0.

Nobody says much on the way back to the stargate. Rodney frets over the puddlejumper controls and busies himself trying to anticipate everything that can go wrong. They’re due for some good luck, he thinks, aware of his bruised thighs and his blood-stiff collar. But if there’s any good luck to be had at all, Rodney sincerely hopes it’s taking place back on the planet, deep within the stone of a mountain, in the place where Lt. Colonel John Sheppard is being kept.

Every so often, Rodney can feel the passing of a wordless exchange between Ronon and Teyla. He doesn’t blame them. When they had first landed on the planet, Teyla had eyed the mountainous terrain and frowned. “This place is forbidden to my people,” she had warned. “They say no one who sets foot on this planet ever returns.” Ronon had confirmed its reputation, and even Rodney had remarked on the fact that a planet with such abundant resources would be completely uninhabited.

“I don’t like leaving him,” Ronon says, finally, after shifting restlessly for the better part of the journey. “He’ll try to escape, and they’ll kill him by the day’s end.”

“They promised they wouldn’t,” Rodney snaps. “They won’t do that.” The Selari had been bloodthirsty at the start, but they seemed to take their laws seriously and it had been agreed by the council that John would remain alive.

“We will find out in a week’s time,” Teyla says calmly, and gives Ronon a silencing stare.

***

He tells the story in bits and pieces, with Teyla and Ronon adding their input while Dr. Weir and Colonel Caldwell listen with twin expressions of tense stoicism. He tells about how the planet had seemed uninhabited until they approached the great mountain, and how he and Sheppard had regained consciousness in a dark cell.

“So they live inside the mountain?” Elizabeth asks unhappily.

Rodney nods. “So the Wraith can’t detect them. I guess it’s a pretty popular practice in this galaxy. And they haven’t had a culling in centuries, so it’s a successful one. It helps that there’s this galaxy-wide folklore about being cursed—the planet of no return.”

“It appears they abduct and dispose of every visitor,” Teyla adds.

Elizabeth frowns deeply, looking from Rodney to Teyla. “Then how are you alive?”

“Because,” Rodney explains, even though it should be obvious to everyone by now. “Everything they do is for the sole purpose of keeping all life signs off their planet. They were going to kill us, but Colonel Sheppard told them what would happen if we didn’t return, how there were hundreds of people who would come and keep coming, drawing all the attention they don’t want, until they find us.”

The Selari people had been unyielding, but this prospect had worried them. After hours of negotiations, the best they would offer was Rodney’s return to Atlantis in order to warn everyone away from their planet. Sheppard would remain alive—an unorthodox idea and a point of angry contention between the Selari leaders—but remain a prisoner, an example, a warning to the rest of the galaxy.

“All right,” Elizabeth says firmly. She seems satisfied with what she’s heard so far. “What’s the plan?”

“That’s the problem,” Rodney explains. If it were that simple, he’d already be heading back with a team. “The mountain-dwelling was built by Ancients.”

There’s no missing the delight that darts across Elizabeth’s face before the worry settles back into place. “Amazing. How is this bad for us?”

“Because it’s secure. Security is the whole point of living inside there, and there’s some kind of force field protecting them. Once you get too close to the mountain, you become disoriented and wake up with a gun in your face.”

Elizabeth turns to Teyla and Ronon. “You, too?”

“We did not go near the mountain,” she replies. “I believe they were unaware of our presence.”

“I just want to make it clear,” Rodney says suddenly, fully aware of Caldwell’s gathering energy and everyone’s desire to go charging down for a rescue, “That they’re ready to kill anyone we send down to the planet. Everything rests on our adherence to the bargain.”

“So that’s it?” Elizabeth asks, shocked. “We just leave him there? Rodney, I’m afraid I can’t accept that as an answer.”

“No,” Rodney sighs, and this is the part they’re going to love. “That’s not everything.”

***

7.

Rodney McKay isn’t a sucker. The Selari had promised him John would live in exchange for Rodney’s keeping the rest of Atlantis away, but Rodney had insisted, with a bravery he didn’t exactly feel, that he would die there before he agreed to help them without proof of John’s safety. In the end, they had granted him a weekly visit, provided he arrived alone and unarmed. The Selari leaders had fought bitterly amongst themselves, but in the end they had brought in an advisor who had calmed them and heard both sides before agreeing that amending their law would be best in this case.

“This could be good,” Elizabeth had said with a cautious optimism. “You can get a better feel for the lay of the land, and see if John has learned anything.”

“Or bad,” Caldwell had said. “They could change their minds.”

“Fine. And then you can feel free to go charging in with your weapons drawn,” Rodney had told him, exasperated. “As much as I disagree with their methods, they’re still an entire civilization that’s managed to escape the Wraith’s notice, and we shouldn’t do anything that might change that.”

Now, a week later, he’s preparing for his first visit, and the jumper bay is full of well-wishers and worried gawkers.

“Do you remember the signs to look for?” Carson asks. Rodney pulls on his jacket and rolls his eyes.

“You may have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Tell him we’re all thinking of him,” Elizabeth says, a bit wistfully for a fearless leader, in Rodney’s opinion.

“Tell him not to get any ideas,” Teyla says warningly, but with affection. “And to bide his time as agreed until we can come for him.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll deliver all your messages, complex though they may be.” The prospect of taking a jumper off-planet by himself has his stomach in knots, and he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before. It’s been a week since they left Sheppard on Selari, and Rodney knows better than to approach the situation with any expectations but the worst. And yet, in a shameless act of optimism, there’s a pack of M&M’s tucked into his pocket, because he is apparently as pathetic as the rest of Atlantis when it comes to Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard.

Three hours later, he’s being patted down by Selari security and led toward the mountain. About twenty feet from the mountain’s base, he goes down like a rock. When he awakens, it’s much darker than before and he’s flat on his back, remarkably comfortable. Sheppard’s face is the first thing he sees.

“Colonel Sheppard?” Rodney moves his limbs experimentally and finds himself on a roomy cot furnished with thick, silky furs.

“Good to see you, Rodney,” Sheppard says, and it’s only been a week, so it shouldn’t be this strange to see him. Rodney stares up at Sheppard, at the chaos of his hair, the familiar slant of his eyes, and the unsettlingly telling growth of beard, soft and vulnerable on his face.

“You, too.” Rodney pulls himself into a sitting position and takes in his surroundings. “Where are we?”

“My room,” Sheppard replies. When he turns his head, there are bruises on his collarbone, bloodstains on his shirt. “Cozy, isn’t it?”

“They said they wouldn’t hurt you,” Rodney says, bristling with indignation. He hadn’t trusted them from the beginning.

“No, they said they wouldn’t kill me, which they haven’t,” Sheppard says patiently. “Now, please tell me you’ve found a way to get me out of here.”

Rodney presses his lips together and studies Sheppard. He knows he should stop staring, but he can’t; there’s something fascinating about seeing Colonel Sheppard in these circumstances, and about the mysterious marks that Sheppard doesn’t seem to care about. “Not exactly,” he admits. “The scientists are working on the possible properties of the force field, or what have you. We’re not exactly sure what it is yet, but once we figure out the source, we can forge some kind of protection against it. That’s the most important step, right now.”

He has to hand it to Sheppard; he takes things in stride. Rodney had worried about not having news enough, but Sheppard just nods and seems satisfied with their admittedly slow progress, the only sign of displeasure a slight crease between his eyebrows. “This place was built by Ancients,” John says idly, getting up and beginning to walk around the room. “You probably guessed that, already. But they don’t even know what to do with all this technology. Probably a good thing.”

“Power supply?”

“Maybe,” Sheppard says doubtfully. “They don’t talk to me a whole lot. Or near me, even. I guess you could say I spend a lot of time alone.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Rodney says. “Are you experiencing any symptoms of dementia?”

“What?”

“Just checking you over for Dr. Beckett,” Rodney says, waving Sheppard’s reluctance away with his hand. “Any chills or fever? Hallucinations?”

“No.”

“Any particularly alarming thoughts?”

Sheppard gives him a hard look. “I think I'm having one right now."

Rodney ignores that. "So, you’re doing fine other than…all this.” He looks around the room. “The bed is comfortable,” he points out.

“It sure is,” Sheppard says lightly.

“And you’re definitely safe from the Wraith. Completely off their radar,” Rodney reminds him.

“I get it, McKay; it could be worse. I’m fine, really, so go tell everyone to stop worrying. And to hurry.” He’s handling it far better than Rodney would, and he’s really got to hand it to the Colonel: he’s a top-notch prisoner, so good that Rodney completely forgets about the M&M’s until he’s halfway back to Atlantis.

***

14.

“We constructed some models,” Rodney tells Sheppard the next week. It’s the same day, same time, and unfortunately, the same cell deep within the mountain. They’re sitting on Sheppard’s bed, each surreptitiously eyeing the other in a desperate sort of detail-hoarding mission. “All long-shots, none conclusive. But we’ve got some, ah, well-“ He breaks off, deflating under Sheppard’s hopeful eye. “We’ve got nothing,” he admits. “We need more time.”

“Fuck,” Sheppard swears softly, then slowly rolls his shoulders, shakes it off. “Okay, I trust you guys,” he says, and Rodney has to look away. Now isn’t the time to be sensitive, even though John has to know…well, maybe he doesn’t. There’s no reason to assume that particular exchange is burned into John’s mind the way it is to Rodney’s, deep grooves of accusation that trip him up every time he tries to slide past them, slide back to that elusive clean slate.

If Sheppard knows anything of this, he hides it well. There’s even a flicker of a smile on his face, so Rodney decides they’re definitely not on the same page, and that Sheppard’s is much better. “The week hasn’t been a total waste,” Sheppard says. “I’m pretty sure I know how they pass safely through the force field.”

“Really? That’s- good, that’s good.”

“Yeah, I think so, too.” Another smile. “The security personnel all wear this little badge thing. It’s like the personal shield we found, and they wear them stuck right here.” He points at the flat expanse of skin just below his throat. “No one else has them, just the ones who are allowed outside.”

Rodney brightens. “This could be helpful. We’ve already got access to that technology; we might be able to modify the one we’ve got, or find information on variations like the ones the Selari are using. Or even create our own,” he adds.

Sheppard arches an eyebrow. “Maybe you’d just better work on modifying the ones you’ve already got,” he suggests.

“Oh. Right. It’ll probably take less time that way, of course,” Rodney thinks aloud. “But it can’t hurt to pursue every option.”

“By all means,” Sheppard agrees. “Pursue as much as you like. Just keep in mind I’ll be sitting here the whole while.”

“Of course. God, of course, Colonel,” he bursts out in incredulous horror. As if he needs that reminder—as if any of them need it. Not the scientists, working so long, so fruitlessly that they keep returning to ideas originally rejected as implausible; not Ronon, practically coming apart with the need for vengeance; certainly not Elizabeth and Caldwell, holed up for hours every day as they peacefully, methodically brainstorm over satellite images of the planet. “Do you honestly think we’re thinking of anything but you, sitting down here, waiting for us to-” To bring him home, which they have yet to do. He stops abruptly, and uses the mildest tone possible when he says, “We’ll keep that in mind.”

“Thank you,” Sheppard replies, just sweetly enough that Rodney knows he’s being patronized. At this point, a change of subject seems appropriate.

“Yes, well. How are they treating you?” He can’t see any visible marks other than the ones from last week, which have faded into faint smudges of color on Sheppard’s otherwise pale skin.

“Not too bad. Truth is, I’m bored out of my mind. And I think I’m turning into some kind of masochist, because I actually get excited every time the door opens even though I know they’re only coming to shove me around.”

“Oh, that’s comforting. If you don’t mind, I’ll keep that to myself in the debriefing.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Another smile, and Colonel Sheppard is a good prisoner, Rodney thinks again, but that doesn’t mean he won’t appreciate the contents of Rodney’s pockets, little pieces of the city’s guilt that Rodney has carried with him all day.

“We don’t have much time left,” Rodney says. They have five more minutes; it goes so quickly down here. When he pulls out the deck of cards, Sheppard’s face lights up.

“Sweet. Thanks,” he says, folding his fingers around the edges of the box.

“Those are from Major Lorne,” Rodney says, then pulls out two envelopes. “These are from Teyla and Elizabeth. I’m sure you’ll figure out which is which.” There’s a sound outside the door, so Rodney stuffs the rest of it directly into John’s pocket; some ibuprofen from Carson, a Gameboy that Caldwell had somehow acquired, and his own M&Ms.

“I’ll see you next week,” Rodney says as they lead him from the room. Sheppard just gives a small wave, one hand resting possessively on his pocket.

***

21.

The next week, there are more people than usual waiting to meet Rodney. When he sees them, his heart immediately leaps into his throat, and once he gets close enough, he realizes that one of the extra people is Sonia, wrapped in a loose black linen head scarf.

“What’s wrong?” he demands as soon as he climbs out of the jumper. “What happened?”

“Your friend is fine,” she tells him gently, “but you cannot see him this time.”

“What? Why not? We had a deal!”

“Yes, our deal is still good. But he is under punishment and may not receive visitors.”

“Define punishment,” he says shortly, and crosses his arms over his chest, the place where he’s bubbling over with panic, frustration and smoldering resentment.

“Of course,” she replies, and even bows a little bit, as though her people are civilized and not at all responsible for any type of kidnapping or brutality. “It is your Colonel whom has violated the terms of our agreement. He attempted to leave the mountain. He overpowered one of our officers, a most serious offense.”

“He is a thief, as well,” one of the guards adds.

“Yes.” Sonia frowns, then continues. “He has done many things. For his crimes, he has been sentenced to four days of solitary confinement. There is one day remaining.”

“Oh, and that’s different than his normal situation how, exactly?”

“Providing he shows good behavior, you may see him next week.” She nods and turns to go, but Rodney can’t accept that. He can’t let another whole week pass without letting John know they’re still on task, and there’s no returning to Atlantis without being able to verify John’s safety.

“No, wait!” he calls after them. “Please. I can’t go back without seeing him. There’s got to be some way I can wait until his punishment is over. I don’t mind, really!” She appears unmoved, so he changes tactics. “Our leader might see this as reneging on our agreement,” he throws out desperately.

Sonia stops and squints in Rodney’s direction for a moment. She’s a tiny woman, and the guards flank her with a protective air. She keeps pulling the head scarf down over her eyes, and Rodney realizes that like the rest of the Selari, Sonia doesn’t leave the sanctuary of her mountain, ever. She has come today to keep their agreement alive, which means the Selari want this to work as badly as the Atlanteans do.

Sure enough, she nods at Rodney, then at the security team. “Follow quickly,” she says, already moving toward the mountain. “I wish to get back inside.”

***
***

“How did he look?” Elizabeth is waiting in the jumper bay when Rodney returns over twenty-four hours later than he’d been expected.

“Like someone who lives inside a mountain.”

She pauses, and then charges forward once again. “What does that mean?”

“It means he looks like hell.”

“Can you be more detailed, please?”

Rodney reaches down to unstrap his thigh holster while he walks, and Elizabeth takes up stride next to him. “Rodney, please. We need to know.”

“I don’t know; kind of pale, stiff…maybe a little sad.”

“Sad?” Carson meets them in the corridor and hurries to catch up.

Rodney snorts. “Not that he’d ever admit it. But yes, he’s a little subdued, which I suppose isn’t unusual for someone who just spent four days in a box.”

“Does he have any new injuries?”

They near Elizabeth’s office, and Rodney waits until the door is shut to elaborate. He hadn’t liked seeing it, and he doesn’t like talking about it. This job seems completely out of his realm; someone else ought to be going down there, someone without all the complicated baggage that sits wedged between himself and the Colonel. Someone who doesn’t care quite so much.

“Some. He attacked a guard and tried to escape, Elizabeth, and seeing how they’re a bunch of trigger-happy punch-monkeys, he took a beating.”

“What was he thinking?” Elizabeth sinks into her chair, looking a bit shellshocked. Teyla and Ronon arrive then, and join them at the table. Rodney can feel their eyes on him, searching for information.

“He said he had a shot and that he had to go for it. He wouldn’t even promise not to try again, that stupid bastard,” Rodney mutters the last bit, then launches into what they’re waiting to hear. “To be completely honest, I’m more worried about his morale. He’s been down there for too long.”

“I wish to speak with the doctor about something related,” Teyla interjects with a respectful nod toward Elizabeth. Her hand disappears under the table and emerges with package wrapped in coarse cloth, which she places on the table. “It is a root which my people eat when they are to work in the mines for long periods of time. It staves off melancholy and fatigue.”

“And you think this might help Colonel Sheppard?” Elizabeth asks.

“I think it may help, but I will leave that up to the doctor.”

Carson has already moved to unfold the fabric and examine the root. He nods encouragingly. “It may have natural antidepressant properties. I’ll do some tests, and if nothing else, we can combine it with a daily multivitamin. It certainly can’t hurt.”

Teyla gives him a pleased, subdued smile and Rodney wants to give her a trophy, because if he has to keep returning to Selari without an escape plan, the least he can do is bring something to make John’s time there slightly more bearable.

When they’re finished, Elizabeth sends Rodney to talk to Dr. Heightmeyer. It’s true that no one likes being sent to Heightmeyer, but since he’s been subjected to more humiliation at her hands than anyone else, he thinks he’s entitled to a bit of bluster before he submits.

“How long has he been down there, now?” she asks, after talking briefly about the risks of depression.

“Twenty-two days.”

“And when you visit, what is your interaction like?”

“What? I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Possibly.”

He sighs loudly, but he’s learned by now that nothing puts her off. “I guess you could say that it’s rushed. I tell him what we’re doing back home, he tells me what’s going on with him, and by the time we get business taken care of, our time is up.”

“Is there any physical interaction?” She must catch his expression of surprise, because she holds up her hand and goes on. “A hug, a handshake…anything?”

Immediately, Rodney’s face heats with a defensive indignation, as though she is accusing him of failing at some basic part of life. “I’m not exactly the touchy type.”

“You don’t need to be,” she says gently. “But even non-touchy types like yourself are used to a certain degree of human interaction: a high five, a hand on the shoulder, even the presence of your colleagues working nearby. Colonel Sheppard has been deprived of that contact for weeks, and it’s probably made worse by the fact that when he does receive attention, it’s negative.”

“For your information, I have never high-fived anyone in my life.”

“Rodney.”

“Fine, fine. So- what, I’m supposed to make up for all that? I’m sure that’ll go over really well.”

“You may be surprised,” she tells him, frowning a little. “Rodney, Colonel Sheppard is probably frightened and lonely, regardless of what he shows you. It’s doubtful that he’ll ask for any of the things we’re talking about, here.”

Rodney considers her words over the next week. There is the slightest possibility that she may be onto something, although Sheppard is quite self-sufficient and not nearly as affection-starved as she’s imagining. He promises himself he’ll try to try at the very least, but Elizabeth takes the decision out of his hands when he’s leaving for his next visit.

She waits until Dr. Beckett has handed over the capsules holding Teyla’s root supplements, and then gives Rodney a pointed look. “Dr. Heightmeyer tells me she’s sending you with a prescription, as well.”

“It’s hardly a prescription,” he says, pretending to be distracted by the fastenings on his vest. “It’s more like an extremely intrusive suggestion.”

“Right. If it’s for John’s benefit, then I suggest you take it,” she says, and he busies himself with packing so he won’t have to answer.

***

28.

“Where’s all this Earth chocolate coming from?” Sheppard turns the Kit Kat over in his hand like it’s one of the greater mysteries of the Pegasus galaxy. Rodney has managed to bring some with him every visit, and there’s still a stack of it in his top drawer.

“You’d be surprised. There may be a hell of a lot of candy-hoarding going on, but no one can ever say that Atlantis at large doesn’t jump at the chance to share it with their poor captive Colonel. Er- sorry.” It had been a stupid thing to say, but he’s preoccupied, far more anxious than the situation calls for.

Sheppard is sprawled casually on his bed, his back leaning against the wall, and he just shrugs at the comment. “Hey, whatever keeps it coming,” he says good-naturedly. “The other stuff is fun, too.” Rodney always brings him a stack of letters that he puts aside until Rodney leaves.

“It would be even better if it weren’t necessary,” Rodney replies. With a casualness he doesn’t feel, he forces himself to sit next to Sheppard, close enough that their shoulders are touching. It’s ridiculously conspicuous, and he hates Kate Heightmeyer.

Sheppard turns his head slightly toward Rodney. There’s a question in his eyes, but he just gives a small nod and tears open the candy bar. “Want half?”

“No, no, you should keep it. And don’t forget to take those pills in the plastic bag.”

“Suit yourself.” Sheppard says, and takes a bite. They’ve allowed him to shower and shave at some point during the past week, and overall he seems much better. He chews for a while and then licks the chocolate from his mouth, keeping an eye on Rodney the whole time. “Tell me everything I missed, and don’t leave anything out.”

Rodney knows what he wants. They’ve already gone over all the technical and tactical aspects of Atlantis life, so of course John wants to know who lost their temper with whom and who was spotted necking on some remote balcony.

“Really, Colonel. I have better things to do with my time than gather idle gossip,” he scoffs, which is a complete and utter lie. In fact, he’d even gone out of his way to listen to the incomprehensible story about Cadman’s haircut-gone-wrong that had involved the chain of command, a severed friendship, and the surrender of a green ipod for damages.

“Come on, Rodney,” Sheppard coaxes. “Humor me. The poor captive Colonel, remember?”

“That’s playing dirty,” Rodney complains. “Fine. Ever since our department-wide mandatory defense workshop, it appears that at least three of my colleagues have acquired an inappropriate preoccupation with Ronon’s baser masculine qualities.”

John is quiet for a moment. “Oh. So you guys did that, already?”

“Yes, and no one should underestimate the amount of sheer enjoyment gained from seeing certain colleagues laid out flat on a gym mat.”

John chuckles at that. “I’m sure they felt the same…or did Ronon go easy on you?”

“He may have gone slightly easier on me than the rest. For a price.” John doesn’t seem nearly as amused as Rodney had expected, so he mentally replays the conversation and answers the question John didn’t ask. “It was a good idea, your training project. We wanted to wait until you got back, of course, but we’re trying to stick to on-world work for now and the timing was right.”

“No big deal.” Sheppard pops the rest of the candy bar in his mouth and tosses the wrapper onto the table that holds his belongings. He leans away to do so, but then moves back into the same spot, shoulder to shoulder with Rodney. “What else?”

“Uh.” Sheppard is right there, but there’s absolutely no way to touch him that wouldn’t seem completely out of place. This is turning out to be every bit as difficult as he’d anticipated. “They ran out of those birth control patches they give the military, so Carson has been running around pushing condoms like there’s some threat of spontaneous impregnation if everyone doesn’t have a pocket full of prophylactics at all times.”

This, at least, seems to interest Sheppard. “Well, Atlantis isn’t exactly the best place for a baby.”

“I think it’s keeping him up nights,” Rodney embellishes. “And don’t think the Athosian visitors are exempt, which is even more entertaining because then he has to explain what the condoms are for.”

“God, is everyone actually having that much sex?”

“If so, they’re not telling me about it, for which I am extremely grateful.”

They fall silent for a moment, during which Rodney rethinks having brought the topic around to sex, because that might make his impending behavior seem dirty and wrong when in reality it’s just stupid and wrong. He needs to steer the conversation back toward something more innocuous, something he is considering when the door opens and Sonia enters.

Rodney jumps up from the bed, but Sheppard stays put, continuing to display the same loose, unimpressed posture. His eyes stay fixed on the open doorway the entire time.

“There is a storm,” she announces. “We cannot escort you back to your ship until morning.” Before she retreats, she does the same bowing gesture from last week, and the sound of the deadbolt locking into place is followed by a faint rumble of thunder.

***

Sometimes, it’s hard to tell when Sheppard is happy. His lazy, closed-mouthed smiles are interchangeable with his annoyed smirks, but Rodney has been paying attention for a long time. Sheppard is happy right now, even if it’s only because he’s got someone to play Gin Rummy with for ten or twelve hours.

“I think I’m done for now,” Rodney says after winning three hands and losing two.

“Me too.” Sheppard gathers the cards into a neat stack and yawns hugely behind his hand while he puts them away.

“Tired?” Rodney asks, and then before he loses his nerve, clears his throat and says, “I noticed that you’re moving pretty stiffly, too, so I guess I could give you a backrub. If you want.”

“A backrub?” Sheppard squints oddly, his expression a combination of confusion and amusement.

“Yes, a backrub! It’s a perfectly normal suggestion, so you can quit looking at me that way. I told Carson how stiff you were and he showed me some massage techniques,” he explains, a blatant lie. “So it’s basically the same thing as getting physical therapy from a medical doctor.”

Sheppard has called him a terrible liar in the past, so either he’s improved his poker face or Sheppard just doesn’t care, because he strokes the furs on the bed a few times and then gives Rodney a long, unreadable look. “Okay,” he says, the word an incongruously soft drawl.

“Really?” He can’t believe it’s this easy.

“Sure. Doctor’s orders, right?”

“Right, right.” Rodney stands up and clasps his hands together, decides it looks too nervous, and puts them on his hips. Even worse.

“Should I just sit here?” Sheppard scoots down to the end of the bed and sits cross-legged with his back to Rodney.

“That’s fine.” Rodney climbs back onto the bed and takes the same position directly behind him. He’s not sure where to start, so in an attempt at stalling, he curves his hands over Sheppard’s shoulders and brings his thumbs together to draw a line down the center of Sheppard’s neck.

If anything, Sheppard gets even tenser.

Rodney pauses and stares at the bare strip of skin he’d just touched. “Was that not okay?”

“Sure, it’s fine.” The answer comes after a beat too long. “Sorry. It’s kind of weird having someone in here with me.”

“I’ll try not to make any sudden movements,” Rodney says wryly, all the while sliding his hands down the warm fabric of Sheppard’s t-shirt. When he reaches the hem, he slides his hands underneath and pushes the shirt up and up until Sheppard raises his arms for Rodney to pull it all the way over his shaggy head.

And then his hands are on Sheppard’s naked back, and he’s glad no one can see his face because he can feel the heat in it, feel his own strange, frozen expression. He uses his thumbs again, gently traces the bumpy trail of Sheppard’s spine all the way up to his hairline, grown out further than Rodney has ever seen it. From there, it feels natural to sink his hands into the tense set of Sheppard’s shoulders.

He’s not sure where to go from here. It’s been a very long time since he’s had the opportunity to give someone the type of slow, deliberate pleasure he wants to give Sheppard. Some things work better if there is as little thinking as possible involved, and with this in mind he goes forward, forward, mindlessly pressing his fingers into Sheppard’s back, shoulders, rubbing circles over the knots until they loosen under the remarkable heat that bleeds from his palms into Sheppard’s fine, smooth skin.

He’s in no position to judge his own backrub, but it feels good to him; the eventual loosening of Sheppard’s entire body, the glow of warmth between them, and the way Sheppard is slumped forward, his arms braced on the bed, head bowed.

“This must be driving you crazy,” John murmurs. His voice surprises Rodney, thick and slow like warm molasses, all because of Rodney’s touch.

“This?”

“All of it.” Sheppard pauses to make a half-pained, half-relieved sound when Rodney kneads firm circles across the dip of his lower back. “Being Atlantis’ errand-boy. They’ve got to be bugging you with the messages, the gifts…bet they’re all over you when you get back, too.”

“It’s actually not so bad now that people have started using the box I put outside my door. This way I can work without continuous interruptions, and more importantly, avoid their inane questions.” The box is full every time Rodney returns to his quarters, which means he’s had to make some judgment calls on what actually makes it to Sheppard. The letters always make it, but food and entertainment items are rationed according to size—there’s only so much he can carry in his jacket, after all—and by how much he thinks Sheppard will like them.

Sheppard is wrong. Of course it’s annoying to deal with the Colonel’s adoring masses, but it’s also a highly coveted privilege, something that Rodney has never been able to resist. As for the rest of it, the way his chest clenches when he sees Sheppard’s shadowed eyes or the way he wants to kick something when their time is up, he knows that’s all part of it, too. So, no. Not a burden at all—at least, not one he minds bearing.

With his thumbs on Sheppard’s spine, the tips of Rodney’s fingers span across to the soft, startlingly pale skin of his side. There, he automatically gentles his touch so the hard press of thumb is counterbalanced by the soft glide of his fingertips, and there’s no practical reason for this added aspect other than an inexplicable desire to comfort, to feel Sheppard’s bone-deep shiver as proof that what Rodney is doing feels good. No, this is no burden. The whole of Atlantis will never have Sheppard under their hands, melting into a state of contentment under their assault of pressure and warm friction; that privilege is Rodney’s alone.

He’s been wrong all along, thinking they should send someone else. His complicated relationship with Sheppard only means that he can’t trust anyone else with this task, and there’s that thorny word again. This makes them even, in a way. Sheppard doesn’t trust him anymore, and Rodney’s not sure he trusts himself, not when he’s all flushed with the heat and intimacy of what he’s doing.

“Mmm. Glad it’s not driving you too crazy, then,” Sheppard says sleepily, even though Rodney has decided that maybe it is, after all.

***

“We’re working on an alternate plan,” Rodney whispers when the lamp has burned down and they’re both stretched out under a marvelously plush fur blanket. The pitch black darkness of the room is disconcerting, but John had warned him that it would happen. “In case we can’t disable the force field. It’s incredible when you think about it, that a civilization with no technology to speak of is able to keep you here simply because of that one tiny obstacle that they don’t even fully understand. We’re already looking into something similar for Atlantis.”

“We already have shields.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. But it still may be useful on a smaller scale. For instance, the armory.”

“I hope you’re not working on a plan to bolster security on the armory-which is already secure- while I’m still down here,” Sheppard whispers fiercely. When he shifts, his knees bump against Rodney’s.

“Of course not. It’s just something we’re considering for the future.”

Sheppard’s doubts manifest as an awkward silence that falls between them, while in the vast panoramic void, there is the oppressive silence of rock.

“So, the plan?” Sheppard finally asks, his tone mild and slightly apologetic.

“Right. It’s a mostly military effort, so of course it’s ridiculously risky,” Rodney replies. “You’d be surprised how many people on this mission favor explosives as the natural answer to everything, but when it was explained that we didn’t want to crush you under a million tons of rubble, things got a lot more reasonable. Not to say we won’t be using force if it comes to it, but the way it’s looking, a prisoner exchange is the most likely approach.”

“The guards?” John says thoughtfully. “They’ve got replacements. You should go for Sonia; she’s like royalty to them.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Rodney replies before he remembers to lower his voice. “I mean, that is word for word what I said to Caldwell, but he didn’t like the idea of taking a female prisoner.”

“I don’t want it to come to that,” John says, “but I’m getting kind of…” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to.

“I know,” Rodney whispers back. “I know. Just a little longer, okay? I think we’re close, but if we don’t have anything in a few weeks, we’ve always got plan B.”

And Rodney knows they’re not the best options in the world, but Sheppard could at least have the courtesy to reply.

***

Rodney gets rid of the box because people just don’t have any respect, much less good taste. After finding a notebook containing cartoon depictions of Atlantis personnel inside Sheppard’s offering box, he throws the box in the garbage, first taking several minutes to stare at the large-headed cartoon-scientist berating all the other cowering, smaller-headed scientists. Surely that’s not supposed to be him, although the exaggerated receding hairline looks depressingly like his own and dialogue coming out of his mouth is something he remembers saying last week. In his defense, the actual incident had been far less dramatic than the giant exclamation points dancing about his head would suggest.

In its place, he posts the wish list of items Sheppard had sent him back with. At the top of the list is a plea for letters, so by the end of the week Rodney has accumulated quite the mail haul, including a multi-page letter from Ronon, which has Rodney curious. The scientists are now in a standoff with the military, with the former wanting a little more time and the latter ready to take action. In spite of what he’d told Sheppard during their last visit, the truth is that they have nothing, nothing, nothing; no viable military plan and no clue about the workings of the force field.

Elizabeth is caught in the middle, and Rodney, who has been working around the clock testing what seems like a million failed mock-ups of the force field and truly understands how close they are, just wants it to be over.

The day he’s due to visit Sheppard, Heightmeyer walks past and says, “Remember what we talked about.” Rodney just snorts, because when he’d told her about the backrub, she’d tsk-tsked and speculated what it meant that he was so uncomfortable with physical affection that he needed to lie in order to give it. He’d come back with the opinion that she must not know very much about men, which she’d made him pay for with an extra session, enforced by Elizabeth, because Rodney is apparently now receiving therapy on himself and behalf of Sheppard. The whole thing was vastly unfair, and worst of all, he’d made all kinds of promises to Heightmeyer that he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to keep.

***

35.

This time, Sheppard is more bothered than usual by the bad news. Rodney tries to explain that lack of action doesn’t mean a lack of progress, but Sheppard just paces to the other side of the room and growls, “Get me the hell out of here, Rodney,” his arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

“I’m doing my best! We’re close; you wouldn’t believe how close we are.”

“Not good enough,” Sheppard says grimly, still pacing, until Rodney realizes his posture isn’t one of defiance; it’s a defensive gesture, a grip designed to hold himself in check.

“Colonel-“ Rodney begins, and it’s clearly the wrong thing to say, because Sheppard turns on him with a miserable, hunted expression.

“It’s John, all right? Just- I’m down here, and I can’t…” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Can you please work with me, here?”

Rodney hovers at the small table, uncertain what exactly working with Sheppard requires, besides dropping the formalities. “Yes, fine, fine. John.”

“Good.” Sheppard says. He stays near the door, uncharacteristically off-kilter and doing a terrible job of hiding it. This, Rodney thinks, is why Carson and Heightmeyer have been badgering him constantly: they’d known something like this was coming. He probably ought to have listened a little more closely, but it’s too late, now.

“It sucks down here,” Sheppard mutters, and runs his hands through his chaotic, overgrown hair. It’s relatively clean; they’ve been bathing and shaving him every so often, much to John’s indignation, but his hair is thick and fascinatingly long. “It sucks so much, I’m so fucking jealous of you right now; you have no idea.”

“It’s not so great from this end, either,” Rodney says.

***

When the guards come to escort Rodney out, Sheppard’s face twists with so much unsuppressed desperation that Rodney doesn’t trust him to stay put for another week.

“Look, I need to stay overnight again,” he tells them, at which they shake their heads and try to usher him out of the room.

“It’s fine,” Sheppard says stoically. “Rodney, just go.”

“No. Please, can I talk to Sonia?” he asks, and he doesn’t mind his pleading tone because he’s not above begging; not for this.

When Sonia comes, he hates the way she speaks to him privately in the hall, as though Sheppard is of no importance. The only reason there is even a distinction between prisoner and diplomat is that Sheppard had worn rank when they were captured, which made him more valuable as a hostage. Still, she seems to understand the problem and agrees without having to consult anyone. “Tomorrow,” she tells the guards, and they shove Rodney back into the room without ceremony.

Sheppard settles down once they’re alone again. He’s already sitting on the bed amidst a pile of the new, unopened letters. “Staying?” he asks, so casually, but his posture is rigid. Rodney nods, and then joins John in sorting through the mail.

“What’s this?” Sheppard picks up the notebook of cartoons and pages through until Rodney sees the first traces of a smile at the corners of his eyes.

“Somebody’s moronic account of what’s been going on back home,” Rodney says dismissively. He’d included the comics at the last minute thinking that, if nothing else, Sheppard would like the way the artist had drawn Teyla’s skimpy top that barely contained her enormous, animated breasts.

“Um, wow,” Sheppard says, awed, still turning pages. “This is really detailed.”

“Excruciatingly so, in some cases,” Rodney mutters, thinking of the unforgivably pudgy midsection on his own likeness. “It figures you’d like it.” Sheppard had been drawn with movie-star good looks, and something with a suspicious resemblance to light beams emanating from his body. Rodney, on the other hand, appeared to have sweat droplets springing forth from his agitated form.

Sheppard enjoys the comic for a few more minutes before unfolding Ronon’s epic missive. While he reads, Rodney watches the fleeting impressions of emotion that flicker across his face: amusement, puzzlement, a long period of intense concentration, and then back to amusement. By the time he finishes, the lamp is beginning to sputter.

“About fifteen more minutes,” Sheppard says, folding the letter back into its envelope. Together, they move everything from the bed to the table. Rodney feels oddly quiet as they remove their boots, arrange the bedclothes and climb under the covers. During their first visit, Rodney had asked if John napped during the day and John had said no, he saved it for night because there was nothing to do once the lights went out. It’s true; once the light has been swallowed by the mountain, all Rodney wants to do is curl up on Sheppard’s wide cot beneath the covers.

“You didn’t have to stay,” Sheppard whispers almost as soon as it goes dark. Rodney can feel him gravitating from his own side of the bed to Rodney’s; a bump of feet one moment, the press of his shoulder the next.

“Shut up; I know that,” he whispers back. “But since I’m here, I could give you another backrub.”

Sheppard freezes, then draws back ever so slightly. “All right, what’s with you and these backrubs? And don’t even try to tell me you just feel like it, because I’ve seen you go to great lengths to avoid someone you suspect might try and hug you.”

“It’s Heightmeyer,” Rodney confesses. He hates lying, and there’s no point in trying. Sheppard will either accept or reject his offer; the reasons behind it are unimportant. “She said you’ve been deprived of physical contact for too long and that I should try to make up the difference.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Oh, believe it. And she suggested a great many other ways to get the job done, each less subtle than the last, but that’s easier said than done when a precedent of non-touching has been set. Hence: the backrub.”

“She suggested something less subtle than taking my shirt off?”

He hadn’t really thought about it that way. “Not exactly,” he hedges.

“Oh.” There’s a long moment when Rodney has no idea what Sheppard is thinking, but then he comes back with a low whisper that goes right through Rodney. “Okay. Go ahead.”

“What?”

“You taking back your offer?”

“No, no, no. I- I just didn’t know if you wanted…” Rodney makes a frustrated sound and leans up on one elbow, facing Sheppard even though he can’t see him.

“’kay,” Sheppard says lazily, but he doesn’t turn over. He just lies there on his back; Rodney can feel him there, the heat of him, unmoving.

“You want me to…”

“What you’re here to do,” Sheppard drawls. “I’m here, you’re here, so go to town.” There is a hint of challenge in his tone, and an equal measure of desperation. Of course, desperate for John Sheppard is still in the realm of cool for most people, but Rodney knows him well enough to notice that the tone is all wrong, the entire discourse is wrong.

With his free hand, he gropes his way to Sheppard’s shoulder and squeezes gently. The front of a shoulder isn’t so different than the back, and it gives him time to figure out what exactly he’s doing. Rodney feels around the bony curve of Sheppard’s shoulder, the damp heat of his underarm, and the hard, flat expanse of his chest. It must be apparent that he has no idea what he’s doing, because Sheppard shifts restlessly and says, “Just come down here. Here,” he repeats, tugging at Rodney’s arm until he lowers himself to lie halfway on Sheppard.

His head comes to rest in the comfortable cradle of Sheppard’s shoulder and the pillow. There is no way he’s getting away with this, except that he is. And it’s nice, just lying here together, but Sheppard is still wound too tightly, and Rodney has the distinct feeling he’s waiting for something, as though this alone isn’t enough.

Just in case he’s right, he brings one arm up around Sheppard’s waist. When their fingers fumble together in an accidental collision, Sheppard’s hand goes slack and Rodney takes it as a signal, Sheppard’s subtle language of need, and folds his hand over Sheppard’s.

A few seconds pass with only the sound of his own heartbeat, louder than the mountain’s silence in his ears. Eventually, he becomes aware that his thumb is touching a place where Sheppard’s t-shirt has ridden up and it’s completely possible that the tiny, nearly imperceptible nudge Sheppard gives his hand is unintentional, but Rodney knows it’s not. He swallows hard, impossibly flustered, trapped between what he wants and what Heightmeyer wants, which he knows are only the same up to a point where they diverge greatly.

This--the pad of Rodney’s thumb against the soft skin of John’s belly--is that point.

There’s a brief space of time where Rodney’s fingers tentatively explore the small area of flesh available to them, and then—he can’t believe his own bold stupidity—his entire hand is sliding greedily, with a purpose he can’t deny, over every curve, plane and hollow of Sheppard’s stomach. Only then does Sheppard begin to relax, his chest rising and falling freely as though up until now he hasn’t been able to breathe at all.

It has the opposite effect on Rodney. For every fraction that Sheppard loosens, Rodney’s own slow-simmering wish for more ratchets up and up and up until he’s shaking with it, and jerkily thrusts his hand further into Sheppard’s t-shirt to get at the rest of him. The more Sheppard eases into a sprawl, the more tightly Rodney molds himself to the length of his body, with only enough room for his hand to seek out the thick, alluring line of hair that he follows up and down, over and over, afraid to stray from the path he’s so carefully established for himself.

What is he doing? If there is a line between comfort and outright fondling, he’s fairly certain that he’s wined, dined and bedded it, and the line is about to bid him sweet farewell. A frustrated moan rises up in his throat, which he stifles immediately, because this isn’t supposed to be about him.

Apparently, Sheppard doesn’t mind being touched this way, so Rodney goes a bit further and reaches down to fit his hand around the inside of Sheppard’s thigh. It’s a dangerous place, but warm and solid and perfect to massage, even through the rough fabric of his pants. Almost as soon as Rodney touches him, Sheppard’s thighs part enough apart that there’s little else to do but slide his hand up the ridge of the inseam.

If Rodney weren’t lying with his face nearly buried in Sheppard’s neck, he probably wouldn’t have heard the sound that rumbles through Sheppard’s chest: the sound of a startled animal followed by a sharp inhalation. The sound comes right as the side of his hand runs up against Sheppard’s crotch, astonishing heat and the yielding shape of his balls through his uniform.

The sound is what undoes Rodney completely, but also what yanks him from his ascent toward some forbidden fantasy and back onto a cot in a mountain prison with Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. Did he actually just do that- did he just touch Sheppard there? As far as ways to win back Sheppard’s trust, this probably isn’t the way to go. Slowly, horror begins to creep in behind the exhilaration and Rodney jerks his hand away as though it’s touched something fatal.

There’s no graceful way out of a situation like this. Part of the problem is that he’s still half-lying on top of Sheppard, so until he can come up with a way to extricate himself without drawing attention to the fact that he’s just done something unthinkably inappropriate, he pulls Sheppard’s shirt back down and lies perfectly still. Eventually, the steady sound of Sheppard’s breathing lulls him into a sense of distance. So far, so good; Sheppard hasn’t said anything, hasn’t done anything at all besides lie there and put off an inordinate amount of body heat.

“Sorry,” Rodney says shakily, still strung so excruciatingly tight that he can hardly bear it. “I’m sorry about that.”

And it’s just like Sheppard to make things harder than they have to be, to first make Rodney squirm by remaining silent for an eternity before finally clearing his throat and replying, “Shh. Don’t worry about it. Sleep.”

***

42.

Every week of Sheppard’s captivity has seemed to move impossibly slowly, but now that Rodney needs time to think, time accelerates and slips through his fingers one brief day at a time. Even his session with Heightmeyer, usually the longest part of his day, is over before he’s worked himself up to his usual hostility.

People haven’t stopped bringing gifts. Sheppard is still very much in their thoughts, but their attitudes have changed. Every time someone hands something over with their sad, knowing smiles, he wants to scream at them to keep their stupid ipods, books, and candy, because Sheppard won’t be able to bring them back when he returns. When he returns, because there is nothing more ridiculous than the thought that Sheppard could expire inside the very mountain that Rodney is allowed to pass through on a weekly basis.

It’s just taking such a damn long time.

When Rodney arrives, John is playing out a scene from a bad prison movie, his palms planted on the floor as he does pushup after pushup, not stopping upon Rodney’s entrance. Only when his arms begin to visibly tremble under the strain does he stop, collapsing onto his back and gasping for air, soaked with sweat. The whole room has the rather unpleasant smell of sweat, and from the definition in Sheppard’s arms and shoulders, Rodney can tell he’s been doing this a lot.

“I’m not going to die down here,” he says, rolling his head to the side in order to look up at Rodney.

“What are you- training?” Rodney asks. “You’re on orders to stay put.”

“Funny how little you care about orders when you’re this close to losing your fucking mind.” The space between Sheppard’s fingers is less than a centimeter, and he closes it completely before dropping his hand to the floor.

“You’re not,” Rodney says. “It’s only been six weeks. You’re doing a hell of a lot better than anyone else would. Just…try to think of it as a vacation, because when you get back to Atlantis, there’s a lot of catching up to do.”

“Think of it as a vacation, huh?” Sheppard sits up and grabs a towel that he drags over his face, chest and neck. “You don’t get it; this is more than me getting cranky, Rodney.”

Rodney hands Sheppard his shirt and watches silently as he puts it on.

“Then tell me what it is.”

Sheppard shrugs. When he climbs up from the floor, he resumes the same restless pacing from last week.

“Have you been taking those pills Carson sent?”

“They don’t help.” There is the slightest hint of a whine in Sheppard’s voice, and Rodney looks at him, really looks at him, feeling once again that the weight of this responsibility is more than he can handle. Sheppard’s eyebrows are drawn together in a frown, separated by a deep crease that makes Rodney realize how often Sheppard’s disapproval is put on, a tease just for Rodney. What Rodney sees now is one hundred percent genuine misery, and Sheppard isn’t one to overstate things. If he says he’s losing it, he must be close.

Rodney stands and goes to Sheppard. He waits until Sheppard looks him in the eye, and then lifts his chin with determination. “Then, what can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” Sheppard mutters, and looks away.

“That’s not good enough, Colonel—John,” Rodney says. For his correction, he receives a flicker of returning interest in Sheppard’s expression. “If you don’t tell me what you need and let me help you, it’s my ass that gets chewed when I go back to Atlantis and have to inform them you’ve had a nervous breakdown.”

“Hey,” John says, his voice going high and appalled. “I’m not having a nervous breakdown.” He pauses to give Rodney a pointed look. “It’s manly alienation,” he says derisively.

“Ah, I understand completely.”

Sheppard’s gaze darts over the walls, floor and ceiling. “It’s just that I want out, and the more I think about it, the more I want out, and I want it so bad that it hurts. It actually hurts,” he repeats. His eyes fall shut as he rests his forehead against the door.

Rodney clenches his fists until they ache, and still has no answers. What hurts is to see Sheppard like this, and to know how truly far they are from getting him out of here. “Let me help you,” he says through the tightness of his throat, knowing full well he can do nothing. “We can see if they’ll let us trade places.”

“You already tried that, remember?” Sheppard says flatly. When they’d first been taken, Rodney had done his best to convince them to take him instead, but the decision had already been made.

“We can try again! Sonia and I have a rapport-“

“I wouldn’t do it anyhow. Not an option, McKay.”

Of course he wouldn’t. “Then, something else. Please.” Rodney pauses, then stumbles over his words when he finally says, “I- I can do what Heightmeyer said.”

Sheppard makes a soft, incredulous sound and puts his palms against the door, leaning there with his eyes closed and looking almost as though he could be asleep.

“I can do anything you want,” Rodney continues, even though his stomach is tying itself in anxious knots. “It doesn’t have to be like last time. I mean…well, I already apologized about that, but I just want you know I am capable of doing it properly.”

Again, Sheppard makes him wait until mortification has a chance to fully sink in before replying. “And what about last time, Rodney? Is that an example of you doing it properly?”

He swallows hard. “I…said I was-“

“You’re sorry, I know,” Sheppard sighs. He pushes himself away from the door and looks at Rodney with a contemptuous expression. “You know what, Rodney? As much as I love the idea of someone touching me because they’ve been ordered to, I think I’ll pass.”

They spend the rest of their time circling one another dangerously, Rodney a hair’s breadth away from yelling at Sheppard for being so stubborn, and Sheppard glowering as though Rodney has done him some terrible wrong. When it’s time for Rodney to leave, Sheppard throws himself on the bed, facing the wall with stiff shoulders, and doesn’t say goodbye.

It hits Rodney before he’s even all the way to the jumper. He’s fuming at Sheppard, the situation, and the unbearable unfairness of being thwarted Ancient technology of all things, and the answer is suddenly ridiculously clear. He trips twice on the rocky terrain in his hurry to get back to the jumper because it’s been too long since they’ve had good news. Too long since Sheppard has had good news.

He only hopes that Sheppard can hold on long enough to receive it.

***

49.

“My God, your hair is terrifying,” Rodney blurts the next time he sees Sheppard. It’s not what he intended to say, but it is, if nothing else, a visual reminder of exactly how long Sheppard has been down here.

“Good to see you, too,” Sheppard says. He doesn’t bother getting up.

“Look, I’m sorry—again—about last time,” Rodney says impatiently, already beginning to pull smuggled items from his jacket. “But we don’t have much time. You did want to get out of here, right?”

It’s almost scary how quickly Sheppard’s feet are on the floor, his eyes sharp and dangerous on Rodney’s face. “Tell me,” he says in a clipped voice, already back in soldier-mode.

“This place is wired with ancient technology,” Rodney explains. Gingerly, he pulls a small cylinder from his inner pocket and holds it up for Sheppard’s inspection. “With the way Ancient technology responds to you, all it needs is some juice. This,” he says proudly, “Is the first ever Earth-made ZPM.”

“That’s a ZPM?”

“Well, an admittedly bastardized small-scale version, but there was no way I could get away with smuggling in the real thing.” Rodney places his prized possession on the bed and goes to work at a panel in the corner of the room, prying it away from the wall with a screwdriver. “If I can wire the power source into the system, there should be enough of an energy output to put the holy terror into the Selari. This place is going to light up like Atlantis when we’re finished.”

Sheppard is still looking down at the makeshift ZPM. “So we blackmail them into letting me leave?”

“I don’t like to think of it as blackmail. It’s going to be more of a mutually beneficial arrangement, don’t you think? We’ll explain that until they let you go, their mountain is going to be pulsing out enough energy to attract the attention of the Wraith or any other visitors who might be passing by. Also, I’m going to gallantly offer to take their existing ZPMs off their hands.”

“You don’t say.” Sheppard sounds a bit off, and Rodney pauses, holding a piece of red wire between his teeth, his hands working to unwedge the conduit crystal, to glance at him.

“I can make this work,” he says. He tries to convey the resolution of his promise with his eyes, to tell Sheppard that he can trust this time, that he refuses to fail, but all Sheppard does is avert his eyes and nod as though Rodney has just told him tomorrow’s weather forecast.

Kolya’s knife has nothing on the knowledge that Sheppard will be trapped here for another week if he doesn’t come through. Rodney has never felt the pressure that bears down on him from the mountain, Atlantis, from Sheppard’s refusal to hope. In response to that pressure, he works with a focus that he’s rarely been able to achieve, and is actually startled when he finds himself at the end of the sequence he’s set in place, and the panels of Sheppard’s room hum to life with a beautiful glow of light that is fit for Atlantis.

Flushed with ecstatic satisfaction, he snaps the panel back into place and looks for Sheppard, who is backed against the door and blinking at the light as though it’s the last thing he’d ever expected to see. His face, in the light, can’t seem to hide anything; the mark of his solitude is embedded in his very skin, but those marks can fade with time, Rodney knows. He hopes.

“They’ll be here in five minutes,” Sheppard says. He moves quickly and pulls on his boots, lacing them hard and fast as he keeps his eye on the door. “Let me do the talking.”

***

“I can’t believe I’m really going home,” Sheppard says from the passenger seat of the jumper. “This had better be real. If I’m dreaming, I’m going to be pissed.”

Rodney glances over at Sheppard. “This is something you dream about?”

“All the time,” Sheppard says grimly. “Then I wake up in that fucking hole. Then there are the ones where you-“ he stops abruptly and fiddles with the environmental controls, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“The ones where I…?”

Sheppard shrugs, completely focused on the console, as though he’s doing something of importance. “You don’t show up.”

Rodney can’t even hide how horrifying he finds that statement. He knows that Sheppard sees it in his wide eyes and even if that didn’t give him away, the fact that he has no reply says everything he can’t articulate. While he’s struggling with a response, Sheppard dials the gate and then, just like that, they’re home.

***

Rodney has spent the past week preparing himself for what happens when he brings Sheppard back from Selari. He is prepared for the way everyone swarms him and the way Carson eventually triumphs, successfully commandeering Sheppard into the infirmary for the next four hours until he’s declared fit for duty. He’s prepared for the easy smile Sheppard gives everyone and the way he thanks them as though it is their contributions and not Rodney’s personal longsuffering that kept him going for all those weeks. But what he’s not prepared for is his own disappointment in the shift from being Sheppard’s world to just another part of it.

It’s incredibly selfish; he knows that, too.

When he goes to the lab, the work waiting for him seems far less important than it had when he’d put it aside nearly two months ago. Working to free Sheppard had consumed them for so long that it’s almost anticlimactic going back to working on efficiency projects and theoretical calculations that may never come to light. Almost boring, really, but everyone else seems happy enough to go fall back into their usual pace of things, so Rodney works as he always has, and in between, in the brief moments of habitual panic, reminds himself that Sheppard isn’t waiting for him underground in some mountain prison.

Sheppard has been seeing Heightmeyer. Rodney knows, because he sees Sheppard coming out of her office every Tuesday and Thursday at eighteen hundred hours, and he can’t stop the obsessive worry that Sheppard will mention to Heightmeyer how much Rodney had botched the job of administering mental health care. In a way, he hopes it does come up, because he’s plagued by a growing indignation, a simmering store of anger, about the way his involvement in Sheppard’s imprisonment seems to have effectively ruined whatever friendship they had shared beforehand.

The fourth time Rodney runs into Sheppard outside Heightmeyer’s office, Sheppard crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head, nailing Rodney with a distinctly accusing stare. “Is there something you want?” he asks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were out here trying to listen in on my sessions. This isn’t about you, you know.”

“I know it isn’t. I was just getting something to eat. Brain-fuel, and all that.”

“Right…” Sheppard says slowly. The exchange is completely typical of the way they’ve been circling one another since Selari. It’s getting exhausting, but Rodney doesn’t know how to stop. “I guess I’ll see you later,” Sheppard says skeptically, and then walks off in the opposite direction.

***

Rodney wakes up to the feeling that he’s being watched.

“Hi.” Sheppard is sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting as though he’s got all the time in the world.

Gathering the covers up to his waist, Rodney sits up and rubs at his eyes until he feels a little more awake. It doesn’t take long. “Hi,” he replies. He doesn’t say anything about the intrusion, because it doesn’t feel like one. If anything, it feels like supplication; a question that Sheppard doesn’t want to ask.

“I never thanked you,” Sheppard says quietly, his voice pitched low like those nights in the mountain. “Pretty crappy of me, don’t you think?”

“I figured you had your reasons,” Rodney replies in kind. In the dark, he can make out Sheppard’s features, can see that Sheppard is looking right at him. There’s something about being in his bed, under the covers and fresh from an interrupted sleep that makes him uncomfortably vulnerable. He doesn’t feel even remotely in control of the situation; then again, Sheppard may have chosen this setting for a reason. Maybe he wants Rodney this way.

“That’s pretty generous. And no offense, but you’re not exactly known for your generosity.”

Rodney is plenty generous when the situation calls for it. It’s not his fault that people go around lavishing praise on the most trivial of accomplishments and forgiving every idiotic blunder as though it doesn’t matter. He’s working himself up an ardent defense when Sheppard interrupts his thoughts.

“It’s not an insult, Rodney, and it’s not just you. For example, I’m not exactly known for my ability to trust people.”

Rodney pulls his knees up to his chest. “Well, in some cases you have been given every reason to doubt…people.”

“Have I?” Sheppard’s eyes glitter in the darkness, searching Rodney’s face like some nocturnal predator. “Some people would say that our recent situation required a lot of trust.”

“You dreamed I abandoned you,” Rodney blurts. He’d thought, at the time, that Sheppard’s confession had been a pointed reminder of their status. Now, he’s not so certain.

“I dreamed you got me out, too.”

“I did get you out.” He’s not sure why he says it, but he suddenly feels the need to have it out there, between them. He got Sheppard out; he built a fucking ZPM; he did the impossible.

“I know.”

“I always came,” he adds softly, back to a whisper. The only thing missing is a pile of furs and Sheppard’s body against his.

“I know.”

Understanding is the softest blow imaginable, nothing like Rodney’s usual lightning bolts of recognition. It comes between one moment and the next, the shift from antagonism to acceptance, and by the time Sheppard has his hands on Rodney’s knees Rodney is already there with him, welcoming Sheppard’s mouth with his own careful press of lips and the barest brush of tongue.

The kiss goes on until Sheppard breaks it, first moving his hands to Rodney’s face and holding him there for a moment while he breathes unsteadily, eyes held fast to Rodney’s.

“I wanted to say yes,” he confides, taking one more kiss. “The day you offered.”

“The offer stands,” Rodney says, and it had been something to touch Sheppard before, but even that doesn’t begin to compare with the thrill of seeing him slowly unzip his own pants. When he kneels up to slide the pants—along with his underwear—down over his hips, Rodney gets to see him fully, already thick with arousal and attempting to rise out of the dark thatch of hair between his legs. While he’s looking, Sheppard lifts the hem of his t-shirt up and over his head, and there he is, smirking down at Rodney like he knows.

“I’m not entirely certain you’re not suffering some variation of Stockholm syndrome,” Rodney remarks in a last-ditch attempt to restore equilibrium. His hands are already wandering over the planes of Sheppard’s back and lower, to the softer curves of his buttocks.

“Do you care?” Sheppard asks hotly, right there for the taking, and the answer is no. Blindly, Rodney goes forward and uses his mouth the way he’s wanted to the entire time Sheppard was trapped underground—maybe longer. It’s a dizzying relief to have this, to kiss and tongue at Sheppard’s flat nipples until they stand up, hard and wet. There’s no denying it now; the reality is that he’s kissing John, lavishing his bare skin with hungry, open-mouthed kisses.

He wraps his arms around Sheppard’s waist and brings him closer still, until he’s straddling Rodney’s lap with his pants still down around one ankle. When Rodney fits his palm over the searing heat of Sheppard’s cock, Sheppard arches his back, steadying himself with a ruthless grip on Rodney’s shoulders, and with a restraint he’s barely able to gather, Rodney ignores his own body even though his erection feels huge, demanding, every bit as alive as the one pushing into his palm.

Sheppard’s head is bowed while Rodney circles his erection and works his hand in broad strokes from top to bottom. He’s watching, Rodney realizes, not just the hand job Rodney is giving him, but Rodney’s own tremendous response to it. Not missing a beat, either, because Rodney is just getting into a rhythm when he is blindsided by a shocking lick of pleasure that wrings from him a pathetic moan. When he glances down, Sheppard’s wicked fingers are making yet another pass at the glistening, leaking head of his cock, which has pushed out of his waistband in a way that was uncomfortable before and is now downright unbearable.

“I want to fuck you,” he breathes.

For a moment, he’s afraid that the ferocity that passes over Sheppard’s face is aversion, but then he’s pulling back and yanking Rodney’s boxers off his hips, toppling Rodney onto his back in one frenzied moment of vertigo. “Yes,” Sheppard says fiercely, and grinds himself against Rodney, who suddenly knows that he’s not going to last long enough to fuck anyone.

Sheppard’s belly is the most wonderful place that Rodney’s dick has ever come up against, soft skin and only slightly coarse hair, everything all slicked from how much Rodney is leaking, but he can’t remember the last time he was this hard, wanted to come this badly. The best part is that Sheppard is using him the same way; long, languorous slides of movement until Rodney can feel it come to a head, and he gratefully meets Sheppard’s hard, jerky thrusts with his own out of control movements, hissing through his climax with one hand clamped down on Sheppard’s still-flexing ass. That seems to get Sheppard even more excited, so Rodney makes a note of it for next time, and uses both hands on Sheppard’s ass, pulling hard and even venturing what could really only be described as a smack, upon first contact. Whatever the cause, Sheppard takes Rodney’s mouth in a deep, mindless kiss as he comes, spreading even more wet heat between them.

After a few more unhurried kisses, Sheppard gets up for a towel and Rodney lies alone in his bed, drifting on the anesthetic effect of afterglow. When Sheppard comes back, he cleans them up and lies back down beside Rodney. They lie there for so long that Rodney thinks Sheppard has fallen asleep, when Sheppard finally says, “You made a ZPM.”

“Totally bastardized,” he replies automatically, but not without a hint of pride.

“Still. Pretty amazing,” Sheppard says.

In the dark, Rodney’s lips stretch into a smile. “You’re welcome,” he says, and turns his face for another kiss.