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Of all the things Rodney thought would become one of their most precious items, he wouldn't have put blankets at the top of the list. Coffee, yes. Warm socks, definitely. Uniforms that aren't ripped or worn thin, that haven't been washed, again and again, in seawater, absolutely.
But blankets? The SGC blankets are hardly a prize. Sure they're warm and tough, but they're rough, utilitarian, bland. In a city that's so often dark and grey, the blankets don't serve to visually warm up the place. If anything, looking at them, folded in tidy piles during the days, or airing out on lines in the cold wind, just reinforces the bleak and repetitive tone of their predicament.
He stands by the door, arms wrapped around himself, hands tucked under his armpits, and watches blankets flap on the lines. The soft sounds of heavy cloth in the wind contrast with the sharp smack of waves against the city's edges. They're mostly the SGC-issue blankets, but there are others – bright red Athosian blankets, and the richly patterned blue and white quilts Aiden had found and traded for with the pastoral Genii.
Rodney watches them move, hunches into his sweater, and lets his thoughts continue to drift.
They'd hoped – assumed, even – in the early days that the planet was in the midst of winter, with warmer days to come. They'd waited. They'd mapped out the planet’s path and made calculations based on their knowledge of Earth and other Milky Way worlds visited through the stargates.
But they'd been wrong. Watery winter light never gave way to bright summer days. Grey, cloudy skies didn't turn to cheerful blue with the passing of the weeks or months. The planet's life – the thick forests on the mainland, teeming with creatures of all sizes, with plants that the botanists assured Rodney were exciting and unique, useful and intriguing – didn't seem to mind. They thrived in the weak light and the cold winds, the middling, consistent temperatures and the periods of heavy rain.
The expedition members did less well.
"We'll figure it out, McKay," John had said to him, in those early months, when Rodney was beset by the knowledge that they could move the city – fly it to a more hospitable planet, somewhere warmer and welcoming – if they could only find ZPMs. One would have been a start. Two would have been a joy. Three had seemed possible, at first. Improbable, but possible.
But then nothing had materialized. No matter how hard they'd looked, what they did, no matter how Rodney, Radek, and Elizabeth searched through databases; no matter how diligently Teyla, John, and Aiden tracked down legends and stories.
Not one. Not even a hint of one.
Teyla had counselled patience, and suggested turning to building trade relationships, focussing on exploration and daily survival instead of the search for technology. Her people had tried the mainland, but eventually most had trickled back to the city, too isolated, too cold, too unable to cultivate much in the weak sunlight. They'd settled into working in the makeshift greenhouses, training the botanists and anyone with free time how to care for food and medicinal crops.
Elizabeth had agreed, reassigning gate teams to relationships and supplies, dialing back on technology search teams, though she kept Rodney and Radek in play.
Rodney had understood the logic, even if he'd chafed at the restrictions.
"Just think, Dr. McKay," Aiden had said once, grinning. "If we're the only team looking for ZPMs, you'll get all the credit when we find one."
And then the gate had stopped working.
Three teams – a mix of Marines and Athosians – had been lost, stranded, when it happened. There was no clear reason for the failure, and the best they'd come up with was a previously-dormant virus, or a planned shut-down, or maybe both. Rodney's still not sure if it was just their gate, or if it affected the entire Pegasus Galaxy gate network.
Or if it had extended further than that, into the Milky Way.
They'd hunkered down, limited to the range of the puddlejumpers, a few planets and the mainland. But, "We do not know," Radek had cautioned in a meeting some days later with the command staff, Teyla and Halling, and a few other scientists, "if what has affected the stargate will also affect the puddlejumpers' systems."
The room had become silent and still, the thought horrifying. Dead in space. Or stuck on the mainland, so far away from the city it might as well be another planet.
They'd flown a series of missions to gather as much as they could – plant species, livestock, supplies of every kind they could think of, the final evacuation of the few Athosian holdouts on the mainland – and then they'd powered down and mothballed the jumpers, except for emergencies.
John's heart had broken a little that day, his jaw tense and the line of his shoulders miserable, defeated, as they’d sealed off the jumper bay.
Rodney's throat hurts, with regret and loss, when he thinks about it, even all these months later.
Rodney shakes his head and fixes his eyes on the sky. Clouds are heading their way, and if he's not mistaken, they're on the verge of at least a week of rain. At least they never run out of drinking water, he thinks ruefully, and walks out of the doorway towards the lines of blankets.
He's pulling the first one off the line, folding it briskly against the wind, when Aiden joins him. "Sorry," he says, a little breathless, his eyes bright. "Got caught up in the greenhouses, didn't even notice the clouds coming in."
Rodney shrugs, but grins briefly. "Let's move, Lieutenant."
Aiden smiles back. "Got it, Doctor. No one wants wet blankets."
They'd seized the opportunity two days ago – and the prediction by some of the Athosians that they'd have a few days without rain or wet snow – and done city-wide rounds of washing the blankets, leaving them outside to dry in the wind. It's a pain, but it's worth it. Tonight he'll bed down under warm, clean layers, the drab SGC-grey covers topped with Teyla's heavy red and black woven blanket, and Aiden's favourite Genii quilt, the one he says reminds him of his grandmother.
They move efficiently, folding and piling high dozens and dozens of blankets, working along the lines, until they meet others clearing the lines from different directions. It's warming work. Rodney's hands are hot by the time they're done and have moved all the blankets inside, Teyla's and Aiden's carefully placed on top of their allocated SGC-issue covers.
The group carries the blankets towards the interior of the city, soft conversation around them, small bursts of laughter, or groans. Aiden walks close to Rodney, their shoulders occasionally brushing, and tells him about how Ramirez had been flirting with one of the Athosians working in the greenhouse, Kerra, all awkward and stumbling over his words until she'd sprayed him with a mister, laughing and blushing.
"Babies, Rodney," Aiden says confidently as they arrive at their quarters, "I'm betting there'll be babies."
Rodney rolls his eyes and steps through the doorway. Aiden's bets are always happy, optimistic, and a little gleeful.
Their quarters are standard, a sleeping space and a living space, big windows and an attached bathroom. Once, Rodney would have called four people living there cramped, but now he thinks of it as cozy, homey. The walls are lined with Athosian weavings, John's Johnny Cash poster bracketed by the furs they break out on the coldest of nights. Their clothes are in neat piles in baskets, their carefully maintained weapons hanging by the door. They sleep low on the floor, mattresses shoved together, thick and deep.
It's warm in the little room, with the four of them curled together at nights, someone's hand on Rodney's hip, his arm wrapped around someone else.
It's warm, comforting. Home.
A metaphorical blanket fort, he thinks. With actual blankets. He half-grins at the thought, and Aiden catches it, his returning smile bright and happy. Like the sun.
It had been awkward at first – reconciling military rules and hang-ups, personality quirks and irritations; getting over how Aiden had tended to fall back on calling John 'sir', even in private, or how Teyla wanted different things from each of them – the four of them coming to terms with the fact that they hadn't just chosen to room together out of the need to lead by example and to show the importance of consolidating spaces and sharing resources.
And then there'd been the recognition that letting go of those rules and hang-ups, stupid as they were, had also meant admitting failure, admitting that they were stranded. That they'd probably die here.
But eventually they'd squared it all away, and moved forward, and now, almost a year after the stargate failed, every time Rodney steps into their quarters he feels something loosen between his shoulders.
"Hungry?" Aiden takes the blankets out of Rodney's arms, setting them down next to the bed.
Rodney nods. "I need to meet Elizabeth and Radek, see what we can do about energy levels in the greenhouses and livestock section." They've managed a reasonable wind-power set up, so far. It's hardly the ground-breaking theoretical work he'd imagined himself doing, but it helps keep the lights on, and lets them reserve the city's remaining ZPM power for if they ever need shields. And he and Radek have thoughts about how they could maybe move the city closer to the mainland, ideas they’ve been turning over and chewing on for a few weeks. He feels like they’re close to a breakthrough on that. "But I could eat."
Aiden drapes his arm casually over Rodney's shoulder, a warm, familiar weight. Once, Rodney would have shoved away the contact – any contact, distracting and unwelcome – but now he leans in a little and lets himself be steered through the door and down the hallway.
"Come on, then. John said they'd save us some of whatever tasted the best."
They're almost at the mess hall, the scents of cooking mingling with the low rumble of conversation, when Aiden stops suddenly and says, "Hey. Kerra says next week she thinks there's going to be a break in the clouds. For a few days. You know what that means." His expression is happy, enthusiastic. "Stars!"
Rodney lets himself get carried by that enthusiasm, and smiles back. If the clouds do break, the four of them will do what they always do - gather up some blankets, find a wide, open balcony, and lie, pressed together, looking up into the night sky.
End