![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
maverick4oz.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashficTitle: Don Juan
Author: Maverick
Pairing: Dex/McKay
Spoilers: Up through all of season three with specific mentions of Tao of Rodney and Sunday.
Summary: “On Sateda, it’s said that love cuts deeper than any knife.”
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mboyd for the down and dirty beta.
See author’s notes at the end of the story for additional information.
Don Juan
~*~*~*~*~
Ronon learned long ago that physical scars served as nothing more than markers of time. They were the echoes of things past, people past -- sense memory plain and simple. He didn’t dwell on them.
That was until McKay walked up and hugged them away.
It wasn’t like the slate had been wiped clean. The scars from the Wraith tracking devices were gone but that didn’t erase the seven years he spent as a Runner. Their absence from his skin couldn’t transport him back to Sateda or save his brothers in arms. But it did crack open something deep inside him that he had long since thought dead and buried beneath the scar tissue.
And because of that he felt a kinship with McKay that he tried not to dwell on either. If that meant he spent more time in the labs or that he goaded the other man into training with him, he didn’t see the harm.
And if that meant he showed up at McKay’s door after the other man got back from taking Beckett’s body home to Scotland and wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight, telling him it was going to be okay until McKay was shoving him backwards toward and down onto the bed, he wouldn’t dwell on that either.
He had meant it to be simple comfort. More than anyone, he knew what it was like to be assaulted by the guilt of surviving. It was a heavy burden to carry, and it wasn’t a burden that McKay should have to carry alone. But as was often the case with McKay, that comfort became so much more.
Because somewhere between the first kiss and the last, Ronon began to realize that maybe it wasn’t just McKay who needed that, who needed to remember that embracing the joy in living was the most fitting tribute to loved ones lost. It was quick and messy -- the need for skin on skin overwhelming in its intensity. But through it all, Ronon knew -- deep down in his bones -- that this wasn’t just about comfort or shared grief. This was the start of something good. Something lasting. Something he could dwell on for a long time to come.
After they had cleaned up, Ronon propped himself up on his side and made McKay look at him. “He’d never blame you. It wasn’t your fault.”
McKay looked more relaxed but still weary. “Logically, I know that. But for once my heart has trumped my mind.”
Frowning, Ronon ran his thumb along McKay’s jaw. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Pretend like you wouldn’t die for any one of us.”
McKay looked startled but pleased by Ronon’s words. And then he covered it up with the sarcasm Ronon had come to expect, even appreciate. “I think you have me confused with Colonel Sheppard. I understand the mistake though as the resemblance is uncanny.”
Obviously McKay had no idea how much truth was in that statement. Sheppard and McKay were very similar creatures. They may go about it in vastly different ways but both would sacrifice themselves for the greater good. It was one of the reasons why he stayed, why he chose to call Atlantis home. “You know McKay, you can maybe pull that act off with someone else, but as Sheppard likes to say, that doesn’t fly with me.”
Rodney sighed. “Great, I thought it was bad enough when Teyla started saying ‘cool’, but now you’ve picked up the Sheppard speak as well. If either of you ever utters the term ‘gnarly’ I will transfer to another team."
Ronon narrowed his eyes, a silent act that showed McKay’s deflection tactics didn’t work.
McKay closed his eyes and then opened them again, his face contorted in unmistakable pain. “It’s easier. If people think you’re heartless, you have a much better chance of not getting hurt.”
Anyone who looked at McKay knew how much he hurt for every single one of them. “Easy doesn’t make it right. That’s no way to live.”
“Yes, because you’re such a heart on your sleeve kinda guy.”
Ronon cocked an eyebrow. That was a new one. “Heart on sleeve?”
“Nonsensical Earth expression that means someone who shows emotions easily. So basically, someone like Carson.” McKay’s eyes turned bright. “Christ, I miss him.”
Ronon pulled McKay tight against him and kissed his shoulder. “I miss the Doc, too. He was a good friend.”
“He was. And I don’t know how to not feel guilty.”
“You’ll always feel some guilt because you’re still here and he isn’t. Guilt just means you cared, but you can’t let it consume you.”
It was McKay’s turn to hug Ronon tight. “You’re pretty much an expert on this aren’t you? I’m sorry you’ve had to endure so much loss.”
Pressing his lips to McKay’s, Ronon shook his head. “No need to be sorry. I’m not. I hate the Wraith. I’ll always hate the Wraith, but I’ve been lucky to have so many good people in my life.” Ronon hoped that McKay knew he was counted among those people. “On Sateda, it’s said that love cuts deeper than any knife. It’s what separates us from the Wraith.”
McKay gave a faint smile. “You Satedans and your knives.”
Ronon smiled back against McKay’s neck. He lifted his head and met McKay’s eyes. “You asked me once if those scars on my back were a badge of honor. They weren ’t. And I’m glad they’re gone.” Ronon bent forward to kiss McKay, in thanks and because he could now. He settled back onto the bed, McKay warm against his side. “But the memories we keep here,” Ronon patted his hand over his heart. “Those matter. Our friends, our loved ones, they’re not really gone. They live inside us.”
“I’ve been told that in the past. I’m not sure I’ve ever believed it before now.”
Ronon could see himself reflected in McKay’s eyes. He looked almost happy. “I believe it.” And thanks to McKay, he really did.
McKay put his hand over Ronon’s heart, fingers splayed. “Tell me.”
And that -- like all things with McKay -- was much easier than he ever could have imagined. Sure, there was a twinge of pain like with any muscle seldom used, but it felt good. Right. Settling his own hand over McKay’s, Ronon smiled. “Her name was Melena.”
~*fin*~
Author’s notes: This story was inspired by this quote from HBO’s Oz series:
“The worst stab wound is the one to the heart. Sure, most people survive it, but the heart is never quite the same. There's always a scar, which is meant, I guess, to remind you that even for a little while, someone made your heart beat faster. And that's a scar you can live with, proudly, all the days of your life.” Augustus Hill from the Oz episode, “Cuts Like a Knife,” written by Tom Fontana.
The title also comes from that episode. A Don Juan is a prison shank made from a bed spring. While the wound it makes is smaller, it goes deeper than any other.
Author: Maverick
Pairing: Dex/McKay
Spoilers: Up through all of season three with specific mentions of Tao of Rodney and Sunday.
Summary: “On Sateda, it’s said that love cuts deeper than any knife.”
Thanks to
mboyd for the down and dirty beta. See author’s notes at the end of the story for additional information.
~*~*~*~*~
Ronon learned long ago that physical scars served as nothing more than markers of time. They were the echoes of things past, people past -- sense memory plain and simple. He didn’t dwell on them.
That was until McKay walked up and hugged them away.
It wasn’t like the slate had been wiped clean. The scars from the Wraith tracking devices were gone but that didn’t erase the seven years he spent as a Runner. Their absence from his skin couldn’t transport him back to Sateda or save his brothers in arms. But it did crack open something deep inside him that he had long since thought dead and buried beneath the scar tissue.
And because of that he felt a kinship with McKay that he tried not to dwell on either. If that meant he spent more time in the labs or that he goaded the other man into training with him, he didn’t see the harm.
And if that meant he showed up at McKay’s door after the other man got back from taking Beckett’s body home to Scotland and wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight, telling him it was going to be okay until McKay was shoving him backwards toward and down onto the bed, he wouldn’t dwell on that either.
He had meant it to be simple comfort. More than anyone, he knew what it was like to be assaulted by the guilt of surviving. It was a heavy burden to carry, and it wasn’t a burden that McKay should have to carry alone. But as was often the case with McKay, that comfort became so much more.
Because somewhere between the first kiss and the last, Ronon began to realize that maybe it wasn’t just McKay who needed that, who needed to remember that embracing the joy in living was the most fitting tribute to loved ones lost. It was quick and messy -- the need for skin on skin overwhelming in its intensity. But through it all, Ronon knew -- deep down in his bones -- that this wasn’t just about comfort or shared grief. This was the start of something good. Something lasting. Something he could dwell on for a long time to come.
After they had cleaned up, Ronon propped himself up on his side and made McKay look at him. “He’d never blame you. It wasn’t your fault.”
McKay looked more relaxed but still weary. “Logically, I know that. But for once my heart has trumped my mind.”
Frowning, Ronon ran his thumb along McKay’s jaw. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Pretend like you wouldn’t die for any one of us.”
McKay looked startled but pleased by Ronon’s words. And then he covered it up with the sarcasm Ronon had come to expect, even appreciate. “I think you have me confused with Colonel Sheppard. I understand the mistake though as the resemblance is uncanny.”
Obviously McKay had no idea how much truth was in that statement. Sheppard and McKay were very similar creatures. They may go about it in vastly different ways but both would sacrifice themselves for the greater good. It was one of the reasons why he stayed, why he chose to call Atlantis home. “You know McKay, you can maybe pull that act off with someone else, but as Sheppard likes to say, that doesn’t fly with me.”
Rodney sighed. “Great, I thought it was bad enough when Teyla started saying ‘cool’, but now you’ve picked up the Sheppard speak as well. If either of you ever utters the term ‘gnarly’ I will transfer to another team."
Ronon narrowed his eyes, a silent act that showed McKay’s deflection tactics didn’t work.
McKay closed his eyes and then opened them again, his face contorted in unmistakable pain. “It’s easier. If people think you’re heartless, you have a much better chance of not getting hurt.”
Anyone who looked at McKay knew how much he hurt for every single one of them. “Easy doesn’t make it right. That’s no way to live.”
“Yes, because you’re such a heart on your sleeve kinda guy.”
Ronon cocked an eyebrow. That was a new one. “Heart on sleeve?”
“Nonsensical Earth expression that means someone who shows emotions easily. So basically, someone like Carson.” McKay’s eyes turned bright. “Christ, I miss him.”
Ronon pulled McKay tight against him and kissed his shoulder. “I miss the Doc, too. He was a good friend.”
“He was. And I don’t know how to not feel guilty.”
“You’ll always feel some guilt because you’re still here and he isn’t. Guilt just means you cared, but you can’t let it consume you.”
It was McKay’s turn to hug Ronon tight. “You’re pretty much an expert on this aren’t you? I’m sorry you’ve had to endure so much loss.”
Pressing his lips to McKay’s, Ronon shook his head. “No need to be sorry. I’m not. I hate the Wraith. I’ll always hate the Wraith, but I’ve been lucky to have so many good people in my life.” Ronon hoped that McKay knew he was counted among those people. “On Sateda, it’s said that love cuts deeper than any knife. It’s what separates us from the Wraith.”
McKay gave a faint smile. “You Satedans and your knives.”
Ronon smiled back against McKay’s neck. He lifted his head and met McKay’s eyes. “You asked me once if those scars on my back were a badge of honor. They weren ’t. And I’m glad they’re gone.” Ronon bent forward to kiss McKay, in thanks and because he could now. He settled back onto the bed, McKay warm against his side. “But the memories we keep here,” Ronon patted his hand over his heart. “Those matter. Our friends, our loved ones, they’re not really gone. They live inside us.”
“I’ve been told that in the past. I’m not sure I’ve ever believed it before now.”
Ronon could see himself reflected in McKay’s eyes. He looked almost happy. “I believe it.” And thanks to McKay, he really did.
McKay put his hand over Ronon’s heart, fingers splayed. “Tell me.”
And that -- like all things with McKay -- was much easier than he ever could have imagined. Sure, there was a twinge of pain like with any muscle seldom used, but it felt good. Right. Settling his own hand over McKay’s, Ronon smiled. “Her name was Melena.”
Author’s notes: This story was inspired by this quote from HBO’s Oz series:
“The worst stab wound is the one to the heart. Sure, most people survive it, but the heart is never quite the same. There's always a scar, which is meant, I guess, to remind you that even for a little while, someone made your heart beat faster. And that's a scar you can live with, proudly, all the days of your life.” Augustus Hill from the Oz episode, “Cuts Like a Knife,” written by Tom Fontana.
The title also comes from that episode. A Don Juan is a prison shank made from a bed spring. While the wound it makes is smaller, it goes deeper than any other.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-23 03:26 pm (UTC)