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home | archive | gallery | journal | cookies Fandom: Stargate Atlantis Rating: NC 17 Genre: Slash (John/Rodney) Spoilers: up to episode 4.2 “Lifeline” Summary:
On any
other day, John might have shot Rodney a quick look, broadcasting his doubt
and checking whether Rodney shared it. With a sinking heart, Rodney admitted
it would be foolish to expect that kind of exchange right now. . ____________________________ Not one
word will make you,
where you are, turn in your day, or wake from your
night toward me. Marilyn
Hacker 3 Lying on
his back, Rodney watched John sleeping on the other side of the bed.
Stretched out on the edge of the mattress, it was a wonder John didn’t drop
off. The blanket rested low on his hip, exposing the long line of his back,
lean muscle and the curve of his spine. In the predawn mingle of light and
dusk, John’s skin looked dark and impossibly smooth. For the
longest time, Rodney had wondered how John’s body might feel. As of tonight,
he need no longer guess ... he knew. He’d also savoured, in full, the effect
of John groaning into his mouth or humming against the side of his throat. Rodney
remembered the stoked heat between his palm and John’s thigh and felt sick to
his stomach. The stale taste in his mouth could only be the result of too much
beer, a hangover and a sense of coming down to earth that went way beyond
sobriety. Watching
the sunrise shape John into detailed visibility, Rodney wondered what the
hell he had gone and done now. Feyon The
clouds sagged low in the sky, darkening the bay with a late fall gloom.
Sultry air rolling along the ocean’s edge smelt of brine and gutted fish. The
tide sucked at the jetty’s poles; boats bobbed listlessly on the waves. Rodney
stood on the quay staring at the fishing nets hung out between the pilings.
Swatting a gnat on his thigh, he cursed silently. The mosquitoes of this
planet bit through clothes and loved to crawl under any waistband. Rodney
felt like he was itching everywhere and suspected not much of this was
paranoia. Of all the miserable places they had visited this wasn’t the worst
but it was a close runner up. He
looked back over his shoulder at the village, a sad little place with hemp
flaps instead of doors and outhouses symbolising the local idea of
sanitation. If this represented the pinnacle of the planet’s civilisation,
Rodney ached to visit the
less advanced regions. It had
all started with a message from one of Teyla’s contacts. Feyon was one of the
planets the Athosians hadn’t frequented before and their first contact trader
returned with tales about a people who had found a way to thwart the Wraith. It was
all supreme bushwa in Rodney’s opinion, some rumours about camouflage and
hocus-pocus. He also didn’t get why opposing the Wraith still had to be his
priority. Now that the replicators were on a big parading Wraith hunt, he
should finally concentrate on his ZPM schematics. The progress he could make
... but John had refused to let this lead go, insisting they could not simply
rely on one enemy to waste the other. Rodney resented the implication. As if
his programming of the replicators’ base code wouldn’t do the job. All things
considered, being sent on some half-assed recon on no more than a tall tale
wore Rodney’s patience thin. Down at
the pier, Rodney returned to watching the pirogues pitching up and down and
thought he could get seasick just by looking at them. He was still focusing
on the boats when he heard the noise of people approaching from the village.
One look over his shoulder showed him his team, along with a group of locals.
Rodney had a vague memory of the strangers’ faces, recognising them from last
night’s meet and greet. One of them, the only woman among the group, had been
introduced as their designated scout, Pae. It had
been agreed that she would lead the Lanteans into the rainforest where they
would meet the Mimic, a reclusive tribe reputed to escape every culling.
Apparently, the Mimic had lived apart from Pae’s people for many generations.
The fishermen of this village seemed uncomfortable when talking about their
estranged relations, but they were willing enough to arrange a meeting when
John asked. Rodney
didn’t trust the peace but held his tongue. He knew if he started this time,
he wouldn’t stop. Besides, he’d already vented his bitterness about this
idiot mission last night and seeing as that had no effect, aside from John’s
acid looks and Teyla’s compressed lips, he resorted to keeping his own
council. The
others had almost reached him by now, stopping at the edge of the jetty and
exchanging final bits of information. Rodney joined them, but only Teyla
acknowledged him with a brief nod. “It will
be late afternoon before we reach them,” Pae said. The scout was a wiry,
compact woman with a hawkish, no-nonsense face. A pair of red feathers stuck
out from the bit of string that tied her hair in a knot. She wore a soft
leather vest that showed off her bronzed arms as well as a nice bit of
cleavage. Rodney reckoned John would appreciate the view. Checking John’s
face, however, he found no glint, flirtatious or otherwise. What? Not up to
the game? Rodney wondered whether too many gnat bites in the wrong place
prevented John from turning on the charm. Biting
the inside of his lower-lip, Rodney turned away. His thoughts were neither
rational nor fair, but then again, he could think what he liked, couldn’t he?
It wasn’t like he’d said anything out loud. Not today, at least. Rodney
sighed through his nose. John didn’t look all that well, actually. A lot
paler than usual, with flushed specks on his cheeks. The camouflage t-shirt
he wore darkened with sweat at the collar and armpits. His curt questions
also indicated he was in a mood and for once did a bad job of hiding it. “They
know we’re coming?” John asked. “Yes,”
Pae answered. “Everything’s arranged.” There
was something she left unsaid, Rodney could tell. The tightening of John’s
mouth showed he sensed it, too. On any
other day, John might have shot Rodney a quick look, broadcasting his doubt
and checking whether Rodney shared it. With a sinking heart, Rodney admitted
it would be foolish to expect that kind of exchange right now. Paying
attention mostly to John, Rodney suddenly had a feeling of being watched
himself. He was convinced it was Teyla, but when he turned, she was busy pulling
her hair back in a tail. * * * They
split up into two pirogues; Pae punting the boat that seated Teyla and
Rodney, a guy named Ky in charge of the other. Leaving the fishermen’s bay,
they made for the estuary, coasting a number of sand shelves before turning
inland again by way of a river delta. As Pae brought them about, Rodney
looked over the boat’s side, gaze lingering on a phalanx of white, egret-like
birds skimming the surface of the quicksilver sea. Wooded archipelagos rose
in the distance. A couple
of miles in, they left the main river for a meandering tributary, passing
under the shadow of hulking mangroves. The water there smelt brackish, taking
on the colour of old coffee. Tiny river-flies glued onto the sweat on
Rodney’s arms and neck, one fervent specimen ending up in the corner of
Rodney’s eye. As their journey continued, Rodney’s gaze drifted to the boat
ahead, where John dangled his hand idly over the rail. Stupid, Rodney
thought. Chances were the piranhas of Pegasus were just waiting to bite off
his fingers. A bend
in the tributary led them to a joint of the river swollen to the size of a
lake. Steering to the left, Ky and Pae headed for a bank that wasn’t
overgrown with root systems. Turning,
Rodney glimpsed a knob of debris floating toward them. He was about to look
the other way when Teyla murmured his name. Looking back, Rodney saw she had
noticed the driftwood, as well. Only Teyla’s frown suggested Rodney had
missed something. He checked again and to his surprise the flotsam turned out
to be a human head, rising out of the water just enough so the nose showed.
What had confused Rodney into thinking he saw a log was the fact that face
and hair of the swimmer were coated with thick white paint. The eyes were the
only thing dark about the apparition, sitting like black beetles under pale,
bumpy brows. When
Rodney tried to take a closer look, Pae turned the boat to shore, the keel
sliding onto the curve of silt with a crunch. Rodney looked back over his
shoulder, but the swimmer was gone. Only a circle of shallow waves indicated
where he had been. “What
the hell . . .” Rodney murmured. * * * The
Mimics’ village lay a short way from the river in the shelter of the forest.
About a dozen circular huts were spread out on the terrain, with looms and
drying fronds set out between. “The
Mimic are famed for their weaving,” Pae explained. “They get good trades off
their baskets and ropes.” Rodney
looked around at the villagers, who didn’t seem at all intrigued by their
arrival. Only a handful noticed the strangers, the rest went about their
business, threshing flax or seeing to other tasks. Lean and wiry, hair
cropped short, all of the Mimic were dressed alike in tan tunics and
breeches. As Rodney
and the others had reached the village’s centre, three Mimic left one of the
huts and headed for the arrivals. The group looked official, decked out in
flax cloaks decorated with patterns of red and black. Pae signalled John to
let her take the lead and bowed her head to the three men. “This is
headman Nari,” she introduced. “Colonel John Sheppard and his team.” The
headman watched them without comment, arms crossed in front of his chest.
John said hi there and Teyla followed up, attempting to break the ice. “Scout
Pae tells us your people are versed in the art of weaving,” Teyla said,
taking in Nari’s cloak with a smile. “I can see your fame is well
deserved.” Nari
brushed the flattery aside. “The Scout didn’t say you came here for our
baskets.” If she
was thrown by his rudeness, Teyla didn’t show it. “You are right,” she said.
“Our visit has another purpose.” “The
Athosians tell us you have a ... unique way of dealing with the Wraith,” John
said. “We’d be interested in that.” Nari
didn’t turn a hair. “Tiu will show you around,” he said simply, “answer any
questions you might have.” At this, a boy of maybe thirteen years edged out
of the hut and stood by his elders’ side. Nari turned to Pae. “You won’t be
staying longer than a day?” Pae
inclined her head. “As we have agreed,” she said. “I’m sure they will know
all they want by tomorrow.” Nari
nodded and the other two officials turned to get back inside. “A hut is
prepared,” Nari said and with that, he left them standing. “I feel
at home already,” John remarked and Ronon snorted. Pae
shrugged. “Our cousins are a reclusive people,” she said. “They’re not fond
of intrusion in their everyday lives. You will find them helpful, though.”
She called for the boy and said she’d leave them in his care. “If it is the
same to you,” Pae said, “I’ll talk to some of my contacts while you’re gone.
People at home have asked me to make some trading arrangements.” “Go
ahead,” John said and Pae went off, making straight for a group of weavers.
The boy remained, staring at John with wide eyes. “Great,”
Rodney murmured. “This will be just great.” * * * After
showing them their lodgings, Tiu led the team around the village. When they
reached a Mimic working at a mortar hewn from a giant root, Tiu lingered and
explained that this woman was preparing the bark. While the older Mimic
wielded the pestle, children added fruit that looked remotely like cacao beans
and slick yellow juice to the mortar. “Do you
want to watch?” Tiu asked tentatively. Watch
what, Rodney wondered. The cooking of lunch? Teyla
intervened before he could speak his mind which probably saved the boy some
therapy sessions. “My
people told me you found a way to evade the Wraith,” she told Tiu. “Is this
potion part of it?” The boy
nodded. “Can you
explain why?” Tiu
seemed to mull this over. At length he bowed and picked up one of the
gourd-bowls that perched next to the mortar. He held it up for Teyla and the
others to see, revealing the bowl’s content, a grainy white paste of sorts. “Is this
the Bark?” Teyla asked. Again, the boy nodded. “Is it for eating?” Teyla
tried. Tiu tightened his lips, dimples showing in his cheeks. He dipped his
fingertips into the bowl and smeared some of the paste onto his arm. Teyla
frowned. At this point, Rodney couldn’t hold back any longer. “My,” he
muttered, “this will take a while.” Teyla
shot him an angry look but Ronon grunted in agreement. Tiu looked even more
daunted than before. He put the bowl carefully back on the ground. Head
ducked, their guide waddled off into the forest and the team could do nothing
but follow. * * * A short distance
from the village, the trees of the forest started to grow taller. Huge trunks
covered in flaking grey bark rose from coiling fern. Tiu led them by a
trampled path until they reached a small clearing. When the boy stopped,
Rodney couldn’t see why at first. Then he noticed the two motionless figures
sitting no more than two metres away from him. They had to be Mimic, but
their appearance made it difficult to decide if they were members of the
village let alone human beings. “What is
that?” Ronon muttered, staring at the silent pair. Rodney, intrigued, stepped
closer. Sitting
cross-legged on the forest ground, the two Mimic were covered head to toe in
white paste. Even their hair clumped into uneven, pale ridges. Only up close
one could see their chests feebly rising and falling. Their thin limbs and
sagging bellies indicated old age. “This is
the Bark?” Teyla said, indicating the weird body paint. Tiu scratched his
chest and nodded. “I don’t
get it,” Ronon said. “Same
here,” John agreed and walked a slow circle around the pair. “Are they even
alive?” “They’re
becoming,” Tiu offered. “They’re
what?” John asked, unable to tear his gaze from the white people. “For the
old ones, it is hard to wake up again,” Tiu explained. “Those who live long
enough decide not to struggle anymore and become tree.” “Teyla,”
John called. When she stepped up to his side, Rodney heard John talk to her
in a lowered voice. “I’m at a loss here.” “I’m
sorry, John,” Teyla replied. “I don’t know what to make of this, either.” “Are you
telling me this is how you evade the Wraith?” John asked, turning to Tiu. “They’re
just sitting,” Ronon grumbled. Tiu
stared at him. “They’re ... becoming,” he repeated. “Jesus,”
John muttered. “This is a waste of time.” Ten minutes
ago Rodney would have added his hallelujah to that conclusion. Now, however
... Ignoring John’s demand to make back for the boats, Rodney crouched down
in front of one of the Mimic. This one’s eyes were open, a startling brown in
the alabaster mask. That was downright disturbing. As if someone painted
eyes on a marble statue, Rodney thought. He lifted his hand, waving it in
front of the man’s face. Nothing happened at first, then suddenly the eyes
twitched, pupils’ contracting. Startled, Rodney dropped his hand. Almost at
once, the eyes went vacant again. “Rodney,”
Teyla said. “Just
give me a second here,” Rodney murmured. He reached into the pocket of his
tack vest and retrieved the lifesigns detector. Switched on, the detector
displayed five lifesigns all around ... five, when there should be seven.
Rodney exchanged the detector for his scanner. John appeared at his shoulder.
“Anything you want to share with us?” he asked in a neutral tone. “Huhn.”
Perplexed, Rodney processed the scanner’s readings. “This is remarkable.”
Getting to his feet, he turned to John. “They’re not here,” Rodney said,
marvelling. John
frowned. “What are you talking about? They’re sitting right there.” “No.
Yes, I mean,” Rodney faltered and tried again. “According to these readings,
these aren’t people. They don’t register as lifesigns, they don’t even give
off any of the biometrical signatures the scanner should pick up. According
to this,” he said and held up the scanner, “they’re just ... objects. Like,
like plants, perhaps.” “Is that
even possible?” Teyla asked. “I don’t
know,” Rodney answered, staring down at the coat of white paste that stuck to
the Mimic like a second skin. “It seems to be.” “But how
does it work?” Rodney
shrugged. “Beats me.” “All
right,” John said. “Looks like we’re sticking around after all.” * * * Back at
the village, Rodney made straight for the woman with the mortar. Two Mimic
had settled down next to her, ladling paste from the mortar into gourd-bowls.
“May I?” Rodney asked, holding out his hand for one of the bowls. The Mimic
gave it up with a sceptical stare. Rodney looked at the root pulp, rubbed
some between his fingers, smelled it. “Organic,” he said. “Would
Dr. Parrish want some of this?” Teyla asked and Rodney nodded. “Yes, yes.”
Digging up a small plastic bag from his vest, he scraped up the goop and
bagged it. He next went around the cooking place, taking samples all around. “Does
this work?” Rodney asked, turning to Tiu who stood to the side. “The Wraith
don’t bother your people when they’re covered in this?” “I still
don’t get it,” Ronon complained, nodding at the villagers. “They’re not
covered in anything. No reason why a culling party shouldn’t notice them.” “The
sentries tell us before the great ships arrive,” Tiu cut in, warming up to
them, it seemed. “We take on the bark as soon as we are warned.” “Sentries,”
John repeated and shot a look at Teyla. “There
are people among you who can sense the Wraith coming?” Teyla asked, eyes intense
of a sudden. Tiu dipped his head. Teyla turned to John, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m
starting to see a picture,” John said and ran a hand up his nape and into his
hair. Turning away from the Mimic, he spoke to no one in particular. “Okay,
kids. Let’s get what samples we need and take them home in the morning.” “What?”
Rodney said, snapping out of his fascination with the bark-making Mimic. “But
we can’t leave now!” John
shrugged. “The agreement was one day and one night. We don’t want to tax
these people’s hospitality.” Rodney
looked at his team in disbelief. “Don’t you realise what we got here?” “It’s
interesting,” John admitted. “Interesting!” “Just
another way to hide,” Ronon commented, sounding none too impressed. “Oh, it’s
more than that,” Rodney said, getting excited. “This is the perfect
camouflage. If we can’t pick these people up as lifesigns, there’s a good
chance the Wraith can’t, either. If a Hive scanned this place they would just
see forest. Nothing worth culling.” Ronon
smoothed his sweat-glistening beard and shrugged. “I don’t
get you,” Rodney cried. “This is a serious discovery. And you just want to
file it as an also-run?” “We’ll
take it home,” John repeated, “hand it over to the botany department, see if
they can figure out the properties.” “No, no,
no,” Rodney interrupted. “We can’t just leave this to the subs. I have to
look into this.” For the
first time that day, John looked directly at him. “Don’t see why you should.”
“What?”
Stunned, Rodney stared at John whose face was set in tight lines. Rodney
frowned, realisation dawning. He knew what this was about. “I’ll head the
research on this,” Rodney said softly, glaring at John with arms crossed over
his chest. “No,
you’ll damn well leave it to the specialists,” John returned, anger sparking
through his stony façade. “This,” he said, nodding at the bowls of paste, “is
a useful alternative for Pegasus folk, but not for us.” Rodney opened his
mouth, but John cut him short. “The botanists will determine how to make it.
If it’s safe we’ll think about distributing it to other planets.” He narrowed
his eyes at Rodney. “What do you think we could use it for? Paint ourselves
up everytime the Wraith come knocking and sit on our asses until they decide
to hit the road?” “That’s
not even . . .” “I’m
sure it’s not.” John turned around, continuing with his back to Rodney. “One
cloak’s enough. We want to deal with the Wraith, safety blankets are last on
the list.” Rodney stared
at John’s back, boiling with fury. “Rodney,”
Teyla ventured, reaching out for him. “No,”
Rodney snapped. “It makes sense. This stuff doesn’t blow up anything, so why
should it have any value?” Sick of every last face around him, he stalked off
to the hut that had been prepared for them.
1 A week
had passed since they settled on M35-117 and
Atlantis started to heal. Constructions continued in the western districts, but
the engineering squads made good time, migrating from one damage site to the
next. Some smash ups couldn’t be erased, though. They would have to get used
to new scars on the city’s smooth skin. “All
right,” Rodney said. “Try it now.” Standing, he braced his hands on the table
both sides of the laptop. On the chair next to him, Radek activated a cluster
of dormant systems. Rodney waited for the damning jingle, but it never came.
“It’s working,” Radek announced. “Power is back online on the eastern pier.” “Finally,”
Rodney murmured. Radek clasped his hands on the table with a relieved smile. “One
less item on our list, yes?” Radek asked and Rodney huffed his agreement.
That list was still long enough. Pushing off the table, Rodney stood up
straight. Absently scratching the scabs left by the window-shards cutting his
face, Rodney looked at the control room’s main screen. All the sectors showed
green on the city’s layout. They were in the clear. Back to
normal, Rodney
thought but didn’t say, knowing the city’s safety had been bought at a high
price. And to think they would have got away quite easily, all on board, if
he hadn’t extrapolated the mission ... Damn, no. Such thoughts led nowhere. Tired,
Rodney looked over Radek’s shoulder at John, Rodney thought, frowning. What was he doing in there? Giving into the
IOA’s pressure, Teyla had already removed John
stood by * * * It was
dark out, the last glow of purple sunlight fading out of sight. Rodney had
opened wide the windows to let in some air. He’d also admitted some of the
moths that had escaped the botany labs and were now multiplying all over the
city’s balconies. One of them perched on the life-sized Johnny Cash poster
above John’s bed. Another had dropped into an empty beer can and John had
turned the can carefully upside down, rescuing the unfortunate moth. “Guy has
taste,” John murmured and Rodney snorted, too plastered to laugh. The last
shipment on the Daedalus had replenished John’s beer supply and he’d
offered to share some with Rodney. Rodney, having no stomach for another late
night at the lab or the emptiness of his quarters, accepted the invitation.
He was a bit surprised, thinking Ronon had taken the place of John’s drinking
buddy this last half year, but in the end, Rodney didn’t mind taking up his
old mantle. It was almost like that first year, when John and Rodney watched
the same three DVDs over and over while Earth supplies ran out and they made
do with Radek’s moonshine. Two
hours after Rodney arrived the two of them had relocated to the floor,
lounging against John’s bed with neither of them sober anymore. John popped
the lid of another can, while Rodney tilted his head against the mattress. “God, I
hate drinking,” Rodney groaned as he stared at the ceiling. John
chuckled. “Didn’t hear you complain before.” Rodney
pushed off the bed and dropped forward, forehead on his knees. “I’m going to
be sick.” “Naw,
you won’t,” John said amiably, taking another sip from his beer. “You can
hold your drink.” Rodney
lifted his head with a crooked smile. “I take that as a compliment.” Smiling
back, John closed his eyes. It was good, seeing him like this for once.
Stripped of the tension that had him wound up for weeks, no, months on end.
Of course, now that his guard was down, his bone-deep exhaustion also showed.
Rodney tightened his lips. In the rush of repairs and running the city it was
easy to ignore how much it took, holding together. It still boggled him how
they could carry on, when loosing To fail
her like that, Rodney thought, imagining her in the hands
of the replicators, her mind invaded, suffering alone. She must be so afraid.
Rodney
only meant to rub his tired face, but he ended up with his head buried in his
palms. When he dragged his hands back through his hair, he smeared some of
the tears that wouldn’t quite fall. With a sigh, he rested his back against
the bed. “Do you
think we’ll ever have it easy,” he asked, “say, just for a week?” When
John didn’t answer, Rodney turned to check on him. John still sat with his
eyes closed, but his jaw clenched, the cords in his neck pulling tight. “Hey,”
Rodney whispered, crushed. Reaching over, he clasped John’s shoulder. John
bowed his head, hand gripping his knee before he forced himself to breathe
easy again. Without
thinking Rodney moved his hand to John’s nape, kneading the tension from the
muscles there. “Come on,” he said, thumb stroking along the line above John’s
collar. John exhaled a long breath, bending slightly into Rodney’s touch. Watching
the faint squint-lines at the corner of John’s eyes, Rodney felt a sudden
surge of tenderness. All the shit that’s happening, he thought, how
come I’m still grateful to be here? Putting the beer can on the floor, John
reached up and grasped Rodney’s wrist. Moving a little less gracefully than
usual, he leaned over, resting his forehead against Rodney’s, noses touching.
Rodney closed his eyes, feeling a lump form in his throat. This is a bad
idea. His hand still spanned the crook of John’s neck, John’s skin warm
against his palm. He could feel John’s breath on his face and smell the soap
he used that day. Something breezy, with a hint of cut grass. John let
go of Rodney’s wrist and placed his hand on Rodney’s thigh instead, stroking
upward. Rodney drew his thumb to the soft hollow behind John’s ear, gripping
him harder. John’s hand clenched on his thigh before it continued, sliding
under the hem of Rodney’s shirt. Groaning,
Rodney released John’s neck to cup the back of his head. He reached up with
his other hand, touching the side of John’s face before he clutched his
shoulder. John turned his head, their noses bumping as John slipped his
fingers under Rodney’s waistband. Inches from Rodney’s mouth, he made a wordless
moan that seemed more air than sound. He moved to undo Rodney’s fly and
continued from there, stroking Rodney through his boxers. The
friction of cotton and the pressure of John’s hand sent a ball of liquid heat
to Rodney’s stomach. Murmuring something that made no sense, Rodney twisted a
fold of John’s shirt in his fist. Pushing up off the floor, John settled
above Rodney’s legs, straddling him. Every muscle in his body drawing tight,
Rodney wrapped an arm around John’s waist, pulling him closer. He started
tugging at John’s t-shirt, pulling it up over his back until John quickly
slipped out of it and tossed it aside. Placing a brief kiss on Rodney’s
cheekbone, John reached into his boxers, wrapping long fingers around
Rodney’s cock and wasting no time in finding his rhythm. Hand clutching at
John’s back, Rodney felt his heartbeat quicken to a frantic pace. It seemed
the heat in his belly contracted into a small, blazing sun, winding tight
enough to hurt until white light exploded behind his eyelids and Rodney came
with a broken groan. John
grasped his hip, wet fingers digging into his skin. Breathing shakily, Rodney
tried to focus on John’s flushed face and the sweat-matted hair at his
temples. Is this how we’re meant to end up? He wondered and a small
voice answered: Yes. Against his arm, he could feel John quiver as he
undid his pants, fingers tripping in their haste. Figuring he might as well
be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, Rodney leaned in to kiss John and brush his
hands aside, replacing them with his own. Feyon It
turned out the Mimic used hammocks for beds and Rodney had a short night,
dreading to drop out if he fell asleep. After some fitful hours, Rodney gave
up and left the hut. Morning wasn’t far off and some of the Mimic were already
up and about, moving quietly in the ground-mist that covered the clearing. Rodney
padded to the cold fireplace in front of their hut. Squatting down
cross-legged, he fetched a tube of mosquito repellent from his pocket and
started covering his arms and nape. A few minutes later, one of the Mimic
brought him breakfast. A bowl filled with pieces of soft, orange fruit, the
food didn’t qualify to raise his spirits. Rodney
slipped his jacket back on, smelling yesterday’s sweat and sun-lotion. For a
moment he considered checking out the mortar place again, but then left off
with little enthusiasm. They would leave soon, anyway. He’d
been sitting for some time when Teyla joined him. Rodney noticed she walked
out of the forest instead of the hut, which indicated she’d been awake a lot
longer than he. He wondered whether she’d gone back to the camouflaged Mimic.
“Good
morning, Rodney,” Teyla said, sitting down next to him. “Or what
passes for it,” Rodney muttered. “Did you have breakfast?” By way
of an answer, Teyla reached into her coat and offered him a squished
powerbar. Nut flavour. Rodney huffed a surprised chuckle. “I’m
back in your good graces, then?” he asked, not unkindly. In truth, Teyla’s
sympathy relieved him more than he would ever let on. “Miraculously”
Teyla answered, face straight. They sat
in silence for a bit, Rodney peeling the wrapper off the powerbar. He caught
himself thinking that he’d erase the last week just to share a similar moment
of peace with John. He imagined it, John coming out the hut, taking the place
next to Rodney as a matter of course. He would bend forward to tie his boot
and Rodney would look at his bared nape, not knowing that John would stretch
and shiver if he kissed his skin just there. It
seemed his brain was just as bent to betray him as his body. Glumly
Rodney realised that even if he had the chance, he wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t
let go even of the memory. Much to his shame, he was too jealous of the
moment, the liberty to touch, feel and possess he never thought he’d get. It had
been so simple at first, hanging out with John, making work and missions
their priority. Caught up in Atlantis’ challenges and opportunities, Rodney
had been convinced he didn’t need anything else. He dated Katie, only to realise
that these dates weren’t vital to the way he wanted to spend his life. John’s
company turned out to be a different matter. Synchronised
minds, similar tastes, just enough contrast to keep things interesting ... it
should have been conflict-free. It had been. For a while. Rodney
smoothed the empty powerbar wrapping between his fingers. Maybe he’d been
foolish not to realise that the trials they went through would break down the
walls and complicate matters. Maybe he should have been wary when their
reliance on each other intensified. When he
first wondered how John’s mouth would taste, Rodney had dismissed the
thought, chalking it up to his rambling brain. A few weeks later, he caught
himself watching John move, appreciating his languid grace. By the time he
realised John didn’t mind him watching, the damage was done. It
showed in small changes at first, a touch that lingered too long, a readiness
to give up private space. Though they didn’t talk about it, both sensed they
blurred the line. John betrayed himself sometimes with sidelong glances and
Rodney knew his own mind. The only thing Rodney couldn’t decide was whether
John felt the same way or if he was simply aware of Rodney’s little secret
and didn’t call him up on it. In the end Rodney figured that as long as they
maintained the semblance of triviality, neglecting innuendo, they would be
all right. Famous
last words, that. All the
things they didn’t admit, all the things they increasingly couldn’t say ...
it all came to a pass the night they had drunk themselves stupid. Maybe it
would have been different if they had not relied on the booze, if they’d
walked into it with eyes wide open. Rodney
rubbed the back of his head, mussing his hair. ‘Simple’, he reflected, had
become a thing of the past. He shot a sidelong look at Teyla, who sat with
eyes closed, looking like she’d slipped into meditation. He appreciated her
silence not least because these days any odd word irritated him. Teyla
never asked what happened. She was good that way, realising when people
needed space. Sensing when she should speak up, too. Couldn’t he be the same?
Find his equilibrium, get his act together and talk things over with John?
Well, he had tried, hadn’t he? And ended up here. Like
that’s a surprise, Rodney thought, flicking a
power-bar crumb from his knee. When he looked again, Teyla was breathing
visibly, the cords of her neck standing out. “You all
right there?” Rodney asked, surprised. Teyla
exhaled another breath before opening her eyes. “My stomach’s a little
upset,” she explained. “I don’t think the food agrees with me.” Rodney
huffed. “No surprise there.” He checked her face, noticing a faint grey
pallor. “Do you need anything?” “No,
thank you. I will be fine in a minute.” “Okay,” Rodney
said, unconvinced. “But if you change your mind . . .” Teyla
smiled, acknowledging his offer. Rodney shook his head. “It’s no wonder you
feel queasy,” he said. “Actually I’m surprised that I’m not there with you.
First those boats, then the hammocks swinging back and forth all night long.
Really, all that rocking you would expect that . . .” “Rodney.” “Hm?” “Could
we talk of something else, please?” “Oh. Of
course.” Abashed, he scratched a bug bite on the side of his neck. “So, have
you talked to our scout again or did she ... Teyla?” As he
was talking, Teyla’s eyes suddenly widened. The next moment, she bowed
forward, clutching at her stomach. Startled, Rodney reached out to brace her.
“Are you going to throw up?” Teyla
groaned softly and shook her head. “Rodney,” she said, pushing at his
shoulder. “You have to wake John and Ronon.” “What?
Why?” Before
Teyla could answer, a bugle started on the far side of the village, sending
out a melodic sob like the call of a sea mammal. Rodney felt goosebumps
rising all along his skin. “The
Wraith are coming,” Teyla said, already getting to her feet. * * * Within
half an hour, the village burst into action. Mimic ran off to warn a fishing
party that had gone out before sunrise, late risers ate their breakfast
standing, adults started to rub white paste on their children. Headman Nari
walked between his people checking progress but giving few instructions. The
Mimic knew their routine. Rodney
and the other Lanteans stood geared up outside the guest lodgings when Scout
Pae reached them. “Ky is
gone,” she announced, looking grim. “Gone,”
John repeated, eyes narrowing. “He took
one of the boats as soon as the warning sounded,” Pae explained. “To warn
your people,” Teyla ventured. “Or to
run,” Ronon growled. “Same
difference,” John said, turning to Pae. “All of us won’t fit in one boat,
will we?” Pae
shook her head. “Even if you did, I doubt we could outrun the Wraith.” Blood
singing in his ears, Rodney looked up at the sky, covered with clouds. Never
before had they been so far from the stargate when a culling threatened. No
jumper, no way to contact Atlantis ... they were sitting ducks. “We
better find a place to hide,” Pae said. “Yes,”
Rodney scoffed. “Good idea. So when the Mimic are all plastered with bark and
the Wraith come we’ll be the only lifesigns within a hundred mile radius.
Makes you feel special doesn’t it?” Pae shot
him a venomous look but Teyla backed him up. “Rodney’s right,” she said.
“There is no shelter here that would prevent the Wraith from detecting us.” John
sucked at his lower lip, gaze browsing over the bustling Mimic. “Horua
Pae,” he said, “would headman Nari allow us to use their bark-thing?” “What?”
Rodney cried out. Pae
nodded, looking thoughtful. “I can ask him.” “Do it.” As Pae
hurried off, Rodney rounded upon John. “You can’t be serious.” “You
were the one saying it’s the perfect camouflage.” “That
doesn’t mean I want to try it!” “You got
a better idea?” John shot back, face darkening. Rodney
clenched his teeth. “This is insane,” he muttered. * * * Nari
listened to Pae’s appeal without comment, sparing no glance for Rodney and
the others. In the end he allowed John’s team to use the bark, though, and
relegated two Mimic to help with the preparation. “Undress,”
Rodney echoed, staring at the Mimic aid introduced as Veen. “As much
as you can bear,” Veen returned with unveiled contempt. Cursing
under his breath, Rodney shed his boots, t-shirt and, after a second’s
hesitation, his BDUs. Next to him, Ronon had already stripped to his
underwear. Veen reached into a gourd and retrieved her hand, covered with
grainy paste. “You put
it on like so,” she said, smearing the bark on Rodney’s shoulder without
ceremony. “Make sure every inch of your body is covered.” She pressed the
gourd into Rodney’s hands and walked away to help Ronon swathe his
dreadlocks. Revolted,
Rodney scooped up a handful of white paste and started rubbing it on his
chest. Textured like spongy plaster, the bark started to itch right away.
Seething with frustration, Rodney covered up his neck until the paste creased
under his chin. “Missed
a spot,” someone told him and Rodney turned to find John watching. He had
coated his arms up to his elbows but hadn’t got rid of his pants yet. Seeing
he’d caught Rodney’s attention, John tapped the back of his neck. Rodney
swallowed, eyes darting from the trail of dark hair that led down to John’s waistband
and up to the hollow of his throat. He should have met John’s gaze, too, but
couldn’t bring himself to do it. Shame left a sour taste in his mouth, but
Rodney refused to analyse where it came from. Lifting his hand to rub bark on
the back of his neck, he wondered if things would ever even out between him
and John. Then again, he thought, that question might become pointless very
soon. Staring at the gourd, Rodney reviewed what they were about to do. The
Wraith could be here any minute and they would wait for them ... covered in
frosting. “We’re so going to die,” Rodney muttered. “You’re
too negative,” John said quietly. At this,
Rodney met his eyes, feeling the muscles in his face tense. “I’m a realist.” John
shrugged. “Whatever.” * * * The
paste hardened into a shell, clinging to hair, skin and underwear alike.
Getting rid of the stuff would be a nightmare. Rodney couldn’t even flex his
hands properly, the bark was so impeding. It drove him up the walls. By the
time the team had finished their camouflage, the rest of the Mimic were
already done. White figures started wandering into the forest in groups;
Rodney saw Pae leave with two other women. “What
happens now?” John asked Veen, who’d stayed with them. “We go between
the trees,” she said, eyes black in her marble face. “It is easier to remain
awake as long as you move. Only when the Wraith come, you have to be still.” Rodney
suppressed the urge to scratch his head. Ronon kept touching his lips with
the tip of his tongue and pulled a face. “Stop
that,” Rodney snapped. “Tastes
funny.” “God.”
Rodney said and turned his back on him. “I guess
it’s better if we don’t stay in the village,” John reflected. “So we
go into the forest?” Ronon asked. “Yeah,”
John answered. “We stick together, though.” He lifted his hand as if he
wanted to touch his hair but dropped it halfway. “Let’s go,” he said, taking
point. Rodney followed, gritty paste rubbing between his toes. * * * Entering
the rainforest, they passed a couple of Mimic ambling among the trees, fake
white skin mottled with shadows. John led his team among ferns the size of
palm-trees, following his nose to god knew where. Rodney kept his eyes
trained on the ground, careful not to step into anything sharp or alive. One had
to say one thing for the Mimics’ bark: It worked better than air
conditioning. Under the layer of coarse paint, Rodney felt pleasantly cooled.
Somehow it even seemed easier to breathe, the humid heat not bothering him that
much. In time, the itching faded and Rodney fell into a serene rhythm,
walking, hearing the underbrush rustle and wood crack in the background. The
forest grew quiet, with birdsong swelling on and off in the branches. Rodney
skimmed the fronds of a fern with his fingertips and swore he could feel the
touch of the feathery leaves. He lifted his head, watching the tree-tops in
their underwater green, a few leaves tumbling down toward him. When
Rodney looked back down, he realised he had stopped walking, nothing but
shadowy forest all around. No sign of John, Ronon or Teyla. He’d fallen
behind. Frowning, Rodney turned until he saw a line of bent twigs and
trampled fern. He followed the trail, wondering why they didn’t wait for him.
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