We'll Meet Again
by lamardeuse
Overall series rating: NC-17
Set during SGA 2x01, "Siege III".
After several months ricocheting from one crisis to another, Rodney had figured he was getting pretty good at handling change. But when the realization that John Sheppard was alive came hard on the heels of the certainty he had been incinerated, it all suddenly got to be just a little too much, and he found he had to sit down and put his head between his knees.
If his eyes were stinging when he bounced back to his feet again, well, that was simply the effect of two weeks’ worth of sleep deprivation and stimulants. Just because he and John had started having near-silent, desperate sex against upright surfaces a few days ago, that didn’t necessarily have anything to do with it. Nor did it have any connection to the new, unpleasant sensation that the two halves of his ribcage were being squeezed together slowly and painfully by some invisible vise.
Maybe I’m having a stroke. Or an aneurysm? Is this what one feels like? Maybe I should—
And then Elizabeth had barked at him again and he was off to the next crisis, and the next, until there were no more immediate disasters for him to deal with. The last Wraith had been dispatched and everyone, including poor Ford, was accounted for. Rodney had been ordered to rest, but still he couldn’t stop moving, his feet carrying him aimlessly through unfamiliar corridors, until he rounded a corner without watching where he was going and ran smack into John.
And suddenly it all clicked into place in his head that it was true, good God, it was true. John was alive, his gaze clear and bright as it studied Rodney’s face, his hand warm and solid on Rodney’s arm where it had shot out to steady him. Even so, Rodney had never felt less steady in his life, which considering the events of the last few hours was quite a statement. He felt his knees buckle, heard John make a startled noise and try to grab him under the arms, then give up and shove him against the wall to provide more support.
“Mmm, now that’s familiar,” Rodney mumbled, head tipping back against the wall as his legs shook. “Reminds me of the last time we—”
“Rodney, jeez,” Sheppard growled, dragging him sideways through a door. The lights came up to about half and Rodney blinked at his surroundings.
“Where are we?”
“One of the old Athosian quarters.” He was being dragged again; this time he concentrated on getting his feet to move in approximately the same direction. “Lie down before you fall down,” John ordered gruffly, though Rodney fantasized that the command carried a trace of affection. Rodney felt the backs of his knees connect with something solid, and flopped obediently onto the waiting mattress.
“I’ll wake you up in a few hours,” John told him. Rodney cracked one eye open and saw him turning to go.
“No!” he exclaimed, hand shooting out to clutch at the strap circling John’s thigh. “Where’re you going?” He forced both eyes to open. John was looking down at him in the dim light, his expression distant.
So, it really is you, Rodney thought, biting back hysterical laughter.
“I’m going back to my quarters to get a few hours’ sleep myself before the next damn emergency,” John said shortly, and Rodney almost let go then but he couldn’t get his fingers to unclench, so he thought fuck it and opened his mouth and said,
“Stay with me,” which wasn’t something he’d ever said to John, to anyone, but Christ, he wished he’d said it a few hours ago. Not that it would have made any difference, but at least John would have gone out knowing somebody gave enough of a damn to ask for the impossible.
“Rodney…” John said, though the tone wasn’t annoyed, just incredibly weary.
Even if Rodney weren’t exhausted, he wouldn’t have a clue what to say, so he just held on and let John decide how much trouble it was worth. Eventually, he heard a sigh and a murmured, “Okay,” and relaxed his grip so that John could take off his vest and climb into the bed beside him.
A cry of pain sent Rodney’s heart racing. “What? What?” he barked, head rising off the pillow as John thrashed and wriggled.
“Forgot about the—damn knife,” John muttered, shifting the sheath out from under his ass. After a few more moments of wriggling, John was still, staring up at the ceiling. Tentatively, Rodney curled his fingers around John’s bicep, then closed his eyes and, ridiculously reassured by that single, tenuous connection, let it all fade away.
He awoke with a start a couple of hours later when he felt John shaking him gently. Blinking, he stared into a face that was not nearly so inscrutable as it had been earlier. He wondered if John knew his mask had slipped, and decided not to tell him.
“I’m sorry,” John murmured, “but I just got a call from Caldwell. He’s gathered together the remaining forces for me so we can have a mass briefing—”
Rodney suddenly became aware of his position, his upper half draped over John’s supine body, his left leg pinning John’s calves to the mattress. “And you’d be able to go to that briefing if I weren’t lying on you,” he said. Mortified at the small wet spot on John’s uniform where Rodney’s head had been resting, he added, “or drooling on you.”
John’s eyes flashed with tired amusement. “Nah. Nothing wrong with a bit of drool.” His hand brushed over Rodney’s right cheek, thumb pressing into the flesh to smooth it. “You’ve got a zipper mark on your face.”
And normally this was something that would have irritated the hell out of him, but the thought of that evidence on his skin, after he was sure that he’d be left with no proof that John had ever touched him, was suddenly overwhelming. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand had flown up to cover John’s.
“Don’t,” he said, leaning close. “I want it there. I want it.”
John stared at him, eyes wide, and then he was shoving Rodney over onto his back and rolling on top of him, pinning him with his weight, long, lean hands on either side of Rodney’s face keeping him still as he kissed him deeply. They hadn’t done a lot of that, and though it wasn’t something Rodney had had time to regret, it was something he savoured now, because God, John was kissing him like he wanted to crawl inside him, and if Rodney had known John would want that of him he never would have let him go.
“Christ, Rodney,” John breathed after a minute, breaking off to press his face against Rodney’s neck, “I have to go.”
“I know,” Rodney soothed, patting his shoulder awkwardly as John levered himself up and away, swallowing down the shocking lump in his throat at the loss of John’s weight and warmth. He took a deep breath, then said in a rush, “I—ah—I suppose I don’t have a right to ask, but if something like this ever happens again, and the way we’re going it’s certainly likely, I’m, ah, I’m thinking I could do with a little more than ‘So long’ next time, all right? Just—it would be nice, to, I don’t know…” He trailed off, feeling moronic, which was the reason he avoided talking about things like this, because he had no idea, really—
“You’ve got a right,” John said roughly, sitting on the edge of the bed as he slipped on his vest. “I just don’t know what else I could have said that would have made any difference.”
“Oh,” Rodney said, completely stymied. “Right. I see your—”
“I mean, what would you have said if our positions had been reversed?”
Rodney looked at his hands. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never been all that profound in certain death situations. It usually takes all my energy to keep from pissing myself in sheer terror.”
John looked over his shoulder at him and smiled. “What’s the use of saving the Earth when you have a spreading stain on the front of your pants?”
Rodney pointed a finger. “Exactly.”
“Give me time, Rodney,” John said softly, surprising him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve let myself have regrets.”
Stunned, Rodney nodded mechanically. “Sure. Yes. I under—”
John silenced him with another kiss so gentle it made his chest hurt again. “Go to sleep,” he murmured, and Rodney lay back, closing his eyes this time so he wouldn’t see John go.
Next time, he thought as he lost consciousness again, I’ll get the last word.
End
July 2005
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