Chapter Text
Mornings in Atlantis were pretty much the same as mornings on Earth. Lantea rotated, and the sun inched toward the sky side of the horizon. Night softened into twilight into dawn, black lightening to gray with oranges and lavenders and pinks. For some reason, mornings on Lantea were one-hundred percent better than any of the thirteen-thousand-or-so mornings he’d experienced on Earth.
Could be, Rodney thought with a dopey smile, waking with an armful of gorgeous Sentinel. Turning his head, he buried his nose in John’s spiky, raven hair. John was sprawled over his Guide’s chest, arm draped over Rodney’s midriff and leg hiked over his hip. His nose was buried in Rodney’s neck, and the moist heat of his every breath warmed Rodney’s skin.
The last twenty-four hours had strained Guide and Sentinel to limits neither of them even knew they had. Forced separation when Rodney was captured by Wraith, and John struggling through a tricky rescue without his Guide to ground and support him. Which was probably more torturous for Rodney than John. He knew all Guides felt protective of their Sentinels when newly bonded, but he and John had been bonded for over two weeks now. Those feelings of protectiveness, of possessiveness, had not diminished.
In fact, they’d only grown stronger. He wasn’t completely sure it was normal, especially for a platonic bond. Not that I particularly care, he thought, dismissive. He was not a normal Guide, and John certainly wasn’t a normal Sentinel. Even their coming together wasn’t exactly normal. Lifting his hand, he tangled his fingers in John’s raven hair and gently stroked through the soft strands. I guess the odds of us finding each other were pretty astronomically slim. It’s like the Universe lined everything up so we would find each other when and where we did.
In his arms, John stirred. Rodney stilled, not wanting to wake him yet. His gorgeous flyboy made a faint, sleepy sound and burrowed a little deeper into his Guide. Rodney tried really hard not to think about how John’s groin was now pressed against his hip. This was the closest they’d been to each other since the night they’d bonded, and he found his Sentinel damn near irresistible.
John’s feelings were more muddled. He knew his Sentinel liked him. Liked him a lot, in fact. But the pilot was more reserved than Rodney, and he hadn’t shown any real attraction—physical or otherwise—toward his Guide. Last night was the first time he’d actually sought physical comfort from his Guide.
Closing his eyes, Rodney tried not to think about yesterday. Arguably one of the most stressful days of his life. Thinking about how close he’d come to dying sent a shudder through his entire body. He didn’t realize his arms tightened around John until his Sentinel made a cute, disgruntled sound and blinked awake.
Rodney held his breath, hoping he didn’t noticeably freeze up. Fortunately, John didn’t freak out or get awkward about having slept in his Guide’s bed, in his Guide’s arms. He just slowly stretched, and oh man that was not good for Rodney’s libido when the entire front of his slinky body rubbed against Rodney’s side.
Then, John didn’t move. He just nestled right back into Rodney’s embrace. Lifting his left hand, he lightly traced his fingers over Rodney’s chest, right over the feeding mark. Though the small wounds weren’t healed fully, the touch didn’t cause any discomfort.
“Does it hurt?” John asked, voice soft. Nearly inaudible.
Rodney sucked in a sharp breath to feel the raw pain in those words. Reaching out across their bond, he pushed and stroked at the pain until the ragged edges smoothed. “No,” he said quietly. “It only hurt for a split second when the . . . hand-mouth first connected.”
For several seconds, John didn’t respond. Then, “If you keep that up,” his flyboy mumbled, “you’re gonna put me back to sleep.”
Rodney smiled, something inexpressibly tender blooming deep inside him as he kept caressing over John’s mind. “Then, go back to sleep.”
“Can’t,” John argued. “Too much to do.”
“Well, then,” Rodney said reasonably, “get up.”
“Don’ wanna.”
Chuckling softly, he kept up his ministrations. John dozed off, and Rodney breathed in his scent and didn’t mind the struggle with low-level arousal at his Sentinel’s nearness. His gorgeous flyboy didn’t doze for long, and when he woke a second time, he felt much more alert. He sat up slowly, looking down at Rodney and seeming reluctant to rise from the bed.
“We . . . can’t spend the day together,” he said after a few moments. Judging by his tone, those words were more for his own benefit than Rodney’s.
“No,” Rodney agreed, even though all his Guide instincts screamed to the contrary. “Too much to do. But, Carson thinks he’s perfected the artificial ATA gene therapy. That means, by this afternoon, I could have the gene too! God, imagine how much more I’ll get done without having to wait on Carson or that Japanese doctor—I can never remember her name—to come initialize Ancient tech for me! Oh, I almost forgot. Carson said I can’t receive the shot without you present.”
The stream of words had the desired effect. John’s melancholy faded behind irritation. “Why? It’s not like I’m gonna zone out because you’re getting a shot.”
“I know,” Rodney said with a theatrical sigh. “Man’s a damn tyrant.” Sitting up, he grabbed both sides of John’s neck and tugged just a little so he could plant a smooch on John’s forehead. “Might as well get used to it. I might not believe in all his medical voodoo, but he’s as good a doctor as a medical doctor can be. He doesn’t want anything to happen to you just because he failed to take into account, you’re a Sentinel.”
John rolled his eyes. “Radio me when you’re heading to the infirmary. Colonel Sumner gave me some additional responsibilities last night, so I’ll probably just be drawing up schedules and shift rotations.”
Rodney blinked, a little surprised since John hadn’t really said anything last night, just silently asked for his Guide’s comfort. It still sort of stunned Rodney, how very open and unresistant John was with him. Rodney had literally turned off all John’s senses, and his Sentinel just let him. The sheer power Rodney had over him was humbling; even a little frightening. If I was a different person, it would be a disaster.
“Well,” he said, climbing off the bed and stretching his back, “Colonel Square-jaw continues to impress me. If he keeps this up, I might have to rethink my conclusion of complete idiot to partial idiot.”
John immediately bit his lip, clearly trying not to smile. “Wow. Such praise.”
Rodney groaned to himself and had to look away. Seriously, John was way too damn adorable. “Why don’t you get up already so we can go get breakfast? I’m starving.”
Emotions mellow and amused, John obeyed. He rose from the bed with that slinky, slouchy grace of his and padded barefoot out of Rodney’s quarters. Rodney went through morning ablutions quickly, and he and John headed for the commissary together. It was only about 0730, but people were already present and eating. Rodney led John to a secluded corner and tucked into today’s breakfast, which consisted of some kind of corn muffin thing (mix from a box, no doubt) and eggs (from powder) and sausage (weirdly dry links).
“Delicious,” Rodney muttered, only half sarcastic. He actually wasn’t that picky about food.
John, however, blinked. “Oh, here.” Reaching over, he clasped Rodney’s hand.
Rodney almost shrieked (just a little) when the flavors on his tongue suddenly amped up by at least two-hundred-percent. “The fuck!” he hissed. The profanity wasn’t exactly normal for him, but seriously! “How did you even do that?”
His Sentinel gave him an impish grin. “I guess you didn’t even notice you’re still blanketing me?”
Breathing deeply to slow his startled heart, Rodney shook his head. He hadn’t noticed, and he didn’t know whether to find it calming or alarming at how natural and easy it was to just . . . hold John like this. And he tried not to love how much John clearly didn’t mind it, since he could easily push Rodney away but hadn’t.
“So, uh,” Rodney tried for nonchalance, “that’s what it tastes like to you?”
Ah, god. That grin. So damnably adorable. “Yup.” Then a little frown as John lightly nudged at Rodney’s mental hold. Just a gentle prod, and Rodney could sense he was curious and not objecting. “This isn’t too draining for you?”
“Nope,” Rodney replied. “It’s weirdly easy. Like I’ve been doing it my whole life, so why should I take any special note. It’s actually kind of strange.”
Not looking uncomfortable, John shrugged and took a bite of a link sausage. “Atlantis told me our bond would keep getting stronger. It should probably freak me out, but it doesn’t.” He abruptly looked toward the doors, a smile lighting his already-beautiful face.
A moment later, the lovely Athosian woman glided in. She was obviously looking for John, and she helped herself to some food before coming to join the pair. She gave them both warm smiles. “Good morning, John, Dr. McKay.”
It started up an itch under his skin to hear her already informal with John but not him. “Rodney,” he corrected, only a little stiff. “Ah, how are you settling in?”
“Fine, thank you,” she said. “My people owe you both so much.”
John waved a hand, his smile warm and friendly. “It’s nothing. We’re here to help.”
Teyla’s (that was her name, right?) eyes traveled between the pair, and this time her smile was a little relieved. “I see you’re already learning how to shield your Sentinel, Rodney,” she said. “That is good. The more you practice, the more adept you will become.”
Pleased to have a little feedback, Rodney shifted just a bit toward the edge of his chair. “You can still sense John’s a Sentinel?”
She nodded. “Yes, but it is much fainter.” Then, “I have never known a Tectumque to successfully and completely shield their Aspectum, but I have no doubt you will be able.”
Unable to help it, Rodney preened. “I see you recognize a Guide of the highest caliber when you meet one.”
John rolled his eyes, but Teyla just chuckled. “Indeed. You would have to be a remarkable Guide to catch the eye of such a . . . rare Sentinel.”
That made John instantly uncomfortable, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m really not that special.”
Rodney barked a laugh. “Oh, yeah. You’re just an average, run of the mill Sentinel. Nothing to see here, folks. Just an ordinary guy.”
Even Teyla looked amused. “John,” she said gently, “I can feel it when I encounter a Sentinel. Each one I have met—granted, it was not many—has felt like a candle. A small flame. You . . .”
“Are a burning sun,” Rodney finished for her.
She nodded.
A faint splash of color rose in John’s cheeks, but Rodney could tell his gorgeous flyboy did not actually care for the praise. He gently pressed at his Sentinel’s insecurity, wanting nothing more than to shove it all away.
Rodney cleared his throat. “Uh,” he began, looking at Teyla, “I don’t suppose you’d mind us practicing this shielding thing with you? I basically know how to do it, but it’d be nice to know how much I need to do it to make sure the Wraith can never sense John’s an Aspectum.” The word felt strangely natural on his tongue.
Teyla smiled again. She really was a lovely woman. “I would be happy to. And, I would also like to thank you, John.”
The raven blinked. “For?”
“You asked me to be part of your offworld team,” she replied. “I am more than happy to share my knowledge and experience with you, and I am humbled by the trust you are showing me.”
To Rodney’s surprise, John snorted. “Dunno if you know this, but I’m pretty much an expert at knowing when someone’s worthy of my trust.” With an exaggerated wink.
Teyla laughed. “Yes, I suppose you are. You both are.”
Unexpectedly, Rodney liked her. Then he realized he was actually feeling John’s like for her, and he had to throttle some stupid jealousy. Though he could feel Teyla’s comfort, that she already liked John as well, there was nothing more to it than that. She was simply drawn to him, like Rodney, because John was amazing.
Breakfast passed in a pleasant way, and John had to leave to get started on his new work. Rodney parted from his Sentinel with the usual reluctance—probably more, given what they’d just gone through. Heaving a gusty sigh, Rodney said goodbye to Teyla and headed to his new lab. One of his minions all but pounced on him, whining about power flow interruptions to the lower levels of the Central Tower, as well as difficulties with bringing the waste management and recycling systems online. Rodney grabbed the tablet from him with a growl.
“How do you even function? Why did I bother bringing a team with me. Clearly, you can’t complete the most basic of operations without me, anyway, so why didn’t I just come alone?” The words were sharp, but he thought his tone lacked its usual snap. Nor was he as irritated as he usually was, and his minion didn’t shrink away from him. Just sort of flinched.
“I’m sorry, Dr. McKay,” he said, “but the patches we tried just aren’t working. The city seems determined to distribute power through all conduits evenly, and it’s wreaking havoc on the power grid we established. And we just can’t seem to convince the core to accept redistribution to the waste management system. Although, we did find that the system is set up to turn organic and inorganic waste into energy.”
“Huh,” Rodney said, eyes scanning over the data. “Negligible amounts, but . . . let’s see if we can rig it into an input-output loop.”
The guy’s eyes narrowed just a little. “You mean, set it up to use the energy it generates to power it?”
“That’s what I just said,” Rodney snapped, shoving the tablet back into his hands. “Now get out of my way so I can convince a one-million-year-old computer core that my way is the best way.”
Opening his laptop, he punched in his security codes and got to work. Two hours later, he honestly wasn’t sure whether he was enjoying his job or hating it. Trying to work around the city’s computer core was a bit like playing chess with someone who didn’t understand the rules and kept making up their own. The core just couldn’t seem to understand the point in doing things any differently than it had always done them. He was thinking about banging his head on the desk in frustration when the screen suddenly blinked and went dark.
“What the—” Rodney grunted, trying a few keystrokes to attempt a reboot. For several seconds, nothing. Then a white cursor appeared at the top. It blinked twice before words scrolled across the screen.
[Rodney, this is not an easy method of discourse, so I will be brief.]
“Shit,” Rodney hissed, quickly typing, [Atlantis?]
[Yes. I promised you I would tell you more about yourself and your Aspectum, and I believe I have found the best way. I compiled all the records, research notes, and documents from the Alterans’ database into one comprehensive file. It is a very large file and will require three of your memory sticks. I tried to organize it in a way so you could easily locate its different sections. Some of it will be necessary, some of it I included merely because I thought you would find it interesting.]
Rodney stared, struck dumb. Then he shook himself and typed, [Wow, that’s incredible. Thank you so much.]
[You are very welcome.]
After a moment’s hesitation, Rodney asked, [I don’t suppose you know any way to get the computer core to stop arguing with the changes I’m trying to make?]
The cursor blinked four times before, [John could do it if he sat in the Control Chair. Though, I must warn you. The more he interacts with the city’s AI, the more it will try to]
Rodney’s screen flickered and returned to the digital readouts of the new power grid. Blinking, Rodney tried a few keystrokes. [To what? The more it will try to what? Atlantis?]
Nothing. “Damn it,” Rodney grumbled. A new window appeared with the floating text, Download file? Rodney hustled to collect three memory sticks, plugging in the first one to the USB before clicking ‘yes’. These were his own special creation, each of them capable of holding about 10TB of digital data, making them several thousand times more efficient than a typical commercial flash drive. And Atlantis still needed three of them.
“It’s gonna take me a lifetime to get through all this,” he muttered to himself, even as he felt an excited grin tug at his lips. The scientist in him never got tired of learning new things.
It took about twenty minutes for the file to finish downloading onto the three devices. Just as he plugged in the first one to dive in, his radio chirped in his ear. “Beckett to McKay.”
Rodney tapped it. “McKay, here. What is it, Carson?”
“I’m ready for ye,” the doctor replied. “I’ve already got John settled, so hustle on down to the infirmary so we can give the gene inoculation a wee try.”
Irritation at the interruption vanished instantly, and Rodney closed his laptop. “On my way.”
The infirmary wasn’t all that far from his lab. Both of them were on the same level as the control room, hence its appeal to Rodney in the first place. He jogged into the infirmary to see Carson tinkering with something and John sitting upright on a medical bed with fat pillows behind his back, monitoring wires already attached. He looked quite annoyed.
“Ah, Rodney,” Carson said, “there ye are. Hop up, I’m just preparin’ the syringe.”
As Rodney sat on the bed next to John’s, his flyboy huffed an irritated sigh. “Why do I have to be hooked up to all this and he doesn’t?”
Carson gave John a patient and stern look. “Because I’ve never given this gene therapy to a Guide bonded to a Sentinel, and I have no idea how it might affect ye.” He grabbed Rodney’s arm and tied a rubber tourniquet above the elbow.
John rolled his eyes. “You have no idea how it will affect anyone,” he grumbled.
“True,” Carson agreed with a mellow smile, tearing open an alcohol wipe and swabbing the inside of Rodney’s forearm.
“But it’s perfectly safe,” Rodney said, giving John a reassuring smile. Then to Carson, “Isn’t it?”
“Well, it’s not exactly approved by the FDA, if that’s what ye’re asking,” the doctor replied, picking up a big needle, “but it’s safe enough.”
For the first time since learning of Carson’s gene therapy, Rodney balked. He tugged his arm back. “Wai-wai-wait. Maybe you should tell me more.”
Carson sighed, but he didn’t radiate any real impatience. “Basically, I’ve inserted the gene into a mouse retrovirus. The theory is, instead of inserting its RNA into the host DNA, it inserts the ATA gene. Well, it’s a wee bit more complicated than that—”
“I don’t care about your medical mumbo-jumbo,” Rodney interrupted. “Is it safe?” And, he thought, keeping it tightly shielded from his Sentinel, if it has a negative effect on me, will it hurt John?
“Aye, Rodney,” Carson said, tugging his arm back, “it’s safe. The side-effects should be negligible.”
“Whoa, whoa, side-effects?” Rodney repeated, once more yanking back. “Like what?”
“Oh,” Carson said airily, again pulling Rodney’s arm back forward, “dry mouth, headache, the irresistible urge to run on a small wheel.”
“Your bedside manner needs work,” Rodney grunted, wincing when the needle pierced his skin, “Nurse Ratchet.”
Carson just gave him an insufferably calm smile. “Right, that’s it. Ye just lay back, and I’ll see how ye’re feeling in an hour.”
“Hold on, an hour?” John snapped. “There are all kinds of things I need to be doing; I can’t sit here for an hour—”
“Keep whining, lad,” Carson said, tapping around on his tablet, “and I’ll increase it to two.”
John’s mouth clicked shut, and he gave the doctor a mulish glare. Rodney fought not to grin, trying to keep the amusement off his face. Probably not completely succeeding, given the extremely unamused look his Sentinel gave him. His flyboy reached up and tapped his earbud.
“Lieutenant Ford, this is Sheppard.” A pause. “I need you to go to my office and get my tablet and laptop. Looks like I’m gonna be stuck in the infirmary for a while.”
Rodney blinked. “You have an office? Since when?”
“Since Colonel Sumner made me his XO,” John replied with a sigh. It sounded fractious. “Didn’t I tell you that?”
“Uh, no,” Rodney said with a little frown. “Pretty sure I woulda remembered that.” He knew John was the man’s 2IC, of course, but he was pretty sure Sumner could’ve chosen anyone as his XO.
“It was last night,” John explained. “After we got back. I asked for more responsibility, and he gave it to me.”
Rodney narrowed his eyes. “Hm. He keeps this up, and I might have to concede to not loathing him.”
The attempt at humor brightened John’s mood, and his Sentinel even cracked a little grin. Ford trotted into the infirmary a minute later, carrying the requested items. He handed them to John with a big grin, perching on a stool near John’s bed.
“So,” the kid said, “doc’s got you chained to the bed?”
“Basically,” John grunted, rolling his eyes. “I have a million things to do, but no. I’m the damn Sentinel Prime, which means everyone has to take extra care I don’t keel over in a fit, foaming at the mouth.”
Ford’s grin just widened. “That wouldn’t really happen, would it?”
John returned the grin. “Nah. This ain’t a cheesy romance novel.”
Grudgingly, Rodney liked Ford. Just a teeny, tiny, miniscule bit. He’s obviously good for John. And besides, he reasoned, when we start going offworld regularly, I’ll be working alongside him. Best if I try to at least get along with the kid.
Carson returned an hour later, during which time Ford had not left John’s side, helping with the scheduling stuff the Major was doing. Rodney dozed off and on, mostly out of sheer boredom. He wanted John’s attention on him, but he wanted to respect his Sentinel’s work. When Carson gave him the okay to leave (Rodney suffered no side-effects other than a mild dizziness), Rodney threw his Sentinel a quick goodbye after extracting a promise to meet up for dinner.
Geez, he thought grumpily as he jogged to his lab, why didn’t I plan this better? I should’ve brought that little gadget with me! He skidded to a halt at his desk, rummaging for the set of hand-held artifacts waiting to be catalogued. The thing looked like a little shield of sorts, like one might find as the backdrop for an old family crest. Eagerly palming the green device, he waited for it to light up.
It did not.
“Oh, come on,” Rodney grunted, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Come on, you stupid thing. Light up! Turn on! On, damn it!”
Twenty seconds later, it lit up with a warm green glow.
“Yes!” Rodney almost crowed. “Oh, yes, yes! Hell yes! I’ve got it, I’ve got the ATA gene—granted, you couldn’t just roll over for me like you roll over for Sheppard—well, not that I entirely blame you, mind; I mean, I’m crazy about him too, so I actually completely understand—”
“Dr. McKay?”
“What!” Rodney snapped, whirling on his minion and glaring him down. “I’m working, do you mind?”
The guy—whose name Rodney did not recall—cowered and slunk away.
“Good grief, can’t an astrophysicist talk to himself in private?” Rodney grumbled, returning his attention to the little device. “Okay, what should I do with you? Just put you in my pocket? Hm.”
The green light seemed to pulse softly, and Rodney abruptly got a vague impression of putting it on his chest like a broach.
“Like this?” Rodney mused, holding it to his jacket. The little thing immediately clung as though the backside were covered in sticky tape. A shimmer of green light ran over the entire surface of Rodney’s body. “Oh, hell yes!”
His excitement obviously reached John, because he felt an absentminded query across their bond. Grinning from ear to ear, Rodney gently shushed his Sentinel, sending back a sort of, everything’s fine, nothing to see here. Puffing up his chest, Rodney strode from his lab to the space Colonel Sumner had claimed for an office. For some reason, the Marine was actually in it, too.
“Can I help you, Dr. McKay?” the man queried without looking up from whatever he was doing.
“I don’t know,” Rodney quipped. “I should certainly hope it’s within the scope of your capabilities to render aid when it’s required of you, but only you can know that for sure.”
To his surprise, Sumner’s lips quirked, and slight amusement rolled off him. He looked up. “What can I do for you?”
Rodney strode in and braced his hands on the back of the empty chair. “I need you to shoot me.”
The amusement heightened. “As enjoyable as I’m sure we’d both find such an endeavor,” the Colonel drawled, “any reason why I should shoot my top scientist?”
Rodney bristled. “First of all, I’m not your scientist. If anything, I’m Elizabeth’s top scientist.” Then he preened a little that Sumner recognized he was the top scientist. “Second of all, this isn’t for shits and giggles, it’s for research. Carson gave me the gene therapy, and it worked.” He indicated the glowing device on his jacket.
Sumner raised an eyebrow. “So you found some glowing costume jewelry. How does that pertain to research?”
“Oh, for—it’s not costume jewelry, you intellectual pygmy!” Rodney burst out. “It’s an Ancient device. And I have a theory as to its purpose, but I need you to shoot me to verify if that theory’s correct! Get it, now?”
Something surprising happened. Sumner didn’t get mad or insulted or upset or any of the other usual reactions people gave to Rodney’s vitriolic spite. He just leaned forward, folding his hands on top of the desk and giving Rodney a mildly curious look. “And what if your theory is incorrect? Then all we’ll have is more questions and a CSO with a bullet hole.”
His calm served to incense Rodney further. “Incorrect?” he repeated, voice rising in pitch. “Okay, first of all, it’s my theory, which means it is not incorrect! Second of all, would I really ask some maladroit, half-witted Marine to shoot me if I wasn’t absolutely sure? There is no way this expedition could handle me being out of commission with a bullet wound—you can’t afford to spare me, Colonel. Might as well just sink Atlantis right back into the bottom of the ocean—”
Something even more surprising happened. Sumner laughed. Well, it was more of a little snort of amusement. “All right, all right, I get it. You’re brilliant, you’re indispensable. But how about we start a little smaller than a .9mil and maybe go with a right hook to the jaw?”
Rodney huffed. “Fine. But if my theory is correct, I want you to shoot me.”
Sumner smirked. “Somehow, I don’t think I’ll have any problem doing you that little favor.”
Rodney narrowed his eyes. “I know you think you’re being clever, but just remember. I know how to turn off the hot water to your quarters.”
If possible, Sumner’s smirk got even bigger. “I’m a Marine, Dr. McKay. I’ve had to deal with so much worse than a cold shower.”
“Okay,” Rodney conceded, “but what about sewer air? I know how to shunt the airflow of the waste management system. Feel like breathing in the off-gassing of the bladder and bowel excretions of the entire expedition?”
Sumner’s smirk softened, but his amusement didn’t diminish. He held up his hands. “Okay, I yield. I’ll shoot you.”
For some stupid reason, Rodney had to swallow the urge to laugh. Okay, what the hell. Since when do I think Colonel Square-jaw is funny? Did I hit my head? No, I would remember that. Oh, god, maybe this is a side-effect of the gene therapy? Have I become simple? He didn’t even notice Sumner take his arm and lead him out of the room.