheppard hardly bantered on missions anymore. He and Ronon talked a little, and he talked with Teyla some, but it was nothing like before. He missed talking with John, but talking with John was impossible when he wouldn't even look at Rodney.
It wasn't his fault.
It could have happened to any of them, could have been brought on by Ronon, might have been brought on by Rodney himself with little or no provocation. The fact that John wanted to take all of the guilt for it on himself made Rodney impotently furious, because how was he supposed to be anything else when it was impossible for him to tell John exactly how pissed off he was?
He changed his pace a little; fell into step with John, almost shoulder to shoulder. He nudged him, and waved one hand at John, and maybe that would get his attention.
He hadn't felt so completely alone since just after Doranda.
Rodney wondered if John would ever forgive himself, since it seemed he had finally forgiven him.
Report:
SGA-1 moved through Stargate 10:23 AST. M7X-463 (v.d. Sinayot) also revealed to be early morning, roughly two hours behind AST. CSO McKay calculated days to be approx. 23.8 hours long. Village immediately accessible to Stargate, approx. 1.5km walk. Moon populated by primitive culture, rough Earth equivalent 12th century Europe.
Ancient outpost further from Stargate, approx. 2.5km from village.
Those moments of perfect zen concentration were still there, and he had to appreciate it. He could live inside of his own head now, as if the sound of his own voice was gone even from there and there were just words and thoughts that weren't loud and clanging, which made work strangely easier to do.
It was the only thing that he appreciated anymore. It wasn't that he'd thought he was mister popular on Atlantis, but not interacting with people was killing him. Not talking, not going back and forth to stir up ideas. He and Radek managed pretty well in fast fire IMs, but it wasn't the same as seeing a face and hearing someone talk to him, which wasn't often enough.
There was apparently an idiot assumption that he was deaf as well as mute.
Carson gave him stupid, sad looks all the time, and Elizabeth was still ridiculously insistent about the possibilities of ASL classes. Ronon at least acted as if nothing at all had changed.
Well. Mostly, with Ronon, nothing had. It wasn't like they'd ever done a lot of talking. That wasn't their thing. Ronon loomed, Rodney backed away, and they saved one another's asses when it became necessary. Mission accomplished.
Personally, Rodney thought most of Atlantis was taking cues from Sheppard, and he was starting to hate him just a little bit.
He had to confront the Colonel. Letting things lay and go on as they had was killing him. He needed to have words with Carson and Elizabeth, too, even if they were just angry words scrawled on sheets of paper until his fingertips were red.
He'd write until they bled if it would get John to look at him again, talk to him. Treat him like he wasn't invisible.
Treat him like anything, so long as he wasn't pretending Rodney didn't exist.
Determined, Rodney clutched his tablet and pen and moved out of his lab, steps firm and steady. He was going to have to be decisive, intent, and incredibly, unbelievably annoying to get his way, but he was going to get it.
If it meant sitting on top of John and holding the tablet in front of his face, then fine, he'd do it. He was desperate enough that it was looking like an option, particularly if John was going to be stubborn. It was just a matter of finding him first, looking for him in the hallways and offices and then the mess hall, which would have been nice, but no. He hadn't been there.
Frankly, Rodney thought he was hiding.
It was really cowardly if that was the case. Then again, John almost always seemed to know where Rodney was, and when he might end up alone with him, and he made an intense effort to make sure that didn't happen. Sometimes, Rodney thought he should be looking for new scars, little bumps under his skin to see if Sheppard might have had him tagged the way Rodney had tagged Heisenberg when he'd been a kitten.
It was tempting to stand in front of a mirror and look. Sometime, if the hunt for the base military commander grew much more protracted. He checked in the workout rooms as an off chance, and then he doubled back up to the control room, before seeking out John's tiny niche of an office again. Maybe he'd just assume that Rodney had given up, if he'd been actively avoiding him.
He ought to know better. Rodney had never been the type of guy who'd give up, barring life-threatening wounds and other complete and total disasters.
The yelling was what caught his attention. It was hard to miss, and Rodney cringed. If he could hear all that, there was no doubt that half of Atlantis had heard Elizabeth yelling at him a few months before. Not that he'd ever believed otherwise, but hope was a foolish, foolish thing on occasion.
"If you think I'm going to allow you to do this to him so that you can stop feeling guilty....!"
Do what, Rodney wanted to know, but he started towards her office, almost sneaking with his tablet tucked under his arm when he knocked on the door jam. It was a miracle that Atlantis had any doors that closed.
"Dammit, Elizabeth, I can't keep him safe anymore! Don't you get it? I'm the one that's responsible for this, and if I can't keep him safe then I want to give him to somebody who can!"
Maybe he should knock again. They'd obviously missed the first one.
He was sure that he wasn't that silent, and if he could have cleared his throat, he would have. So Rodney stepped into the room, and tapped the door jam with the back of his heel for a more satisfying noise in the room announcing his arrival.
"J... Rodney. Um." Seeing Elizabeth at a loss for words was somewhat disturbing. Okay. Strike that. More than somewhat disturbing.
"Rodney." John's voice sounded as if it had to grate out over ground glass to be heard. "I was just leaving."
Rodney back-stepped to block the doorway, and held a hand up at him before he started to scrawl on his tablet. No, you weren't.
He wasn't, because Elizabeth was yelling at him, and she could be a complete fishwife when she was pissed off. Having had that experience, it was obvious to Rodney that John would be there for quite some time to come.
"Okay, I wasn't, but I am now."
"No, you aren't."
You're running from me, Rodney scrawled on the tablet in block letters, and I'm tired of it. Sit down. He flipped it around and held it out at John like a weapon.
He had thought that John would bow up, hiss at him like a dangerous, coiled snake. The look of his shoulders drooping like something the biologists had forgotten to water made Rodney want to wring his hands.
"Okay."
He opened another document, and made sure that John sat down before he glanced at Elizabeth and realized that it wasn't a conversation he wanted to be having with her there but he was probably going to have to because if he tried to get John to go somewhere with him, John would run. This 'no one talk to McKay since he can't speak' shtick was old after the first week. You act like I'm not alive, you don't look at me on missions unless you need something fixed. I'm going to assume that you've owned dogs that you've treated better.
Assume because, well, John seemed like the guy who might have had a dog. Not something small and fluffy, like the one Rodney had when he was a kid that his dad didn't let him put tags on or anything. John would have had something big, something like a yellow Labrador, all puppyish enthusiasm and playfulness.
"McKay..."
"You know, I have a meeting I was supposed to be in fifteen minutes ago. I'm going to go and shut the door. Since I think both of you probably need this conversation, I'm also going to station Lieutenant Henderson outside of the door."
That was good. Henderson was Canadian Aircom, and he was much more likely to be on Rodney's side and refuse to let John escape. He also had a fair bit of knowledge as far as Ancient systems went, so Rodney could have him disable the door if it became a necessity.
"Fine." John was glaring at Elizabeth just as much as he was at Rodney.
This? Wasn't going to go well.
After meeting with Sinayotians, CO Sheppard and CSO McKay left Negotiator Emmagen and Specialist Dex bargaining for fruits and jams. Hiked to Ancient outpost. Outpost was mostly overgrown by vines, but seemed in working order. After some work, CO Sheppard and CSO McKay entered Ancient outpost.
John crossed his arms over his chest as soon as the door was sealed, and Rodney wanted to mimic the motion, but he needed his hands to write Why are you acting like this? on his tablet.
"Why do you think, Rodney?" The words almost held the same sarcastic tone Rodney had gotten accustomed to, but there was something missing, something John would have given him without fail three weeks ago, a month ago, a year ago.
Rodney glared at him, and backed up to sit on the edge of Elizabeth’s desk, writing again on the tablet. He'd written a program that made it easy to clear a page and start a fresh one with a tap, just like he'd created a logger for when he was doing actual useful things like writing down equations and theories. I have a few theories, and none of them are flattering to you. Is it a guilt complex? Because this isn't the mission to have a guilt complex on. He started to turn it around, but stopped and added, I'M STILL ALIVE.
The look that crossed Sheppard's face when he saw that was almost painful, probably for both of them. "Yes, you're alive! You're alive until you need to call for help and you can't do that, Rodney! You need to be reassigned to a team that doesn't.... doesn't get into as much trouble as we do. You need to be doing something safer, okay?"
He started for a moment, and then cleared a new page and started to scrawl, Then get me a whistle to blow when I'm in trouble. I know how to fire a gun into the air. If I do something safer, you're all going to die the next time you need McKay's Magical Scientific Touch, which is working better than ever. He turned it around again, thrust it out at John.
"No." No, like that answered everything. Ha! John could just keep dreaming because Rodney wasn't going to let him get away with this, and neither was Elizabeth. He was invaluable in so many ways that John couldn't even begin to imagine it, and if Rodney had to shove it down his throat, he would. "No. You're in more danger with us, Rodney!"
I can't talk -- how is that more danger? If anything, I won't be giving away our position to the enemy when I call you on your idiocy. It's just my voice, nothing else has changed. I can still fire a gun, I still think fast on my feet, and I'm not going to have my usefulness on this mission crippled because you can't -- son of a bitch, he ran out of space, so he flipped it around for John to read, waiting for the confused look that meant John had reached the bottom. Rodney cleared a page and scrawled upside down, because you can't get over your guilt.
That was the core of it. That was the whole of it, because John had the gene, and John had been with him.
That was everything. Right there.
Faint power signatures were emitted from outpost. CO and CSO continued their search. Outpost was not yet deteriorated beyond the point of safety, but had become eccentric. (See CO's previous entries re: Ancient technology). CSO located power source and began extrication.
You need to get over it. It triggered because it thought it could bring me to the 'next stage'. Admittedly I'm not interested in doing that, but I volunteered for the gene therapy. First one to get it, remember? And not the first one to have it bite him in the ass. Rodney held the laptop out again, waiting for John to say something.
"It triggered because I was bitching about all of your talking!" John yelled, shooting up from his seat. It wasn't often that Rodney saw him outright pissed, scary and uncertain. The fidgety way he moved said that he was both. "We both know it!"
So now you not only want me mute, you want me treated like a god-damned second class citizen on the base, too. Fantastic. He glared at John while he wrote it, even if John couldn't see the words yet. Everyone takes your cues. So now no one talks to me because I'm apparently deaf as well as mute. Funny that I hadn't noticed.
Conversation was held re: device attached to power source, possible uses, etc. Customary banter made, CO asserting CSO's verbosity. Trigger for the device is unknown at this time, but is perceived to be related to the ATA gene.
Cause for trigger and concurrent accident is also unknown at this time.
"That's not it! That's not even close to it! You're... I'm...."
He'd never seen John fall like that, slumping into the chair as if strings had been cut, sending him tumbling.
Rodney almost tossed the tablet onto the table, and he started forwards, startling, because that had never happened before, ever, that Rodney had ever seen. And he couldn't even yelp or call for help, because John had just collapsed on him, the worst chickenshit way to end a conversation ever.
His eyes were closed, had tilted back, but he hadn't passed out or anything desperately unmanly. He just seemed to have closed his eyes and fallen back, and it was a wonder he hadn't knocked himself out on the stupid chair.
"I'm sorry."
He was sorry, and his eyes were closed, which meant no reading anything, like the words, 'Don't scare me, you stupid shit!', which Rodney wished could flash in the air as violently as they were showing up in his own head.
He stopped beside the chair, and nudged John's knee with his own knee.
"I'm sorry I said you were being a loudmouth. I'm sorry for thinking you needed to shut up before some crazed native found us and decided to shoot us both in the ass this time. I'm sorry because it's my fault. Okay?"
No more crazed natives shooting at their asses because of Rodney's mouth anymore. Rodney frowned at him, and nudged his leg again, before he leaned down to put a hand on John's shoulder. Stupid. Of all the stupid things to blame himself over.
"What?" John opened his eyes then, looked up at him, and it was as good as over. It had been a long time coming, more months and years than it should have been, and the fact that it was the only thing surprising Rodney should have registered a little more.
It didn't.
He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell John he was being stupid and that Rodney missed working with him and that Rodney missed being on his team. He couldn't say it and the tablet was a few steps backwards and it meant starting over and giving John time to close his eyes again.
There was no reason that the stupid thing hadn't given him telepathy on top of muting him, doing a useful trade for him, but no. No, it hadn't. It had just left him this, and John looking up at him, and Rodney knowing that he had one chance, just the one, to get it right. To make things work the way they should.
He leaned forward, and pressed his mouth to John's.
There was no reason not to. Either John was Rodney's friend, which he hadn't been acting like, or he was too wrapped up in his own guilt to do it, or he wasn't, and Rodney had pressed things hard enough to break their friendship. He might as well shove it over the edge, because it hadn't been helping him much lately anyway.
A friendship like that at least deserved a goodbye kiss.
Ancient device gave flash of light followed by smoke. Temporary light blindness was followed by call to Neg. Emmagen and Spec. Dex. CSO McKay was not responding. Neg. Emmagen returned to gate in preparation for calling medical rescue personnel. Spec. Dex followed path to outpost to ascertain situation.
Upon arrival, Spec. Dex found CO Sheppard with unconscious CSO McKay. Evidence of trauma suggested that a medical team be called. Drs. Beckett and Biro responded to request from Neg. Emmagen and came immediately to outpost.
He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when John's mouth opened under his, almost tentative. After all.
John never did see it coming. Not when it was a hot alien bimbo, and not when it was Rodney McKay, fed up and tired and frustrated, kissing him hard, sliding his tongue into John's mouth once it was open because god that felt good, slick on slick, and the feel of John's teeth for a moment before Rodney relaxed and stopped trying to push John into the chair.
Stopped because John was kissing him back and oh. That was, actually, that was pretty good, that was phenomenal, that was... Even kissing Carter couldn't possibly be as good as kissing John, because by the time Rodney pulled away, he was panting, shaking just a little, hoping John didn't plan to deck him.
"Don't hit me," he thought, he rasped, staring down at John because John was staring up at him like he was supposed to say something which was stupid because he couldn't talk, he...
Oh.
Oh!!
"What the hell, McKay!?" John yelped, practically jumping out of the chair. They went down in a tangle of flailing limbs, Rodney smacking wildly at John's head and shoulders, John's feet mixed up with his, both of them a mess.
"What, I, oh, god, I can talk!" It was a bare whisper, but Rodney's voice dragged through it, rusty and aching and oh god, oh god, he could talk, he could say things and why was John not letting him pin him down?
"You can talk!"
Well. Rodney thought they'd covered that already.
"ELIZABETH!" John yelled, loud and clear and possibly ear rupturing. At least if he was deaf, he could ignore the whining of others. "ELIZABETH! RODNEY CAN TALK!"
It left Rodney kneeling back, breathing a little unsteadily, because there was a rush with it, a rush of thought and feeling that, hey, he could talk and it wasn't all going to be silence and notebooks anymore, but also, for how long? And what had made it go back, why could he--
John. God, that was obnoxiously easy to work out. There had to be a mental component to it, and maybe John had to get desperate enough to untrigger it, or...
CMO Beckett arrived shortly accompanied by Dr. Biro. CSO McKay was transferred back to Atlantis for further medical attention when no immediate damage could be ascertained. Later examination proved that no physical damage had been done, however, CSO McKay is currently mute and no determination as to precise cause has been determined.
Determination was made to leave outpost as is unless and until greater understanding can be achieved.
John kissed him again, and the room was flooded with people, Elizabeth, Carson, Radek, that Canadian guy who had replaced Grodin. Charlie or Cliff or something.
Carl?
And all of John's shouting amounted to a whole lot of nothing because Rodney couldn't talk when John was mashing his face against Rodney's, which was only a problem insofar as the crowd, not a problem for Rodney.
"You can talk," John whispered against his lips, barely heard over the babble of other voices, but oh, God, it sounded good. So good.
And when he managed to murmur back a cracked, "Yeah," that got swallowed in a kiss, too, and? It didn't even matter.
Addendum to Mission Report 2006-0216-SGA-1
Gate Address: M7X-463
Revised Mission Status: Qualified success, to be considered neutral
CSO deems power source worth studying, device to be transported back to Science Lab C.
Rodney McKay, CSO.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-03 08:12 pm (UTC)2. Your word count seems to be... off... by a factor of five. *koff*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-03 08:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-03 09:24 pm (UTC)You got my expectations up and everything. I want reparations.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-03 09:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-03 09:34 pm (UTC)*taps foot*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-03 09:56 pm (UTC)Forgive me? (http://community.livejournal.com/sga_flashfic/427815.html) *hopeful*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-03 08:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-03 09:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-03 10:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-05 04:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-03 11:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-05 04:43 am (UTC)Thanks!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-04 12:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-05 04:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-04 11:09 am (UTC)Through this I was wondering how having Rodney lose his voice was the second worse thing that could ever happen to him (after amnesia) and you did it really well. I especially liked everyone elses reaction to it (stupid John :S) and how everything was clearer for him without words (the whole first section was awesome beyond words, it's the best opening I've read in... well ever I think) and you know, the ending was also awesome, and actually the middle bit was pretty awesome too,
yes I'll go now before I ramble on anymore :D but you get what I mean *puts in memories*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-05 04:42 am (UTC)(Also, I like your icon. He.)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-04 06:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-05 04:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-05 10:04 am (UTC)Loved this, thanks for sharing! :)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-12 11:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 03:33 am (UTC)Great story.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-12 11:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-06 01:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-12 11:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-11 04:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-12 11:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-17 09:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-23 07:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-30 01:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-09 02:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-30 03:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-09 02:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-01 01:21 pm (UTC)That was good: Rodney without speech is ... well I can see why John is freaking out. Interesting guilt complex; completely in character! I love the ending like a re-discovered love child. Wonderful! The little bold mission reports were interesting, too.