Crush Depth
by lamardeuse
Overall series rating: NC-17
Set around the events of SGA 2x14, "Grace Under Pressure".
When John walked into the jumper bay and saw the ship, he felt his skin crawl.
He told himself it didn’t make any sense for him to feel that way. The jumper had been checked and rechecked a hundred times; he’d done some of the pre-flight inspections himself. But there was nevertheless something…off about her, something that called out to him in a half-forgotten language.
God. It was one thing to have the city light up for you, but if he was going to start having conversations with puddle jumpers, he might as well hole up in Heightmeyer’s office permanently.
And then Rodney came striding around the back of the jumper, and John’s blood froze.
“Oh, hi,” Rodney said, smiling at the sight of John despite his obvious I’m-doing-very-important-work-here mode. “Come to see me off?”
John did a double take. “I thought Zelenka was going on this run.”
Rodney’s face turned sour. “He was. He chickened out.” He waved a hand. “I told him I’d go as long as he gave me a pound of that really good Swiss chocolate his sister’s always sending him.”
“What about Griffin?”
“Still on,” Rodney said, jerking a thumb. “He’s suiting up.”
John frowned. “I think we should make one more inspection before you take her up.”
Rodney appeared to consider this, casting a look over the jumper as though he expected to see a gaping hole torn in her side. “You think? It’s been pretty thoroughly checked out.”
“It’s probably nothing,” John admitted heavily, embarrassed by his own paranoia.
“It’s just a milk run to the mainland,” Rodney assured him. “They’ve already taken her around the city a couple of times since the refit.”
“Mmmm,” John said noncommittally.
“What does ‘Mmmm’ mean?”
“You don’t know what ‘Mmmm’ means?”
Rodney cocked his head, mouth thinning dangerously.
John looked at the jumper again. “I’ll go up with you instead of Griffin.”
“John—”
“Tell him to take the afternoon off.”
“Look,” Rodney said, hand making it halfway to John’s shoulder before drawing back, “it’s going to be fine. We’ve been over every inch—”
“Yeah, you’re right,” John murmured. “It’s going to be fine.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Elizabeth was the one to break the news to him, which was probably a good thing, because if it had been Zelenka he probably would have shot him.
Right before he’d have shot himself.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Rodney had arrived on his doorstep early that morning with a data disk, two extra-large coffees and a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth expression that would not have fooled anyone. Luckily the corridor outside John’s quarters was otherwise deserted at the moment.
“I brought the weapons data you requested,” Rodney said brightly as he stood on the threshold. “I thought you might like to go over it with me before the morning meeting.”
“Great,” John said, feigning enthusiasm, because deserted or no, you never knew when someone might be coming around a corner at any second.
While John shut the door behind him, Rodney set the coffees and the disk on the table, whirled around, took John’s face in his hands and kissed him. And despite the fact he’d known that was why Rodney had come, John was still a little taken aback by the abruptness of it. Sure, he jumped Rodney – with alarming frequency – but Rodney rarely initiated sex, usually preferring to wait until he was certain John was in a reciprocating mood.
Maybe it was a good thing Rodney didn’t know John was almost always in a reciprocating mood.
“What’s really on the disk?” John asked while he was in the process of undoing Rodney’s belt.
“The Shuffle Demons’ Greatest Hits,” Rodney murmured, licking into John’s mouth with a lewd swipe of his tongue.
John pulled back. “The who?”
“No, that’s a British rock band; this is a Canadian jazz quintet.” Rodney’s nimble fingers slid underneath John’s t-shirt and danced an impatient and intricate tango up John’s spine.
John opened his mouth to tell Rodney that if jazz made him this horny, he’d be perfectly happy to learn to play guitar like Pat Metheny, but then Rodney’s tongue was in his mouth again, slick and insistent, and John decided talking was overrated.
He’d never really thought about how…unRodneylike Rodney was in bed until he was finally confronted with the bossy, domineering guy everyone fantasized about strangling, wild and determined and shoving at him until he stumbled back and fell on the bed he’d left only half an hour ago. Rodney held him down and threaded his fingers through John’s still-damp hair and kissed him hard enough to leave bruises, and John’s belief that he’d started to get a handle on Rodney McKay went up in a puff of smoke.
“Hey, hey, slow down,” John murmured, but Rodney bit his neck and whispered, “no time,” and John gave up and spread his arms and let him, let him, let him in.
As he ran down the corridor toward the jumper bay, random, crazy-assed ideas careening off the walls of his skull like bumper cars, John wondered how Rodney had known.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
When John started to hear his father’s voice in his head, he knew his subconscious had decided that Rodney was dead.
There’s no point in this, the voice said, just like there was no point five years ago. You couldn’t save them. You can’t save him.
You can’t save anyone.
“Colonel?” Doctor Moore looked up at him through her tortoiseshell spectacles. “We’re ready to test it.”
John smiled down at her. “Great. Let’s do it.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
As his ship hovered fifty feet above the floor of the jumper bay, John pushed the button on the winch control. He could hear the cable reeling out from the belly of the ship until the grappler clanged hollowly against the jumper below it.
Once he was convinced the grappler was secured, he nudged the ship up another foot, then another. He thought he could hear her bitch a little at the mistreatment, but then he felt it, that subtle kick of inertia successfully defeated. Five feet. Ten.
“You got her!” Agar yelled over the comm.
John lifted his hand off the controls and watched the fine tremor in his fingers for a second before he slipped the thrusters into reverse.
Oh, and Dad? he thought as the second jumper settled back to earth. Fuck you.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
As soon as Rodney stepped off the puddlejumper it seemed as though the adrenaline that had been coursing through his system suddenly evaporated; by the time he was settled in the infirmary he was out cold and snoring softly, oblivious to the activity around him. He did have enough residual energy left to grumble and flail at the nurses who were charged with waking him every couple of hours, though. When one of them narrowly avoided being kicked in the stomach, John stepped in and offered to take over.
After she’d beaten a strategic retreat, John leaned in close to Rodney’s left ear. The white bandage wasn’t much paler than the skin overlying his temple, John thought absently; so pale and vulnerable, blue veins crisscrossing just under the surface, reminding John how close he'd come to losing him.
Again.
At that moment, John’s own temple exploded in pain as the flat of Rodney’s open hand struck it with a sharp, ringing slap.
“Ow! Jesus Christ!” John exclaimed, reeling back. Shit, that was going to leave a mark. He opened his eyes when he no longer saw stars and met Rodney’s foggy gaze.
“S’rry,” he slurred.
“Are you awake?” John demanded, rubbing absently at his skull.
“Mostly,” Rodney answered, blinking. “I’m not hallucinating you, am I?”
“No,” John said. “I’m not hallucinating you, either,” he added, partly to make himself believe it.
Rodney’s eyes grew distant, haunted. “Griffin,” he said hoarsely. “He – he died to save me. So that I’d have a chance.”
“Yeah,” John said. When they’d gotten back he’d listened to the radio transmission just before it had cut out. He’d put two and two together.
“It could have been you. If I’d said yes.”
“Yeah,” John said, not knowing what the hell else to say. Because he would’ve, and there was no sense lying to either of them about it. He could choose Rodney’s life over his, no problem.
Rodney stared at him, his expression unreadable, then rolled over onto his back. “I want you to pass on a message for me,” he murmured.
John cast a quick glance around the infirmary, then reached up and stroked the tips of his fingers across Rodney’s forehead. “What is it?”
“Tell Radek I want five pounds,” Rodney said, his eyes drifting shut again as John’s caress glided down over his temple, careful not to exert any pressure on the translucent skin.
End
January 2006
Part XIV: Parting Is Such
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