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When he joined the expedition, John had braced himself for the usual three-ring circus. It happened whenever he got a new posting; as there were fewer than a hundred Sentinels in the world, people tended to get a little starstruck when they actually met one. Sometimes they fawned, sometimes they fluttered, sometimes they walked into walls. John always kept a small stock of plasters and bandages on him, just in case.
Some people kept a dignified distance but nearly sprained their necks craning after him; others simply waltzed right up and gushed all over John, until he just wanted to take a quiet shower, to sluice off all the sticky adulation.
John had hated it even in his teens, when his own giddy excitement at coming Online had somewhat mitigated that of others. He hated it even more now, but had learned to hide it, to take the attention gracefully and be patient and calmly accepting, until the novelty wore off.
Lorne helped a lot, of course. John had had five Assigned Guides so far and Lorne was decidedly the best; he was efficient, unfussy and had never shown even a hint of hero-worship, for which John was profoundly grateful.
The worst of it never lasted long, in any case. After a short while, most people, or at least those with whom he had any significant interaction, started treating him almost like a human being and it all got a lot less oppressive. But there would always be some who treated him over-reverently, no matter how much evidence they got that he wasn’t some rock star superhero, some symbol of hope, but just a guy who liked golf, Ferris Wheels and any vehicles in which he could move so fast that there was a very real possibility of his front half becoming his back half, if he stopped too abruptly.
So, when the man in the orange fleece began heading over, with a strong, determined stride, John braced himself to portray his very best ‘polite and charming’ persona, whilst being either slobbered over, or stuttered at, like a faulty lawnmower.
“Sentinel Sheppard? Guide Lorne? You both have the ATA gene, right? Great. I have you scheduled in for lab duty this afternoon. Don’t be late, there’s a lot to get through.”
He swept on, clicking his fingers impatiently at a shorter man in glasses whom John hadn’t even noticed until then, because Orange Fleece had appeared to fill all of the available space. The man ignored the clicking and gave John and Lorne an apologetic look.
“You will get used to McKay. He is… not a tactful man, but not a bad one.”
“Radek!”
Radek turned towards McKay and let loose a short burst of what sounded like some spirited inventive in a language that John hazarded as Czech, before turning back to John.
“A rude, disrespectful and intensely annoying man. But not… entirely… bad.”
Radek nodded at John and moved on, instantly getting into a back and forth with McKay as they walked, which sounded heated at first, but then developed a touch of excitement, growing rapidly into a flood, until they both suddenly grinned at each other like schoolchildren and raced out of the Mess.
John smiled to himself, unexpectedly charmed. Then he had to smile out loud, when some bright-eyed young recruits came ever-so-daringly up to him, with that familiar look of awe, and normal service was resumed.
***
Rodney McKay’s first thoughts on seeing John Sheppard were ‘finally’ - because he had been waiting, for what felt like decades, for a respectable gene carrier who didn’t act like everything he touched was going to bite him or slander his dear Scottish mother - and ‘hair’ because, in some vague way, Sheppard’s seemed to be flirting with him, which was unique in Rodney’s experience and deserved a mental footnote.
Then his attention returned firmly to his job and Sheppard and the other guy were summarily kicked out of his mind, to make way for more important things.
***
John wasn’t sure exactly how a notable and feted Sentinel had landed himself light-switch duty - McKay must have either one hell of a pull or one hell of a mouth and John was betting on the latter - but he was enjoying it a surprising amount. The artefacts were elegant and intriguing in design and he enjoyed the way that they connected with his mind, feeling natural and intuitive. Lorne didn’t seem to have the same level of connection as John did, which was also intriguing (and something of a boost to the ego). It seemed that Lorne did feel the same things, only fainter and requiring more effort to actually work the items.
Lorne also didn’t have the same level of connection with Rodney McKay as John did. Both Sentinel and Guide were used to a certain level of respect and the fact that this was notably lacking had caused Lorne’s feathers to ruffle from the outset and, eventually, to ask outright if McKay had some kind of problem with Sentinels.
There were a few people out there like that, who considered Sentinels ‘freaks’ rather than heroes; who thought that without Guides - either Assigned or Bonded - they were dangerous to others, rather than, as was actually the case, themselves. The real reason that Guides were all but mandatory for Sentinels, was because, without them, they were far more liable to zone-outs, exhaustion and illnesses both physical and mental.
Guides were not there to control their Sentinel, but to calm, centre and, when necessary, help restore them, after they had stretched themselves too far. With the right Assigned Guide, a very strong partnership could be formed. And, with a Bonded Guide, this could become something of a mystical experience, achieving a level of connection that actively improved the Sentinel’s senses as well as preventing almost all of the worst side-effects they entailed.
But John had never been too concerned that he hadn’t found ‘The One’. He was happy enough with the companionship and assistance of an Assigned Guide. Anything else sounded too constrictive, too intimate. And there would inevitably be commitment sex. John liked sex well enough, but he liked it casual and under his careful control. Pledging himself for life to one person - especially after the disaster that he had made of him and Nancy - was not something that appealed.
McKay seemed genuinely taken aback and baffled by Lorne’s question.
“Of course I don’t have a problem. Sentinels are just people. Though I do hate the way people go all gooey about the whole concept. Might as well get all excited at someone for having blue eyes, as if that’s some sort of an accomplishment.”
Rodney’s own particular blue eyes actually did seem like an accomplishment and even something that John might get distressingly gooey over, if he allowed himself to, seeing as they were somehow a brighter, more beautiful and indescribably intelligent shade of blue than any that John had ever seen. He had, a few times, had to stop himself from using his enhanced sight to get to the bottom of the appeal and risk literally losing himself in their ocean-like depths.
However, asking McKay if he would mind closing his eyes more often, so that John didn’t accidentally fall in, didn’t seem like a conversation that John wanted to get into, so he was very glad when Lorne stepped in, squaring his shoulders, and preventing John from displaying far too much truth, beneath a thin coat of flippancy.
“I’d say it’s a little more than that. Sentinels are heroes and deserve a little respect.”
Radek Zelenka, who had been working steadily in the background, as he always did, shook his head slightly in the way that John had learned meant a rant was forecast.
“Hah! Yes, well, that’s everyone’s perception. Sentinels, the great heroes of Earth, saving lives, righting wrongs, generally being superheroes without the cape. But what most of them actually do is get pushed straight into the Military, where you have your fair share of thugs, as well as heroes, and everyone in between, or they end up, nominally as Street Heroes, but, essentially, in the entertainment industry making a career out of a few good deeds and a whole lot of parlour tricks and personal appearances. No one will give them a normal job because it’s either too much expense and hard work making all the special accommodations and paying for a Guide as well, or because they think Sentinels would be wasting their talents, or both. Sentinels might deserve compassion but no more respect than anyone else, unless they’ve actually earned it. Ooh, Radek, what about if we…”
Rodney slipped into one of his seemingly part-telepathic communications with Radek and was lost to all rational conversation for some time. Lorne just looked at John, touching him on the shoulder and checking in, and then shrugged.
McKay wasn’t exactly wrong, after all.
***
Rodney didn’t know exactly when he began to like Sheppard. It was somewhere between the first stinging - but annoyingly quick-witted - comeback and the time when Rodney had found himself talking more to Sheppard than to Radek in any given session and more about things other than work than he usually discussed with anyone, apart from the many and various therapists he had scared away over the years.
That Larne fellow seemed decent enough, if a little inclined to glancing at Rodney with his lips twitching suspiciously and sharing meaningful looks with Radek, who wasn’t supposed to gang up on him with strangers (but did anyway, at least up to a point - after which he would defend Rodney like a spring-steel tiger; which was a respectable enough attribute for Rodney to consider Radek a genuine friend).
But Sheppard was different. And it wasn’t just a slight difference, a colleague who was more into chess and had a better sci-fi collection than another, otherwise similar, colleague. It was more like the difference between a 40 watt lightbulb and a sun.
Which was something more terrifying than Rodney wanted to deal with. He knew a lot more about suns than the average person, but, even a child dewy-fresh to the concept of speech, could tell you that they burned.
Rodney was already dealing with one major leap out of his comfort zone. He’d rather not handle two at once, even in the unlikely event that Sheppard had the slightest interest in leaping with him.
So Rodney determined to consider Sheppard as merely a bulb of unusual brightness; to adopt mental sunglasses in his presence; and to focus his attention on things he could actually attain.
Most of the time, anyway.
***
By the time they were ready for Atlantis, the adulation surrounding John had died down to tolerable levels, but he still felt the attention of the whole expedition on him as they prepared to step through.
Dr Elizabeth Weir was the civilian leader and Colonel Marshall Sumner the military one, but a Sentinel was always a wild card in terms of chain of command. Generally speaking, they respected it as far as possible, but, in emergencies - and, in effect, whenever they chose to assert themselves - no one outranked a Sentinel.
Sumner, being eaten up with quiet fury about this fact, was therefore the only person on the expedition - other than McKay, Zelenka and Lorne - who wasn’t, at least a little bit, in awe of John. Even Elizabeth, though she never fell into the usual traps, clearly had a slight indulgence for him.
John sensed possible trouble ahead; but he would do his duty and try to keep out of Sumner’s way as much as possible.
On Atlantis, anyway. In the field, John could simply see better, hear better and generally respond better, than anyone else. If he failed to take advantage of that, then he might as well not be a Sentinel at all.
Right now, John knew that he was expected to make a speech and duly did so, keeping it as brief and light as possible, without being entirely frivolous. This was a serious undertaking and, quite possibly, a fatal one for all of them. They might discover wondrous things, beyond imagination, that would change their lives for the better. They might discover wondrous things, beyond imagination, that immediately scooped out, and ate, their every organ, with a light cocktail of fruit juice and blood to wash them down.
Either way, their chance of ever returning home was more of a faint hope than a promise.
John put in a mental request to the cosmos for the least fatal option, as the wormhole opened and the expedition was pronounced a go.
He allowed Sumner to go through first; partly out of courtesy and partly in order to be able to watch the absolute wonder and joy lighting up Rodney’s eyes as he strode up to the Gate, gave John a dazzling grin, and then walked through with Zelenka.
John let out a grin of his own and followed.
***
Rodney, being a genius, had easily managed to reconcile, within his personal philosophy, the notion that putting yourself deliberately in danger was clearly an act of arrant stupidity and the fact that, anyone who turned down the opportunity of stepping through into an entirely different galaxy, just as neatly as going through a wardrobe into Narnia (though with significantly more scientific backing), was clearly an idiot of outstanding proportions.
Rodney ran down a list of the thousands of things that could go wrong, wrong, mortally wrong, even as his heart soared into the air and did a few loop-the-loops of sheer happiness, then reached back through the Gate for him and pulled him willingly through.
***
Atlantis welcomed John like a long-lost son; and then proceeded to fuck with him immediately.
For those first few hours and days on Atlantis, John was very sharply reminded that Sentinels were not superheroes, as he struggled with the City threatening to drown them and with life-sucking Space Vampires that almost overwhelmed his senses, despite Lorne’s assistance, and which, even when John’s enhancements were working for, rather than against him, were still able to snatch several Athosians and Colonel Sumner.
John could also have done with a big sign somewhere that said ‘Don’t Wake the Wraith. No, Seriously. Don’t’. What with all that and mercy-killing Sumner, it really hadn’t been his best day.
Surprisingly, McKay had been a lot of help afterwards. He hadn’t expressed any disappointment or ‘I told you so’s at John lack of ability to single-handedly save everyone, as any fictional Sentinels would have managed, before baking a cake for the homeless and making it just in time for their kid’s bassoon recital.
Rodney hadn’t overwhelmed John’s tired senses with input, but silently showed him to a room which had been set up expressly for John’s use, with hypoallergenic sheets, dull, calming colours and - somehow or other - soundproofed walls.
There was room for Lorne as well, but sometimes John preferred to be alone. Guides had a certain amount of discretion here and Lorne usually let him, unless he had serious concerns. On this occasion he just nodded, thanked McKay with a look and let John be.
John let out a breath and allowed himself to be overwhelmed - just a little bit - as well as terrified and steeped in self-recrimination.
But he wouldn’t wallow for long. Whatever mistakes he’d made, whatever powers he didn’t have, John was now, not just the Sentinel, but the official military leader, as no one else was really either ranked high enough or experienced enough for command.
He had to do his duty and he would.
But someone else was doing the damn paperwork.
***
At first, Rodney had been too caught up in his job, in his City, in his mixture of terror and curiosity and glee, to worry overmuch about getting scorched by the sun. This distraction had suppressed his feelings of self-preservation and sensible distancing skills, to the point where Rodney was acquiring friends by the bucketload - well, more than two - and had somehow let John Sheppard slip in amongst their number, like a bright golden dragon in the sheepfold; glowing more and more strongly every day.
Rodney wasn’t good at keeping secrets - it was a weakness he was perfectly well aware of, that truth constantly leapt to his eyes and mouth and squirmed its way out, before he could slam the doors quite shut. Those secrets that he did keep, therefore - that he desperately needed to - were necessarily bound and weighed down in chains: so tightly, so firmly locked, that freeing them was a process of some considerable effort and difficulty.
So that, after a while, it became less the fact that he didn’t want to unburden his secrets to Sheppard, but that he had lost the keys.
***
It was several weeks in, before John realised that he didn’t just like Rodney McKay, but that he felt strangely bereft without him. He wasn’t happy being far from the man for long, but sought him out expressly to tease, routed him up for evening chess and even poked and prodded him into being on his Gate team, despite all of Rodney’s arguments about being the Head of Science and far too busy and hypoglycaemic and allergic to… well, there was a long list and John would have to get him to put it into writing, but only a couple were actually fatal.
John could tell that Rodney really wanted to join the team, despite himself, by the way that he had an air of disbelieving excitement and suppressed happiness at the mere idea of being wanted. The way that he unconsciously bounced a little helped as well.
Zelenka, who was usually fairly good-natured, if with quite a sharp tongue at times, was the major stumbling block, strangely enough. He had called Rodney into a corner and they had argued in a mixture of Czech and gestures for some time, before Rodney crossed his arms defiantly; and John knew that he had won.
Elizabeth had also been initially sceptical about the idea, but John had insisted; and what Sentinels wanted, Sentinels almost always got. It was one of those privileges that John tried not to abuse, but which were useful from time to time. He even got a little kick out of it, though he would never confess to doing so.
Ford was also an excellent addition to the team; maybe a little young and impetuous, but a good, solid officer, who threw himself into things with enthusiasm. John was even more pleased about the fact that Teyla Emmagen, the leader of the Athosians, had agreed to join them. It was clear that the expedition was stumbling completely in the dark here and, if they wanted to avoid any more serious errors, they needed someone who knew what they were doing and was willing to help navigate the Pegasus galaxy. It didn’t take much persuasion for Elizabeth to see the value in adding a willing Athosian to every Gate team, who could provide valuable expert guidance. This had already helped them get a number of trading partners within a very short period of time and avoid several planets where their welcome would apparently have been largely arrow-based.
In fact, things had been looking up for a while. The team’s missions were mostly going well. McKay had proved himself incessantly grumbly and inclined to panic, but also incredibly loyal, quick-thinking and always coming through in an emergency, despite his fear. He was a fast learner, a whole lot braver than he sounded and incredibly gifted with the Ancient tech, especially now that he had the artificial ATA gene. Rodney also reacted extremely swiftly to John’s signals - almost before they were made, at times - helping them work together as a seamless team.
Sometimes, John thought that, for all his efficiency and value, he didn’t technically need Lorne on the team as a Guide, because he never felt close to zoning or overwhelmed with McKay close by.
Lorne had evidently noticed too. They were sitting down for a team dinner, after a tough, but ultimately successful, trade mission - and following a slight delay, owing to Rodney’s arguing that he was certain that his food had trace elements of citrus in it, despite the chef’s insistence that it hadn’t been near the fruit salad, nor so much as given it a friendly wave in passing.
But it was often Rodney’s way to overreact to trivial things, especially after a difficult mission, when he was tired enough to bear a remarkable resemblance to a cranky five year old. John had been about to intervene, by smelling the food to prove to Rodney it was fine, when Zelenka - who often joined the team for meals - had solved the crisis by patiently and silently swapping his tray with Rodney’s.
Death by imaginary citrus having been averted, they settled down with the comfortable air of companionship that they had quickly built up under the high pressure of Pegasus life.
Lorne waited until Rodney’s mouth was full and bulging, before casually asking him if he had had any Guide training.
John was partly amused and partly genuinely concerned that Rodney would choke on his Strange Greens and Rather Peculiar Meat. He slapped Rodney briskly on the back to assist with the latter, allowing his hand to linger a while, in case it was needed again.
“Yes, well, I… it was a long time ago… how did you know?”
John sensed Rodney’s tension ratcheting up, far beyond that which might be expected for such a question. Certainly, Rodney was about the opposite of what anyone would picture as a Guide - tactless, self-absorbed, with a very UnGuidely tendency to bite off heads, with one mighty snap of his jaws, if they displayed incompetence or the crime of getting in his way - but almost anyone over eighteen could apply for training, even if only a tiny minority were successful in their application.
As there were so few Sentinels, only a very small number of those who actually made it through training, ever got to exercise their skills for real. But it was a well-respected profession and very useful second string to your bow; people who had passed the rigorous Guide training were considered intelligent, balanced, empathetic and desirable in many professions.
But successfully completing the training also put you under a legal obligation to use your Guide skills if a Sentinel was in need; which required a willingness to put yourself second and give over much of your life to the service of another. A Guide was, technically, always at the beck and call of their Sentinel - though Sentinels could dismiss their Guides at any time, provided they had a replacement available and Assigned Guides could appeal their assignment, if they felt their Sentinel was too demanding or incompatible. While most people managed to cultivate a good working relationship, with respect and consideration for the Guide’s needs, it was still an exhausting and all-consuming role to take on. John was actually a little shocked that Rodney had done it.
Lorne shrugged at Rodney.
“You practically Guide for John in the field. And you seem to understand Sentinels a whole lot better than you understand most of humanity. No offence.”
Rodney might have taken offence anyway, but he seemed a little shaken at having been outed as Guide-Trained. John frowned, remembering something.
“Wait a minute. You’re not down on the list of back-up Guides.”
Every organisation that employed a Sentinel, had to have a minimum of three Guide-trained personnel who could take over from an Assigned Guide in the event of illness, death or severance of contract. Atlantis had five, all of whose files John had memorised, so that he could make an informed decision as to who should be first in line, if the unthinkable happened.
Lorne looked a little remorseful. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise that you hadn’t passed. For what it’s worth, you seem pretty good at it. I feel a bit redundant sometimes.”
Rodney’s arms came up and crossed themselves with the speed of light, while his chin poked out in solidarity.
“Not passed? Pretty good? I’ll have you know that I graduated the top in my class by an interstellar mile and, actually…”
Zelenka coughed and Rodney looked derailed and then all kinds of awkward. John tried not to think the word ‘cute’, he really did, but sometimes Rodney just invited these things.
“Right. But… no, I’m not on the official Guide list. For… reasons. Um, private, medical reasons.”
Rodney poked at his food and then took the unprecedented step of abandoning it altogether and departing for the lab, with muttered excuses that he hardly bothered to make sound convincing.
Zelenka lingered for a moment.
“It is a sore subject, yes? Perhaps do not tease him about it.”
Then he, too, departed, though he took his tray with him, eating casually and with enjoyment, as he followed in Rodney’s wake.
***
“You should tell him.”
“I’m going to tell him. Eventually.”
Rodney flapped impatiently at Radek who simply crossed his arms, unimpressed.
“Strangely enough, Rodney, I am not desirous of seeing you get hurt.”
Rodney looked up from his laptop and straight into genuine compassion and sincerity, which was entirely unfair. They had an arrangement about things like that and that was, bury it deep under teasing, argument and mutual irritation; at least unless one of them was dying, in which case friendship was allowed to display itself almost openly.
“I’ll tell him. I just need to… work up to it a bit.”
Radek sighed and nodded and then the needs of Atlantis took over and Rodney barely even thought about Sheppard for quite some time, except as a golden glow in his mind, both warmth and oyster grit together, in an uncomfortable, comforting package.
***
John didn’t bring the Guide-training up again with Rodney, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. For the first time in his life, he was having visions of being close to someone in a way that he had never been prepared to risk before. John didn’t just want Rodney as a Guide, he wanted him as a Bonded Guide; to be officially John’s and John his, inextricably together for their whole lives, in a way unique to Bonded Sentinel/Guide pairs.
But there were a few issues with this.
Rodney’s not being an official Guide, for one. He couldn’t be counted as a Guide unless he was on the list, however well he did the job. John didn’t believe for a moment in those ‘medical reasons’ but he would have to persuade Rodney to get himself officially registered and possibly even do the training all over again; a pretty tough ask, to put it mildly.
And then, Rodney was the Chief of Science. A Guide was not legally excluded from having another profession, but they were required to put their Sentinel’s needs first, at all times. If Rodney took John on, then he would have to, at the very least, share his role with someone else, someone who didn’t have overriding responsibilities that might clash with the needs of the Science Department.
John couldn’t see Rodney giving up his position easily and wasn’t even sure if it would be a good idea for him to do so. He was an exceptional CSO - even those who liked him the least, still grudgingly admitted his genius and his remarkable technical skill, as well as his uncanny ability to spot trouble brewing halfway across a lab and come down on it with the swiftness of an angel; either the saving-all-your-asses kind, or the kind with a flaming sword and no shyness about using it.
Perhaps that explained how he had got an exclusion from the Guide list; he was considered Mission Critical in his current role.
For another thing, Bonding was an odd and not quite explained process, one that connected two people together in a way that was deeper than friendship or marriage or family or any other human relationship. A Bonded pair felt with each other, understood each other, connected with each other on a different level. Their brain chemistry was physically altered after the Bonding. None of the few Bonded Pairs on record had ever expressed a regret for their decision - very much the opposite - but it was a serious step to take for both of them.
John was feeling himself more and more inclined to take that step… but Rodney? Rodney had certainly risked his life for John, on several occasions, but altering his brain for him was a whole different level of friendship. Of love.
And love was the crux of it. Love and sex, which was a crucial part of the Bonding process.
John, himself, was more attracted to Rodney than he had ever been to anyone, sometimes to the point of needing roomier underwear, but he had no indication that Rodney felt that way about him or ever would. More and more, John was wishing that he just hadn’t agreed to this assignment, because, the stronger his feelings towards Rodney, the more impossible it seemed to ever be with him, in the way that he increasingly longed to.
Except that, for all the pain it was causing him, the thought of never having met Rodney at all was too much to bear. Better these daily stabs of agony, wrapped in a bittersweet coating of proximity, than never to have known what it was like to be swept up in Rodney’s smile, his eyes, even his regular complaints about his back, his aching feet and the way that the regulation shirts were clearly made of sandpaper.
Every day, John explained to himself just why he could never ask Rodney to be his Guide.
Every day, John bit his tongue to prevent him from doing it anyway.
***
The expedition had been getting on better than it had any right to. There had been a few accidents, of course, even tragedies; and plenty of near-disasters, both on and off Atlantis, many of which were diverted by John, Rodney or the team as a whole.
Wraith were a constant concern, but many of the Athosians and other native Pegasuns who had become allies, or even, in a few cases, joined the expedition, had been working closely with the Atlanteans and pooling their knowledge and technology to figure out better methods of avoiding and defeating the Wraith. The Genii - whose nuclear bunker John had immediately sensed, leading to a tense and thorny discussion of radiation shielding and bombs - were perhaps the most promising of these allies in terms of technology, though John didn’t trust the leaders at all and hoped never to be in a position where their interests clashed, because he could see things going all kinds of badly.
But for the most part, they were forming strong ties to the community and even finding a few leads to possible ZPMs.
They had been following one of those leads all the way across a mountain, to Rodney’s very vocal objections; though he had come anyway, of course, and thrown himself into the tedious climbing over difficult terrain, with more stamina than John had expected; and an entertaining wealth of insults, for the pile of rocks they were trudging over.
The path had been tough, but the views were truly breathtaking: wide open vistas under the light of an alien sun. Even Rodney had paused in his complaining at various times along the way: both for necessary breathing purposes and for a little quiet awe.
Then they were almost there; John thought that he could feel a sort of tingling of power, an itch in his mind; right before the avalanche began.
John had a little warning from his senses to get his team moving before it hit, but it wasn’t quite enough. The force of it hit hard and John had just time to clench his teeth against the snow, before everything went white.
Things were fuzzy for a while.
John must have made himself an air pocket at some point, but he didn’t remember doing it nor even quite remember why such a thing would be necessary. Pocket. It seemed a funny word. He said it to himself a few times, and giggled, until voices reached him from outside, far too loud, making his head hurt. Everything was so very loud and then so very bright and he couldn’t dial it back or cope with it at all. It hurt even more when he had been completely dug out of the snow and John would have fiercely resented being dragged from his soft, quiet nest, except that Rodney was right there, digging for John with one arm - the other one being, very clearly, not in any condition to play right now - and gazing at him with such genuine concern that John felt warmed all through.
Or maybe that was confusion from the hypothermia.
Ford - who seemed mostly uninjured - and Rodney, both then turned to search for Teyla. John could hear her heartbeat under the snow and slight movements; he badly wanted to tell them where to dig, but his head was too scrambled, the words just wouldn’t come. John wished that he could mentally share the knowledge with Rodney; and maybe he had, somehow, because Rodney was already at the right spot and digging wildly with his good arm, Ford joining him, with strong, vigorous scoops.
John remembered Teyla being born from the snow, with a gasp of new life. He remembered being wrapped in something warm. He remembered a considerable amount of pain as he was transported into a Jumper. He remembered being aware of Rodney, of being close to him all the time.
He didn’t remember much else for quite a while.
***
Rodney had never been in an avalanche before and he had also never before broken his arm in three places. Both of these things were going on the list of Experiences I Never Asked For, Never Wanted, and Would Like to Expunge From My Mind As Soon as Possible, Thank You Very Much.
But the worst part of the whole thing had been worrying about the others; about getting them out fast enough; about John, blood streaming down his face and his usually sharp eyes clouded and confused; about knowing he needed to say something this time and damn the consequences.
***
When John woke up properly - without that floaty sensation, as if reality and himself had temporarily parted company and, hey, wasn’t the ceiling fascinating, with all the pretty colours? - Ford was sitting beside him and Teyla next to Rodney.
Ford grinned at him, with an evident relief. “Good to have you back, sir. Lorne’s been right here with you most of the the time, until Carson sent him away to get some sleep. Did you want me to get him?”
John smiled back, forcing it out over the headache. “I think I can survive being Guideless for a few hours, Lieutenant. Let him sleep.”
Both Ford and Teyla had escaped serious injury and been officially released as soon as they were sufficiently warm. John, himself, would have to stay a little longer, having bashed his head pretty hard. That explained all the fuzziness and his little difficulty with words after the avalanche; all of which thankfully seemed to have resolved itself; though John’s head remained full of anvils, inexplicably stored there and being struck at intervals.
Rodney had managed to mangle himself even more thoroughly, clocking up a minor head wound of his own, a wrenched ankle, copious bruising and a thoroughly broken arm. But he had been the only one of them not to get completely buried in the snow, and so it was Rodney who had found and painfully dug them out, one by one; being fortunate enough to start with the relatively unhurt Ford, as otherwise, he would have been unlikely to have the strength to get them all out, before they succumbed to suffocation or cold.
In fact, Rodney had found them all remarkably quickly; and now that John’s head was clear that seemed strange.
He turned to look at Rodney, who was just awakening in the neighbouring bed, with a grimace of pain that John wanted badly to smooth out with his lips.
“He found us all straight away,” Ford nodded over at Rodney, a touch of surprise, but also pride in his teammate, showing through. “Just as quick as you would have.”
For a moment, John had a wild thought that somehow he must have formed a non-contact Bond with Rodney and projected his senses over to him while semi-conscious. Then the far more likely explanation occurred to him, like a punch directly in the hopes and dreams.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Rodney opened his eyes, slammed them hard shut against the light, and then tried again, this time prudently using his good arm as a parasol. He sighed, but didn’t pretend to misunderstand.
“I’ve never told anyone I didn’t have to. Habits like that are harder to break than you’d think.”
Rodney shifted slightly, guilt mixing in with the pain on his face.
“But I would have told you. I meant to tell you after this.”
“Tell us what?”
Until Teyla’s question, John had forgotten that anyone else was in the room, anyone but him and Rodney, who had seemed to be so connected and now... John struggled to hide his devastation, but feared that it was long past too late for that.
“Rodney’s a Sentinel.”
Ford’s mouth opened in shock and disbelief. Teyla looked at Rodney, then at John, with a dawning understanding that was just too much for him to take right now.
“Sheppard, I…”
“My head hurts. I could do with some quiet.”
He turned away, closing his eyes, shutting everything out, trying - and failing - to keep Rodney from dominating his senses, with his scent, his breathing, his image that played in John’s head, no matter how hard he tried to swat it away.
Because, for all of his reasons not to GuideBond with Rodney, all his pretended agreement that it was impossible, it seemed that John had, not only wanted it anyway, far more than he had allowed himself to realise, but fully believed, deep in his heart, that it would happen. That Rodney was meant for him, was his personal, destined Guide, and that any and all real life concerns would crumble in the face of that inevitability.
And now he knew that he had been building castles out of clouds, like some foolish, dreamy teenager, and it hurt so badly that the lingering concussion headache shrunk to nothing beside it.
Carson came at some point and John answered questions and took pills but he didn’t look at Rodney once.
***
“Okay, I understand that you’re pissed off. Actually, it’s surprising I’ve gone this long without pissing you off to this extent, it’s something of a personal best.”
Rodney wanted to kick himself, but he was beginning to want to kick John more. It was understandable that he was upset that Rodney hadn’t trusted him with a fairly important piece of information, but he could surely understand that there were reasons and give Rodney a chance to explain them, rather than pretend to sleep, like some great, sulking child.
“Okay, look. You, of all people, should know what being a Sentinel means. It means your life isn’t your own. Do you remember Dr Clara Von Bettow? She was one of the most promising young biologists there was, until she came online very late and was drafted almost immediately, for the good of her country, because they hadn’t got a Sentinel at the time and, even if she could do more good as a scientist, than with her senses, they needed that figurehead, that idea of their own personal superhero.
Canada hasn’t one either right now, and I knew, as soon as I came online at fourteen, that I would never have been allowed to ‘waste myself’ on science. So I never told anyone and self-managed until I was eighteen and able to take the Guide training, which was no picnic, I can tell you. Not under my own name, of course, there was no point in my saving myself for science and then getting drafted as babysitter. So, I travelled to Prague, because I knew a fair amount of Czech already, for reasons far too embarrassing to explain to you now, hacked into the system to sign myself up and took the course there. That’s where I met Radek. He came second in the class, so we had a night of celebratory drinking together and then parted ways, never expecting to see each other again.
The course helped. I went three more years without a Guide but… well, unfortunately, everything they tell you about needing one is true. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown most of the time and had to pause my PhD twice for health reasons. Physically and mentally, I was a wreck. And when I bumped into Radek again… well, he kind of picked me up and put me back together. After that, we always wangled a way to work together and he acted as my unofficial Guide. I’m still not sure exactly why, why he would do that for me. Though, of course, he does get the privilege of working with the smartest man in two galaxies and…”
Rodney stopped, and shook his head, finding the bluster even more empty than usual.
“The truth is, I wouldn’t be here without him and I don’t tell him that enough. Except when I’m drunk and then he usually tells me to stop being a sentimental fool and go stick my head in the ocean and send the rest of me after it.
But that’s beside the point. The point is, that this is something I’ve never shared with anyone else, except Radek… well, and Carson, because it turns out that he’s more observant than you’d think, for a man who does voodoo for a living… but apart from that, I never even let myself think about telling anyone. I mean, I know I can’t help complaining about things sometimes, especially when Radek’s not there and the lights are too bright, the birds are chattering like melodic machine guns, or the boots… my god, the boots. I’m assuming that Sentinel-issue is far better, because, frankly, wearing mine is like wrapping a boa constrictor around each foot and having them alternate squeezing and biting you and then snacking on bunnies at intervals, just to add excruciating lumps to the whole package. Anyway, all that’s never caused suspicion, because people just assume I’m being an asshole. Which is not a baseless assumption.
And, honestly, John, this has been my life for so long that I didn’t know how not to keep it a secret, even from someone I felt so… even from you.”
There was silence from the bed and Rodney would have thought that maybe John was genuinely asleep, if he couldn’t detect all of the minute things that stated otherwise. He sighed, pointedly.
“Look, is this about hiding my competence in the field? Because, I swear, I never endangered us by holding back information. Anything I could pick up, you picked up too and usually first, because you’re way more experienced at that sort of thing. And the things that came under my expertise, I always told you. I just… never explained exactly how I knew them. There’s a fair amount of merit in nobody understanding a word I say, when it comes to technology. And, actually, I don’t even use my senses that much. They’re useful enough, for spotting faults, finding certain problems without equipment, but mostly I just use my brain. It’s not my fault that I was born this way and I don’t see why it has to dictate my life.”
John stirred at last and turned a look on Rodney that was painful but hard to interpret.
“It’s not that, Rodney. I mean, I’m hurt about the not trusting me thing and, yeah, you being a Sentinel is the type of information that a Team Leader kind of needs to know, but… I understand. I can get over it. It’s just…”
Rodney frowned, wanting desperately to take that look away, that lost and wounded rawness, before John shut it off himself, with a decisive click.
“It’s fine, Rodney. Just give me a little time to process, okay?”
Rodney lay back and considered. Having reflected, he decided that Sheppard had been processing for hours, so, no, actually, it was not okay.
“Sheppard, trust me, the last thing I want to do is talk about feelings… well, in fact, probably the last thing I want to do is have my life sucked out by a Wraith, but feelings are high on the list… But, we can’t work together if…”
John sat up and Rodney had a feeling that pushing had been a mistake. It was a feeling he had often had and never managed to learn from, because pushing was integral to his nature and because, sometimes, it got pretty spectacular results.
Not this time, apparently. Or not the right kind of spectacular.
“You’re absolutely right, Rodney. We can’t work together. And, as a responsible Team Leader, I can’t take you into the field any more without a Guide. So, I’ll let Elizabeth know you’re off the team, as soon as I get released. Don’t worry, I won’t explain why. And now I think we both need to rest.”
John gave Rodney a meaningful look, which he interpreted as a suggestion that John would call Carson in to sedate the hell out of Rodney, if he tried again to drag John into exploring his feelings like a grown-up.
Rodney might have still tried anyway, but he knew there was no point. He’d screwed this up, like he always did and, though he trusted his team - former team - to keep his secret, that didn’t stop him from feeling like a large part of his world had ended; that he had wound up being shrivelled in the sun’s rays after all.
***
John was released from the infirmary before Rodney and he had every intention of telling Elizabeth straight away that Rodney was off the team. That he had decided, that it was maybe just the slightest bit unwise, after all, for the Chief of Science to be away quite so frequently and so much at risk of serious injury and death.
But these words - the very idea of his team without Rodney - stuck in his throat and he decided to give himself the full twenty four hours of recovery time, before his duties officially restarted, to accustom himself to the notion of not having Rodney close to him, wherever he went. Not working together with that perfect, natural partnership that he had begun to take for granted. Not having even the possibility, the hope, of turning to him, of asking the question; of having what his stupid self still longed for, even though he knew, with complete certainty now, that it couldn’t be.
It was unfair on Rodney, John knew, to shut him out like this. He knew what being a Sentinel was like, the way that his own choices had narrowed and only the fact that he got to fly had reconciled him to a life that was closely monitored, under pressure and the public eye, and felt fake at every turn.
Taking the Atlantis Expedition had been a lifeline, with a break at last from Earth’s expectations and a role that was one part genuine heroism, to four parts display; because John had learned early that the value of a Sentinel was seen to be their symbolism, their scarcity and their effect on people, more than the abilities themselves.
John had worked hard to be allowed to be useful and he had managed some things that he was proud of - but there had been other times, times when he could have done more, but had been prevented, sometimes physically, from being put in harm’s way, because losing a Sentinel would be a blow to morale that would lose votes and lose his country respect.
Here on Atlantis, John had not had that restriction. Had even swung a little too much the other way, perhaps - Rodney had always been telling him… but, maybe don’t think of Rodney right now.
Here, John had found the freedom and chance to be all that he was capable of. John couldn’t bring himself to fault Rodney for finding a way to do the same.
His only real problem was that Rodney couldn’t ever be what John wanted him to be. And, that might not be Rodney’s fault, but it scooped a hole right out of John all the same.
He’d learn to hide it, in time. He learned to hide everything.
But not just yet.
***
Sheppard didn’t visit even once, but Teyla and Ford came by several times before Rodney was released. Neither one mentioned the Sentinel thing, though Teyla treated him with something of an air of dealing with someone fragile; which was infuriating, despite being currently accurate (a fact that was even more infuriating).
As for Ford, he looked as if he was bursting to talk, but held off, out of both personal consideration and the possibility of being overheard. Ford believed fully in the Sentinel Myth, that notion of them as special, heroic creatures, set apart from humanity and evolved, at least in part, specifically to save it; even as he accepted that Sheppard was Sheppard, with all of his own quirks and flaws.
Rodney must be a complete conundrum to Ford and a blow to that worldview. His own quirks and flaws weren’t offset by evident and genuine heroism, as Sheppard’s were, only by his saving grace of staggering intellect, which was not something that Ford valued nearly as highly as Rodney did.
Still, he had shown no signs of being less friendly because of it, or disappointed in any way, which was surprising. Perhaps Rodney would be able to keep both his and Teyla’s friendship to some extent, even without being teammates.
Though, realistically, he knew how it would go. A few lunches, here and there, maybe a movie night or three and then excuses, mutual difficulties in making time and Rodney would be down to Radek and Carson as the only people who willingly spent time with him.
They were both good friends, better than he deserved, and it wasn’t as if Rodney hadn’t had fewer people at his back; but it would be harder this time, losing something that he was getting dangerously close to thinking of as family.
But he had his work and his mind; as long as they never let him down, Rodney could survive without anybody, if he had to.
After a few days of nothing to do but brooding, eating jello, trying to carve equations in the jello, because Carson wouldn’t let him have a tablet, and, eventually, making little Carson effigies from jello and savagely squashing them, Rodney had been prodded and tutted over and finally pronounced fit to leave, though not to actually work for a few days more. Carson also quietly suggested that Rodney stay close to Zelenka as much as possible and even offered to put him on medical leave too, if necessary; as if Rodney hadn’t managed for years without a Guide.
“Aye, and Radek told me all about the state you were in when he met up with you again. Like a spitting cat who was all bone and hackles, I think he put it.”
“Oh, really? Well, remind me to tell you about the New Year’s party where Radek got into a Peach Schnapps showdown with a Texan the size of a Redwood. I can get just as descriptive, believe me.”
Shoved good-naturedly out of the door, Rodney had made immediately for the labs, where he was met with a distressing display of mutiny from his entire science team, the bravest of whom formed a human barrier at the entrance and informed him, with various degrees of apology and glee, that he was currently banned until Carson had medically cleared him.
Rodney argued that he had one good arm and that he hardly needed to be in peak fighting condition to wrestle with a laptop and a whiteboard - neither of which usually fought back - but the barrier remained, unmoved and unmoving. Rodney left, in the end, after Radek had threatened to go with him. The Science Department might suffer without Rodney’s leadership, but, if it was allowed to go without both him and Radek, it was liable to descend into anarchy, gossip and people wantonly touching things that they absolutely shouldn’t be touching and thereby turning into frogs or blowing up the universe.
Atlantis hummed, sympathetic to his plight, and Rodney ran his fingers softly over her walls, as he limped, slowly and stiffly, back to his quarters. Except that these weren’t his quarters at all; something that he only realised when the door opened and Sheppard glared out.
“Something you want, McKay?”
Rodney didn’t have time to finish wincing from this before remorse spread all over Sheppard’s face.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean…”
Sheppard moved back slightly, a partial invitation that Rodney took up before consciously making the decision to do so.
“Sheppard, I’m sorry that…”
“No. No, Rodney, don’t apologise. I mean, yes, you should have told me, but I understand why you didn’t. We’re good, okay?”
Rodney blinked. Sheppard was rigid and controlled and more mask than man and it was actually painful to see. His Sentinel nature was twanging with warnings and sympathy, while the Guide-training was informing him - as if he didn’t know - that ‘a Sentinel could become brittle and exhausted when trying to dampen their senses and emotions for too long. The correct procedure is…’
Rodney wasn’t sure how they got on the bed or why John was letting him do this, but he was holding on to bare skin, breathing in synch with John and murmuring the calming mantras he had learned, so often, and from both sides, that he felt that they might be the last part of language that left him, when his brain eventually shut down for good.
John relaxed against him and everything was just perfect for a moment; until John pulled away abruptly.
“No! This isn’t fair, Rodney. You can’t give me… not when I can’t have this for real…”
And Rodney honestly hadn’t realised until then, hadn’t thought for a moment that this was what had been growing between them, all this time and that Sheppard… that John… but, no, that was ridiculous…
“So, what, you wanted me to Guide for you? This is what that whole schoolgirl snit was about?”
Despite the situation, Rodney couldn’t help but be amused by John’s face as he processed ‘schoolgirl snit’ with a mixture of outrage, disbelief and some slight acceptance of its validity.
“I didn’t just want you to Guide for me, Rodney! I wanted to Bond with you! I’ve been utterly, stupidly in love with you for months and then you turn around and kick me in the metaphorical balls! I think that’s worth a certain amount of snit.”
Rodney’s heart was racing and his senses going so wild that he almost wished Radek was here, except that… really not the moment.
“Let me get this straight. You love me to the point of actually considering getting yourself stuck with me for life, no take-backs… and then you stop loving me, just because I’m a Sentinel?”
John’s anger immediately crumpled into concern.
“Hell, you’re spiking all over the place, let me…”
John moved closer and pulled Rodney into a similar position to the one they had been in earlier, but reversed. He was clumsy and unskilled, but the intent was appreciated.
“I haven’t stopped loving you, Rodney. I don’t think I can. But, now I know that I can’t Bond with you. Forgive me, if I’m finding that a little hard to deal with.”
Rodney shook his head, exasperation taking over from his other emotions and wrestling them efficiently to the ground.
“Sheppard, you’re an idiot.”
John raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t stop stroking Rodney. It wasn’t exactly in the usual Guide-recommended fashion, but Rodney had no intention of pointing that out.
“Look, just because Sentinels usually Bond only with Guides, doesn’t mean they can’t Bond with Sentinels. No one’s ever tried, as far as I know. And, hey, I can do the Guide-thing as well, which apparently you’ve forgotten, not that I’m exactly typical Guide material nor am I planning to devote my life to following you about adoringly, because, hello, genius of Atlantis here.
But, even if the whole Bonding thing doesn’t work, because of cosmic balance or whatever, well, you love me, I love you. Most people tend to manage pretty well with that as a starting point.”
The stroking stopped, which was displeasing.
“You love me?”
“Yes! Didn’t I just say that?”
“Huh. Well, I might possibly need to readjust some of my assumptions here.”
Rodney found himself flat on the bed with a tongue in his mouth, which was, frankly, quite rude with so little warning, but he was prepared to be forgiving in this instance. Rodney understood the desperate need for physical reassurance, the craving to taste and touch and hear and smell and see, with all senses opened and zeroed in on their prey.
In fact, he very much felt the same need.
They stripped each other, with a barely controlled roughness - mindful of Rodney’s cast, but he was still going to feel it later, when he remembered that bruising existed - and then rolled each other over on the bed, taking turns in being on top, in guiding each other to the places and ways that they liked best to be touched, to be kissed, to be brought to the peak of twitching, gasping ecstasy.
It all went very well, in Rodney’s opinion.
***
John still wasn’t sure if they had technically Bonded or not, but they had done so in all the ways that mattered to each other.
There had been some details to work out, with regards to Lorne and Radek; but, in the end, little had changed. Lorne remained John’s Assigned Guide, Radek, Rodney’s very unofficial one; they just had rather less to do in that role than previously.
John couldn’t take the Guiding course, but he could, and did, take tips from their own Guides and used his personal knowledge of how they helped him, to be there for Rodney, just as Rodney was for him. But, when it came down to it, each Sentinel had their own vital role, their particular area of Guardianship and they needed to be able to put that above, even each other, because all of Atlantis depended on it; and neither John, nor Rodney, had ever put themselves above the lives of the people they protected, however much fuss Rodney sometimes made about it.
Lorne and Radek remained essential to help them to function separately and be able to have less anxiety for the other in emergencies, when their focus needed to be on the job at hand. Their arrangement worked for all of them; and for their City.
And, when the Wraith Treaty was signed and the whole of Atlantis celebrated with every form of alcohol known to Pegasus (but not anything resembling Peach Schnapps, as far as Radek was concerned, because that kind of carnage should never be repeated) John and Rodney found a quiet space on a balcony and looked over their City, every detail clear to their acute vision.
Atlantis was as full of Pegasuns as Earth natives now and she sang happily to the both of them, in apparent approval.
“I still think that Todd was trying to eat me earlier.”
John snaked his arm around Rodney’s waist and smiled loud enough for Rodney to hear it, even though he was staring at the scene below.
“Todd has promised to stick to the Wraith-sustaining crops, just like the rest of them. I’m sure he was just wanting to give you a big old Wraith cuddle.”
John frowned, thinking of the rather intent look that Todd had, in fact, sported, when he was talking to Rodney. Wraith expressions could be hard to read, based mostly around various degrees of ‘hungry’ but… well, he’d just better not have been thinking of anything that went beyond cuddling. They still had some heavy duty Anti-Wraith weaponry, laid up just in case.
“So, now that we finally don’t have to worry about the Wraith any more, apart from potential over-snuggliness, I was thinking that maybe we could take that vacation you’ve always insisted that we don’t have time for?”
“Oh! Right, well… but there’s still so much to do… getting technology properly started again… and the Genii are clearly plotting something with their nuclear arsenal… besides which, I’m really, amazingly close to making our own ZPMs…”
“Rodney. You’re the one who told me that Sentinels are just people. And people need breaks, preferably breaks with lots of sun, surf and sand.”
Rodney huffed predictably and John smiled wider.
“Have you any idea of what the sun can do to your skin? And if you think you’re getting me to go surfing, then you have even less going on under that fluffy skull than I though…”
Rodney, John had found, mostly hated being shut up with a kiss; but sometimes - just sometimes - he really loved it.
“Yes, well. I guess the sun has its good points, after all.”
And they took each other by the hand and strolled down into their City, to make plans to leave it in capable hands, while they took their turn in the sun.