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sga_flashficTitle: How Not to Cope
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kriadydragon
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Characters: John, Rodney
Warnings: Dark. May squick. See end of story if you wish to know further details.
Summary: "Build up a stockpile of food and suddenly everyone thinks you're a nut case."
A/N: Big Muchas gracias towildcat88 for the beta and wonderful suggestions, one of which will drive me mad for some time as it was brilliant but not doable at the extreme moment. *pouts*
How Not to Cope
They put John in the dark to play a game with him. Light deprivation was bad, solitude really bad, the occasional beatings obnoxious, but eating was a nightmare. Four times out of ten a bowl was shoved through a slot in the door and John's fingers dipped into watery mush. The remaining six times, he stuck his fingers into something slick that squirmed.
Sometimes pinched.
Sometimes bit back.
And They laughed, from where ever they hid: close enough to be heard, not close enough for him to see.
He freaked the first ten times this happened, knocking the bowls over in his flailing phobia that out-shined his hatred for clowns. Afterwards, it was simply a matter of knowing better, but he would still squeeze himself into a corner as far from the bowl as possible. When he flailed, it was because whatever was in the bowl at the time had crawled up his arms and legs.
Except that didn't make the game fun enough. Sometimes, They would come in, shedding enough light to see John. They grabbed him, pinned him and shoved his next meal down his throat – slick, squirming, crunching, sometimes biting back.
And They laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
Today they shoved the crunchy, biting ones into his mouth – the ones that scared John beyond even a whisper of rational thought and made him puke; he always imagined them to be like eating Iratus bugs. The irrational part of brain was dead certain he was going to start mutating at any moment. The thought made him gag, but they just shoved more into his mouth.
Until shooting and shouting made them stop; an end to it all after the thirtieth time. They dropped him to rush out the door, babbling in a language Sheppard had never heard (then remembered he wasn't on Earth). They left him to vomit, cough and gag in a never ending cycle when the bugs crawled up his arms to his body, biting his shoulders and ribs.
John freaked, screamed, choked. He slammed his body against the floor and rolled, crushing every one of the little bastards. The weakened rational part of his mind thought it heard a door crash open and familiar voices shout. Hands grabbed him and the irrational part fought harder, louder. Then he passed out.
-------------------------------
The bane of intelligence wasn't so much knowledge as it was common sense. It was knowing how completely stupid an idea was and everyone in the immediate vicinity refusing to share in that realization.
Not couldn't share; actively and consciously refused to share.
It wasn't enough that Rodney's tormentors had John locked away in some damn dungeon as incentive for Rodney to fix things that couldn't be fixed. They also had to starve Rodney – not completely, just enough for him to develop an appreciation for food that made his old appreciation like the mindset of an anorexic. They waited until he got dizzy, sick and the shakes, then fed him.
Unless they were bored; then they waited until he passed out.
Oh, and they beat him from time to time when Rodney couldn't get the stupid, rusty, broken crap to work.
These idiots didn't get it and never would get it. They didn't want to. They were in control, they had the power, and, like all bullies who thought themselves at the top of the food chain, they had no friggin' clue as to how to use it. It was a good thing the stupid rusty crap was broken. Rodney was pretty sure what he was fixing had at one time been a diagnostic console. In the hands of these morons, they could easily get it to blow up the stupid planet.
Rodney wished he could get it to blow up the planet: rig it to do just that after the morons killed him. And they would kill him, just for the fun of it and not for any reasonable purpose.
Rodney was trying to do as much – rig the stupid, rusty console to explode and take everyone with it – when the stupid rusty facility rumbled and shook. There were shots, shouts, explosions and then the cavalry taking care of the morons so that Rodney didn't have to. Rodney sat back, arms folded, and let them.
When Teyla knelt next to him, offering him a Power Bar, he took one bite and promptly passed out.
--------------------------
John knew there was something seriously wrong with him. He missed having a feeding tube, missed feeling full without suffering the arduous process of eating.
Definitely something wrong.
Jennifer was weaning him via the usual method for adults who haven't seen food in a while: liquid, to softs, to solids. Liquids first as shakes and Ensures. John tried to be good about it, he really did, but the cold stuff was like the crap the grubs would roll in, and the warm stuff like what oozed out of the grubs when John was forced to bite down on them.
Jennifer was patient, possibly even too patient, skirting too close to patronizing when she wasn't paying attention. Everyone knew you don't treat the traumatized like children, yet it was as though it was the only way people knew how to act.
Because they were afraid of making things worse, setting him off, they tiptoed around him, cooed and lightly cajoled.
What they didn't do was give him answers. He just wanted to eat. Eat and not think, not remember, not feel insects wriggling and biting in his mouth when there were no insects.
John was traumatized. Had to be – he missed the damn feeding tube.
-----------------------------
Rodney McKay liked food – really, really liked it. Jennifer was constantly praising him on his returning appetite – unlike Sheppard who couldn't even keep a damn health shake down. What was up with that, anyway? The guy had been just as starved as him. Rodney would have asked Sheppard about it had Jennifer not stowed him away somewhere in the private sector; something about his appetite being so screwed that he needed to be carefully monitored.
Being the good boy who ate all his vegetables, Rodney was out of the infirmary in a matter of days while Sheppard was forced to stick around. Rodney was allowed to visit, as long as he didn't bring any food with him.
Sheppard looked like crap – pale, skinny and all those not-so-lovely things. No different than Rodney, really, except his good appetite had put color and three pounds back to his skin. Sheppard looked like he'd lost more weight.
“You can't seriously tell me you're not looking forward to being able to eat steak and potatoes again?” Rodney asked.
“I am,” John said, looking more annoyed than contrite. “It's just... hard, okay? They didn't make eating easy.”
“They didn't make it easy for me, either.”
“Different circumstances,” John muttered.
Rodney demanded, “How?”
Sheppard answered by turning his face away and saying a petulant, “Just... different. I don't want to talk about it.”
Rodney refused to leave until Sheppard did talk about it, but gave up when Sheppard fell asleep. They'd put Sheppard back on a feeding tube and Rodney couldn't stand the sight. He left, heading to the mess. Keller still wanted him on light foods, so he grabbed plain mashed potatoes and boiled chicken.
When he finished, he grabbed a couple of packaged muffins, some fruit and two sandwiches on his way out. There was a panel in his room, like a small closet only he knew how to find, where he stored his current contraband along with the rest he'd confiscated since his release three days ago. It was starting to get a little full.
------------------------------
The new psychologist thought a change of scene was in order for John. Keller was desperate enough to comply and John hungry enough to try anything. They had him relocated to his quarters, back in familiar, comfortable, safe territory.
And it helped, just a little. John could handle the shakes if they were cold – really cold. Too cold to have been bugs swimming in their own slime. It meant suffering a lot of brain freezes but it made Keller happy and shut John's stomach up.
Four days of it, and he managed to gain two pounds, two awesome pounds he was already turning into muscle with casual walks around Atlantis. He was looking forward to when he could run again.
Keller graduated him from drinks to mush – oatmeal, Cream of Wheat, mashed potatoes, plain rice. Mush like gruel that he couldn't stomach if it cooled off. If he looked at it...
Crap, if he looked at it...
There had been these insects, tiny, unmoving – like rice. Sometimes... sometimes like Cream of Wheat, or oatmeal – John couldn't remember exactly. They'd been kind of white and kind of soft. Sometimes they might have been eggs and he would eat them without realizing just what the hell he was putting in his stomach. Then the stomach cramps would hit, pain unlike any gut pain he'd ever had.
So much like being eaten alive.
John could handle the potatoes. Everything else he ate with his eyes closed. It didn't stop him from remembering – imagining.
He lost a pound.
----------------------------
The sandwiches and fruit were a loss but the wrapped muffins were still good. Rodney stopped confiscating sandwiches, focusing on muffins, Power Bars, chips and canned fruit. Although getting canned fruit meant having to bribe the cooks. His good coffee collection was lost, but at least it meant more fruit.
When the closet was filled to capacity he moved onto to his normal closet, stuffing cans and wrapped stuff into his pants' pockets, jacket pockets, and at the back of his top shelf. Keeping food in his clothes ensured a ready supply.
And keeping a ready supply was genius. Rodney wished he'd thought of it sooner. There were places in his lab where he could – where he did – put snacks. A few bars here and there, but he could fit muffins and canned fruit, too.
He stuffed some of his contraband into his laundry bag to do just that.
---------------------------
John shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth as quickly as possible without looking at his meat. Why the hell had he put boiled chicken on his plate? They'd liked giving him chicken, all juicy and harmless on the outside, crawling with maggots on the inside. John had forgotten all about it until he got the chicken.
He was almost finished with the potatoes – only four more bites to go – when Ronon, Teyla and Rodney joined him, Ronon's and Rodney's trays heaped high as usual. Rodney had managed to out-heap Ronon, but then it had always been like a contest between the two: who could eat the most.
They had meat, lots of it – steak cooked well-done swimming in gravy. Meat full of maggots.
Rodney looked at John's plate in undisguised disgust. “Jeez, that's all you're eating?” He looked at John, eying him up and down with extra disapproval. He began sawing through his meat. “Please tell me that's just an appetizer.” He stuffed the piece into his mouth, chewing as he talked, spraying gravy and meat-bits. “You're never going to get better if you don't eat more. I mean, look at you. You're, like, three pounds away from being a walking skeleton.”
“Rodney,” Teyla hissed. “John is still mending. Berating him will not help.” She cut through her meat, oozing juice, innocent on the outside, tender, crawling on the inside. She put the piece in her mouth and chewed. John had never realized that she smacked when she chewed.
Rodney pointed to John's chicken. “You gonna eat that?” He didn't wait for an answer when he speared it and added it to his own tray. “Thanks.” He sawed it, put it in his mouth. Tender, innocent.
Crawling.
John swallowed bile. “Gotta go.” He pushed from the table, leaving at a fast walk. Once in the hall, he ran.
Once at the balcony, he threw up.
--------------------------
Rodney stuffed a muffin into his mouth and the rest into his pocket, then headed to the rec room. It felt like forever since their last movie night. Teyla had suggested it, feeling that they did not spend as much time together as they used to.
The rest of the gang was already there, Sheppard readying the movie, positively swimming in the dark blue USAF sweater he was wearing. The only difference between now and when they were rescued was that he was moving and dressed in normal clothes.
There was popcorn, chips and dip and a few sodas. (Sheppard, for obvious reasons, was not allowed to have beer.) As the movie started, Ronon and Rodney attacked most of the snacks, Teyla hogging the popcorn. Sheppard didn't even so much as glance the snacks' way.
The movie was Star Trek, the one with the whales. Not Rodney's particular favorite but Ronon thought the Klingon ship was cool. Rodney pulled a packaged muffin from his jacket, opened it and stuffed it in his mouth. He saw Sheppard turn his head away out of the corner of his eye.
Rodney's next muffin was banana, also not a favorite but that didn't stop him from shoving it into his mouth. He then grabbed a handful of popcorn, ate it; a handful of chips, washed it down with a soda; he pulled out a Power Bar...
“Stop eating.”
Rodney, about to open the bar, snapped his head around to stare at Sheppard.
“Excuse me?”
Sheppard didn't look at him. He glared at the screen, tense as a bow string pulled back and about to fire. “Stop eating or leave.”
Rodney glared right back. “No, I'm not going to stop eating. Just because you feel like starving yourself doesn't mean the rest of us have to suffer. Why don't you leave?”
“Why don't you just stop stuffing your damn face for two damn minutes? Every time I see you you're always eating, eating, eating. It's friggin' gross, McKay! You haven't stopped eating since we got back!”
“Yes, because unlike you I'm all better! And you think me eating is gross? Have you looked in a mirror, lately? Face it, Colonel – it doesn't matter how many layers you try to wear, people can still see your ribs, and it's disgusting. People can't even look at you without almost losing their lunch. So think about that before you go tossing bricks into glass houses.”
With that said, Rodney ripped open the Power Bar and crammed it into his mouth. Sheppard launched to his feet and stormed out.
Next to Rodney, Ronon and Teyla looked on, stunned. Rodney narrowed his eyes at them.
“What?” When they continued to gape, he followed Sheppard's example.
-------------------------
John couldn't handle the mess hall any more. People staring at him as he stabbed at his potatoes, ignoring his vegetable medley because biting into the carrots was like biting into grubs.
It was nothing compared to the chicken fingers the other day. One bite and they crunched. One bite, and John waited for them to bite back. He'd run out of the mess to the balcony, puking up what wasn't there.
Keller wasn't happy; neither was the shrink, and nothing they did or said helped. John figured it was just going to take time, that's all. As long as he had potatoes and apples and milk and shakes, he would live; he would get through this.
Except he wasn't.
And everyone knew it, so they stared at him as they ate: crunching, slurping, smacking.
So John took his lunch to his room, where he stared at it.
He'd never realized how much potatoes looked like the strange webbing around the egg-sacks of those red and brown spiders. He'd bit down and they'd crawled out of his mouth, biting his tongue, cheek, face...
John dumped his potatoes into the toilet. His hands shook from reminiscing.
They continued to shake even when he'd calmed down.
-----------------------------
Rodney walked into his lab, shoving the last of his muffin into his face.
He stopped and stilled.
Radek stood before the open supply closet, muffin, canned fruit, bags of chips still dropping from the pile to the floor like leftover rain. Radek stared at the pile, then at Rodney.
Rodney gaped. His supplies. Radek had found his supplies and was taking them.
The backstabbing bastard was stealing Rodney's food.
“Get out.”
Radek blinked. “But...”
Red veiled Rodney's vision and he pointed a rigid, shaking finger at the door. “Get. Out.”
“Rodney--”
“Now!”
Radek jumped and fled, giving Rodney a wide berth.
--------------------------
John sat on his bed as he chewed his nails down to the nubs. Jennifer was going to be royally pissed at him. Today was his weekly weigh-in and he hadn't eaten a damn thing, not yesterday, not today. He didn't want to it. If he tried, he would just remember something else, some other insect or egg-sack or what the hell ever and lose the only foods he had left going for him.
If he didn't eat, Keller would know. She would know, get mad and shove food down his throat just like They had. She would, John knew because... because... he knew. He just knew. And if he thought remembering now was bad, it wouldn't be anything compared to that.
He couldn't let that happen. It would set him back, make it impossible to eat anything. He couldn't let that happen.
He couldn't go back to eating like that; the way They had fed him. He couldn't let Them win.
John jumped from his seat on the bed and hurried from his room. If he didn't go to the infirmary, Jennifer would send someone for him.
They would find him.
He had to hide.
--------------------------------
Rodney clutched his aching stomach. Indigestion, great. His own damn stomach was turning against him, attempting to force him to the infirmary where Jennifer would have him in her clutches and there'd be no escape. That backstabbing bastard Zelenka had squealed.
Build up a stockpile of food and suddenly everyone thinks you're a nut case.
Woolsey, Teyla, Ronon and Jennifer had shown up in his lab for an intervention. Rodney had taken off before they could get a word out, but it was only a matter of time before they cornered him. And for what, hiding some food? What the hell was the big deal about having a few extra snacks handy? He'd always been one to horde; he was simply… hording a little more.
There was nothing wrong with that. Absolutely nothing wrong.
There weren't many places Rodney could go but it wasn't about where he ended up; it was about buying time enough to cool down, think straight and come up with a reasonable enough argument when intervention time came. And the time would come. So he went as far from his lab and those misguided know-it-alls as he could, stuffing a Power Bar in his mouth against his stomach's protests. He took a less traveled route, where most of the power was down and with not a transporter in sight.
He turned a corner and stopped.
Something – someone – was lying curled in the middle of the floor.
Rodney knew who that someone was, swimming in a black fleece sweater. Jamming his bar into his pocket, Rodney rushed to Sheppard and dropped to his knees next to the man. He searched for a pulse. What he found was fast and thready. Rodney shook the bony shoulder.
“Sheppard? John?”
Sheppard groaned, curling into himself then uncurling. He inhaled a sharp breath as though startled but too exhausted to react. “R'dny?”
Rodney nodded rigidly, nervously. “Yeah. Yeah, it's me. What the hell are you doing in the middle of the floor? Kind of – kind of a bad place for a nap, don't you think?” He forced out an uneasy chuckle.
Sheppard started to ease himself up inch by slow, agonizing inch. He managed a fourth of the way, trembled, then dropped.
Rodney caught him before his head hit the floor. “Crap, Sheppard.” Even in the poor light, Sheppard practically glowed, he was so pale.
“Sorry,” Sheppard muttered. He pushed himself up again, this time succeeding with Rodney's help. “Sorry just... kind of dizzy. And I, um, I wasn't sleeping.”
“No, you were lying passed out on the floor. Come on.” He helped Sheppard to his feet, doing most of the work. “Let's get you to the infirmary.”
Sheppard balked, jerking back with a vicious shake of his head. “No! No, I can't... Rodney, they'll make me eat. They'll force food... like they did. I can't let that happen.” He sagged, forcing Rodney to take all of his weight. “I can't...” Despite his protest, there was no real resistance, and Rodney was able to move him down the hall back the way he had come. A third of the way there, John's legs gave out, forcing Rodney to scoop him up and carry him the way Ronon always did when one of them was unconscious. Sheppard was a feather-weight, backbone digging into Rodney's arms, shoulder blades poking his biceps.
Rodney broke into a run, ignoring the sharp pains in his gut, not stopping until he burst into the infirmary and set Sheppard gently on the nearest bed.
“I need help!”
He backed away when nurses and Jennifer surrounded John until Rodney couldn't see him any more. He didn't care about interventions and food hording; he just wanted to know if Sheppard was going to be all right.
Rodney doubled over, squeezing his stomach that felt like something was eating its way out. He passed out just as nurses were surrounding him.
------------------------
John stared at the muffin sitting on the infirmary tray. One of Rodney's precious muffins; banana, John believed. It was out of its wrapping, so he didn't know.
“We're pathetic,” Rodney said. He was sitting in a padded chair by John's bed, dressed in scrubs and unable to eat the muffin thanks to some vicious ulcers, the product of stress and overeating. He could poke at the muffin, which he did. Sheppard flinched, expecting it to break open and for something like ants to come crawling out.
Rodney looked at John. “Think they'll ship us back to Earth?”
John swallowed. He was back on the feeding tube, and as uncomfortable as it was, at least he was finally full.
“I hope not,” he whispered. He toyed with the edge of his blanket nervously, wishing the muffin would go away. It was part of their therapy – Rodney can't have the food, but John had to get used to looking at it. They were pathetic. “Maybe just me.”
Rodney furrowed his brow. “Why just you?”
He shrugged. “I'm weaker.”
“Physically, sorry, but, yes. Mentally I think we're both on the same level.” Rodney gnawed on his lip for a moment, then said, “Can I ask... well, I mean to say, obviously they did something different to you. Is it all right if I ask what that something was? Not that you have to answer, of course.”
John looked away from the muffin, then forced himself to look back. All he could say was, “Bugs.” It was enough when Rodney blanched until he was as white as the sheets.
“Oh,” he breathed, the quietest word to ever come out of his mouth. “They – they didn't give me any food until... until I was almost dead.”
John looked at him and could barely breathe through the pain tightening his chest. He hadn't known. He knew, because if they were doing bad to him, then they were doing bad to McKay. He just never took the time to really think about it.
He hadn't wanted to.
Rodney sat back, jaw tensing and chin jutting stubbornly. “We shouldn't be like this. It's the same as them winning, isn't it?”
John, staring at the muffin, nodded. “Yeah.”
“So... what can we do? I'm already doing it, of course. Against my will. I don't know if the hording thing will change. What about you, though? What helps?”
John lifted a bony shoulder that whispered beneath the billowy scrub top. “Dunno. Every time I look at food I... it's not easy.” But it should be, and it pissed him off that it wasn't. “They made me eat.”
“They made me not eat,” said Rodney. He took the muffin, turned it over in his hand then set it back on the tray. Keeping his hands on it, he broke it in half. John flinched, expecting ants or something else. Rodney broke it again, tearing it down into thumb-size pieces.
He held a piece out to John. “Here.”
John stared at it, that piece of harmless muffin sitting in the middle of Rodney's palm; no bugs, no grubs, no eggs.
But there could be.
“It's okay,” Rodney said, starting to pull his hand back. “You don't have to.”
But John wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. He reached out with a trembling hand, trying for a quick snatch but pathetically slow. He grabbed the piece, shoved it into his mouth and chewed as quickly as he dared. Eyes shut, forcing his mind not to think, to remember, he swallowed – once, twice, fighting to keep it down. He gagged, coughed twice and a cup was shoved into his hand. He didn't think, just drank it.
The food stayed down at the price of a few tears escaping his eyes. Crap, that had sucked. John inhaled shakily, exhaled the same way.
“This is going to take forever,” he said.
Rodney shrugged. “Maybe. But, knowing us, it'll happen.” He broke off another, smaller piece of muffin and held it out. John hadn't noticed how Rodney's hand shook as well.
He grabbed the piece, forcing it down with more water.
They could do this. They would.
The End
Warnings: This is a "fun with fanon cliches" story. The fanon cliche? - eating disorders, but I hope in a way that makes it somewhat canon. Neither is it uber explicit (i.e. no me describing in detail the image of emaciation.) And, finally, bugs doing terrible things to John.
Author:
kriadydragonRating: PG-13, Gen
Characters: John, Rodney
Warnings: Dark. May squick. See end of story if you wish to know further details.
Summary: "Build up a stockpile of food and suddenly everyone thinks you're a nut case."
A/N: Big Muchas gracias to
wildcat88 for the beta and wonderful suggestions, one of which will drive me mad for some time as it was brilliant but not doable at the extreme moment. *pouts* They put John in the dark to play a game with him. Light deprivation was bad, solitude really bad, the occasional beatings obnoxious, but eating was a nightmare. Four times out of ten a bowl was shoved through a slot in the door and John's fingers dipped into watery mush. The remaining six times, he stuck his fingers into something slick that squirmed.
Sometimes pinched.
Sometimes bit back.
And They laughed, from where ever they hid: close enough to be heard, not close enough for him to see.
He freaked the first ten times this happened, knocking the bowls over in his flailing phobia that out-shined his hatred for clowns. Afterwards, it was simply a matter of knowing better, but he would still squeeze himself into a corner as far from the bowl as possible. When he flailed, it was because whatever was in the bowl at the time had crawled up his arms and legs.
Except that didn't make the game fun enough. Sometimes, They would come in, shedding enough light to see John. They grabbed him, pinned him and shoved his next meal down his throat – slick, squirming, crunching, sometimes biting back.
And They laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
Today they shoved the crunchy, biting ones into his mouth – the ones that scared John beyond even a whisper of rational thought and made him puke; he always imagined them to be like eating Iratus bugs. The irrational part of brain was dead certain he was going to start mutating at any moment. The thought made him gag, but they just shoved more into his mouth.
Until shooting and shouting made them stop; an end to it all after the thirtieth time. They dropped him to rush out the door, babbling in a language Sheppard had never heard (then remembered he wasn't on Earth). They left him to vomit, cough and gag in a never ending cycle when the bugs crawled up his arms to his body, biting his shoulders and ribs.
John freaked, screamed, choked. He slammed his body against the floor and rolled, crushing every one of the little bastards. The weakened rational part of his mind thought it heard a door crash open and familiar voices shout. Hands grabbed him and the irrational part fought harder, louder. Then he passed out.
-------------------------------
The bane of intelligence wasn't so much knowledge as it was common sense. It was knowing how completely stupid an idea was and everyone in the immediate vicinity refusing to share in that realization.
Not couldn't share; actively and consciously refused to share.
It wasn't enough that Rodney's tormentors had John locked away in some damn dungeon as incentive for Rodney to fix things that couldn't be fixed. They also had to starve Rodney – not completely, just enough for him to develop an appreciation for food that made his old appreciation like the mindset of an anorexic. They waited until he got dizzy, sick and the shakes, then fed him.
Unless they were bored; then they waited until he passed out.
Oh, and they beat him from time to time when Rodney couldn't get the stupid, rusty, broken crap to work.
These idiots didn't get it and never would get it. They didn't want to. They were in control, they had the power, and, like all bullies who thought themselves at the top of the food chain, they had no friggin' clue as to how to use it. It was a good thing the stupid rusty crap was broken. Rodney was pretty sure what he was fixing had at one time been a diagnostic console. In the hands of these morons, they could easily get it to blow up the stupid planet.
Rodney wished he could get it to blow up the planet: rig it to do just that after the morons killed him. And they would kill him, just for the fun of it and not for any reasonable purpose.
Rodney was trying to do as much – rig the stupid, rusty console to explode and take everyone with it – when the stupid rusty facility rumbled and shook. There were shots, shouts, explosions and then the cavalry taking care of the morons so that Rodney didn't have to. Rodney sat back, arms folded, and let them.
When Teyla knelt next to him, offering him a Power Bar, he took one bite and promptly passed out.
--------------------------
John knew there was something seriously wrong with him. He missed having a feeding tube, missed feeling full without suffering the arduous process of eating.
Definitely something wrong.
Jennifer was weaning him via the usual method for adults who haven't seen food in a while: liquid, to softs, to solids. Liquids first as shakes and Ensures. John tried to be good about it, he really did, but the cold stuff was like the crap the grubs would roll in, and the warm stuff like what oozed out of the grubs when John was forced to bite down on them.
Jennifer was patient, possibly even too patient, skirting too close to patronizing when she wasn't paying attention. Everyone knew you don't treat the traumatized like children, yet it was as though it was the only way people knew how to act.
Because they were afraid of making things worse, setting him off, they tiptoed around him, cooed and lightly cajoled.
What they didn't do was give him answers. He just wanted to eat. Eat and not think, not remember, not feel insects wriggling and biting in his mouth when there were no insects.
John was traumatized. Had to be – he missed the damn feeding tube.
-----------------------------
Rodney McKay liked food – really, really liked it. Jennifer was constantly praising him on his returning appetite – unlike Sheppard who couldn't even keep a damn health shake down. What was up with that, anyway? The guy had been just as starved as him. Rodney would have asked Sheppard about it had Jennifer not stowed him away somewhere in the private sector; something about his appetite being so screwed that he needed to be carefully monitored.
Being the good boy who ate all his vegetables, Rodney was out of the infirmary in a matter of days while Sheppard was forced to stick around. Rodney was allowed to visit, as long as he didn't bring any food with him.
Sheppard looked like crap – pale, skinny and all those not-so-lovely things. No different than Rodney, really, except his good appetite had put color and three pounds back to his skin. Sheppard looked like he'd lost more weight.
“You can't seriously tell me you're not looking forward to being able to eat steak and potatoes again?” Rodney asked.
“I am,” John said, looking more annoyed than contrite. “It's just... hard, okay? They didn't make eating easy.”
“They didn't make it easy for me, either.”
“Different circumstances,” John muttered.
Rodney demanded, “How?”
Sheppard answered by turning his face away and saying a petulant, “Just... different. I don't want to talk about it.”
Rodney refused to leave until Sheppard did talk about it, but gave up when Sheppard fell asleep. They'd put Sheppard back on a feeding tube and Rodney couldn't stand the sight. He left, heading to the mess. Keller still wanted him on light foods, so he grabbed plain mashed potatoes and boiled chicken.
When he finished, he grabbed a couple of packaged muffins, some fruit and two sandwiches on his way out. There was a panel in his room, like a small closet only he knew how to find, where he stored his current contraband along with the rest he'd confiscated since his release three days ago. It was starting to get a little full.
------------------------------
The new psychologist thought a change of scene was in order for John. Keller was desperate enough to comply and John hungry enough to try anything. They had him relocated to his quarters, back in familiar, comfortable, safe territory.
And it helped, just a little. John could handle the shakes if they were cold – really cold. Too cold to have been bugs swimming in their own slime. It meant suffering a lot of brain freezes but it made Keller happy and shut John's stomach up.
Four days of it, and he managed to gain two pounds, two awesome pounds he was already turning into muscle with casual walks around Atlantis. He was looking forward to when he could run again.
Keller graduated him from drinks to mush – oatmeal, Cream of Wheat, mashed potatoes, plain rice. Mush like gruel that he couldn't stomach if it cooled off. If he looked at it...
Crap, if he looked at it...
There had been these insects, tiny, unmoving – like rice. Sometimes... sometimes like Cream of Wheat, or oatmeal – John couldn't remember exactly. They'd been kind of white and kind of soft. Sometimes they might have been eggs and he would eat them without realizing just what the hell he was putting in his stomach. Then the stomach cramps would hit, pain unlike any gut pain he'd ever had.
So much like being eaten alive.
John could handle the potatoes. Everything else he ate with his eyes closed. It didn't stop him from remembering – imagining.
He lost a pound.
----------------------------
The sandwiches and fruit were a loss but the wrapped muffins were still good. Rodney stopped confiscating sandwiches, focusing on muffins, Power Bars, chips and canned fruit. Although getting canned fruit meant having to bribe the cooks. His good coffee collection was lost, but at least it meant more fruit.
When the closet was filled to capacity he moved onto to his normal closet, stuffing cans and wrapped stuff into his pants' pockets, jacket pockets, and at the back of his top shelf. Keeping food in his clothes ensured a ready supply.
And keeping a ready supply was genius. Rodney wished he'd thought of it sooner. There were places in his lab where he could – where he did – put snacks. A few bars here and there, but he could fit muffins and canned fruit, too.
He stuffed some of his contraband into his laundry bag to do just that.
---------------------------
John shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth as quickly as possible without looking at his meat. Why the hell had he put boiled chicken on his plate? They'd liked giving him chicken, all juicy and harmless on the outside, crawling with maggots on the inside. John had forgotten all about it until he got the chicken.
He was almost finished with the potatoes – only four more bites to go – when Ronon, Teyla and Rodney joined him, Ronon's and Rodney's trays heaped high as usual. Rodney had managed to out-heap Ronon, but then it had always been like a contest between the two: who could eat the most.
They had meat, lots of it – steak cooked well-done swimming in gravy. Meat full of maggots.
Rodney looked at John's plate in undisguised disgust. “Jeez, that's all you're eating?” He looked at John, eying him up and down with extra disapproval. He began sawing through his meat. “Please tell me that's just an appetizer.” He stuffed the piece into his mouth, chewing as he talked, spraying gravy and meat-bits. “You're never going to get better if you don't eat more. I mean, look at you. You're, like, three pounds away from being a walking skeleton.”
“Rodney,” Teyla hissed. “John is still mending. Berating him will not help.” She cut through her meat, oozing juice, innocent on the outside, tender, crawling on the inside. She put the piece in her mouth and chewed. John had never realized that she smacked when she chewed.
Rodney pointed to John's chicken. “You gonna eat that?” He didn't wait for an answer when he speared it and added it to his own tray. “Thanks.” He sawed it, put it in his mouth. Tender, innocent.
Crawling.
John swallowed bile. “Gotta go.” He pushed from the table, leaving at a fast walk. Once in the hall, he ran.
Once at the balcony, he threw up.
--------------------------
Rodney stuffed a muffin into his mouth and the rest into his pocket, then headed to the rec room. It felt like forever since their last movie night. Teyla had suggested it, feeling that they did not spend as much time together as they used to.
The rest of the gang was already there, Sheppard readying the movie, positively swimming in the dark blue USAF sweater he was wearing. The only difference between now and when they were rescued was that he was moving and dressed in normal clothes.
There was popcorn, chips and dip and a few sodas. (Sheppard, for obvious reasons, was not allowed to have beer.) As the movie started, Ronon and Rodney attacked most of the snacks, Teyla hogging the popcorn. Sheppard didn't even so much as glance the snacks' way.
The movie was Star Trek, the one with the whales. Not Rodney's particular favorite but Ronon thought the Klingon ship was cool. Rodney pulled a packaged muffin from his jacket, opened it and stuffed it in his mouth. He saw Sheppard turn his head away out of the corner of his eye.
Rodney's next muffin was banana, also not a favorite but that didn't stop him from shoving it into his mouth. He then grabbed a handful of popcorn, ate it; a handful of chips, washed it down with a soda; he pulled out a Power Bar...
“Stop eating.”
Rodney, about to open the bar, snapped his head around to stare at Sheppard.
“Excuse me?”
Sheppard didn't look at him. He glared at the screen, tense as a bow string pulled back and about to fire. “Stop eating or leave.”
Rodney glared right back. “No, I'm not going to stop eating. Just because you feel like starving yourself doesn't mean the rest of us have to suffer. Why don't you leave?”
“Why don't you just stop stuffing your damn face for two damn minutes? Every time I see you you're always eating, eating, eating. It's friggin' gross, McKay! You haven't stopped eating since we got back!”
“Yes, because unlike you I'm all better! And you think me eating is gross? Have you looked in a mirror, lately? Face it, Colonel – it doesn't matter how many layers you try to wear, people can still see your ribs, and it's disgusting. People can't even look at you without almost losing their lunch. So think about that before you go tossing bricks into glass houses.”
With that said, Rodney ripped open the Power Bar and crammed it into his mouth. Sheppard launched to his feet and stormed out.
Next to Rodney, Ronon and Teyla looked on, stunned. Rodney narrowed his eyes at them.
“What?” When they continued to gape, he followed Sheppard's example.
-------------------------
John couldn't handle the mess hall any more. People staring at him as he stabbed at his potatoes, ignoring his vegetable medley because biting into the carrots was like biting into grubs.
It was nothing compared to the chicken fingers the other day. One bite and they crunched. One bite, and John waited for them to bite back. He'd run out of the mess to the balcony, puking up what wasn't there.
Keller wasn't happy; neither was the shrink, and nothing they did or said helped. John figured it was just going to take time, that's all. As long as he had potatoes and apples and milk and shakes, he would live; he would get through this.
Except he wasn't.
And everyone knew it, so they stared at him as they ate: crunching, slurping, smacking.
So John took his lunch to his room, where he stared at it.
He'd never realized how much potatoes looked like the strange webbing around the egg-sacks of those red and brown spiders. He'd bit down and they'd crawled out of his mouth, biting his tongue, cheek, face...
John dumped his potatoes into the toilet. His hands shook from reminiscing.
They continued to shake even when he'd calmed down.
-----------------------------
Rodney walked into his lab, shoving the last of his muffin into his face.
He stopped and stilled.
Radek stood before the open supply closet, muffin, canned fruit, bags of chips still dropping from the pile to the floor like leftover rain. Radek stared at the pile, then at Rodney.
Rodney gaped. His supplies. Radek had found his supplies and was taking them.
The backstabbing bastard was stealing Rodney's food.
“Get out.”
Radek blinked. “But...”
Red veiled Rodney's vision and he pointed a rigid, shaking finger at the door. “Get. Out.”
“Rodney--”
“Now!”
Radek jumped and fled, giving Rodney a wide berth.
--------------------------
John sat on his bed as he chewed his nails down to the nubs. Jennifer was going to be royally pissed at him. Today was his weekly weigh-in and he hadn't eaten a damn thing, not yesterday, not today. He didn't want to it. If he tried, he would just remember something else, some other insect or egg-sack or what the hell ever and lose the only foods he had left going for him.
If he didn't eat, Keller would know. She would know, get mad and shove food down his throat just like They had. She would, John knew because... because... he knew. He just knew. And if he thought remembering now was bad, it wouldn't be anything compared to that.
He couldn't let that happen. It would set him back, make it impossible to eat anything. He couldn't let that happen.
He couldn't go back to eating like that; the way They had fed him. He couldn't let Them win.
John jumped from his seat on the bed and hurried from his room. If he didn't go to the infirmary, Jennifer would send someone for him.
They would find him.
He had to hide.
--------------------------------
Rodney clutched his aching stomach. Indigestion, great. His own damn stomach was turning against him, attempting to force him to the infirmary where Jennifer would have him in her clutches and there'd be no escape. That backstabbing bastard Zelenka had squealed.
Build up a stockpile of food and suddenly everyone thinks you're a nut case.
Woolsey, Teyla, Ronon and Jennifer had shown up in his lab for an intervention. Rodney had taken off before they could get a word out, but it was only a matter of time before they cornered him. And for what, hiding some food? What the hell was the big deal about having a few extra snacks handy? He'd always been one to horde; he was simply… hording a little more.
There was nothing wrong with that. Absolutely nothing wrong.
There weren't many places Rodney could go but it wasn't about where he ended up; it was about buying time enough to cool down, think straight and come up with a reasonable enough argument when intervention time came. And the time would come. So he went as far from his lab and those misguided know-it-alls as he could, stuffing a Power Bar in his mouth against his stomach's protests. He took a less traveled route, where most of the power was down and with not a transporter in sight.
He turned a corner and stopped.
Something – someone – was lying curled in the middle of the floor.
Rodney knew who that someone was, swimming in a black fleece sweater. Jamming his bar into his pocket, Rodney rushed to Sheppard and dropped to his knees next to the man. He searched for a pulse. What he found was fast and thready. Rodney shook the bony shoulder.
“Sheppard? John?”
Sheppard groaned, curling into himself then uncurling. He inhaled a sharp breath as though startled but too exhausted to react. “R'dny?”
Rodney nodded rigidly, nervously. “Yeah. Yeah, it's me. What the hell are you doing in the middle of the floor? Kind of – kind of a bad place for a nap, don't you think?” He forced out an uneasy chuckle.
Sheppard started to ease himself up inch by slow, agonizing inch. He managed a fourth of the way, trembled, then dropped.
Rodney caught him before his head hit the floor. “Crap, Sheppard.” Even in the poor light, Sheppard practically glowed, he was so pale.
“Sorry,” Sheppard muttered. He pushed himself up again, this time succeeding with Rodney's help. “Sorry just... kind of dizzy. And I, um, I wasn't sleeping.”
“No, you were lying passed out on the floor. Come on.” He helped Sheppard to his feet, doing most of the work. “Let's get you to the infirmary.”
Sheppard balked, jerking back with a vicious shake of his head. “No! No, I can't... Rodney, they'll make me eat. They'll force food... like they did. I can't let that happen.” He sagged, forcing Rodney to take all of his weight. “I can't...” Despite his protest, there was no real resistance, and Rodney was able to move him down the hall back the way he had come. A third of the way there, John's legs gave out, forcing Rodney to scoop him up and carry him the way Ronon always did when one of them was unconscious. Sheppard was a feather-weight, backbone digging into Rodney's arms, shoulder blades poking his biceps.
Rodney broke into a run, ignoring the sharp pains in his gut, not stopping until he burst into the infirmary and set Sheppard gently on the nearest bed.
“I need help!”
He backed away when nurses and Jennifer surrounded John until Rodney couldn't see him any more. He didn't care about interventions and food hording; he just wanted to know if Sheppard was going to be all right.
Rodney doubled over, squeezing his stomach that felt like something was eating its way out. He passed out just as nurses were surrounding him.
------------------------
John stared at the muffin sitting on the infirmary tray. One of Rodney's precious muffins; banana, John believed. It was out of its wrapping, so he didn't know.
“We're pathetic,” Rodney said. He was sitting in a padded chair by John's bed, dressed in scrubs and unable to eat the muffin thanks to some vicious ulcers, the product of stress and overeating. He could poke at the muffin, which he did. Sheppard flinched, expecting it to break open and for something like ants to come crawling out.
Rodney looked at John. “Think they'll ship us back to Earth?”
John swallowed. He was back on the feeding tube, and as uncomfortable as it was, at least he was finally full.
“I hope not,” he whispered. He toyed with the edge of his blanket nervously, wishing the muffin would go away. It was part of their therapy – Rodney can't have the food, but John had to get used to looking at it. They were pathetic. “Maybe just me.”
Rodney furrowed his brow. “Why just you?”
He shrugged. “I'm weaker.”
“Physically, sorry, but, yes. Mentally I think we're both on the same level.” Rodney gnawed on his lip for a moment, then said, “Can I ask... well, I mean to say, obviously they did something different to you. Is it all right if I ask what that something was? Not that you have to answer, of course.”
John looked away from the muffin, then forced himself to look back. All he could say was, “Bugs.” It was enough when Rodney blanched until he was as white as the sheets.
“Oh,” he breathed, the quietest word to ever come out of his mouth. “They – they didn't give me any food until... until I was almost dead.”
John looked at him and could barely breathe through the pain tightening his chest. He hadn't known. He knew, because if they were doing bad to him, then they were doing bad to McKay. He just never took the time to really think about it.
He hadn't wanted to.
Rodney sat back, jaw tensing and chin jutting stubbornly. “We shouldn't be like this. It's the same as them winning, isn't it?”
John, staring at the muffin, nodded. “Yeah.”
“So... what can we do? I'm already doing it, of course. Against my will. I don't know if the hording thing will change. What about you, though? What helps?”
John lifted a bony shoulder that whispered beneath the billowy scrub top. “Dunno. Every time I look at food I... it's not easy.” But it should be, and it pissed him off that it wasn't. “They made me eat.”
“They made me not eat,” said Rodney. He took the muffin, turned it over in his hand then set it back on the tray. Keeping his hands on it, he broke it in half. John flinched, expecting ants or something else. Rodney broke it again, tearing it down into thumb-size pieces.
He held a piece out to John. “Here.”
John stared at it, that piece of harmless muffin sitting in the middle of Rodney's palm; no bugs, no grubs, no eggs.
But there could be.
“It's okay,” Rodney said, starting to pull his hand back. “You don't have to.”
But John wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. He reached out with a trembling hand, trying for a quick snatch but pathetically slow. He grabbed the piece, shoved it into his mouth and chewed as quickly as he dared. Eyes shut, forcing his mind not to think, to remember, he swallowed – once, twice, fighting to keep it down. He gagged, coughed twice and a cup was shoved into his hand. He didn't think, just drank it.
The food stayed down at the price of a few tears escaping his eyes. Crap, that had sucked. John inhaled shakily, exhaled the same way.
“This is going to take forever,” he said.
Rodney shrugged. “Maybe. But, knowing us, it'll happen.” He broke off another, smaller piece of muffin and held it out. John hadn't noticed how Rodney's hand shook as well.
He grabbed the piece, forcing it down with more water.
They could do this. They would.
Warnings: This is a "fun with fanon cliches" story. The fanon cliche? - eating disorders, but I hope in a way that makes it somewhat canon. Neither is it uber explicit (i.e. no me describing in detail the image of emaciation.) And, finally, bugs doing terrible things to John.
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(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 07:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 07:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 08:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 08:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 10:44 am (UTC)wow. That was really, really intense.
But oh so satisfying...
Loved it Chica!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 11:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 12:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 01:08 pm (UTC)I'm...I'm at a lost for words cause I'm horrified for both John and Rodney. What was done to them was indescribable and hit major issues for both of them. I guess all I can say was it was a beautiful story in of itself but I'm horrified for both of them and I like that you gave us a little hope for them in the end, with the two of them helping each other. I'm just squicked over completely by the bugs...
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 02:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 05:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:19 am (UTC)*Taps fingers together* Excellent. I mean... sorry? ;)
Thanks for reading :D
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 07:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 09:08 pm (UTC)Also, my favorite line?
"Build up a stockpile of food and suddenly everyone thinks you're a nut case."
LOL! :)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-23 10:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-24 12:54 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2009-05-24 05:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-24 05:42 am (UTC)Reminds me of that time I was already halfway through a peach when I saw a worm crawling out of it. I love peaches, but I still can't just bite into one. I have to skin it and slice it, looking for worms/tunnels.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:32 am (UTC)"Reminds me of that time I was already halfway through a peach when I saw a worm crawling out of it."
*Shudders*
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-24 01:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:42 am (UTC)Trauma's tricky like that, because you have so many possible reaction involved and not just the reactions of the ones traumatized.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-24 11:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2009-05-25 09:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-26 01:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-29 09:54 am (UTC)They could do this. They would.
Oh, boys. This was awesome. Thanks for sharing. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-30 03:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-01 08:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-02 08:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2009-07-27 09:25 pm (UTC)