Do it again
By Livia
G
slash, humor
He feels weightless for a long, limitless moment, every inch of his skin alight, the ocean loud in his ears-- and then something slams hard into his side and bears him down into the real world. That something is really heavy and lumpy and military by the sound of it, spitting "Jesus god dammit!" and other workmanlike profanities against Rodney's ear. Something over in the corner sprays white sparks, sputters and goes out. The smell of charred plastic is heavy in the total darkness.
Rodney blinks. Strong narrow fingers press against the pulse in his throat. He startles and bats them away. "I'm not unconscious!"
"You weren't talking," says the other guy breathlessly. "It was a reasonable assumption." Now that the immediate danger's over-- at least, Rodney assumes it's over-- he sounds a little loosey-goosey for a military type. Adrenaline, maybe. "You all right?"
"I'm fine. Just a little-- uh." He coughs and tries to sit up, bumping foreheads awkwardly with the other man as he crawls off Rodney. A flashlight comes on in the darkness, held by the guy who-- what'd he do? Knocked Rodney out of the way of the explosion. Dark hair and pale eyes, and totally unfamiliar. Funny that Rodney doesn't recognize him; he's awfully attractive in a sort of dumb jock way. Of course lately they've been switching new guys in and out all the time, trying to test Beckett's new theory about the ATA gene. "Thanks. You one of the new guys?"
"What?"
"Are you one of the new Marines," Rodney enunciates clearly, clambering to his feet. He feels like he just got pounded with a hammer and he's about to ask sharply if the whole tackling part was really necessary, but then he realizes that he can't actually remember what he was doing five minutes ago, so... it might well have been. Hm. Rodney glances around. He can't really see much of the room he's in, seeing as how it's only illuminated by a flashlight and also, filled with smoke.
"Uh," the guy says. "Rodney. I'm not a Marine."
Rodney turns and looks him up and down. Definitely military, even in a plain black shirt and pants. "What then?"
"You don't recognize me?"
"Oh, don't take it personally! I don't remember the names of half the guys I work with, even the important ones," Rodney says, waving a hand. Which is true, and he can't believe some people's egos--like Rodney of all people doesn't have better things to think about than whether the new linguist is Mandy or Brandy?
Of course the guy is scowling now, which means he is taking it personally. Which means he's probably an officer. One of those guys who's been in so long he expects everyone, even civilians, to be all 'yes sir, how high, sir,' just as a matter of course. "All right," the guy sighs, waving the flashlight towards one end of the room. "Infirmary for you, buddy."
"What, I barely got scorched," Rodney protests. "In fact I think you tackling me probably did more than... the thing, with the..."
"McKay!" the guy says wearily.
"Look... whatever your name is," Rodney gestures, but the guy totally doesn't help him out at all, "I'm working here! I mean, I realize since it doesn't involve guns or pushups, it doesn't look important to you, but it is, so why don't you run along and grab a new fuse and let me get back to the, what I was doing."
He fumbles it a bit there at the end, because okay, admittedly he can't actually remember what he was doing, but he knows that it was important. He remembers that feeling-- his body remembers, the curl in his belly and the way his hands shake and his mouth hurts from alternately grinning and snarling-- it was important, whatever it was, significant and startling, and he just needs to concentrate and it'll come back. It has to.
The guy-- and it's starting to be annoying that Rodney can't remember him at all, actually-- is looking at him like his mother used to look at him when he faked sick to avoid Scouts Canada meetings. Kind of disappointed, mostly irritated and totally not buying it. "What continent are we on?"
"Antarctica, there, you see. I'm fine," Rodney makes little shooing motions. "Run along now-- oh, and if you can't find a fuse then just grab some extension cords and one of those big lamps."
"All right then," the guy says, but he doesn't sound like he's going to get Rodney a lamp. Instead he switches the flashlight to his left hand, grabs the collar of Rodney's jacket with his right, and starts hauling him bodily out of the room.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rodney protests, trying instinctively for passive resistance, but the guy is strong for such a skinny bastard. "You do fucking realize that-- that-- oh." The corridor they emerge into is strange, it isn't-- the construction, the aesthetics, the light--this isn't Antarctica, not by a fuck of a long shot, and Rodney forgets to fight and just stumbles along after the guy dragging him by the collar. "What-- where-- what are you--"
The guy stops at a door made of some glossy looking metal, brushed with curves and angles and fractals, and he turns back to look at Rodney, and he's smiling. Something sparks up Rodney's spine and his hands start to twitch, and then the guy tucks his flashlight back into his belt. "Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard," he says, letting go of Rodney's collar. "United States Air Force. Oh, and I'm the military commander here."
"Here?" Rodney says.
Trying not to smile, Sheppard touches the door and it opens.
Rodney steps out into the sunlight. He's on some kind of deck, high up on a tower looking down on other skyscraper-like towers, and beyond that there's a couple of long piers stretching far out into an endless ocean. A fresh, sweet wind sings in the towers, ruffling Rodney's hair, and he fastens his hands around the railing to stop them from shaking.
Rodney looks out over Atlantis, and he starts to laugh. He looks back over his shoulder after a moment, and Sheppard is grinning dorkily-- like he can't believe it either, even though he's not the one with amnesia.
"We're in Atlantis."
"Sure are." The colonel is leaning against the doorframe, obviously trying to hang onto a little bit of laconic cool. It's not really working very well, but the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth is adorable.
"But this is Atlantis!" Rodney says, turning to stare out at the ocean again. He just can't stop laughing. They did it.
"Yep," Sheppard says, but he's laughing too, like Rodney's glee is just that contagious.
"My god," Rodney breathes, turning around and around, staring up at their tower and the other towers and the city and the ocean, and it's all so bright, so clean. He can't stop turning, can't stop trying to take it all in. Still laughing, Sheppard catches him by the lapel again, making him stop, and that's when Rodney realizes he's shaking all over, panting for breath. All this fresh air, he's not used to it, he's dizzy, the sun in his eyes and suddenly Sheppard's mouth is pressed against his. It's just a brief, swift touch but Rodney goes with it, taking Sheppard by the arms and pulling him in, kissing him again, deeper, again. Sheppard is shaking too, oddly, his hand shifting and twitching as he cups the back of Rodney's head.
It is without a doubt the best kiss that Rodney has ever had, even with Sheppard's headset mike poking Rodney in the face. At least, Rodney qualifies silently, it's the best kiss he's ever had that he can remember at the moment. If he's been kissing an Air Force guy there's probably been lots of secretive we-might-get-caught making out and also angry sex, two things that Rodney really likes-- after all, there's no way he's in a relationship with a Lieutenant Colonel and they don't fight. It's probably just hot sex all the time, actually-- what could they possibly talk about?
"Stop thinking," Sheppard commands, sliding his hand down over Rodney's ass.
"Oh please. How long have we been involved?" Rodney flicks his tongue along Sheppard's lower lip. "I never stop thinking. How do you not know this?"
"Um," Sheppard freezes under Rodney's hands. For a second Rodney thinks the problematic word must be 'involved,' like they're screwing but Sheppard is being a hardass about it: 'this isn't a relationship, we're not--' and then Rodney's jaw drops as he realizes that the problematic word is 'involved' because they're not actually involved.
"Wait, are we actually--We're not. Have we kissed before?" Rodney stares. "Did you just take advantage of my amnesia to stick your tongue in my mouth?"
"Well, I, uh--" Sheppard stammers, and my god, why didn't Rodney notice before that he has this incredibly shifty cast to his eyes? "Maybe I shouldn't tell you. I mean they say you're supposed to let amnesia victims remember on their own."
"I could ask Elizabeth," Rodney says, narrow-eyed, and Sheppard jerks like someone jolted him with a cattle prod. Good to know that even on Atlantis, Elizabeth can make the black-shoe bastards jump.
"Okay, all right! No, no and... kinda sorta."
Rodney's lost the thread. "What?"
"No, we're not actually," Sheppard admits. "And no, we haven't ever kissed before, and yes, I kinda sorta just took advantage of your amnesia to--Look, um, just so you know, they haven't actually repealed Don't Ask Don't Tell in the last year and a half, so if you could just not mention this part to--"
"Year and a half?" Rodney gapes. "What--I--A year and a half?"
"Yeah, well... Actually now that I think about it, you were stationed in Antarctica for a while before we left for Atlantis, so... Maybe longer than that?"
"Oh my God," Rodney says, pressing his fingers to his temples. His head hurts. He thought it was from breathing the smoke in the little room, but no, he's definitely got a headache. Well, of course he's got a headache, who the fuck knows what that explosion did to his neurons, and he's just standing here while this good-looking moron takes time out to get handsy. "Oh my God, my brain. Why am I not in the infirmary already?"
"That's what I--! Oh, forget it, come on." Sheppard waves him back into the hallway, then grabs his arm and pulls him left when Rodney starts going right. "Transporter's this way."
Rodney blinks. "Transporter?"
"Yep," Sheppard says, lighting up again. It's really pretty damned cute. "It's a whole new world, McKay."
"Yeah, I got that part." Rodney glares at him as they walk down the hall. Sheppard ignores him, contacting Beckett on his little radio and telling him all about Rodney's fabulous new brain tumor. Rodney's actually kind of surprised that Beckett is here in Atlantis. Of course Elizabeth's here; Rodney didn't even consider that she might not be. But Carson always seemed like the kind of guy who was too much of a homebody to go to another planet for research and kicks. Of course, Atlantis has a Stargate, so obviously everyone gets to go home on weekends. It's probably less of a commute than a lot of jobs Rodney's had, actually. Although, come to think, Rodney bets he's got a place here, even if it's just an extra office with a cot in it. There's got to be enough space.
There's a big diagram of what must be the city on the inside of the transporter, which disappointingly doesn't feel like anything. Just a blink of light and all of a sudden when the doors open, the corridor is brighter and full of people, scientists and Marines and some people in civilian clothes. A couple of people nod at him and Sheppard, and Rodney nods back, jerkily. He doesn't recognize any of them, and that's unsettling. "Who are all these people?"
"Oh, they came in on the--" Sheppard stops himself.
"Come on!" Rodney flails. "This is stupid and, and unfair! Just tell me! I'm not going to die from spoilers!"
"They are people," Sheppard says primly, "people who work here now." And he's enjoying this. He's enjoying Rodney's brain tumor! Rodney hates him. So much.
"So just tell me," Rodney hisses as they walk into the infirmary, "in the past year and a half, was I also involved in a horrible accident involving an exploding machine that wiped out my taste in men? Because I think it's coming back and you can bet your ass I'm never kissing you again."
He's keeping his voice low, but Sheppard still looks incredibly jumpy. "Cut it out! Look, we're friends, okay? Like best friends! So if you fuck up my entire life, you will feel really bad about it later! Also, I'll break your goddamn neck!"
Rodney's really feeling the closeness. He sneers at Sheppard, who sneers back, imitating him-- what is he, twelve? "Do you hear this?" Rodney gestures to Sheppard as Carson approaches them, looking familiar and Carsonlike and worried. "Do you hear him? This guy, apparently my best friend-- like I buy that, by the way," he asides, "is taunting me about my medical condition!"
"What's the last thing you remember?" Carson says, flashing a penlight in his eyes.
"I don't know, it's... it's ravioli day," Rodney tries. "Uh, we just got that new guy, the Czech, what's his face with the completely misguided theories about subspace, Zelascka or something."
"Well, I'm like your ranking military friend," Sheppard blurts. Carson gives him a look. Sheppard looks uncomfortable for a second, and then turns on his heel and basically flees the infirmary like a total chickenshit. Although not before giving Rodney a Very Serious Threatening Look, which turns into a really serious pleading look nearly immediately. Rodney rolls his eyes and makes a shooing gesture. This time Sheppard obeys.
"Hey," Rodney asks Carson, hoping he sounds appropriately absent, "what's his name again?"
"Sheppard," Carson says, looking appalled. "Colonel Sheppard."
"Yeah, I got that, what's his first name?"
"He didn't tell you--?"
"I forgot!"
"Oh," Carson says, and he's holding up a scanner now that's got to be Ancient technology, just pointing it at Rodney's head like it's nothing, and it hits Rodney again that this is Atlantis, he's in Atlantis--! "It's John."
"Okay," Rodney says. John. Simple enough. He'll remember that. John Sheppard.
John.
He doesn't really know why, but for some reason, he feels a little better.
[end]