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"Ow!"
"Don't stop!"
"I'm not stopping," Rodney gasped, pounding along behind John. "I'm saying OW! They - hit me - with a rock or - something -"
"Dial the gate, dial the gate!" John roared; Teyla was already slapping the address. Ronon crouched beside the DHD, aiming over John and Rodney's heads, and began laying down cover fire as the event horizon shimmered into being.
"Teyla, go!" John yelled; she turned and let a few bullets fly at the screaming horde of Wraith worshippers in the woods behind them, then vanished through the silver shimmer.
"I don't feel so good," Rodney gasped, slowing. John grabbed his arm.
"Nearly there," he said. There was something sticking out of Rodney's shoulder. "Oh shit," John said, slapping it away - a small, feathered dart that fell to the ground behind them, irretrievable as they fled. "We're almost there," he panted again.
Two steps past the DHD Rodney slumped mid-step to the ground - an abrupt, shocking fall, graceless and heavy.
John struggled to pull him up, not thinking about the way his head flopped bonelessly back as John heaved him forward. "Ronon!"
They pulled him through the gate.
*
Everything hurt.
"Carson," Rodney managed through chattering teeth.
"I've got you," Carson said, calm face hovering over Rodney. Beyond him, the infirmary ceiling, Teyla, Ronon, Sheppard. "You're going to be fine, lad."
Rodney closed his eyes, shaking.
*
"Carson," Rodney said.
His voice sounded pathetic; he cleared his throat (dry and achy) and tried again. "Hey, is anybody -"
"Hey, Rodney." A brief touch on his arm. "Are you thirsty? Beckett said you might be thirsty."
"And they call me a genius," Rodney groused. "Yes, I'm thirsty."
A fumble and then Sheppard's hand was on his shoulder, tugging him upright as the bed hummed, lifting his torso. "Here you go," Sheppard said. Chilly plastic against his mouth; Rodney sipped: water, cool and perfect, sliding down his throat.
"Thank you," Rodney said. "Although if you'd just turn up the lights, I could get my own cup, I'm sure."
"Ah... what?"
The faint click of the cup set aside.
"It's pitch black in here," Rodney said. He lifted a weak hand. "Can't see my hand in front of my face."
There was a pause. "Let me ask the doc about those lights," Sheppard said.
*
"I want to go back to my quarters."
A hubbub of responses, Rodney silent among them, sitting up in the infirmary bed, arms folded, face uncharacteristically blank.
John stepped past Beckett and Elizabeth, past Heightmeyer and Dr. Biro. "I'll take you," he said, and Elizabeth turned on him.
"John, that decision is up to Carson," she said, reproof in her voice.
"It's up to me," Rodney said loudly. "I'm not sick anymore, and my vision isn't going to improve any time soon. I want to be in my own quarters, and I'm going. The only question is whether you're going to let Sheppard take me now, or leave me to fumble my way there by myself in the middle of the night."
John laid one hand on Rodney's arm. "Upsy-daisy," he said, and Rodney swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.
They walked slowly, more out of deference to Rodney's still-shaky legs than his lack of vision.
"Upsy-daisy?" he said, and his fingers flexed on John's elbow.
John shrugged, telegraphing the motion through his arm. "It's a thing I say."
They walked in silence for a time; Rodney's fingers were a little too tight on John's arm, but John kept his mouth shut. At least Rodney was letting himself be led.
"What are they saying about me in the briefings?" Rodney asked abruptly.
John slowed a little more. "They're worried about you," he said after a brief hesitation. "Carson's frustrated because he hasn't been able to isolate which neural pathways are disrupted, or figure out why your brain hasn't compensated. Biro wants to send you back to Earth, to some neurologist she knows at the SGC. Heightmeyer's worried that you won't talk to her. Radek hates running the labs."
"I won't go to Earth," Rodney said. "If Carson can't figure it out, it can't be figured out, and if they send me away and don't cure me, I'll never get back here."
"Yeah." John glanced at him, then away. It seemed wrong to look at Rodney when Rodney couldn't look back.
On the other hand.
John looked at Rodney for a while, and kept stealing glances for the remainder of the walk.
"...Here we are," John said.
Rodney waved his free hand at the sensor panel and stepped forward unerringly when the door hissed open. "You can come in if you want," he said.
John went with him, hand light on the small of his back. "Uh, it's kind of a mess," he said. "Hold on, I'll pick stuff up so you don't trip."
"You don't have to," Rodney snapped. "I think I can manage to walk around my own quarters."
"I can't manage to walk around your quarters," John said, rolling his eyes. He moved around Rodney's stiff figure, scooping up clothes and MRE packaging, tossing the one into the hamper by the bathroom, the other into the overflowing trashcan under the desk. He stuffed his boot into the can, compacting everything and then cursing as he shook his leg free. "Okay," he said, straightening. "You need anything else?"
"How do I look?" Rodney asked.
"What?"
Rodney lifted one hand, gestured vaguely in front of his face. "I mean, do my eyes look normal? Or, or what? How do I look?"
"You look fine," John said, stepping closer. "Your eyes look, uh, pretty much the same as always." Rodney stood still, chin jutting, bright blue gaze fixed just to the left of John's eyeline. "You look fine," John repeated.
"I just. I wondered." Rodney moved slowly toward his desk, hand outstretched. John resisted the urge to leap to his aid. Rodney's hand encountered the chair; he pulled it out and sat, reaching for his closed laptop. "You can go now," he said, pulling the computer toward himself.
"Okay," John said, turning toward the door. As he left Rodney was opening the computer, fingers sliding over the keyboard, orienting himself. His face was tilted down toward the screen, gaze unmoving as he tapped out a password.
*
Two weeks in and Rodney was back in the labs. He'd rigged a few items to be voice-activated and/or audio-responsive; a bastardized life-signs detector got him through the hallways, paired with one hand running along the walls. His laptop fed tin-voiced information into his headset, a constant mumble of electronic noise, barely audible to anyone else but telling Rodney what he did as his fingers flew over the keyboard.
He'd gotten Harrykissoon to rig up a whiteboard for him, narrow strips of tape in a grid so that he could write in a straight line, equations scrawled in handwriting that was, Radek informed him, just as illegible as before and please stop yelling when we point out the parts we can't read. "Is nothing new," Radek said, and Rodney could hear his eyeroll as clearly as he'd ever seen it.
Atlantis opened to him.
She rose to meet him, responding to his voice commands in the transporters, humming beneath his hands as he walked the corridors. His computer interfaced more smoothly with the Ancient database. The knick-knacks and tools his team still worked to identify, items found in abandoned labs and storage rooms and then set aside for cataloguing, responded more easily to him, although he still found that he needed John for others. They continued their pattern of meeting once a week to sort through items, John adding description to his light-switch duties, Rodney typing his descriptions into the laptop and adding his own details about size, shape, texture.
Some people avoided him.
Others did not. Teyla came to get him a week after he left the infirmary.
"I don't see myself stick-fighting," Rodney said dryly.
He could hear Teyla's small smile when she spoke. "Not yet, perhaps. But you have been sedentary, and you need to maintain the strength you have gained in the last year." Her hand on his arm was light, guiding without pulling, and he went along without protest. It was a relief, in a way, to have someone's touch there, guiding him. He'd pushed everyone away so hard in the beginning that now, two weeks later, some still stuttered when he spoke to them.
In the weight room, she took him from machine to machine, placing his hands on the levers, showing him how to adjust the weight. Her fingers were cool and certain on his, adjusting his grip and leading his hands to the proper places and grips.
"I don't see the point," he puffed, arms straining, pulling a bar down and letting it rise again slowly. "I won't be back in the field. Sheppard's going to have to find someone else for the team."
"That may be true," she said. "And it may not. However, exercise is healthy and you will be lacking in it, if, as you say, you are not going offworld. Also, Dr. Heightmeyer has told me before that it is a great reliever of anxiety and stress."
Rodney closed his eyes and did three more repetitions. "Thanks," he said later, and Teyla squeezed his arm before leaving him at his door.
"It is my pleasure," she said.
*
Ronon kept showing up in the mess hall at the same time as Rodney.
"They have blue jello," he rumbled behind Rodney, and Rodney jumped and turned, scowling, in his direction.
"Thank you so much for that information," he snapped. "I'm sure Private Leighty was just about to tell me that."
The private behind the table mumbled something affirmative, and Rodney reached gingerly out, fingers encountering jello cups. "Aha."
Later Ronon slipped him a second cup. "So Sheppard wants Zelenka to join the team until you can see again," he said.
The table creaked every time Ronon shifted his weight. It was annoying, and Rodney couldn't believe he'd never noticed it before. "Zelenka hates going offworld," he said. "He'd be good at it, though."
"I think he's too timid," Ronon said around a mouthful of... something.
"You know, I never thought I'd be grateful to lose my vision," Rodney said. "But at least I don't have to watch you eat anymore."
Ronon snorted a laugh. "Pot, kettle," he said. Rodney thought maybe he and Sheppard should quit bickering around Ronon, who spoke again: "If you say Zelenka would be good, he'd be good. You should talk to Sheppard about it."
"He can talk to me about it," Rodney said. He ate the second jello cup in silence, listening to Ronon's continued massacre of food from across the table.
"He doesn't want to talk about that with you," Ronon said, and Rodney could feel him stand, hear the bench give a moan of relief as he rose. "If you wanna tell him Zelenka's okay, you'll have to bring it up." A heavy hand landed on Rodney's shoulder. "Later, McKay."
"Uh, later," Rodney said.
*
John's door chimed and then hissed open. "Hey, Rodney. What's up?"
Rodney came into his quarters slowly, stopping just inside the door; John stood and reached for him, touching his wrist lightly. "Floor's clean, I promise," he said. He guided Rodney to the bed.
"I wanted to talk to you about Zelenka," Rodney said, sitting gingerly on the edge.
"Oh." John scratched his ear. "I, well, Elizabeth wants me to find someone temporary, until Beckett figures out how to fix your, uh, your eyes."
"I know that," Rodney said sharply. "She came to me about it a week ago. I told her Radek would be the best choice." He frowned at where John had been a moment ago, and John moved back there, intercepting Rodney's vacant gaze.
"I think he'd be okay, but he seems reluctant," John said. "I'm not sure what to tell him. I thought maybe -"
"He's scared," Rodney said bluntly. "He's always wanted to stay in the city more than he's wanted to get offworld, and now he's got me as a constant reminder of what can happen when people go out there - as if Gall and Abrams and Grodin and Collins and the rest weren't enough."
"Ronon doesn't think he'd be okay," John said slowly. He came and sat beside Rodney. "Teyla thinks he would. I think he would but I, well, I wanted to..." He shrugged, uncomfortable.
"You wanted to know what I thought but you were too chickenshit to ask me," Rodney finished for him.
"I guess." John looked at Rodney's face. It hadn't changed in six weeks. He wondered if it would, eventually - would his eyes lose their piercing brightness? Sink inward, sag? "You seem to be handling... things... well," he offered, the but unspoken.
Rodney laughed, low and bitter. "Don't be an asshole," he said. "I'm handling 'things,' as you so quaintly put it, terribly. I can't -" He stopped for a moment, took a deep breath. "I hate it," he said. "It's just - it's always dark. And I think I'm starting to forget what people look like." John was silent, but he shifted slightly so his shoulder pressed against Rodney's. Rodney sighed. "I've broken four chairs in my room," he said. "Not to mention a few of the less expensive items in the labs, throwing them at people. I've got bruises up and down my shins from bumping into stuff. At least, I think I've got bruises." He snorted humorlessly, pulling his trousers at the knees, displaying hairy shins, decorated with yellowing and fresh marks.
"Yep," John said, leaning to look. "Definitely bruised." He sat back up before he could reach - run his hands gently down Rodney's shins, and Christ, how pathetic. That even his shins should look good. John snorted inwardly.
Rodney let his pants fall again. "I'm handling it like shit," he said. "Heightmeyer keeps telling me it takes time. Jesus." He dropped his face into his hands, muffling his voice. "Like I don't know that."
John touched his shoulder. "I know."
Rodney sat still and silent, hunched beside John for a long moment. Eventually he straightened. His face was just the same - pale and dry, no sign of whatever emotions had shaken him a moment before. It was unnerving, and John wondered how many of Rodney's volatile expressions had been reflections of what he saw around himself. "I don't want Radek taking my place on the team," Rodney said steadily. "But you need a scientist again - you and Teyla and Ronon can't keep risking yourselves without a scientist to save your asses." He smiled, sort of - an uneven quirk of his mouth. "Ask Radek. I'll make sure he says yes."
"Thanks," John said.
They sat quietly for a moment.
"Um," John said.
Rodney turned his face toward him. "What?"
"Are you really forgetting what people look like?" John asked, tentative. He blew out a puff of air. "Forget it. Sorry, I totally suck at this."
"Welcome to the club," Rodney said, voice tight. "Why'd you ask?"
"I was thinking about the movies, where people touch, uh, touch faces to get a picture of how they look," John said, too quickly. "I just wondered if that would really work."
"Huh," Rodney said. "I don't know. Hold still." And just like that he raised his hand, fingers on John's ear, sliding around to touch his cheekbones, nose, the arch of his eyebrows, over his cheeks again, ghosting across his lips and chin.
John struggled to keep still, to breathe normally. It was unsettling, weird, and he wished he'd never said anything. Watching Rodney's head tilt, his eyelids half-closed as he concentrated, as the blunt, soft pads of his fingertips ran over John's face - it was creepy.
He didn't want Rodney to stop.
"I don't know," Rodney said, dropping his hand into his lap. "I mean, I guess it feels like you, like you look. But I'm not sure I could pick anybody out of a lineup that way." His mouth twisted, wry. "Thanks anyway."
"No problem," John said, and stood up.
Rodney stood hastily, too. "So, uh, light-switch duties Tuesday, right? Right. In the afternoon. After Radek's first mission with you guys. I'll talk to him tomorrow." He sniffed. "Tell him to write his will, get his affairs in order."
"You're all about the morale." John led him to the door, glancing at Rodney's tight jaw as it whooshed open.
"Yes, yes. The science staff calls me Miss Mary Sunshine," Rodney said.
John snorted. "Miss Meredith Sunshine," he said, and before Rodney could respond, he pushed him outside, gently. "See you tomorrow, McKay," John said.
Rodney stepped outside, lips twitching - fighting back a smile? Then he turned and lifted his right hand to pat John's cheek twice, unerring and a little sharp. "You need a shave," he said, and smirked, turning away, life-signs detector already in his other hand, strides not much less confident than they'd been before.
John rolled his eyes and watched Rodney walk away.
"Go to bed, Colonel," Rodney called, and John grinned and stepped back into his quarters, doors sliding audibly shut behind him.
*
"You're late," Rodney said when John finally hailed him on Tuesday, stepping into the lab.
"I'm also not covered in swamp slime, and you should be grateful," Sheppard replied.
"Yes, yes," Rodney said. "Radek told me all about it. Way to break him in easy."
He could practically hear Sheppard's smirk. "Hey, he came back with all his pieces, didn't he?" He touched Rodney's arm lightly; Rodney jumped. Sheppard was one of the few people who touched Rodney of his own volition, and Rodney couldn't quite remember if Sheppard had always touched him like this - a brush of his fingers across Rodney's hands, tap on the shoulder, hand at the small of his back to guide him, just for an instant. Ronon had ignored Rodney's acid rebuffs from the start, and touched him no more or less than he ever had; Teyla ended most of their weight-room sessions by bringing his forehead down to her own. But Radek had changed his habit of dragging Rodney physically into a new project by the sleeve, and Elizabeth didn't squeeze his arm anymore. Beckett touched him only professionally, moving him around the equipment for his weekly MRIs or adjusting him in the chair to get the best optical scans. It was Rodney's own fault, he knew - he'd actually yelled at Elizabeth once, in the first days, when she'd offered to lead him to the transporter - but perversely he resented the lack at the same time - without sight to connect him to the world, to the people around him, touch had suddenly jumped in importance.
"All right," Rodney said nervously. He reached out, brushing Sheppard's arm on accident, and pulled the first item from its box. "Simpson and Kusanagi put this box together. It's everything that either needs a really strong gene to operate, or is out of juice. We don't know which." He handed the object to Sheppard, then poised his fingers on the keyboard.
"Okay, silver, sort of, um, egg-shaped, 8.636 centimeters at its longest point, 5.08 centimeters across, 25.654 centimeters diameter at widest point. Weighs..." A pause as Sheppard put it on the scale. "Fourteen-point-five-four ounces." Another pause. Rodney had the urge to place his hand on Sheppard's arm, feel him turn the silver egg in his hands - tendons and muscles lean and flexing in his forearms... "There are two striations on the surface - they look almost like stress fractures, though, not really like part of the object. I'm going to -" a minute pause, then a cracking noise. "Uh, okay, so this one's broken," Sheppard said ruefully.
"Hand it over," Rodney said, snapping impatiently. Sheppard placed several pieces into his hands. "Good work," Rodney said. "That was probably the Ancient food replicator or something." He touched each piece - smooth curves of outer shell, and dozens of tiny springs and cogs. "Or, wait." Rodney held it, turning his head up and to the left as he thought, finger pushing the debris around on his palm absently. "Maybe not." He gestured. "One of the disposal bags, if you don't mind." Sheppard rustled and then his hand cupped the underside of Rodney's, guiding him to pour the pieces into the bag with a faint, tinny chime. Sheppard's hand was warm and calloused under his, rough and steady. "A music box," Rodney said. "Or a children's toy. Probably." He pulled his hand away and typed it in, then turned on the stool to face Sheppard again. "Next."
And so it went. Two of the items came to life; one seemed to be a medical scanner of some stripe, and Rodney set it carefully aside for Carson to look at later. The other just... glowed, not appearing to do anything, until John set it down again. The rest of the items remained inert, and were stowed away accordingly. They were nearly to the bottom of the box when Sheppard said "Hey there," in a cheerful tone.
"What's happening?" Rodney asked sharply.
"This little gadget perked right up when my hand even got near it," Sheppard said. Rodney could hear him moving - a barely audible rustle, and then "Hmm, it looks like it has two parts."
"What is it?" Rodney asked. This was the part he hated, although Sheppard was better than most people about talking as he went - Rodney had never known him to talk so much, until he himself had had to shut up and listen. "Colonel?"
"Well, I don't know what it is," Sheppard said, considering. "There's this part -" He grasped Rodney's hand and placed a flattish, irregular box in it, about the size of a deck of cards. "It's got a clip on it, and there are three lights - " he curled his fingers behind Rodney's, guiding them to touch: Rodney felt smooth bumps, perfectly round, tiny. "They're all glowing green right now." He pulled his hand back. "Oh, only two are green when I take my hand away." He poked it again. "Yep, I guess it likes me better."
Rodney rolled his eyes and batted Sheppard's fingers away. "What's the other part?" Rodney asked, hands busy examining the box. A belt clip? Or a clip of some other kind? "We should measure these before we start messing around with them. Hey. There's a pad here," he added, thumb slipping along a narrow line down the back of the clip; it felt different, softer, almost like leather.
"The other part is - " Sheppard lifted the box from his hand, placed the softer second half of the device into his palm. "Here, feel for yourself. I don't know what it is, except it sort of seems to go with the first one. And it was wrapped around it."
And Rodney was, was seeing something - grey and black, blue, amber, a jumble of shapes, blurry colors his brain named even though it couldn't make sense of them.
"Oh," he said, and his voice sounded gut-punched. He moved, grasped for the Colonel's arm to steady himself, saw a corresponding movement, but it was wrong and he still didn't know what he was seeing - he blinked several times, rapid-fire black-white-black-white. "Don't move," he said.
"Rodney, what's wrong?" Sheppard asked, voice taut. "What's going on?"
"I can -" Rodney blinked again, turned his head and saw movement again. "Hold on." He closed his eyes for a moment - darkness, but not as complete as it had been. He opened his eyes again slowly, one hand tight on Sheppard's arm, the other clenched around the soft form of the second object, slick against his sweaty palm. "I'm, I'm seeing something," he said.
"Holy shit," Sheppard breathed. "What do you see?"
"I don't know," Rodney snapped. "It's not making sense, maybe because it's been so long, I don't -"
Sheppard's arm moved - he lifted it and Rodney heard the click as he tapped his radio. "Carson, this is Sheppard, are you there?"
Rodney ducked - there had been another motion, close, toward his face, but -
"Here, Colonel, is something the matter?"
"Rodney and I are coming to the infirmary, we've got - there's something going on with his eyes," Sheppard said tersely. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes." He dropped his hand, twisting it to hold Rodney's wrist again. "Come on, let's go."
"It's not blurry anymore," Rodney murmured to himself.
"What're you seeing?" Sheppard asked, pulling him up.
Everything swooped. "I don't know," Rodney said again, frustrated, stumbling as Sheppard drew him forward. "It was blurry at first, but now all the edges are sharp and clear, it's just, I can't - " He huffed angrily. "I don't know what it means." He bumped into Sheppard's side as they walked, dizzy and beginning to feel a little nauseous. "Slow down," he said. "Everything's moving. And sometimes it goes black for a second, then comes back - like a flicker, like a camera aperture opening and closing, but it's - ungh, slow down - it's irregular."
"Are you seeing around?" Sheppard demanded, halting for a moment. "Are you seeing... walking by things?"
Rodney closed his eyes to get his bearings, then opened them again, slowly. "It would appear so," he said. "Since it all just stopped moving."
"You can't see it when you close your eyes, can you?" Sheppard said. He'd moved again, and again there was the sense of motion, stopping an instant later. Sheppard's voice came from right in front of him. "What're you seeing right now?"
Rodney growled. "What part of I don't know is unclear to you, Colonel?" he demanded. "It's just - shapes. Colors, like, like..." He stopped. "Be still." He lifted his hand; he saw motion. "Skin," he said, low, and put his fingers up. Yes, there was the Colonel's face, solid and real under his fingertips. But the sight was wrong... He sighed and dropped his hand. "I just - I can't tell, yet." He reached for Sheppard's hand - fumbled it, let Sheppard grip his wrist again. "Let's go."
He closed his eyes a couple of times as they walked, fighting dizziness. Each time, though, he forced them open again; by the time the doors to the infirmary hushed open for them, his stomach had adjusted to what his eyes seemed to be telling him, and he was fine. Stomach-wise, at least. Other things were adjusting as well; he thought that maybe he could tell he was looking at doors, walls, windows, beds, people, and his brain had begun filtering out the weird, abrupt moments where the vision blinked out and then back.
"What've we got here, then?" Carson asked, hurrying up to them.
"Carson!" Rodney said. He reached for his arm. Movement again and he felt an abrupt moment of disorientation. "I can see -" but his aim was off and he had to swing his arm to the left to touch Carson's arm. "I thought I could see," he corrected, scowling.
"Come and sit down," Carson said. His hand was solid on Rodney's shoulder and then it was all weird again, he was walking but his eyes were telling him he was standing still.
"Christ," Rodney ground out. He lifted his hands to his face, angry and confused. The Ancient object dropped out of his hand and there was darkness, everything gone black again no no no - "Fuck! Get it back!" he cried, dropping to his knees, groping for the narrow shape.
His hand closed over it and everything came clear.
Everything.
"Be still!" he ordered, and stayed where he was.
Crouched low, rounded curve of heavy shoulders, hands on the floor, one clenched around something - the object, flexible as a strip of leather, warm against his skin. And there was Carson, yes, bending beside him, hand on his shoulder, face all wrought up in concern, mouth opening to speak. And Nurse Armin, frozen by a lab table, Dr. Biro peering curiously from the door of her office.
Movement again and Rodney gritted his teeth and stayed where he was, waiting.
Looking up, finally, turning his head blindly toward Sheppard and seeing himself, blank blue eyes, red face, messy hair that was getting too long.
"I can see whatever Colonel Sheppard is seeing," Rodney said.
He slowly, carefully, settled back onto his ass on the floor, clutching his half of the object and watching the camera-shutter flicker as John Sheppard blinked, once, twice, three times in a row and then sat down beside him, hand tight around the other half of the device.
*
John stayed with Rodney.
"Stop moving," Rodney ground out at one point, and John carefully didn't nod.
"Okay," he said, and sat obediently beside him, trying to look in whatever direction Rodney turned his head. Mostly, though, he just sat, while Beckett bustled around them both, beckoning others to bring him tools, occasionally moving them from one piece of equipment to another.
Rodney went without demur, though he barked his shins several times, reached into the wrong spaces to grasp things, banged elbows and hands as he reached for objects Beckett tried to hand him.
"Should I take it off?" John offered after a while, and Rodney, hand tight around his half of the device, made a face so devastated that John winced in reaction, glad Rodney couldn't see the wince, at least, even if his voice was stiff when he replied, "No, please. I don't care if it screws me up." He smiled, small and not quite solid. "It's worth it."
John smiled, too, and didn't let go of the device.
They experimented with it. The narrow leathery band at the back of the clip had to be against John's skin, it turned out. He clipped it to the waistband of his pants and slouched on the table again. Any part of Rodney's half (a long strip of the same leathery substance, like a wristband - a sort of sensory pad, Beckett said) could be against his skin, and he buckled it around his wrist after a while.
Elizabeth came in briefly; Radek stopped by, examining the device's two parts without moving them away from either Rodney or John. Teyla and Ronon both came in, disheveled with exercise, still sweaty. Teyla drew Rodney's forehead to her own, smiling. Ronon slapped his back hard enough that Rodney grunted, though he didn't move - he stayed still, smiling crookedly.
They all left. Beckett, John and Rodney continued to experiment.
When Rodney closed his eyes, it was like closing his eyes as a seeing person - there was still a certain amount of light. The same when John did it. When either one of them disengaged the device (Sheppard was already calling it a Seeing Eye Dog in his head), Rodney's vision went completely black again. Rodney could see what John's eyes were focused on, but he also had access to the full field of John's vision - if John was looking at a pencil, Rodney could be reading the writing beside it on the page. Depth perception and focus worked the same for Rodney as for John, but he could concentrate on the blurrier things in John's field of vision, picking out details John was unaware of.
Beckett couldn't use the device with Rodney - only two of the little green lights on the box would come up when Beckett held it, no matter how hard he thought on at it.
"So the Colonel is my seeing eye dog, basically," Rodney said, echoing John's thought.
"It would appear that way, yes," Beckett said.
He did scans of every size, shape and color, with the device in use and without. The "without" pictures were identical to the ones he'd done four days ago at Rodney's weekly check-up. The "with" pictures... Beckett hummed and murmured to himself, peering from one set of scans to another, enlarging certain sections on his computer screens, moving pictures around, clicking from one thing to another as John (and his passenger) watched over his shoulder.
"How does it work?" Rodney finally demanded. He was seated beside John on the exam table, banging his heels restlessly against the side of it.
"My first thought is that it's circumventing the damaged neurons completely," Beckett said, not looking away from the computers. "Which is what I had hoped your brain would do all on its own, but we've talked about that - there's some sort of neural blocking occurring, almost certainly as a result of whatever toxins were used in the dart. This device appears to have got around that, however, as I was saying, and it's feeding information directly from Colonel Sheppard's visual cortex to your optical nerve. I haven't quite got why it responds to your blinking as well as the Colonel's, but it may be a protective aspect, to allow the wearer some sort of control of input - a response to muscular movement as opposed to actual vision being cut off..."
John's stomach made a loud noise, and Beckett looked up.
"Perhaps you two should go and have a late dinner," he said, smiling. "If the Colonel's hungry, you must be famished, Rodney." John watched him stand, watched the fond smile he bestowed on Rodney and the way he gripped Rodney's bicep, warm and reassuring. John wondered if it was weird for Rodney, to see those things from such a removed angle. "It'll take me hours, if not days, to analyze what I've gotten from the scans today."
"Do you think -" Rodney stopped, and John saw him swallow, saw how he tried to smooth the emotion away from his face. John shifted his gaze to Beckett, trying to spare Rodney such a close view of his own expressions. "Never mind."
"I don't know if I can use this information to repair your vision, Rodney," Beckett said gently. "I'll have to do a lot more analysis, and it's not going to be as easy as waving a wand over your eyes, even if it is an Ancient wand." He patted Rodney's arm. "So go. Eat, then get some rest. I know the Colonel's had a long day," John snorted; he could still see mud on the floor from the team's post-mission exams, "and I'm certain that you have, as well."
"I'm sure you'll do your best for Rodney, Doc," John said, sliding off the table and turning to place his hand on Rodney's wrist.
Rodney came docilely enough, more a sign of his hunger than John's gift for leadership, he was pretty sure. He allowed John to lead him, calling back over his shoulder to Beckett to hurry it up with that miracle cure, and if he could give people the ATA gene, it shouldn't take him long to figure out a little thing like restoring sight to the blind.
"Geez, Rodney, no pressure," John said, pulling him out the door. "Give the guy a break, he'll do the best he can."
"I know," Rodney said. He walked smoothly enough, only stumbling once, when they entered the transporter. He overcompensated for the angle of John's vision, squashing close to him - warm and solid, John had time to register, before Rodney jerked away to step carefully into a corner of the transporter, hands out until he felt the walls, turning in the small space to face outward again. "Sorry," he muttered.
John tapped the transporter pad, keeping his gaze on the doors. "No problem," he said. "I think you're adjusting pretty well."
Rodney snorted a little. "It's disorienting as hell," he said. They stepped out of the transporter and walked toward the mess hall. "The weirdest thing is constantly seeing myself."
"It's not that bad," John said, smiling a little.
Rodney rolled his eyes, then lurched sideways into John. "Ooh, that was weird," he said.
John laughed.
They ate side by side. There were few people in the cavernous room; the lights were low, kitchen closed. John fetched food from the table always set out against the back wall: cereal and muffins, apple juice to drink. Mostly they were quiet, Rodney practicing reaching for things, although he was aware (as he snapped in response to John's question) that it would all go to hell the minute they weren't seated at this exact distance.
John finished his food and closed his eyes, twisting his neck from side to side.
"Give a guy some warning, would you?" Rodney said, groping after the cup he'd nearly knocked over.
John sighed. "What are you going to do when I want to sleep?" he said. "I don't mind being your seeing eye dog, but I have to sleep and work, too. I can't walk fourteen inches to your right all the time."
"I know," Rodney said, voice low, and John looked sharply at him. His head was down, chin nearly on his chest, and his eyes were closed. John allowed himself to keep his gaze on Rodney, listening as he went on. "This is nice and all, but it's no use, really. I'm no more sighted than I was three hours ago." He lifted his head and John looked away hastily. It was wrong, somehow, that Rodney should see himself looking so defeated.
Oh, he hadn't answered.
John patted Rodney's leg. "At least it gives Carson something to work on," he offered.
"We'll see," Rodney replied, but he sounded more like himself.
"Very funny," John said, and as Rodney sent him a death glare (surprisingly effective, despite his blindness), John poked him in the side.
"Hey!"
John's grin went thoughtful. "Anyway, even if Beckett doesn't get anywhere, this could be pretty useful. In emergencies, you know. Stuff like that."
"God, if I could get you in the lab for two hours a day," Rodney said, sighing with longing.
John cleared his throat hastily. That was a new tone of voice. "Sure," he said without thinking too much. He began stacking plates on the tray, standing up slowly to give Rodney time to react. "I could do that, probably."
He walked Rodney back to his quarters. They stood outside his door, and John watched Rodney's face flicker through panic, sadness, resignation. "You can take it off now, I guess," he said.
John hesitated. "I could, ah." Rodney's head moved, turned toward him blindly. "I could come in. Sit and read something on your computer while you fall asleep. If you want."
Rodney made a face. "You don't have to. I'm capable of falling asleep without you there to sing me lullabies."
John held his hands up. "Whoa, there, McKay, I didn't offer to sing, now." He waved one hand over the door sensor, grinning as Rodney huffed in irritation, Atlantis responding to his gene as much as to the motion, overriding Rodney's locks. "And I can't do this every night, but I can tonight, so," John lifted one shoulder, hopeful that Rodney would hear the shrug in his voice. "Take it or leave it."
It was Rodney's turn to hesitate. He gestured, finally, indicating the door. "Okay, then. It would be nice."
Rodney disappeared into the bathroom; John sat at the desk and appropriated the laptop.
"The guest password is 'Radek loves Elizabeth,' all one word, all lowercase," Rodney called. "Also, I can't tell you how weird it is to pee while I'm looking at my room."
"Close your damn eyes," John called back, typing it in.
"I had to," Rodney yelled. "I'm not so good with the wiping up accidents at the moment."
The toilet flushed, then the water ran. There were a few noises after that, and Rodney emerged wearing boxers and a t-shirt.
"That was one of the more bizarre conversations we've ever had," John said. "Also: 'Radek loves Elizabeth'?"
Rodney grinned. "Just waiting for Zelenka to ask to use it." He sat on the edge of the bed, then flopped back, sprawling on the bedspread.
John looked away, swallowing.
Silence. He settled into the desk chair, stiffening as it creaked, then relaxing. "Sorry," he said quietly.
"Don't worry about it," Rodney said. He shifted - getting under the covers - and sighed. John risked a glance. Rodney lay on his back, arms loose at his sides, eyes half-open, lips curved in a small, crooked smile, more relaxed than John had seen him in weeks.
"Good night," John said, turning his face toward the laptop, eyes unfocused, struggling not to react to Rodney, happy and loose and sprawled in a bed four feet away.
After a while it was easier; he accessed his e-mail from the network and read team reports until he heard a soft, snuffling snore, then two more.
John turned around in the chair, and he watched Rodney sleep for a few minutes before standing and leaving as quietly as he could. He pulled the device from his waistband as he walked, holding it in one palm, looking at it and then closing his fingers carefully around it and stepping into his quarters.
He laid it on his nightstand, ready for tomorrow.
*
Darkness again, the unrelieved darkness of the past six weeks.
Rodney sighed, wondering if he'd dreamed all that. He did still dream with vision - wondered what it would mean if he stopped completely. For the moment, he enjoyed even the weirdest ones. At least he saw faces in his dreams.
Groping for his headset, his hand landed on the band of the Ancient seeing-eye device.
Not a dream, then.
Rodney strapped the band around his wrist again; thought about radioing Sheppard, but he didn't know what time it was, and it would probably be easier to move around his quarters without having to tune out whatever the Colonel was seeing. So he showered and brushed his teeth, shaved carefully, fingers trailing over soapy skin, followed by the razor in the other hand. A quick check of his computer - 6:40 a.m., and he wondered what time he'd fallen asleep last night - led to checking his e-mail. The computer read it to him, radio tucked into his ear.
And suddenly he could see again.
He blinked and the jumbled images resolved into Sheppard's hands, clipping the device to his waistband. Rodney flushed at the unexpected glimpse of Sheppard's underwear, and tapped his radio to a new frequency, away from the one he'd designated as an interface with the computer systems. It wasn't that Sheppard couldn't break into the interface channel, but he'd gotten used to keeping them separate.
"Good morning," Rodney said dryly, and waited, sitting still at his desk as he watched Sheppard retrieve his headset from the nightstand.
"Hey, Rodney, you're awake," Sheppard said quietly.
"Yeah, a little while ago," Rodney said.
"You hungry?"
"Have we not established that I'm awake?" Rodney asked.
Sheppard laughed a little, low and intimate in his ear, and Rodney turned his head away, as if Sheppard could see his reaction. "Yeah, okay. How about I come get you?"
"Take your time, Colonel, I'll just be sitting here looking at whatever you're looking at," Rodney said, smirking.
"Roger that," Sheppard said, and Rodney did - stayed in his chair and watched Sheppard's progress through the corridor, watched the way people smiled at him, the way the wall panels glowed gently as he approached and passed. It was a little disorienting, seeing the sway of his strides this way, but no worse than watching a movie filmed with a hand-held camera. Distinctly disorienting, however, to be confronted with his own face when the door whooshed open before Sheppard, and Rodney blinked several times, as if that would clear his vision.
"That's very bizarre," he said to himself, and fell into step beside Sheppard, one hand touching the Colonel's wrist for guidance when the disorientation grew too strong.
After breakfast Rodney dragged Sheppard to the labs, where they walked from one whiteboard to another, Rodney growing progressively more irascible as he corrected errors, mocked inadequacies, and in a few cases simply erased huge chunks of calculation. Only Simpson protested, and Rodney's reply was (he sincerely hoped) scathing enough that no one else would ever challenge him again. Sheppard stood at his side the entire time, and Rodney was secretly delighted by the ability to shriek out "YOU HAVEN'T EARNED THE RIGHT TO ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME!" at Hewitt. It made him jump very satisfactorily.
That done, Rodney sat down with Radek and began going over blueprints and schematics that had been difficult to assess without being able to physically look at them. Sheppard was actually useful, there, putting in information about manpower and space usage needs that made Radek look at him with interest.
"What?" Sheppard said. "I'm not actually stupid."
"Yes, yes, you're a prodigy," Rodney said, patting his arm, and then had to remind Sheppard to look back at the computer screen, as all Rodney was seeing was his own face, and pleasant as that was, the glare was being wasted right along with Rodney's valuable time, so if the Colonel could please focus. Sheppard flipped him off, being sure to hold his hand up where Rodney would get a good view, and then turned his gaze back to the schematics.
Radek muttered something that sounded obscene, but Radek was always doing that.
"Rodney, I gotta go," Sheppard said finally, and Rodney saw his own face fall.
He controlled it admirably, though, he thought, and nodded. "I suppose so," he said. "Although really you're much more useful here than you will be off getting beaten up by Teyla, or barking orders at Lorne, or whatever it is you do all day."
"I know, it's nothing useful or worthy," Sheppard deadpanned. "Just protecting our asses from the Wraith, and Replicators, getting food, stuff like that."
"Ha," Rodney snorted.
"You ready?" Sheppard asked.
"I suppose so," Rodney said, unable to hide the unhappiness in his voice.
"Hey, I'll be back to hang out later, buddy," Sheppard said, and took off the belt-clip.
Blackness, and Rodney tried to hide his shudder, waving nonchalantly in Sheppard's general direction. "Have fun. I'm radioing Teyla to tell her to go extra hard on you."
"Don't cripple your seeing eye dog," Sheppard said, and Rodney was still for a moment, listening to his bootsteps recede.
"So if you are done being sad and pathetic," Radek said loudly at his left.
"You are the most annoying man I have ever met," Rodney said, and snapped his fingers impatiently. "Send those equations Simpson was so proud of to my laptop," he said. "I've got more career-destroying shredding - I mean, constructive criticism - to do."
*
The days settled into a pattern. Mornings with Rodney, trailing him around the labs, standing close enough that John could inhale his scent easily, keeping himself from looking at him too often, from giving away his fascination by swaying too close, touching more than could be explained by guidance. Afternoons, John spent in his office or on missions, working with new recruits, scribbling his signature on anything Lorne presented to him, and eventually meeting with Rodney in the infirmary for another set of scans to ensure that he and Rodney weren't damaging themselves with the SED (Seeing Eye Dog, of course) device. Afterward, they would eat, sometimes with Carson, other times settling at a table in the mess hall with Teyla, Ronon, Radek, or Elizabeth.
John couldn't stay with Rodney every night as he fell asleep.
He did once or twice, but mostly there was simply too much to do. Also, all the proximity was taking its toll, and often by the end of dinner, John needed to get away, take the device off and lie in his bed, hands running over his skin, eyes closed, imagining it was Rodney touching him. He knew Rodney's scent so well by now - coffee, soap, faint hint of aftershave - and stored up images of those quick, sensitive hands for the moments in his bed, half-dreaming, hard and wanting and more out of control than he'd ever wanted to be. He constructed a thousand (new) fantasies, scenarios in which Rodney lifted John's shirt, shoved pushy hands into his pants, mapped his body by touch alone. John never got very far into these stories - it took less and less, it seemed, to push him over the edge, even when he wanted to go slow. But Rodney was too close, too present, to escape, and John's defenses were being worn away.
Sometimes he fell asleep right after he came. Sometimes he lay awake, thinking about his own idiocy. Sometimes he got up and went back to work, or for a run.
*
When Carson summoned them both to the infirmary in the late afternoon, John was always sort of relieved. Another day without a Wraith attack, no Replicators to run from, no panic-inducing attacks. More time with Rodney.
"You want me to come get you?" he said to Rodney over the radio on the fourth day.
He was answered with a snort. "I think I can manage to get to the infirmary without you," Rodney replied, and the radio went abruptly silent in John's ear.
Okay, then.
Carson scanned them both again; the device didn't seem to be damaging either of them or causing any stress, which made the doc cheerful.
"Rodney," he said, helping him sit up on the MRI table, once the machinery had been retracted, "I may have good news. Dr. Yee has some ideas about how the device is working. Looking at the way it's bypassing the damaged neurons has led to some interesting ideas about retraining your own optical pathways."
"I thought my own brain was supposed to be able to do that," Rodney said.
"We had hoped so, as you know," Carson said, patting Rodney's leg. "But the brain is a mysterious place, and it's hard to say why some injuries can be compensated for, while others cannot. Dr. Yee and I are working on a, well, call it a neural stimulant, based on what the device seems to do. Basically, it's as if the toxins that damaged your eyesight left behind scar tissue. Watching the way the SED works is giving us ideas about breaking down the scar tissue and restoring the original pathways that allow you to see."
"How long..." Rodney stopped and swallowed, and John fought the urge to touch him.
"It won't be today or tomorrow, or even next week," Carson warned gently. "We do have an advantage here, in that the Ancient machines can run much more accurate simulations on potential side-effects. But even with that help, it'll take some time to get the balance of chemicals and carriers right."
Rodney was quiet for a moment, blinking quickly. "Just." He stopped and swallowed, and John looked at Carson, but that wasn't much better. So John looked instead at the wall behind Carson's head, until Rodney spoke again. "Take your time," he said, and he almost sounded normal. "We're doing fine. I'd rather you got it right, considering that we're talking about my eyes, here."
"That's it, Rodney," Carson, and patted Rodney's leg. "All right, off with the both of you, and I'll be getting back to my work."
They hopped off the table. "At least things have been quiet," John offered.
Rodney turned to him, a look of utter amazement on his face. "Oh my god, are you an idiot?" They walked out of the infirmary, Rodney bitching all the way to the mess that John was going to get them all killed by carelessly making statements like "that! That kind of rampant optimism is always what leads to the heroes' horrible deaths! Now the Wraith, the Replicators and the Genii are going to attack all at once, don't you know anything?"
"The Genii are our allies these days," John pointed out, stepping into the mess.
Rodney rolled his eyes (and lurched into John). "That's what they want us to think," he said.
~*~
Notes: This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Continues straight on from here.
~*~
"Now what?"
"Now be still so I can get a good look," Rodney said. He tapped unconsciously at the edge of the table. "All right, pull the fourth crystal. STOP!" John's fingers stopped. "Put the damned gloves on," Rodney snapped. "Your hair's excitable enough, I don't think you want a few extra volts to add that certain something, and we can't count on the grounding in any of the consoles at the moment. You should've seen Zelenka's hair yesterday morning."
"You could see a difference?" John's hands disappeared for a moment; Rodney closed his eyes and reopened them in time to see Sheppard's gloved fingers gently pull the fourth crystal from its tray. "Okay," Sheppard said into his ear.
"Put it into the magnifier," Rodney said, and Sheppard slotted the smudged crystal into the handheld machine. The display lit up with a schematic and Rodney examined it. "Okay, hold on, I need to look something up," he said. He closed his eyes and began typing. "Okay, do you see a broken connection between the E14 and the E19 filaments?"
A pause, then John's voice. "Yeah, got it."
"Can you mend it? Use the number three welder." Rodney opened his eyes again, watching Sheppard wield the microwelder with commendable precision. "That's good, good - stop now, you don't want to weaken it any more than you have to."
Sheppard stopped, moving the tools back, leaving the magnifier screen clear. Rodney could see the lumpy place where the two filaments had been rejoined. "Okay?" Sheppard said.
"Yeah. Pop it back in and see what happens." Rodney shrugged his shoulders as Sheppard tapped the crystal back into place, trying to relieve a little of the tension. He'd been hunched here for... a while. Five hours? Something like that. And Sheppard's hands were steady enough while he repaired the filaments within the crystals, but as he drew them back, Rodney saw a minor tremor. Five hours this stretch, dinner before that, six and a half hours in the lab before that - it added up.
"It's in," Sheppard said, pushing the tray back into its console. "What do you show?"
"Give me a sec," Rodney snapped, already closing his eyes, tapping at the computer and waiting for Atlantis to tell him whether the water lines were working again. "Hey," he said a moment later, smiling. "That did it."
"For now," Sheppard said, and Rodney could hear all his own irritation and exhaustion in Sheppard's voice.
"Take a break," Rodney said, making a quick decision. "I'm going to get Zelenka and Simpson and maybe Kusanagi in here, see what they've been doing. We need to find the common thread, figure out what's going wrong."
"That would be good," Sheppard replied, exaggerated patience in his voice.
"Go," Rodney said, and he closed his eyes for a second as Sheppard rose. "You can take off the SED if you want. Also, have a shower, now that we've got the lines repaired."
"Okay," came the reply, and Rodney opened his eyes again, braced for the blackness.
It came, and he spent five second wishing Sheppard would wear the SED into the shower, then pushed back from his desk with a sigh and tapped the radio over to the science channel. "Radek, when you and Simpson are done in the infirmary, bring Miko and come to my lab. We need to find a cause."
"I have some thoughts," Zelenka said into his ear, sounding dark.
"Shocking," Rodney replied, then clicked off his radio and rummaged through his desk drawer for a snack.
*
It took four more days to trace the cause to a persistent software glitch - a naturally occurring computer virus, for all intents and purposes.
"The Replicators," Rodney told John as they hunched over a laptop together, John's eyes dry and burning as he watched line after line of code scroll by. "They installed their own software, and suffice it to say, ten thousand years of divergent computer evolution led to some conflicts."
John hit the space bar to pause the steady progression of numbers. "Sorry, just needed a second," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Why would they install buggy software if they intended to stay here?"
Rodney bumped him with his shoulder and tapped the space bar again the instant John's eyes were open again. "Suck it up, Sheppard," he said. "They didn't know the software was buggy," he explained in his you are exceptionally slow voice. "It just didn't jive with the Ancients' code. At first the problems were small ones, and Atlantis compensated, but little viruses become big viruses if they're not chased down, and now the problems are, one, systemic, and two, big."
"No kidding," John, who'd been stuck in a transporter with Miko for forty-five minutes that morning, said. "How long is this going to take?"
"I don't know," Rodney said. He paused the scrolling again, highlighted a chunk of numbers, pasted it into a document and shot it to the science staff at large. "We've got everyone on this, but it takes a certain kind of, of," his hand waved in the corner of John's vision, "call it sensitivity to patterns, to spot the fishy places in the code."
John reached for his coffee, carefully keeping his eyes on the screen as he sipped. "Why can't you just write a program to find the errors?" Seriously, Rodney's sheer persistence was terrifying. John had known it, but knowing it and being held captive by it, sitting beside him and staring at a computer screen for eleven hours at a time, were two different things.
Rodney sighed heavily. "We are," he said. "Radek, Simpson and I do the error-spotting; we send the buggy bits of code out to everyone, and anyone who's not actively ensuring that we don't drown in our own sewage, or sink, or go dead in the water, works on integrating our patterns into a detection program." He patted John's leg absently. "Don't worry, we should be done in a few more hours."
"And then what?" John asked, shifting on the bench.
"Then we - by which I mean Simpson, she's far and away the best programmer, although Ochoa has a certain flair as well - writes a fast and dirty integration hack, we feed it into Atlantis, Atlantis goes and finds the buggy software, and everything goes back to normal."
John slumped sideways, resting his head on his fist, head tipped sideways. "Great," he said.
"Sit up straight," Rodney snapped. "You're giving me vertigo." His elbow dug into John's ribs.
"I have to pee," John said quietly, straightening into a vertical slouch.
Rodney was busy highlighting another fifteen lines of code. "Hold it," he said, and John sighed.
*
"No ill effects," Carson said, and Rodney yawned, feeling his jaw crack with the effort of it. "Hasn't hurt your eyes, and the only thing wrong with either of you is sleep deprivation."
"So how about you let us go take care of that?" Sheppard said hopefully, and Rodney mumbled agreement.
"Aye, I will. A moment, though."
Rodney groaned. "That's a moment I could be using to sleep, Carson, so if you're going to launch into your lecture on caffeine-intake-as-substance-abuse, can you just save it? I promise to come in tomorrow and nod dutifully if you'll just skip it for now."
He'd gotten used to seeing himself through Sheppard's eyes, and he could mostly ignore his own face and figure to pay attention to everything else. Now he watched Carson's eyes… twinkle, and wow, he'd never known people really did that.
"I'm perfectly happy to let you sleep, John, Rodney, but I thought you both might like to know that Dr. Yee and I have come up with a possible treatment for your eyes, Rodney, working with data from both of your visual scans."
Sheppard's eyes flicked from Carson to Rodney and then back to Carson - still, Rodney couldn't help but see the naked hope on his own face, visible just for that moment. He stuttered for a moment, disoriented. "I - really? Can I take it now? How does it work?" He waved his hand, seeing it in the corner of his eye. "No, who cares, it's not like the explanation will make sense anyway. Can I try it now?"
Carson was smiling, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. "Listen - are you awake enough to listen?"
"I am now," Rodney said. "C'mon, c'mon." He snapped his fingers, blinking when John reached for his hand to still it, squeezing it and putting it back down on his leg.
"Let the man talk, Rodney," Sheppard said, thumb rubbing over Rodney's wrist bone for an instant as he pulled his hand away.
"It's basically a harmless viral carrier for several types of chemicals," Carson said. "We've tested it in all the lab devices and on the mice, and although of course none of the mice have your impairment," he hurried on as Rodney opened his mouth with a scorching comment, "the injection at least did their optic systems no harm, so even if the chemicals don't do as we hope they will, they won't increase the damage."
"How long will it take to work?" Rodney asked. His palms were sweating, and he rubbed them along his thighs anxiously.
"We believe the safest route to take is one of daily injections for a week, to introduce the changes gradually and let your body complete the repair work once the inhibiting factors from the toxin are out of the way," Carson replied. "We'd like to inject you before bed each night."
"Let's go," Rodney said, rolling up his sleeve.
He heard Sheppard's low, amused snort from his right.
"Listen, though," Carson said. "I'll give you the first injection tonight, that's fine. But starting tomorrow, you mustn't use the SED device anymore."
Rodney cocked his head at the same moment Sheppard did - luckily in the same direction.
"You think it'll interfere with Rodney's own vision," Sheppard said.
"That's ridiculous," Rodney said. "We think the SED was created so that experts could help workers in situations where the experts couldn't get there, or when it wasn't safe for them to be in certain areas - like when Sheppard repaired the water lines while I gave him instructions by watching the SED. You can't tell me every Ancient expert was blind." He heard his voice spiraling upward, saw his own face flushing red as Sheppard turned his head to look at him.
"No, of course not," Carson said. "But yours is a special case, Rodney, and your brain will be confused enough, dealing with relearning how to see with your own optical nerve."
"It's just for a week, anyway," Sheppard put in, and there was his hand again, warm and calm on Rodney's back. "If it doesn't work and we have to start over again, we can use the SED again, no problem." And there was Carson's nodding head. "Right, doc?"
"Absolutely," Carson said, "and you may begin to regain your sight in as few as four or five days, Rodney. It might not take the full seven."
Rodney shook his head, not in negation. "I'm being ridiculous," he said, exhaustion washing over him, over the initial rush of adrenalin, dulling his first gut-level reaction. "It's fine, we can - I can go without my seeing eye dog for seven days, if I get my eyes back in return."
"I'll still be your seeing eye dog," Sheppard said. "Don't worry about it."
Rodney snorted. "Yes, I'm sure you'll be oh-so-sad to get away from listening to me rant my way through the labs. Not to mention staring at computer screens for eighteen hours straight. Not to mention -"
"Don't worry about it," Sheppard repeated, more quietly, and Rodney subsided into weary silence, watching Carson bustle away to fetch his and Dr. Yee's miracle drug from the infirmary refrigerator.
Rodney hated injections, always had. Still, the chill of the fluid being pushed into his vein felt terrifyingly like hope, and he closed his eyes for an instant, waiting for the cold to thread its way through his body.
*
"So this is it," John said, stopping in front of Rodney's door with him. "You want me to come in and read while you fall asleep?"
Rodney rolled his eyes, listing slightly to the left before straightening himself. "You're as tired as I am, don't be an idiot," he said. His expression softened a little. "But thanks anyway." He hesitated, mouth half open, and John waited to see if he wanted to say anything else.
Apparently not. "Okay," John said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, then, good night." He started to turn away, not trying to decipher whatever it was that lay under his exhaustion - happiness for Rodney, resignation that they wouldn't get to spend their days so close, anticipation of being back out in the field with his team, having them whole again, with him.
Rodney stopped him, a hand on his arm. "Colonel," he said.
"Yeah," John answered, turning back around.
"Turn that - turn the SED off," Rodney said, waving one hand vaguely. "I can't - just. Please."
"Okay," John said, and unclipped the box from his pants. He slid it into his pocket. "Better?"
"Yes," Rodney said. "I just wanted to. Say." He reached for John's arm once more, unerring even though his eyes were unfocused again, blank and bright and tired, circles under them, his soft hair flat and lank against his head. "Thanks. I mean - for everything." He pulled at John's arm, moving awkwardly forward, and John stumbled into him, and what was he - did he? What - ?
Oh. He wanted to give John a hug.
John went with it: let Rodney tuck his chin over his shoulder and pat his back for a second. John patted back, uncertainly. "It's fine," he said into Rodney's hair, starting to pull back with one final, too-hearty thump. "You'd do the same for any of us."
Rodney didn't let go. "I think I'm nervous," he said, and abruptly jerked John closer, turning his head so his face was right against John's neck. "Um. Sorry." But he didn't let go - his hands were kind of fisted in the back of John's t-shirt - and John stopped trying to get away.
He stood there, letting Rodney clutch him. After a moment John settled his hovering hands onto Rodney's shirt again - not patting this time, just there, on Rodney's warm, broad back. "It's okay," John said. "We're both tired."
"Yes," Rodney said, breathing steadily into his neck.
A minute later he pulled back; his face was pink. "I'm really tired, and that's why I'm doing this," he said, voice unexpectedly firm. He tipped his face up to John's and kissed him, a soft brush of lips, whisper of stubble across John's and coffee-scented breath exhaled against his mouth. "Okay," Rodney said. "Good night."
And he stepped back, waving his hand and entering his quarters while John stood where he was, mouth open, hands empty.
*
Sheppard didn't say anything about it the next day. Showed up at his door at about the usual time, walked to the mess with him same as always, guided him with a hand lightly on Rodney's back just as usual. Sheppard sat them both down with Teyla and Ronon at breakfast, ran interception when Rodney threatened to make sure the transporters reassembled Ronon in six different places in retaliation for Ronon stealing his muffin.
How tired had Rodney been last night?
Rodney still felt weary, from the day (days) before, from knowing the darkness behind his eyes wouldn't be relieved for days yet to come if at all. Put together, those facts made him cranky. It had nothing to do with his own stupidity last night, he told himself, or with the creeping, insidious hope and fear all wrapped up in the drug now working its magic (he assumed, wished) behind his eyes. It was easier to pretend those things with Sheppard acting as if nothing had happened, thank god.
The day settled into some weird semblance of normality. Sheppard didn't come with him to the lab after breakfast, but he was there at the later briefing, when Rodney reported that Simpson and Ochoa's programming seemed to be working, Atlantis' internal sensors speeding so quickly through her own systems to cleanse them of the conflicts that it was almost, Rodney said, as if she was affronted to find herself anything less than perfect. He heard Sheppard's soft puff of amusement beside him, and relaxed a little more.
His team - still his team, although now it was Zelenka who hefted the backpack-cum-datapad, who snapped a tac vest closed over his skinny frame - went on a mission that afternoon. Rodney spent the time, as had become his habit, working in the gate room, passing the hours with a survey of secondary systems, ensuring that they were as healthy as the primaries after the stresses of the past week.
People seemed to assume that blindness equated with deafness, he'd found, and he picked up some truly diabolical gossip, listening to Campbell murmuring with Sergeant Hanlon. Rodney filed the information away for later; Jensen had a stash of Cadbury's she'd been flaunting in the common lab, and she'd probably hand over at least three bars to keep him quiet. Four if he'd drop a word to Campbell or Hanlon and get them off the scent, Rodney thought.
The team came back whole and cheerful four hours later, voices loose and easy, Ronon rumbling in response to Teyla's alto statements, Zelenka chattering to Sheppard about medieval street patterns and the uselessness of such defenses against airborne enemies, Sheppard's laconic replies just as they should be - just as they always were. Rodney carefully didn't turn his head toward them, tipping his face down to the laptop instead, fingers flying across the keys as his radio droned away in his ear, flat and mechanical.
"Hey, Rodney," broke in, and Rodney jumped and jerked his chin up, reaching to tap at his earpiece.
"Yes, Colonel?" he asked with exaggerated patience. "Working, here."
"Yeah, I know." His voice was warm, slow, perfectly familiar in the radio, although the team was leaving the gate room - Rodney could hear them moving away, Zelenka talking to Teyla or Ronon now. "Teyla wants you to work out with her later."
"I'm sure Teyla is capable of interrupting me herself," Rodney snapped. "Did you need something?" He jumped and yelped as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
"Just wanted to say hi," Sheppard said, voice clear and echoing in stereo: the radio feeding him the sound in one ear, Sheppard's breath against the other.
"Jesus," Rodney said, turning in his chair and glaring at where Sheppard ought to be. "Do you think I need a stroke on top of my current medical issues?"
"Just keeping you on your toes," Sheppard drawled, straightening (Rodney assumed), hand dropping from Rodney's shoulder as his voice moved away. "See you at dinner."
"Asshole," Rodney muttered, and Sheppard's snicker only came from his radio, this time - he was already gone.
That night, Sheppard showed up at the infirmary just as Carson was hooking Rodney up to the monitors to check him, post-injection.
"How's it going?" Sheppard asked, hopping up to sit beside Rodney on the examination table. His hand bumped Rodney's where it gripped the edge of the padded surface, and Rodney opened his mouth to reply, side-tracked by the bare brush of Sheppard's pinky against his.
"I think it's going well, Colonel," Beckett said, and Rodney closed his mouth and made a face, turning his head toward the Scottish lilt, away from Sheppard's warmth beside him.
"You said there was no appreciable change," Rodney said. "Also, Dr. Yee sucks at giving shots." He rubbed his arm and glared at the empty darkness.
"Way to make me want to improve," Dr. Yee called from across the quiet room.
"I control your hot water," Rodney snapped.
"She kinda controls your chances, McKay," Sheppard said.
"Settle down," Beckett said, bundling the blood pressure cuff around Rodney's bicep. "We didn't expect to see a measurable change today, and also I'd like to get an accurate reading, if you don't mind."
Rodney subsided into sullen silence, too aware of Sheppard at his right, the heavy swing of his boots from the table, the unwavering contact against the side of his finger, along his hand.
"Ronon came to the weight room with Teyla and me," Rodney said as the cuff began loosening with a hiss.
Sheppard shifted next to him. "Yeah, he does that."
"I'm just glad I couldn't see him to be intimidated," Rodney said. "He can probably bench press me. With one hand." Sheppard snorted and started to reply.
"Pressure's good," Beckett broke in, ripping the velcro band off. "Everything looks fine, Rodney. Take him off to bed, Colonel, would you?"
Rodney felt the flush sweep over his face, so hot and fast sweat broke out on the back of his neck. "I can find my own way," he said, scowling in Beckett's direction. He stood abruptly, reaching into his pocket for the life-signs detector he'd been using all day. "I don't need the Colonel to take me anywhere."
He stomped through the (thankfully deserted) infirmary, keeping up the pace through the equally empty corridors, grateful for the late hour and sparse population.
"Rodney, wait up." Of fucking course.
"Yes?" Rodney channeled all his humiliation into irritation. "I really can find my quarters without any help, you know."
"Hey." Sheppard was beside him now; Rodney turned away again, continuing his march through the hallway. "I know that."
"What do you want?" Rodney asked. He stepped into the transporter, Sheppard close beside him. "Personal quarters," Rodney said, touching his hand to the sensor pad.
There was a brief tingle as they disappeared and then phased back in.
"That's pretty cool," Sheppard said. Rodney could feel him, right at his heels as he moved out of the transporter, listening with half an ear to the click of the life-signs detector.
"What's cool?" Rodney asked, scowling to himself. Sheppard was on his right again, keeping pace easily. Damn the man for having quarters three doors away from Rodney's, anyway.
"Just - being able to say it. Having the computer understand you. It's very… Star Trek."
"Oh." Four doors, three, two: Rodney stopped. "Yes, it's cool." He waved a hand at the left side of the door, listening for the metallic hiss. As fresh air washed over his face, he began to step forward, was stopped by a hand on his arm. "What?" Rodney said, unable to keep the desperation - desperation to get away - out of his voice.
"I'm just - uh." Sheppard's hand loosened on his arm, but didn't let go. "You know."
Rodney heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping. "No, Colonel, I don't know. I don't speak Sheppardese, or whatever non-language you happen to be not-communicating in today." He gestured toward his quarters with his free hand. "I just really, really want to get to bed." The flush was (surprisingly) just as painful the second time. "To sleep." He turned his head away from Sheppard, whose fingers tightened and then relaxed on his arm - but didn't release.
"Okay," Sheppard said. "I guess you must be pretty, uh, tired."
"Exactly," Rodney said gratefully, pulling away, "I'm just tired," and oh, crap, he'd said that last night, hadn't he? He jerked his arm away from Sheppard, but Sheppard still didn't let go. Instead his grip firmed, and Rodney stumbled back a little, trying to get away, but - oh - Sheppard's other hand was cupping his cheek and Rodney couldn't see him, maybe, but Sheppard had stepped right up close to him, nearly against him. Rodney could feel his body heat, sense his warm, solid presence far, far too close.
"I'm pretty tired, too," Sheppard said, low and slightly hoarse; his palm was a little sweaty against Rodney's burning cheek. Rodney couldn't help it; he turned his head with the pressure from Sheppard's hand, mouth already softening even though he knew he must be hallucinating, the injections were probably doing irreparable damage to his precious brain, because otherwise he would be forced to believe that, that -
- that Sheppard's lips were brushing over his own, soft and then firm and then gone.
Sheppard's hand dropped away, too, and it should have left a cool place behind, but Rodney's face was hotter there, instead.
"Good night," Sheppard said, and Rodney stood where he was (like an idiot, he thought furiously, but he was still somehow unable to make his feet move at all) until he heard Sheppard's door open and close, halfway down the hall.
Rodney advanced into his own quarters as if he was sleepwalking, waving a shaky hand at the inside panel to lock it behind himself and leaning back against the cool metal, licking his lips and wondering how Sheppard had looked when he'd kissed him.
*
John walked through his door and fell onto the bed, rolling to his side to land, pressing the heel of his hand against his erection, choking back a groan at the thought of Rodney's wide blue eyes, his soft, crooked mouth. He'd kissed John back, quick as the whole thing had been: parted his lips and kissed back. Terror and elation twisted in John's belly, and he stifled a laugh at his sweating palms and quick-beating pulse, no better or cooler than when he'd been fourteen and dared to kiss Jennifer Keagan behind the equipment shed at school.
He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, unbuttoning his pants with a sharp tug at the placket. He pulled himself out and began stroking fast and tight, the thin smear of his precome making it easier, hips stuttering into his hand. He hoped he'd left Rodney good and hard, too. John jerked off reckless and wanton, mouth open on shallow breaths, wondering if Rodney was doing the same thing a few doors away. The thought was enough to bring him to the edge, and four strokes later he came, gasping out his orgasm as his body curled tight and then melted slowly into bonelessness.
John opened his eyes and looked blindly at the pale wash of moonlight on the other side of his window. He wouldn't say anything to Rodney in the morning. But maybe tomorrow night he'd kiss him again.
*
Rodney avoided Sheppard in the morning by the expedient of getting up while he knew the colonel would be running with Ronon. He sat with Radek in the mess at breakfast and was just getting up to leave when he heard Teyla, Ronon and Sheppard enter, their voices clear over the low chatter of the other diners.
"Come on," Rodney said to Zelenka, snapping his fingers, "chop-chop. You've got some time to make up for missing yesterday afternoon, let's go."
Zelenka grumbled something with too many consonants and carried Rodney's tray for him. "Is not my fault I was away from the lab yesterday afternoon," he said.
Rodney was already making his way out of the mess hall. "Yes, you're a real team player, I feel for your terrible sacrifice in the face of my slightly annoying disability. Let's go."
"Hey, Rodney," Sheppard said, and goddamn him, did he have to sound so normal?
"Good morning," Rodney said. "Teyla, Ronon. Zelenka and I were just leaving. Have a good breakfast." He waved his right hand around until he felt Zelenka's arm; grabbed it and shoved him, holding tight. "Right, Radek?"
"They have labor laws, you know," Zelenka said, moving forward. "I don’t get paid enough for this."
"Yes, your life is very hard, we're all sympathetic, I weep for your pain."
"Hey, I'll see you in the morning meeting," Sheppard called after them, and Rodney waved the life-signs detector behind himself as Radek led him through the door.
Sheppard sat right beside him at the meeting and - further! worse! - kept pulling Rodney's laptop over to himself and typing notes to Rodney: notes which his radio repeated into his ear. Rodney was torn between wanting to murder Sheppard and wanting to kiss him (again, and oh god), since the most interesting topic raised in the meeting - once Rodney's report on systems repairs was done - was whether or not general funds could be found to hire four Athosians as housekeeping staff. And if they could, how much would it cost, and what currency would be used, and seriously. Sheppard's speculation on who would win a smack-down, Daleks or Replicators, was manna from heaven, even if it was irritating to have his laptop stolen every three minutes.
Rodney escaped after that, back to the labs to make sure everyone was back on their scheduled projects, and inform a few people of the egregious errors he'd found while they were off keeping the city afloat.
"I don't know, Edarov, maybe I'll just keep you in environmental," Rodney said thoughtfully, tapping his chin.
"Those are automated systems," Edarov protested, "I have three delicate experiments in progress at the moment, you can't reassign me!"
"You have one delicate experiment in progress, because numbers two and three are useless, useless, useless, and I thought maybe," Rodney jutted his chin forward, "you might be able to handle sitting in a small room and turning the thermostat up and down, given careful instruction, rather than creating a backflow problem in four systems, which you would have if I hadn't put your first two simulations on hold!" Five minutes and some back-and-forth yelling later, Edarov's projects had been relegated to unconnected systems in a deserted lab, Edarov himself had been relegated to the deserted lab, and Rodney was able to settle down with his fourth cup of coffee and a Powerbar for lunch.
He figured he could keep this up all day, wheedle Zelenka or Ochoa into bringing him lunch and dinner, come back to the lab and work late, and get his nightly injection and scan after Sheppard had gone to bed.
Which meant, of course, that Sheppard showed up just outside the infirmary as a click on the life-signs detector and a thorn in Rodney's side. "Hey, I was just coming to see how things are going with the treatment," the Colonel said, and Rodney carefully didn't slam his head into the nearest wall.
"I don't know," he said patiently as the infirmary doors hissed open, "I'm just going in to let Beckett stab me."
"It'll be me tonight," Dr. Yee said, and Rodney flinched from her cold hand as she led him to the scanners. "Let's run a check, see what's happening, and then I'll do the injection."
"Where's Beckett?" Rodney whined. He lay down on the table and curled his hands into fists. "You'd think being blind would make the claustrophobia better," he said to Sheppard as the machine hummed and closed over his head.
"Or drive you completely insane," Sheppard said cheerfully. "You know, what with the darkness, not being able to see, all that."
"Dr. Beckett's shift ended forty minutes ago," Dr. Yee said. "Okay, I'm all done - I'm opening the machine now. Stay here while I hook up the imaging screen - I was using it in the other room." Her voice was disappearing even as she spoke.
Rodney tried to sit up, was stopped by a hand on his chest. "Hold on, Rodney, it's not done retracting yet." There was a tug and he felt the brush of Sheppard's knuckles against his chest as Sheppard grabbed his shirt and helped him sit up on the table. "There you go." The hand disappeared; Rodney swallowed.
"She's really not good at giving shots," he said after a moment of silence. "I think I have a bruise from yesterday."
"Let me see," Sheppard said. "I'll tell you."
"No, that's okay," Rodney replied quickly. "It's fine. I'm sure it's fine."
Another silence, and Rodney was relieved to hear the click of Dr. Yee's shoes on the ceramic flooring. "All right, here we are," she said. "There's some progress being made - I can see changes in about 20 percent of the damaged area, with the affected neurons looking more like the surrounding cells."
"Let me see," Sheppard said, and there was murmuring, Dr. Yee pointing to various spots on the screen while Rodney twitched where he sat.
Hope and irritation and the absolute certainty that he would somehow jinx himself if he acted happy all combined to make him feel tired and edgy and just generally pissed off. "Hello," he said loudly, "do you mind? Feel free to come in tomorrow for a lecture on my condition, Colonel, but for now, could I please get my injection and get out of here?"
"He's just tired," Sheppard said, with absolutely no inflection beyond amused tolerance, and Rodney made an effort not to grab for the viewer and bludgeon him to death with it.
"Seriously," Rodney said. "Doctor, please?"
"I've got it ready, let me just get it from the fridge," she said, and Rodney rolled up his sleeve, waiting impatiently.
"No bruise," Sheppard commented.
"…Great," Rodney said, closing his eyes. "Thanks."
"No problem," Sheppard said, and then Dr. Yee was back, and there was the cold swipe with alcohol, then the cold push of the needle into his arm.
"Sit here for a couple of minutes; I'll do your blood pressure and check your temp, then you can go," she said.
Rodney spent two minutes not talking. He could hear Dr. Yee moving around the room, and Sheppard's occasional shift of posture from the doorway. Eventually Dr. Yee came back and checked his pressure, stuck a thermometer into his ear, and pronounced him fit and released.
"So those fruits we traded for yesterday," Sheppard said as they walked through the corridors toward their quarters. "Have you seen - I mean, have you held one?"
"No," Rodney replied shortly.
"They're, uh, blue, like a blueberry -"
"I recall the concept," Rodney said, feeling his way into the transporter.
Sheppard reached past him to push the sensor pad - Rodney felt the brush of his arm before Sheppard went to stand on the other side of the tiny closet. "Yeah, so they're blue, and round, about -" they phased out, phased back in, stepped out of the transporter - "the size of a clementine, you know, those little oranges."
"If you're about to tell me a fascinating tale of cultural anthropology in which someone makes a comment about a blue orange, I will murder you where you stand," Rodney said, counting down to his door.
"No," Sheppard said, still right beside him, "I was just going to say you have to peel them, and they taste just like bananas."
Rodney stopped outside his door. "That's it?"
Sheppard stopped, too - Rodney could hear him shift his weight from foot to foot. "Yep. That's it."
"Really it's amazing I let any of you live," Rodney said, but his heart wasn't in it. He waited a moment to see whether Sheppard would do anything, say anything, and finally sighed. "Well, good night, Colonel," he said, and turned toward his door, lifting his hand toward the lock.
"Hey, Rodney," Sheppard said.
"Jesus Christ, finally," Rodney said. He turned and grabbed Sheppard. It flashed through his head just how stupid he would look if he tried to kiss him and missed, but then Sheppard's guiding hand was on his cheek, just like it had been last night, and his mouth met Rodney's with only the briefest of hesitations.
His lips were damp and soft - Rodney thought of him licking them and made a noise somewhere in his throat - and there was nothing hesitant about this kiss. Sheppard's mouth opened easily against Rodney's, sure and eager; his thumb stroked along Rodney's jaw, leaving a bright trail of sensation that burned like a brand.
Rodney tightened his grip on Sheppard's arms. The life-signs detector dug into his palm, had to be digging into Sheppard's arm, but neither of them flinched away until Rodney had practically forgotten what oxygen tasted like, replaced it with the taste of Sheppard's tongue, the slick-smooth surfaces hidden within his mouth, arousal and need and Sheppard's fingers light on his face.
They broke apart to breathe - Sheppard's noisy inhale in Rodney's ear made him jump and let go. The life-signs detector dropped to the floor with a clatter and Rodney startled again, even as he gulped air, wished he could just drag Sheppard into his quarters.
"Jeez," Sheppard said, low and still close, though his hand had fallen away when Rodney started back.
Rodney waited for something else; when it didn't come he felt his shoulders drop; he raised his hand and ran it over his face. "Yeah," he said, hoping he didn't sound quite as wrecked as he felt. "Um. Listen."
"Yeah," Sheppard said, not quite a question.
"I don't want - we shouldn't -"
Sheppard moved away, sudden cool where his body heat had been an instant before. "It's okay, Rodney. Sorry. I'll just see you tomorrow, okay? Good night."
"I'm not finished." Rodney flailed out blindly, snagged Sheppard's wrist and held on. "Shut up for a second." They stood that way for a moment, silent, while Rodney thought furiously. "Why'd you kiss me yesterday?"
"You kissed me first." Even Sheppard seemed to realize how juvenile that was - he snorted as soon as he said it, and Rodney waited to see if he'd go on. He didn't.
Rodney rubbed his forehead. "Yes, well. I see we're going to do this with the same level of maturity we've brought to the rest of our relationship so far." He heard Sheppard's low, amused sound; felt an unwilling smile tugging at his own mouth. More than that, though, Sheppard moved close again, warmth and proximity all tangled up with the heat in Rodney's belly. "So listen. I suck at this kind of thing, but I want - this." He tightened his grip on Sheppard's wrist.
Sheppard mumbled something: "Me, too."
"You suck at it, or you want to kiss me some more?" Rodney demanded.
"Both," Sheppard said, and his smile was against Rodney's cheek again. His wrist twisted in Rodney's grasp, sliding around and then down until their palms were aligned.
"Okay," Rodney breathed into the short, bristly hair just behind Sheppard's ear. "Good. But listen." His breath caught as Sheppard nosed at his ear, nuzzled his hair. "Can it wait?"
"The kissing, or the sucking?" The word held a world of promise.
Rodney groaned with disgust at the pun and desire at the thought. "Good god, Colonel, that was wretched. And those kinds of lines get you laid?"
Sheppard snickered into his ear. "Sometimes. What do you want to wait for?"
"Until I can see you," Rodney said quietly, and he felt John still against him, the steady inhale-exhale of his breath. "I just - I want to see you. How you look when we, when I - I don't want to do this out of some kind of pathetic desperation, or think you're doing it out of pity."
"I'm not," Sheppard said.
Rodney put his other hand up, hesitantly, and curved it around the back of Sheppard's neck. "Okay, so prove it."
"Wait?" Sheppard asked, sounding resigned and amused.
"Wait." Rodney replied. He leaned against Sheppard for a moment, then straightened. "Also, let go of me. I need my beauty sleep."
"One for the road?" Sheppard asked, and then he was pushing Rodney back, back, back against the wall, kissing him hot and deep and wet and messy, body pressed against Rodney's from knee to chest, mashing him against the wall in way that was pretty much the polar opposite of unpleasant, Rodney thought, grabbing Sheppard's ass and squeezing.
"Yeah," Rodney panted, "I guess that couldn't hurt."
Sheppard rolled his hips forward - Rodney groaned - and then stepped back, his breathing loud. "Yeah," he said. "Glad you agree."
"Okay." Rodney bit his lip and tried not to go after Sheppard. "Well. Good night."
A whisper of movement and then Sheppard's hand grasped his, turning it over, pressing the small rectangle of the life-signs detector into his nerveless grasp.
"Good night," Sheppard said, leaning close, lips moving against Rodney's ear. Rodney could feel his smile, hear it. "See you tomorrow."
Rodney made it into his quarters without dropping the life-signs detector again, but it was a close thing.
*
The days settled, again, into a pattern.
John got up early for PT, showered, came by Rodney's quarters. They ate with Ronon, Teyla and Zelenka. Radek and Rodney sloped off to the labs, while John slouched away to face paperwork and Lorne. Teyla and Ronon did Teyla and Ronon things - their own mission paperwork, training with the marines and those scientists who needed it, meditation, whatever. (John had his suspicions about the PS2 that had vanished from the common room a month ago, but no one had complained - regular Daedalus runs meant most people who wanted game systems had them, now - so John wasn't saying anything.)
There were meetings, briefings, missions.
Zelenka was a good scientist and dependable in every situation they'd been thrown into so far, but he stubbornly refused to like the gate travel. He was funny, sharp, helpful - and adamant that his place on an offworld team was a temporary measure. John stopped trying to persuade him that SGA-5 could really use a new scientist, what with Tomkins' newly discovered allergy to, apparently, everything green, but Zelenka merely shook his head, kept his eye on his handheld, and muttered back at him in Czech.
During the days, Rodney seemed to be okay. He was snappish, short, irascible, rude: perfectly himself. But his face had, again, lost some of its animation, and his shoulders were hunched more often, arms held closer to his body so he wouldn't bump into people or things. He brushed off most attempts at help again, and refused outright to talk about the drug therapy. Whatever he did or didn't tell Heightmeyer remained in her office, locked tight as the narrow line of his lips.
Each night, John showed up at the infirmary for Rodney's injection.
By the fifth night, almost all the damaged tissue appeared to have been regenerated. Rodney sat up straighter at that, and Beckett patted his shoulder. "It's good news," he said, "it happened even faster than we'd anticipated." But John caught the slightly troubled glance he threw to Dr. Yee over Rodney's head. "Now we've just the waiting to do, as your brain re-establishes pathways to the optical nerves."
"Do we have to continue the shots?" Rodney asked, folding his arms protectively, scowl aimed in Dr. Yee's general direction.
Dr. Yee unfolded his arms and began rolling up his sleeve. "Yes, we do." She swiped the alcohol swab over his bicep. "And if your arms are both sore, I'm sure I can think of somewhere else to inject you." She pushed the needle in neatly; John winced and looked away.
"No no no no no," Rodney said, voice spiraling up as she depressed the plunger. "It's fine. I'm fine."
"Good." She finished the injection and turned away to dispose of the hypodermic.
Beckett was ready with the blood pressure cuff and thermometer; he strapped the cuff around Rodney's already-bare arm. "The injections contain all manner of things," he said conversationally, "not just the neural regenerators. There are also several chemical carriers that should help establish patterns for your nervous system." He pumped the old-fashioned cuff up, stethoscope against the crook of Rodney's arm as he spoke. "We'd thought the carriers would work alongside the regenerators, but there's no reason they have to - it certainly makes sense that all the neurons had to be repaired before connections could be re-created."
"In other words, you have no idea why it's working the way it's working, but I shouldn't be freaking out," Rodney said.
"They said seven days," John put in, and Beckett sent him a grateful glance.
"So we did, Colonel, so please try to be patient, Rodney." He ripped off the velcro cuff. "Pressure is fine - a bit elevated, but it has been since the, ah, the incident."
"Since I was blinded," Rodney said, but at least he sounded dry and bitter, rather than just bitter.
John pushed off the wall, waiting for Beckett to take the thermometer out of Rodney's ear. "C'mon, Dr. Tactful, I think it's time to get you back to your quarters."
Rodney's ears turned pink. "Yes, yes." He hopped off the examining table. "I need my sleep. Wouldn't want to miss out on eight whole hours of unrelieved darkness. Oh, wait."
John rolled his eyes and cupped Rodney's elbow. "You're not even trying anymore," he said. He winked at Beckett and Yee, guiding Rodney past a cart of med supplies. "That wasn't nearly as acidic and hateful as you could've managed just a few weeks ago."
"It's your fault I've lost my edge," Rodney said loudly, allowing himself to be led. "Damn bunch of meddling do-gooders."
"We're terribly sorry," Beckett called after them. "We'll try to be less caring and helpful in future."
"Saving the last injection for your glutes," Yee said, and it was John who nearly ran into the doorway on that one, not Rodney.
"She has designs on my ass," Rodney said as they paced down the corridor.
"Yes, well," John said, and he left the don't we all unspoken, but smiled to see Rodney's ears go red again.
*
"Any change?" Carson's voice was businesslike.
Rodney glared in his direction. "Yes, absolutely. Didn't I mention that I can see again?"
"You neglected to mention that, yes," Carson replied dryly.
"Believe me, I'll let you know." Rodney swung his feet, listening to the hollow thung as his heels bumped the side of the exam table. "So, ah." He turned his face down, tapping his fingers on his thighs. "When, exactly, will I be letting you know something?"
He could hear the sudden stillness around him; even with only Sheppard and Carson there, there was a certain lack of breathing and movement. Rodney lifted his head, alerted.
"It's not an exact thing, Rodney," Carson said.
"And it hasn't even been seven days," Sheppard added from the doorway.
Rodney turned his face toward Sheppard. "What aren't they telling me?"
Carson spoke in reply. "Listen, Rodney. I would have expected there to be some change in your vision by now. Dr. Yee and I were discussing it, though, and there's no reason to believe the treatment won't work." He tapped Rodney's legs, and Rodney obediently swung them up onto the table, lying back. Carson kept talking over the hum of the scanner closing over him. "We've said again and again that there's no way to time the recovery process exactly."
"I know, I know," Rodney said, "and the brain is a strange and mysterious organ, etcetera, etcetera." His voice sounded weird, trapped by the metal curving over his body, and he closed his eyes - it didn't change anything, but somehow felt better - and muttered "clear blue skies, clear blue skies," until the scanner hummed again and he felt cooler air wash over his face.
"I think your brain's a little more strange and mysterious than everyone else's," Sheppard said, and it was his hand on Rodney's elbow, helping him upright again. He stepped away again, fingers brushing down Rodney's arm before the touch disappeared.
Rodney swallowed, glad Carson had gone to fetch the meds. "My brain is also much more advanced than everyone else's," he said. "Ergo, it should take even less time to heal. Right?" He couldn't help the plaintive note on that last word.
"Hope so," Sheppard said, and Rodney knew Carson must still be in the adjoining room, must have his back turned, because Sheppard's hand was back: fingers curved over Rodney's shoulder, thumb drawn swiftly down his neck.
"Stop that," Rodney muttered, but he didn't mean it, and he just knew Sheppard was smirking, that bastard. His hand lifted and Carson was back.
"Which arm is it tonight?" Carson asked, and Rodney wordlessly produced his left.
~*~
No change on day seven.
They discontinued the shots on day eight; administered neural regenerators alone on days nine and ten and eleven. Beckett and Yee asked Rodney not to use the SED device; they seemed convinced that some magic breakthrough waited just around the corner, after the next injection, with the next tweak Yee or Carson made to the cocktail.
By day twelve, John was alarmed - but not really surprised - to hear Rodney yelling when he came trotting to the infirmary, a little later than he usually made it.
"Then just start over," Rodney shouted; Dr. Yee's voice replied, exasperated, and then Rodney again: "No! No more goddamned shots! They're not doing any good! You need to think of something else. Let me know when you do." A thump, crash (John winced - sounded like Rodney had banged into a gurney, and those things were vicious), cursing, and the stomping sound of footsteps just as John got to the door.
"Do you mind?" Rodney snarled; John reared back, startled, and stood aside as Rodney stamped out of the infirmary.
John watched him go for a second, then peered through the doorway at Beckett and Yee, who were looking at one another - Yee looked pissed, and Beckett looked rueful.
"Uh," John said.
Beckett looked at him. "Hullo, Colonel. I'm afraid you've missed all the excitement."
"All the stupidity," Dr. Yee muttered, and turned away, small dark hands precise with anger as she gathered up her abandoned hypodermic and the tiny bottles of medicine.
"I… should I go after him? Drag him back?" John scratched his head.
"Good luck with that," Yee said, and left for the back room.
Carson shook his head and pushed the crooked gurney back into its place against the wall. "Nay, I wouldn't. One night without an injection isn't likely to make a difference at this point, and we'll work on some new options beginning tomorrow."
"Can we - can he use the Seeing Eye Dog?" John offered. "Might cheer him up."
Carson looked over his shoulder to where Dr. Yee had disappeared. "…I don't see why not," he said slowly. "We haven't talked about it, but I've been thinking that we should re-introduce it soon, anyway, just so his visual centers don't lose what they regained of translating images - you remember how it was for him when he first put the device on." John nodded, and Beckett's replying nod was firm. "Yes, why don't you and he do that again tomorrow, at least for what time you can spare. It won't help with his own vision, but it can't hurt."
"It's quiet at the moment, and I'm due some downtime," John said, and touched wood. "I can spend most of the day with Rodney, letting him work or whatever." He grinned a little at Carson's sympathetic eyeroll, and headed out of the infirmary with a spring in his step.
*
"McKay, put on your radio."
Rodney sighed heavily and groped around on the floor beside his bed. His hand encountered the plastic wire, and he lifted it to his mouth, fingers unerring when he tapped the transmission button.
"I don't want to talk right now," he said.
"Yeah, I figured," Sheppard said. His voice sounded distant and small, coming from the earpiece dangling under Rodney's chin. "Just for a minute, if you want."
Rodney sighed again - this time into the mic - and hooked the radio over his ear. "There. What?" He rolled onto his back again.
"You all done with your temper tantrum?"
"Hey, how about you try being blind for eight weeks instead of me?" Rodney suggested angrily. "Then maybe we can talk about temper tantrums and whether I get to throw them or not. Good night, Colonel."
"Hey, hey," Sheppard sounded repentent. "I didn't mean it in a bad way. Just wanted to know if you wanted to be distracted."
Rodney plucked at the blanket under his hand. "I don't know. I'm mostly done being pissed off, I guess. I'm just -" He stopped, swallowed. "Tired. You know?"
"Yeah." Sheppard breathed steadily into his ear. "Wanna come to my room and molest me?"
"Is this an encrypted channel?" Rodney asked, touching the tiny knob nervously. "Also, I'm not in the mood." That wasn't entirely true - hearing Sheppard say molest me was enough to distract Rodney from his sulk, but he wasn't about to admit it.
"No, I thought talking dirty to you on an open channel was the way to destroy my career," Sheppard said.
"Since disobeying direct orders and refusing to cut your hair to regulation wasn't working out," Rodney snapped back; then: "You're going to talk dirty to me?"
"I can do better than that," Sheppard said. "Put on the SED."
"The - what? Really?" Rodney was already rolling over, fingers sliding along the front of his nightstand until he found the drawer pull. He'd left the little strip of leather right here -
As his fingers closed on it, he got a flicker of sight and made a sound. It was - god, it was something, to see something again after twelve days of blackness.
"You got it?" Sheppard asked quietly.
Rodney flopped onto his back, clutching the sensor strap. "Yeah. What am I looking at?"
"My ceiling," Sheppard said.
"Listen, if you're planning to talk dirty to me, you could at least get some porn on your laptop for me to look at," Rodney said, trying not to sound breathless, which he was, because even Sheppard's ceiling, plain grey and silver, looked good. Gut-wrenching relief was rolling over Rodney so hard he almost felt sick with it.
"Is it clear? How's it working?" Sheppard asked, ignoring Rodney's remark.
"Yeah, it's clear. It was a little fuzzy for a second, but I guess it hasn't been so long that I've forgotten how to see, this time," Rodney said. "Thank god for small favors."
"You were pretty quick, even last time," Sheppard said. "You wanna look at something else?"
"Not that your ceiling isn't just fascinating," Rodney said. He blinked as his view swung down, a little dizzying, since Rodney was motionless on his back, head on his pillow, working at getting the SED buckled around his wrist.
"Yeah," Sheppard said. "This better?"
Everything went black as Rodney fumbled the strap. "Holy fuck - hold on," Rodney bit out. An instant later he had his sight back, or Sheppard's anyway, which was way better, since Sheppard was looking down his bare (hairy, flat) chest and belly to his own hand, curled loosely around his cock. "Wow," Rodney said. "Yeah, that's - wow."
Sheppard gave a nearly inaudible huff of laughter. "This is okay?"
"I'm blind, not stupid," Rodney said.
"You don't want to wait?"
Rodney could hear his smirk. "I can see just fine, and I've never heard of a pity jerk-off, so this is good."
Sheppard snickered into his ear. "Good."
"Don't - don't do anything yet, okay?" Rodney stared as Sheppard chuckled again - his belly moved, and his dick twitched. Rodney whined a little, fastening the SED with shaking, clumsy fingers, arching back to shove his pants down. "Okay, I'm good - ohh," Rodney said, lifting his very, very interested cock out of his pants, watching as Sheppard stroked himself once, slowly: narrow fingers tighter on the flushed skin of his cock, the head smooth and rounded, clear fluid welling up at the slit. "Oh my god," Rodney said. "You did give me porn."
"I'm, uh -" Sheppard's voice was hoarse, laughter beneath - "I'm probably not going to last all that long, once I get started."
"Just don't close your eyes when you come," Rodney said, stroking himself quickly, listening to John's choked laugh in his ear. He watched John's thumb slide over the head, the shine of pre-come smeared lower. "Jesus Christ," Rodney said, closing his eyes for a second, hips jerking up into his fist. He opened his eyes again, desperate not to miss anything. "I thought you were going to talk dirty to me," he said after a long minute of listening to Sheppard's breathing, the slick slide of his hand on his cock.
Sheppard sucked in a hasty breath. "I, uh, I don't do that, so much," he managed.
Rodney licked his palm hastily, went back to what he was doing, imagining John's tight grip on his dick, working the foreskin over the head and back down, feeling heat pool in his belly, the big muscles tighten in his thighs. "Tell me what you're thinking about," Rodney said in a rush, blushing, biting his lip in embarrassment and desire.
"I'm -" Sheppard's hips were moving, now, small pushes upward. "Oh, god, I can't, this is too -"
"I'm thinking about you jerking me off," Rodney said, breathless.
"I wish I could see you," Sheppard gasped, and then he groaned and closed his eyes.
"I want to see, let me see," Rodney snapped, desperate, and he watched through Sheppard's blurry, heavy lidded eyes: the first thick spurt of white, a messy splash onto his sternum. Then thinner splatters onto his belly as his hand slowed, fist squeezing long, tight strokes from root to tip, and finally the last thick surges of come, spilling over his knuckles, down into the thatch of dark hair around his cock; everything slippery and wet, Sheppard's heaving breaths in Rodney's ear.
Rodney pressed his head back into the pillow and came, broken-voiced, practically whimpering with it as every muscle in his body clenched, waves of release pouring over him, one hand knotted in the sheets, the other jerking the last little bits of pleasure from his dick: tiny, jittery movements over sensitized skin.
"Good?" Sheppard asked, a minute later; Rodney was drifting, eyes half open, watching Sheppard pull his sticky hand away from his softening cock.
"Wish I could lick that off your hand," Rodney murmured, and Sheppard coughed, abrupt and too-loud in his ear.
"I always knew you'd kill me," Sheppard said. "I just didn't think it'd be through choking on my own spit."
Rodney closed his eyes. "Never underestimate the many ways in which I might or might not kill you."
"Hmm." Sheppard's eyes were closed, too, Rodney figured, blinking a little and seeing faint darkness, and he wondered if the SED would give him Sheppard's dreams, if they left it on. Probably dreams didn't work that way, Rodney thought, hazy. And also, he wouldn't want Sheppard's dreams, probably - his own were enough to deal with.
"Hey, I'm falling asleep," Rodney said.
"Yeah." Sheppard was gone already, Rodney figured, breathing steady and low in his ear. "S'okay. Me, too."
"Thanks," Rodney said, and slipped away, the strap still buckled around his wrist, his eyelids closed over a softer darkness than he'd known in days.
~*~
John groaned into the pillow; rolled over and then back, wincing as his radio dug into his skull. "Whaaaaaat," he said.
"I fell asleep with the SED on," Rodney said. His voice sounded odd. "And the radio."
"Noticed that," John said. He pulled the blanket over his face. "My SED's… somewhere." He groped under the blankets; felt the hard angle of it where he'd pushed it away while he slept. "You want me to - do anything? Touch the sensor strip?"
"No, that's okay."
He could hear Rodney breathing into his ear.
John was kind of used to trying to figure out what to say, the morning after, but he'd never had to figure out how to say it to someone in a different bed, in a different room, somewhere down the hall. He was lying there not thinking about it - actually thinking about whether his pubic hair was permanently glued to his skin (answer: probably) - when Rodney finally spoke again.
"I can see something," Rodney said.
John lay perfectly still. "Have you called Carson?" he asked.
"I just woke up," Rodney said.
"Do you want me to call him?"
"I don't know." Rodney swallowed audibly. "I keep thinking I'm - it's not real."
"Yeah." John pulled the covers off his face and blinked at the ceiling.
"Can you -" Rodney stopped.
"Sure, gimme a minute," John said, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He heard Rodney's inhale, then the click of his radio as it switched over to passive.
John limped into the bathroom and cleaned up, trying hard not to think about anything but the (kind of messy) task at hand. He pulled on a pair of clean boxers and jeans, pulled a not-too-dirty t-shirt over his head, and, after a moment's hesitation, slid his half of the SED into the back pocket of his jeans, carefully not touching the leathery strip along the clip.
The hall was empty, early morning light just spilling through the windows. He didn't bother to knock on Rodney's door; just held his hand over the sensor until it opened for him.
"Hey." Rodney was sitting on his bed, fully dressed, looking right at John.
Looking right at him, and John almost took a step back from the impact of it. He hadn't realized, exactly, just what it would be like to have that gaze, the weight of those eyes, actually on him again - not searching for him, not aimed in his direction, but meeting his gaze. All the weight of Rodney - all that Rodneyness - focused again, perfectly, clearly visible.
"Hi," John said faintly, and waited as Rodney stood, as he walked unsteadily toward him, as he stepped through the open doorway and stopped and stared at John.
"I, uh," Rodney said. "You're a little blurry. I mean." He blinked, touched John's arm hesitantly. "Everything is a little blurry." His hand dropped and he looked away, down the narrowing vista of the corridor toward the high, arching windows at the end. "I guess we should go… to the infirmary?"
"Okay," John said, wondering if his breathing was as uneven as Rodney's, his face as flushed. "I'll call Beckett, tell him to get Dr. Yee and meet us there."
"That's a good idea." Rodney's eyes kept wandering away from John, down the corridor - he examined the light fixtures, the slant of sunlight from the high window, John's shoulders, his hair. "I'm a little." Rodney's hand hovered in air, drew his gaze. "I spent three minutes looking at my lamp," he said, snorting, meeting John's eyes again.
"Yeah," John said. He took a deep breath. "I bet."
"Sorry." Rodney started walking, slowly, head turning from side to side.
"It's okay. It must be weird." John stayed beside him, trying not to hurry him, although his pulse was jumping, heart thumping too fast in his chest.
"I think the SED jump-started it," Rodney said. He stopped again to look at the sensor pad outside Puckett's door, then at John. "Last night, you know." John nodded, swallowing. Rodney's lips quirked. "I thought that was supposed to make you go blind," he said.
It took John a second to get it, then his jaw dropped and he wheezed out a laugh. "Yeah," he said, "I mean - oh my god, don't tell Carson what we were doing."
"Ah, no," Rodney said dryly, still smiling. He looked away, down the hallway, eyes wide. "It's so bright," he said, voice wondering. His hand came up to touch John's arm, and John wondered if maybe Rodney was reassuring himself that they were both really there. "I forgot how bright everything is."
John took his elbow and began walking again. "Yeah," he said again, blinking quickly, leading Rodney toward the transporter. "It's going to be a nice day."
*
"Bloodflow from the calcarine branch has increased in conjunction with reported visual stimulus," Yee said, staccato.
"I'm seeing subnormal articulation in the V4 ventral stream," Beckett said, peering over her shoulder at the double-screened viewer.
"That's probably a function of underusage," Yee replied. "I'd expect it to improve given proper, continued input."
"Middle temporal receptors show dropping rates of throughput," Beckett said. "That correlates with the increased activity seen during use of the SED device."
"Exactly, considering that the subject's primary visual cortex is now picking up the lion's share of the burden," Yee said.
"Excuse me," Rodney said sharply, grabbing Beckett's arm. "The subject can see and hear and would appreciate it if the voodoo doctors could stop demonstrating their proficiency in glossolalia and actually address him."
Beckett straightened and turned, chagrin on his face. It looked weird - everything looked weird - but at least Rodney could tell it was chagrin. "I'm sorry, Rodney, this is just fascinating. Basically, we're only confirming what you already know - that your vision is back, but not fully functional yet."
"There's plenty of blood flow to the visual cortex, which is a definite improvement," Dr. Yee said. "All the receptor cells in your eyes - the cones and rods - are working just fine. There are just a few minor issues still to be solved."
"The blurriness is probably a result of your brain's readjusting to new input," Carson continued. "Your visual centers are re-learning how to interpret things in order of appearance, and as a result your depth perception and ability to determine which stimuli are more important are affected."
"Will I get better?" Rodney said. He blinked rapidly. "I mean, even if I don't, this isn't terrible - I can get along. But I won't be able to go on missions, and I could see problems with things like calibrating sensitive equipment - I'd have to rig up an all-new set of interfaces with my computer, which shouldn't be too hard, I've already -"
"Don't rush out and re-write all your software," Carson said, laying a hand on Rodney's arm. Rodney gazed down at it. Carson actually had quite hairy knuckles - he'd never noticed that before. "Dr. Yee and I both think that, given some time, your visual cortex will learn to distinguish between more and less important input. That should solve the slight blurring issues you're having, as well as bringing your depth perception back into play."
"So… what does that mean?" Rodney asked. He knew, but he had to know.
"It means we think -" Carson held up a warning finger - "that you'll make a full recovery."
Rodney looked past him at Dr. Yee, who nodded and even smiled - a little. "That's. Wow." Rodney looked back at Carson. "That's really good." Sheppard was leaning against the doorway, grinning, arms folded. "You'll have to teach me to shoot again," Rodney said.
"I can't wait," Sheppard said, rolling his eyes and straightening from his slouch.
"Not just yet," Yee said, and Carson frowned.
"What's going on?" Elizabeth said, appearing beside Sheppard. Like magic, Rodney thought, blinking at her. "Rodney?"
"I'm taking him to the firing range this afternoon," Sheppard said, straightening.
"What?" Elizabeth smiled, brilliant and wide and god, Rodney had missed seeing people smile. Then, of course, she was up close and hugging him and he patted her back awkwardly, still smiling. "You can see," she said into his ear, and leaned back, hands on his shoulders, beaming into his face.
"I can see," Rodney confirmed, grinning like an idiot.
"There'll be no trips to the firing range today," Carson said, breaking in. "Rodney should be on light duty - in the city - for at least a week. Today I want him off duty completely - and I'm tempted to forbid you from visiting the labs at all," he added, apparently undeterred by Rodney's death-glare.
"You can't forbid me the labs!" Rodney yelped. "I have minions to intimidate, systems to rewire, equations to erase! I've done my best to keep up, but now, now -"
"No," Beckett said. "Colonel, can you keep him out of trouble? You're off the duty roster today, if I recall correctly." He turned back to Rodney. "Aren't you as well?"
"But my lab! And the power-flow equations! The simulations…" Rodney waved his hands, and wow, that was interesting; he turned his head to watch the arc of one hand through the air. "Oh, fine," he pouted, suddenly aware that he'd stopped talking and was staring at his own hand, five inches from his face. He dropped it and scowled at Beckett and Yee. "But don't come running to me when your precious scanners flicker and die because my unsupervised idiots have overloaded the generators for half the city."
"We won't," Carson said, smiling patiently, at the same time as Sheppard said, "I'll keep him entertained, Carson," and sauntered closer, smirking.
"Thank you, Colonel," Carson said.
Rodney wondered if he could blame the morning's revelations - literally - on the way he was staring at Sheppard's mouth. Possibly the staring, probably not the blushing, he thought belatedly, and dropped his gaze to Sheppard's boots. "Well, come on, then," Rodney snapped, standing, waving at Yee and Elizabeth and Carson.
"Report back if there are any abrupt changes in your vision," Beckett called. "We'll radio you to come in for another scan later."
"You can start catching up on paperwork tomorrow," Elizabeth said with a smile, stepping aside to let him pass.
Rodney grunted. He stopped at the door and turned; Carson and Dr. Yee were already bent over the scans again, murmuring. "Hey." They both turned to look at him. "Thanks," Rodney said. "I mean, just - thank you."
They both smiled. "You're welcome," Carson said.
"I'm just disappointed I didn't get to give you a shot in the ass," Yee said, still grinning, and Rodney rolled his eyes and backed into the doorway.
*
"So, uh," John said. The infirmary door slid shut behind them. The corridors were busy now, bright morning light streaming over faces, people going to breakfast in the mess or their labs to work.
"Listen, not that I don't want to jump right in and embarrass myself by assuming things," Rodney said, "but I could really use some coffee that doesn't come from that biohazard of a maker in Carson's lair. You, uh, you wanna get some breakfast?"
Plenty of people came up to Rodney at breakfast and congratulated him on being able to see again. Elizabeth showed up for another hug. Teyla brought their foreheads together. Ronon squeezed his arm so hard Rodney whimpered. Zelenka beamed at him, and Rodney had never thought he'd be glad to look at Radek's messy hair and sincere face, but he was.
Sheppard sat beside him and ate, smiling.
"Good thing we came in," Rodney said to him during a break in the (pointless but weirdly gratifying) socializing. "Otherwise all these people might be calling me on the radio."
"May have to throw the radio out the window," Sheppard said blandly, and Rodney, who'd been trying really hard not to think about Sheppard's hands and mouth and the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners when he smiled so much, blushed. Again.
"Maybe," he said, though, and Sheppard threw him a look that had him coughing. "Uh, I think I'm mostly done," he said when he recovered. "Eating."
"Yeah," Sheppard agreed.
But two more scientists came up, and Rodney had to nod and smile at them (and wow, he'd forgotten that Ochoa's legs were that long, she might not be a runway model, but she had some fantastic legs, even in the boring khakis she was wearing) even as he got up, even as he tripped - Sheppard steadied him - and waited for them to just leave.
There were more people to look at - to belatedly smile at - as they walked through the halls; Sheppard was saying something about going over mission reports together, maybe watching a movie, when people asked what they were doing. "Doctor's orders, gotta keep him out of trouble," Sheppard said.
Rodney looked at their faces, looked at the high windows and the way the sun angled across the floors and walls. He looked at Sheppard beside him, then down at the way their feet looked, rising and falling on the polished floors. There were patterns everywhere, parabolas and vectors he calculated without thinking about it, beauty he'd - not forgotten, exactly, but looked at through filters, remembered too vaguely. He felt disconnected, like he was nothing but his eyes, staring and staring and staring.
*
Rodney kissed with his eyes open.
John closed his eyes and concentrated on the way Rodney's mouth tasted, on the feel of his lips, taste of his tongue, the small noises he made and the sounds of their kiss: soft and wet and so goddamned obscene that John's hands were shaking as he held Rodney's face.
"Can we - I want," Rodney said, and John pulled back just enough to breathe against Rodney's mouth, enough to open his eyes and see Rodney staring wild-eyed at him. "I just. What do you want?"
"Anything, Rodney." John smoothed a thumb over Rodney's neck. "I don't care. Everything."
"I want to see you," Rodney said. His hands skated over John's back, pulled him in so John felt the hard nudge of his erection, tight against his thigh. "I want - can I -"
"Yeah," John said.
*
Sheppard's lashes were dark and fragile over his cheeks. When he came the first time, Rodney wasn't sure where to look - at his own hand, wrapped around Sheppard's hard, spurting cock, or at Sheppard's exposed throat, head thrown back and mouth open on a noise that sounded like pain.
"God," Rodney said, leaning down to taste Sheppard's skin. He licked his way down the column of his neck (rough shadow of stubble, flutter of his quick-beating pulse, salty hollow between his collarbones) and grinned as Sheppard batted him away from one tiny brown nipple, nearly hidden in the whorls of wiry hair that decorated his chest. "You're no fun."
"Sensitive," Sheppard said, and when Rodney lifted his head, Sheppard was looking right into his face, eyes hazy and affectionate. "That was good."
"Yeah," Rodney said. He looked down again; forced his hand to loosen, watched as Sheppard's cock softened a little. "I liked that even better than last night."
"Me, too." Sheppard said. He lifted his head and looked around. "Need to clean up."
"Don't you have something better to do?" Rodney asked, rocking against Sheppard's side.
*
Every time John looked up, Rodney was watching him: glassy-eyed, pupils drowning the blue, mouth slack and red and soft, lips shaping barely audible words. John thought those words might break him, if only he could understand, hear, read lips.
John closed his eyes and sucked.
When Rodney came, he clutched at John's hair and he gave a strangled groan that might have been Sheppard, might not. John tightened his lips, dragged his tongue along the underside of Rodney's cock; swallowed and swallowed and drew slowly back, sucking Rodney clean, releasing him with a wet lick.
He looked up the bed. Rodney's eyes were closed; they opened an instant later, though, and Rodney was dragging him up for another wide-eyed kiss.
*
"This is good," Rodney said.
He was lying propped up in the bed, jammed shoulder and thigh against Sheppard. The blankets were pulled up to their bellies, laptop humming warm on Rodney's thighs. Sheppard watched over his shoulder as Rodney clicked through two months' worth of science team reports. The whole task would be going faster, except Rodney kept getting distracted by… things. Things like the glare on the screen, the blue of the sky outside, the way the light created ripples of shadow where the covers had bunched.
Things like Sheppard.
"Yeah." Sheppard yawned and lounged against him. It was getting a little sweaty just where they were pressed together, but Rodney didn't want to move away. And besides, the bed was narrow. "Not how I pictured it."
"Oh, thank you very much," Rodney said. "Are you complaining? I told you I'd go down on you in a little while."
"Jesus Christ," Sheppard said, rolling his eyes. "No. I meant, I didn't picture us… getting together. Like this."
Rodney closed the laptop and set it aside, then turned back to Sheppard. "You didn't imagine me losing my sight to a bizarre poison cooked up by crazed Wraith worshippers, followed by our discovery of a cool and potentially kinky Ancient gadget that allows me to see through your eyes, followed by a miracle cure cooked up by Carson and Dr. Yee, followed by its failure, followed by its success when kick-started by same cool and definitely kinky Ancient gadget?"
Sheppard was snickering at him. "No. I didn't picture that."
"I'm shocked," Rodney said. He put his hands on Sheppard; moved him around, watching the way his fingertips whitened on Sheppard's shoulders, the slide of muscle under skin as Rodney pushed and pulled him until he was flat on the bed, grinning up at Rodney leaning over him. "Sounds like just another week to me."
"Eight weeks," Sheppard said, smile fading.
"Eight weeks," Rodney agreed. "How did you picture it?"
"I don't know." Sheppard's eyes flicked left; stayed there. "Adrenaline, probably. I guess I always imagined something like, after a mission, or, you know - I mean. Uh." He darted a glance at Rodney and then away again. "Not that I fantasized about it or anything." The grin was back.
"Yeah, me, too," Rodney said. He drew his hand down Sheppard's chest. The hair felt rough against his fingers, pulled straight and then springing back to place when released. "What're we going to -" He stopped, hand flat on Sheppard's belly, the blankets draped just beneath his hand. "I suck at this," he said, and Sheppard met his gaze. "I've, ah," Rodney went on, forcing the words out, staring at the flecks of brown in Sheppard's green, green eyes, "I want this. Us. I'll do whatever - whatever you want. I know I'm bad at, at hiding things, but this is worth it - and you know, you’ve seen me keep secrets when it counts. This counts." Rodney's voice cracked, and he winced, but he didn't look away. "I mean it. This counts."
Sheppard looked away and licked his lips. "Yeah. Okay. This will work." He looked back at Rodney. "It counts for, uh. You know." He rolled one shoulder up; his stomach tightened under Rodney's palm. "Me, too."
"So what do we do?" Rodney said. He slid his hand down, down, under the covers; found Sheppard hard under the cotton. "I mean, other than this."
"As often as possible," Sheppard said. "I dunno." He closed his eyes and stretched his arms over his head - long and lean and gorgeous, and Rodney caught his breath, staring - then relaxed and blinked lazily up at Rodney. "We'll be okay."
"Assuming I survive the sex," Rodney said. He ducked his head, pressing his forehead against Sheppard's prickly temple. "I'll probably want to sleep with the lights on for a while."
"Yeah." Sheppard's fingers trailed through his hair; cupped his skull. "I feel a little useless."
"Got used to being led around on a leash?" Rodney said. "You remember those collars that time?" He felt dreamy, sleepy. "Those were hot."
Sheppard slapped the back of his head.
"Oh, what?" Rodney lifted his head, looked at Sheppard some more. "Hey, just because your days as my seeing eye dog are over doesn't mean you're useless."
"You're right." Sheppard's lips quirked up at one corner. "I still have that whole military leader of Earth's most distant outpost thing going for me." He shrugged one shoulder. "I just got used to helping you out."
"Well, it's been a long time since I had a regular source of orgasms," Rodney pointed out. "I think you could be a lot of help in that department."
Sheppard's smirk deepened. "Orgasms are a two-way street, McKay," he said.
Rodney rolled his eyes, pleased when he didn't simultaneously list to one side. "Oh, for Chrissakes," he said. "I'll blow you right now if it'll shut you up."
Sheppard pulled him down for another kiss. "Probably," he said into Rodney's mouth. "Guess you'll just have to try it and see."
~*~
THE END