Title: The Experiment Written for McShep Match 2007; Team Angst. Many thanks to trinityofone for her beta, trobadora for her eagle eyes and all of Team Angst for their input and cheerleading. |
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Thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap. Branches and leaves smack John in the face as they race full-tilt through the forest, the rattling sound of machine gun fire closing in from behind. He risks a glance over his shoulder to ensure that Rodney's still following and sees him just a few paces behind. "Over there," John points to an abandoned factory in the small village up ahead. There's a chance they can find cover there, giving them the opportunity to hole up while Teyla and Ronon get reinforcements. They hop over the decrepit fence and into a yard filled with rubble. John stumbles when his foot lands on a loose sheet of metal, and it sends him skidding on the gravel until he manages to regain his balance. Rodney yelps as he catches his jacket on the fence, dragging it with him as he tries to run, eventually getting himself free. With a quick glance, John does a recon of the area. Most of the doors and windows are boarded shut but part of the eastern wall—opposite the setting sun—is crumbling and they just might be able to squeeze in through the cracks. Of course, whether or not they'll be able to squeeze out later will be an entirely different story but for now, John's willing to take what he can get. With a quick wave of his arm, he gestures for Rodney to follow. "Sheppard! We've got incoming!" Rodney shouts in time for John to look back and see energy pulses coming right at them. The explosions hit on the other side of the fence, but the repercussions are strong enough to knock them to the ground. "We're not going to make it," Rodney says, pointing to the ship, which is circling about for another pass. John judges the distance left to travel and the incoming speed of the alien ship and knows that Rodney's right. The only thing they can do is give it two targets instead of one. "Go! Run!" John yells, pointing towards the building while he picks himself up and starts to run in the opposite direction, away from the factory. He doesn't even stop to look; he can only hope that Rodney heard him and doesn't get some harebrained impulse to follow. Up ahead, there's a toppled-over silo and John races toward it. If his luck holds just a little longer, he might even make it. Percussive sounds echo all around. He looks up in time to see a missile being fired off the roof of the building Rodney's running toward. "What the hell?" he trips up mid-stride, trying to figure it out. The missile is aiming for the ship, but it's no use. If the people on the roof are trying to help them, they waited too long; the ship is too close. It looks like a heat seeking-missile and Rodney's not far enough—in fact they're both well within the kill zone. The next thing he knows, John's being tossed head over heels as the explosion rocks the ground under his feet. The Grey Room Silence. It's the first thing Rodney notices when he wakes up. Not the peaceful silence of being alone in a room while everyone else is outside enjoying the sun and finally giving you a moment of peace, either. No, it's the kind of silence that usually indicates he's about face imminent death—something he's gotten quite used to recognizing over the last few years. "Not again," Rodney says, as he sits up in panic, sweeping his arms out to the lump lying next to him which he vaguely registers as Sheppard. He starts smacking him repeatedly on the arm, trying to wake him up. "Sheppard!" Sheppard doesn't stir and the silence stretches on. Rodney tries again, hitting him harder. "Sheppard, come on. Wake up!" Sheppard continues to lie there, unperturbed, which dials Rodney's panic button fully into the red. It's so quiet he thinks he can hear the air molecules vibrating. It's the silence of being surrounded by two hundred miles of ocean in all directions—something else he knows a thing or two about. He turns his head; trying to disturb the air or get away from the silence, he's not sure which. The pressure is astounding, muting all his senses until he can feel his pulse pounding in his ears. He leans forward to make sure Sheppard isn't dead and with some relief, he sees Sheppard's stomach moving in shallow breaths. Grabbing his arm, Rodney gives Sheppard another good shake because he's not about to give up on a perfectly good SOP just because it's hitting a few snags. They've been in this position enough times that he knows the first thing he should do is let Sheppard deal with the things that are trying to kill them, thus freeing himself to figure a way out. Five minutes later, when it becomes obvious that Sheppard's not going to wake up anytime soon, Rodney rests his head in his hands. His breathing is coming in fast and shallow so he forces a few deep breaths and tries to stem his panic. "Okay, think, Rodney. Just because Sheppard's unconscious doesn't mean you can't figure out how to get us out of here. You'll have to do it eventually anyways, so you might as well get a head start." Looking around, his panic starts to ebb; they are obviously not in any immediate danger. No one's shooting at them; there are no wild animals chasing them down or natives trying to eat them and the ground is not about to erupt in a super-massive volcano either. All in all, Rodney's willing to take these as good omens. "No one's trying to kill us. Huh. Could be worse, I suppose. This is one creepy grey room, though." The room they're in is fairly nondescript, about the size of his living room on Earth. The room is so nondescript in fact, it takes him a moment to realize why the hairs on the back of his neck are still standing up. He looks around several times, first to the right, then to the left just to be sure, but there's no getting around it. The room only has four grey walls, a ceiling and a floor. That's it—no windows, a weird orb in the center of the ceiling, but most importantly, no doors. "See, this is where we get to the bad part. I knew it was too good to last," Rodney says with a sigh, swallowing a few times, but it doesn't help relieve the pressure between his ears either. His head is still pounding. Sheppard, if you don't wake up right now, I'm gonna lick my finger and stick it in your ear," Rodney says pointlessly because Sheppard doesn't register the threat at all. Slumping down on the floor with nothing else to do, Rodney sets about checking himself for blood. When the back of his head checks out okay, he moves on to checking his arms, ears, and chest followed by the rest of his body. Nothing looks or feels broken or missing and he's not gushing copious amounts of blood. Of mild interest, there's a new horizontal scar across the back of his left wrist which he has no memory of receiving, but that's the only injury he can find. Studying the scar on his wrist, Rodney realizes he can't remember what happened leading up to this at all. He can remember a few disjointed things, like staff meetings, flying around in the jumper and running through the woods with an arrow stuck in his ass. Contorting his back so he can check, there's no arrow in there now. The flesh feels intact, and his ass no more sore than it usually does when he's ankle deep in trouble off-world. He thinks it's a sad testimony to how much shit they've been through these last few years that he doesn't spend much time considering if his tetanus shot is still up-to-date because by now it most certainly is. "Great. I'm stuck in a room with Sleeping Beauty. Why couldn't I have gotten Ronon or Teyla instead? They'd certainly be up and about by now; Ronon would already have assembled a bazooka out of spare parts he keeps hidden in his clothes." The problem is he can't even remember if Ronon and Teyla were with them when this happened. They were certainly all together when he was shot with the arrow...but on further thought, he decides that's not the most recent memory he has. Rodney vaguely remembers making it back to Atlantis after the unfortunate arrow business and subsequently helping to rescue Ronon from the Wraith. Which brings him back to square one. "Who designed this room, anyway? This looks like one of those mind-numbing Flash games Sheppard likes to play. Point and click. Point and click. Nothing in here to point and click on anyway except that light over there," Rodney rages to himself. "Reminds me being of a rat cage—except even rats get a wheel to spin around in. And a little lever to dispense food—shit! No food. And no windows or doors! I knew I had a bad feeling about this. What am I going to eat? It's been hours since I had a sandwich. At least, I think I last had a sandwich but who knows. What if it's been longer? Oh god, I'm starving already. How are they going to feed us? Are they going to feed us? How are we going to breathe?" Time passes, which Rodney doesn't pay much attention to except to eventually realize that he's not dying or wearing his watch and after getting up and making a few dozen trips back and forth across the cold, grey floor, Rodney's determined that the room is ten meters by ten and confirmed that there's no food hidden away anywhere. Slumping back down on the floor, Rodney notices that Sheppard hasn't moved all this time. He shakes Sheppard with the edge of his boot. "I hope you're not really sick. Because we are in some deep trouble here and I could use a hand figuring this out." Reaching over, Rodney starts to do a cursory examination of Sheppard and anything that might give him a clue to what's going on. They're both wearing their utility pants and boots, which support his theory of off-world trouble, but looking down at himself, he sees that they're both in their t-shirts. No packs, no vests. More importantly, no computers or guns either. Doing a more thorough search, even going so far as to check Sheppard's pockets (and finding nothing but a chunk of lint) Rodney notices that Sheppard's watch is gone as well, and there's a similar horizontal scar on the back of his wrist. "What good are all these pockets if they're empty," he says, poking Sheppard in the ribs again, more to relieve his own frustration than because he has any real hope of waking him up. "And what good is a room without any windows and doors?" ~~~ Pokepokepokepoke. From the depths of his unconsciousness, John feels something pulling him back, out of the dreamless sleep that's surrounding him. The pull is relentless, tearing him away from the nice warm nothingness he's enjoying, poking through the peace he's been lolling about in. A groan escapes his throat as he finally finds the strength to raise his hand and swat away the thing that's poking him in the chest. "Okay, okay. Stop it," he waves his arm at the person pestering him. "What?" Sitting up, he puts his hands to his eyes and rubs them around, feeling his eyeballs under his lids, and everything feels more or less normal except for the piercing pain in his skull. His eyes are so dry it almost hurts to open them. Cracking his eyes open, the room starts to come into focus and when he sees Rodney waving his arms around, he finally notices that the flailing is being accompanied by some rather vigorous shouting. "Rodney. What's going on?" "About time! Was that a good nap? Feel well rested, now? Do you have any idea how much shit we're in?" John closes his eyes again and rubs his head. Rodney isn't helping his headache at all. From what little he could tell when he opened his eyes, they aren't in Atlantis, and judging from Rodney's panic, they're obviously in some kind of trouble—probably life threatening. Which usually means capture. That's nothing that hasn't happened before. He opens his eyes again risking a small peak. Rodney's calmed down some, but only to the extent that he's no longer threatening to pierce John's eardrum. "Deep breath, Rodney. Deep breath. Calm down and talk to me." At first Rodney sputters, as if trying to get too many words out at once, but then he seems to take in what John just said because he actually takes a deep breath before starting over. "Well, we've been captured." "Thanks. I figured that out on my own. Any idea what happened? My head is killing me." Rodney shakes his head. "I was hoping you'd remember." John thinks about it for a minute but he comes up with nothing. He has vague memories of being on Atlantis, working with his team, visiting the Athosians, going back to Earth, but it's hard to tell if the memories are in order and he certainly doesn't remember what lead up to their current predicament. "So what's going on? Have you figured out where we are?" "Nothing's going on," Rodney says, expanding his arms to encompass the whole room. "And nothing is going to go on either. That's the problem. There's absolutely nothing in here." John raises his eyebrow and gives the room a quick once-over. Sure enough, they're just in an empty grey room. "I don't see the problem. You're freaking out on me because we've been captured and you're a little bit bored?" The withering look Rodney gives him almost makes him feel bad, but not quite. "Well, do you know who captured us?" "No. I haven't seen anyone. And if you'd been listening instead of mocking me, you'd already know what the problem is." John sighs and bites back the retort that's ready on his lips. Fighting with Rodney never gets him anywhere and his head hurts too much to do it just for fun. Instead, he lets the silence carry on, watching Rodney's face. Obviously Rodney's waiting for him to ask exactly what the problem is but John knows if he waits long enough Rodney will just tell him. Rodney's never been good at biting his tongue. Almost on cue, Rodney throws his hands up in the air again and then gestures around the room. "Notice anything odd?" John looks around again and sees nothing. The room reminds him of being in an odd grey box, but that's about it. There's a ball on the ceiling that he figures is a light; but it's dark and opaque. John shrugs it off. He's seen stranger things since coming to the Pegasus galaxy. It's only when Rodney keeps looking at him like he's an idiot that he notices how quiet it is. There's no hum of lights or computers, not even the sound of ventilation moving air along. The room is perfectly quiet. Shaking the creepy feeling suddenly crawling up his back, John looks around again and notices that there's nothing different about each of the walls. They all look perfectly the same and if he stares at any corner long enough, it starts to form an optical illusion where the walls are coming toward him instead of going back into the corner. Then it hits him. No windows or doors. "Shit. " "I'm so glad I waited for you to wake up to give me that in-depth tactical evaluation of our situation." "Rodney." John gives him his best warning. He knows this is how Rodney deals with stress, knows Rodney has to talk it through and insult whoever's around. It's his way of letting off some steam, but John's not in the mood right now. This is obviously much worse than he first thought. Leaning against the nearest wall, John looks around and tries to figure out what the hell they should do. "Someone went to an awful lot of trouble to do this to us," he says eventually when he comes up empty with ideas of how to escape. Rodney's grumbling stomach responds and gives him something new to worry about. They have no idea how long they've been here, or how they're going to get any food and water. Eager for something to do, John pushes off the wall and starts exploring the room more carefully. Rodney must be wrong. There must be some kind of door or how could their captors have put them in here? And they must intend to feed them or talk to them, or why would they have bothered to capture them at all? This room reeks of purpose, he decides. Nobody builds a doorless room by accident and the only purpose he can think of for doing so is pretty sinister. Which brings him back to his question of who the hell their captors are. Crazy people. Crazy entities. Sadistic fucks. He doesn't like any of those three options. Turning so he's facing the wall, John runs his fingers against the surface; starting at shoulder level, he goes up as far as he can reach and then runs them down to the floor. The wall is smooth; no color variations, nothing to distinguish one section of it from another. Taking a step to the left, he repeats his actions, starting at the floor this time and working his way up. Again, nothing. Closing his eyes, he concentrates on feeling something, if there's anything there to feel at all. The wall is cold. Just as smooth as it felt before, but now with his eyes closed, it reminds him of the metal surface of the puddle jumper; smooth but not mirror-like, with a very fine grain that makes running his fingers up and down easier than running them side to side. One pace. Two. Then three and four. John follows the wall until he hits the corner and then follows it left, but there are no seams or imperfections on the surface. Moving to the next wall, he keeps running his left hand along the surface but now uses his right to knock lightly, testing the density of the wall as he goes. Knock knock. Knock knock. The wall resonates a little with each tap, telling him it's not overly thick. Again, the mental image of them inside of a large, square puddle jumper comes to mind except for the fact that he's never even seen a large, square puddle jumper. Shaking his head, John proceeds with another step to the left, three from the corner—he's been keeping count—and suddenly the wall makes a slightly different sound when he does his double knock. Knock knock. There's a swooshing sound behind him followed quickly by a thud. John whirls around. "Rodney?" Rodney's standing in the center of the room, staring at something on the floor. "Something fell from the orb." Walking in a straight line and careful not to lose his place on the wall, John goes toward him. Sure enough, there are two brown bread rolls on the floor. Rodney picks one up and starts to sniff it. "Smells like bread, feels like bread," then before John can stop him, he takes a bite. "Tastes like bread." John smacks him. "Don't eat that! What if it's poisonous or laced with drugs? What if it just makes you thirstier?" But it's too late. Rodney's already devoured it and is now eyeing the second one. "If you don't want yours, can I eat it?" Taking it from Rodney's hand and examining it more closely, John does have to admit that it looks and smells pretty innocuous. In fact, it actually smells pretty damn good. In response, his stomach growls loudly, agreeing with his eyes and nose. Figuring that since Rodney's already inhaled his share, he takes a bite. The bread is soft, melting a little on his tongue and going down easily despite his thirst. The sweet taste lingers in his mouth and he almost wants to lick his fingers when he's done. Almost, but not quite. The sweetness reminds him of aspartame and all the reasons why he doesn't drink diet colas because they always leave an aftertaste in the back of his throat. "Anything to drink?" John asks, looking around but seeing nothing else. "No. And I have no idea how the bread got in here, but feel free to do it again." John goes back to the section of wall he had just activated and knocks again. The swooshing sound is quickly followed by the sound of more bread falling from the orb. "Two more rolls fell down," Rodney yells out. A thrill of victory courses through him just as a knot of panic forms in his stomach. They're being fed because he happened to figure out what to do. The question of why they're being asked to do these things to get food is something he knows they're going to need to consider. Later though. Water first. "Toss me a roll," John says. Rodney picks them both up and tosses one his way. "Why?" John catches it easily and places it on the floor, right by his feet. When he looks up, he sees the expression on Rodney's face. The very idea of not eating a piece of food is shocking to him. It almost makes John smile. "We need to mark this spot on the wall so we can knock and get more. Unless you'd like me to put my sock here or something." With a snort, Rodney shakes his head. "No thanks. I suppose this means you want me to save this roll in case we find something else that needs to be marked?" Rodney comes up to him and together they resume their foot by foot exploration of the walls. Close to the corner and eight paces to the left of where they found the section of wall that gave them food, Rodney knocks on the wall and a small hole opens up in the ground by the corner. "Guess we found the toilet," Rodney says, wrinkling his nose. The slight odor of waste reaches John as he looks over Rodney's shoulder. "And something to drink," John points out. Three feet up from the hole is a cool stream of water spouting out from the wall, arcing up like a water fountain and falling into the waste hole. "That's just lovely," says Rodney as he leans forward to have a sip while John holds on to his shoulder to keep him from putting a foot where it doesn't belong. "We share the water fountain with the toilet." When Rodney's done having a drink, he moves out of the way and lets John lean forward to have a sip. At least the water tastes refreshing, soothing his throat and tongue, which partly makes up for the nauseating smell wafting up. Looking at the water-toilet hole combination when he's done, John wrinkles his nose. "It gets worse, Rodney. Taking a piss won't be so bad because we can stand back and aim, but wait until we have to sit down. Unless we can figure out a way to turn the water off, it'll be raining on us while we're trying to take a dump." "I think I prefer the toilets back on P2S-233, you know, the ones with slugs in them, ready to start digesting your waste," Rodney says, quickly taking a step back and going toward the panel of wall with the obvious intention of closing the waste hole. "Wait—" John stops him. "We should see if there's anything down there we can use to escape." Rodney doesn't even try to hide his disgust and skepticism. "I hope by we, you mean you, because I draw the line at sticking my hand down the toilet until we've exhausted every other conceivable option. And believe me, slugs or no slugs, I can conceive of a lot more options." Glancing down the hole himself, John concedes that maybe they can wait a little before trying that route. The hole is small and they're not likely to be able to escape out the sewer system anyway. He gives Rodney a nod and Rodney quickly knocks on the wall, closing the water fountain and toilet hole. They make their way toward the other side of the room, automatically putting the most distance between themselves and the bathroom. Leaning against the wall, John slides down to the floor, exhaustion finally taking its toll. The pain in his head is almost gone, but the tiny sense of victory he feels at having found the basic necessities worries him even more. "Shouldn't we continue?" Rodney asks. John gestures at the wall. "Go ahead if you'd like. I just need to sit down for a bit." Instead of continuing, though, Rodney sits down next to him and leans his head back against the wall. "How long do you think we've been in here?" John instinctively looks at his watch before remembering it isn't there. His wrist feels naked without it and he unconsciously rubs the skin with his other hand. "I don't know. Probably a day, I think. Beckett has said before that we can survive only a few days without water, so we couldn't have been here that long." "Think Elizabeth has already sent out a team to look for us?" "Probably. She has a pretty good spidey-sense for these sorts of things." Suddenly, with no warning at all, the lights turn off, encasing them in total darkness. Scrambling back to his feet and quickly followed by Rodney, John looks around for some hint of what's to come, but everything is pitch black. The only sound he can hear is Rodney breathing beside him. They wait for several minutes for something to occur, but nothing else happens. "I guess they have a pretty strict curfew time," John says eventually, trying to find his way back to the wall so he can lean against it as he sits. Rodney sits down as well, leaning up against John as he often tries to do when he decides John is the most comfortable leaning post around. In the past John would complain, push Rodney off and tell him to find his own tree, wall or rock but there's something about the darkness now that makes him glad of the company. "They could have at least given us some warning." With a nod that he belatedly realizes Rodney can't see, John rubs his head. He knows they should sleep in shifts, one person staying on lookout while the other gets some shut eye, but he doesn't think there's any way either of them will be able to stay awake in this complete blackness. Pointless to try and maybe they should just concentrate on recouping whatever strength they can before their captors come and get them. "Sleep might not be such a bad thing," he says, leaning marginally against Rodney because, as it turns out, Rodney's a pretty comfortable leaning post himself. Rodney murmurs his assent. Within minutes, Rodney's snoring, but despite John's complete exhaustion, it takes him a long while before he finally drifts off to sleep.
The lights burn Rodney's eyes when they suddenly snap back on, making him blink in rapid succession as he's thrust awake. "Ack! Ow! What the?" Sheppard is bending away from him; his arm up around his eyes, shielding them from the light as well. It's only when Sheppard leans over to pull on his boots that Rodney notices the awkward closeness; it's obvious they fell asleep leaning on each other while sitting against the wall. "Ow. My back," Rodney says while sitting up to hide the heat flushing his face. He didn't mean to actually fall asleep on Sheppard. It was just one of the things they did on missions; he would always make a big fuss about needing someplace more comfortable to sleep and Sheppard had in the past always said something mildly derogatory when Rodney chose his lumpy shoulder over a pile of hay, giving everyone a good laugh. It was all part of their routine and he'd never really minded because it felt like they were sharing a moment of friendship. Friendship that Rodney has come to value an awful lot these last few years, and certainly not something he ever wants to jeopardize. But Sheppard doesn't notice, or at least he doesn't say anything about the sleeping arrangements, and just goes about cracking his neck and then offering him a hand to help him up. Rodney stares at the hand, wondering if the body snatchers came in the middle of the night and replaced Sheppard with one of the pod-people. He can count on one hand the number of times Sheppard's voluntarily touched him, and he's pretty sure four of those times involved life and death situations and the fifth one was a smack on the head after a life and death situation. He's not sure what's sparked the sudden change now, but he grabs Sheppard's hand before he changes his mind. Rising to his feet, Rodney shakes out his neck only to have it feel like someone's jabbing a fork between his shoulder blades. "Oh God. My vertebrae aren't supposed to bend like that. This is torture and they haven't even done anything yet." "Ever thought about going to a masseuse?" Sheppard asks, walking over to the section of wall near the now-stale bread roll and giving it a knock. Two bread rolls materialize outside of the orb and fall to the ground. "I tried to pay Miko once to walk on my back." "Yeah? How did that go?" Sheppard asks, grabbing one of the rolls and looking it over before starting to eat. Rodney chuckles remembering the incident and grabbing his own roll. "It's what prompted Elizabeth to write the memo outlining all the medical treatments that only qualified personnel were allowed to perform." "Oh yeah, I remember that. She included tattooing in that memo as well. Sergeant Hanson's tattooing business still did pretty well." "Because all your soldiers are brutes wanting to scar themselves—" Suddenly, a horribly loud, high-pitched siren fills the air, causing them to jump in surprise while pressing both hands to their ears. The sound is so loud it's painful, and holding his hands to his ears gives Rodney almost no relief. It's as if someone is drilling into his skull via his ear drum. Forcing a quick glance over to Sheppard, he can see that he's in just as much pain. Running over to the wall, with one ear pressed to his shoulder and the other covered by a hand, Sheppard uses the other hand to start knocking on the wall. Rodney quickly gets the idea and copies him, starting at the same point and moving in the opposite direction, rapping against each millimeter of wall that he can. The noise is relentless, and after a minute, when he's only made it a quarter of the way around the room, he realizes he just can't take it anymore and crouches down. His body still can't dull the noise and the pain starts to travel in waves, along his neck and into his jaw. He staggers until he falls over, unable to keep his balance and not really caring, cradling his head in his arms until just as suddenly as it came, the siren stops. Rodney lies there, panting. Still holding his ears, Rodney listens to the ringing. Glancing over at Sheppard, he sees him leaning his head against the wall, bracing himself with his arms. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" Rodney shouts, just so he can hear himself. Sheppard looks at him and shakes his head. "I DON'T KNOW, BUT I THINK IT STOPPED WHEN YOU LAY DOWN ON THE FLOOR." With a nod, mostly to himself, Rodney continues to lie there since it seems to be working out so well. Eventually Sheppard comes and sits down beside him, and every once in a while, snaps his fingers beside his ear. "You okay?" Sheppard asks after a while, and Rodney realizes he must have phased out because the ringing doesn't seem so bad now, though Sheppard's voice still sounds oddly muted. He gives Sheppard a nod. "You haven't seen my bread roll lying around, have you?" Sheppard points to the corner of the room where the toilet is. Both half-eaten rolls are sitting a little too close to where the waste hole opens up. "Never mind," Rodney says with a sigh. They sit there for a while longer, Rodney still nursing his head because that kind of noise is bound to cause some kind of permanent hearing damage. "Let's check out the orb," Sheppard says suddenly, jumping to his feet and gesturing to Rodney to get up as well. Rodney reluctantly picks himself up off the ground. "Now?" "It's as good a time as any, unless you want to stick around here forever and enjoy the hospitality." "Fine," Rodney says, following him to the center of the room so that they're directly underneath the orb. The ceiling looks about ten feet high. Spreading his legs a foot apart, Sheppard holds his hands out together, indicating that he wants to give Rodney a boost up. "You have got to be kidding me." "You could hold me up, but then I'd just have to describe everything to you and you'd have to tell me what to do. Seems more efficient to do it this way." "This is such a bad idea," Rodney says as he fits his right foot into Sheppard's clasped hands and grabs Sheppard's shoulder to hoist himself up. By leaning against Sheppard's torso, Rodney manages to get within a foot of the orb while Sheppard balances him precariously with his hands braced against his thighs. Up close, it looks exactly like it did from far away; a dark blue ball of glass. The glass is opaque, though, so he can't even see anything inside. Sheppard shifts his weight, but once he's stabilized himself again, Rodney reaches out and tentatively touches the surface. It's cool and slippery, and makes his fingers tingle with static, like touching an old model computer screen that's been on all day. Tapping it, Rodney can tell it's not fragile; the sound is like tapping on aluminum instead of glass, though he's never heard of a metal that can look like this. Moving on to the seam where the orb attaches to the ceiling, Rodney examines it closer. He can't see any screws or nails, only a thin, silicon-like membrane holding it in place. Bracing his hand on the orb, Rodney tries to use a fingernail to pry it apart. As soon as he touches it, a brilliant yellow spark shoots out from the orb, knocking him down and sending them both crashing to the floor. "And I was having such a good day in captivity," Rodney says, cradling his left arm close to his body and rolling off Sheppard, who he'd practically landed on top of. "I'd like to go on record as having known this was a bad idea from the start." Sheppard lets out a groan, untangling himself from Rodney's legs. "What'd you touch?" "Nothing. Just the caulking around the orb." "So they can see us? This time it's Rodney's turn to shrug. "Guess so. Or the damn thing is pressure sensitive." But looking at the orb now, he gets the feeling that maybe Sheppard's right. It kind of reminds him of an eyeball looking down at them. "Do you think we can smash it?" Sheppard says, standing up and going over to take a look for himself. Rodney stares at him in disbelief. "Why? So it can electrocute us? What is it with the military's fondness for blowing things up?" "No, but I don't think smashing things is going to improve our situation. We need to sit down and think about this. I might be able to figure out a way to use that orb to our advantage, but you need to give me a chance."
John stares at the orb. The orb stares back. He's not entirely convinced that letting Rodney talk him out of smashing it was a good idea. On the other side of the room, Rodney's pacing back and forth, working off some stress. The siren has blared five times in the last two days; three times randomly during the waking hours, once more when Rodney swore up a storm at the water stream and last night in the middle of the night. It took them five minutes the first time it sounded to figure out how to turn it off. In a desperate move when nothing else seemed to work, Rodney threw himself at the ground, in the same location he'd fallen the last time. The siren had stopped. John hates the fact that they've started hanging out in that corner of the room, five paces diagonally from the bread roll that's marking the spot they need to bang to get bread. The same place Rodney's walking around right now. It was hell trying to find that spot in the dark last night. Still feeling the ringing in his ears, John glares at the orb again. "Will you stop looking at it? You're going to make it suspicious and if you make it suspicious it's going to do something even worse, I can just feel it." Rodney's stopped pacing and has folded his arms in front of his chest. "Would you rather play the hokey pokey?" "What I'd rather do is have something to eat. Aren't you hungry?" John gives up on trying to intimidate the orb and goes over to Rodney. "Sure, I guess." He's not really hungry. Eating these bread rolls is a little like eating MREs for too many days in a row; after a while, he finds that he's never hungry at mealtimes until he opens another ration. Then he's ravenous, even if he can only eat half the package before throwing the rest away. It's like that now, except eating has the additional benefit of giving them something to do to break up the day. At least the food and water haven't been restricted, he thinks to himself, knowing better than to say that out loud. The last thing he needs right now is for Rodney to go off on a panic attack. The headache he had when he woke up the first day has never really left him; it just comes and goes, usually in relation to the volume and pitch of Rodney's voice. They sit down by the wall while he chews on his bread. "I guess as far as being held captive goes, this isn't so bad." Rodney says with his mouth half full. John wrinkles his forehead. "Rodney..." All the issues he's been trying to avoid verbalizing for the last few days come to mind, forcing him to choose his words carefully. In a way, this is basic interrogation technique—a distorted version of Good Cop/Bad Cop. He has no doubt that their captors are trying to make them feel secure—relieved that they haven't been hurt yet—and are even trying to give them hope they'll make it out of this alive. Yet the blaring siren, the boredom, and their captivity are all good indications that their captors mean to get something out of them. The problem is the last time he tried to have this kind of conversation with Rodney, Rodney pulled away and wanted nothing to do with it. "Don't let them manipulate you into letting your guard down. Don't ever forget that we're being held against our wills and that whoever has us ultimately wants something. We'd be free or dead by now if that wasn't the case." Beside him, Rodney stiffens his back and starts examining his fingernails. John forges ahead despite Rodney's reluctance. "Remember when I tried to talk to you after Kolya took Atlantis?" Rodney continues to stare down as his hands for a few more minutes before finally dropping them in his lap and looking up. "I suppose." Rodney's whole face is a mask and John can't figure out why. He has to keep going, though, because this is the only way he has of preparing Rodney for what's probably going to come. After Kolya's failed attempt at taking Atlantis, and Rodney's guilt at having succumbed to the threat and use of Kolya's knife, Elizabeth had asked him to take Rodney aside and have a little talk. Needless to say, the talk hadn't gone very well. He doesn't have a lot of faith that this one is going to go much better. "This is so much worse than that; I think we need to talk about it. This whole setup is to throw us off guard and cause us stress." "I'd say it's working then." Rodney's short answers say enough. This is exactly what he did when John took him aside in Atlantis. Back then, he had brushed aside the advice and gone on his way, choosing to pretend it never happened. John can't let him do that again. "This is important, Rodney. Our identities lie in our surroundings, habits, and interactions with others. So they've stripped away anything that's familiar to us because without our identities, we have nothing to hold onto to withstand their questioning when the time comes." "So why haven't they started asking us questions?" John shrugs. "Probably because they've only gotten started. They want to break up our routine, disorient us, cause us to depend on them while at the same time living in constant dread; the three D's of interrogation." The look on Rodney's face stops him. It's a mixture of horror, dismay and incredulity. "You sound like you're pretty familiar with all this." The accusation hangs in the air and John has to bite back his response. He's usually pretty good at controlling his temper, but right now it takes all his will power not to tell Rodney off. Rodney should know him better than that. Taking a deep breath, he focuses on what he was trying to say, instead. "I've just had the unfortunate luck to be on the receiving end of it a few times, that's all." "You sure? Because the way it rolls off your tongue—" "It rolls off my tongue," John starts, his anger finally slipping through, "because one of my old COs threw me in the brig and threatened to charge me with treason for disobeying a direct order. Not to mention that I'm pretty familiar with the Good Cop/Bad Cop routine from when I was a teenager, and ten years ago, I was involved in a mission that brought home fifteen POWs. I got to fly them out and believe me, watching them after they were rescued gave me all the education I needed. I'm telling you this stuff now because if you recognize it, maybe you have some hope of fighting against it. Retain who you are, Rodney. That's the key to all this." Rodney gets up and moves away, leaving John gritting his teeth. "You probably think I should be used to this," Rodney says, eventually. "I've always been a geek, I should have experienced my fair share of bullies, but you'd be surprised. Bullies are actually pretty easy to keep at bay. Disdain them enough and it preys on their insecurities that drive them to be bullies in the first place. My point is that I've always been pretty good at taking care of myself. But this? It doesn't matter how smart I am. It's something I have no protection against whatsoever, and I hate it." Seeing Rodney's shoulder slump, dissipates John's anger. John gets to his feet and moves toward Rodney, recognizing his fear. It wasn't his intention to freak Rodney out, but fear he can deal with; at least Rodney's talking. He reaches out and touches Rodney's shoulder. Eventually Rodney turns around and gives him a nod, and the tension slowly draining away. "The thing that I can't figure out is why they have us here together. If they really wanted to break us, total isolation would work best," John says, almost as an afterthought. "Oh, God." John watches Rodney's face until he's satisfied that Rodney's okay with the conversation continuing and then carries on. Rodney seems to have accepted that John's not trying to scold him, but rather attempting to give him some of the control he needs. "Don't worry, this might be a good thing. Maybe they're not doing this just to gain whatever secrets they can out of us. If they have some other motivations, there's a chance it'll never get as bad as I'm making you believe. Also, it means that we can fight them together. Your brains, my wit. We should be able to find a way out of here in no time." "Your wit?" John gives him a smile, trying to lighten the moment. "Well I don't have a gun, I was going for the next best thing." Rodney rolls his eyes, trying to suppress exasperation but John sees the old Rodney coming back again. If there's one thing that's always surprised him about Rodney is his ability to bounce back. "At least we have my brains. But don't sell yourself short—you're good for standing on, at least. And hey, if we get desperate enough, you can stick your skinny arm down the toilet hole."
Rodney settles in against the wall to finish his story. The lights have been off for an hour or so. Maybe. He really has no idea anymore. "Wait...why'd you ever go into the English building in the first place?" Sheppard asks, shifting against the wall and rubbing against Rodney's shoulder in the process. "I thought you were allergic to liberal arts." Sheppard's seemingly voluntary ventures into his personal space keep distracting Rodney and he almost loses his train of thought. There's been nothing to distract them from each other except for the painful siren or an occasional meal, and the careful balance that Rodney's always tried to keep is in danger of imploding in on itself. Fortunately the touch is only temporary; before long Sheppard flops over onto his stomach and lies down, obviously trying to find a comfortable position. He's still close enough that Rodney can feel his movements, but at least the whole thing doesn't feel as intimate as it did when they were seated shoulder to shoulder. Rodney takes a deep breath to get himself back on track and prays that Sheppard hasn't noticed. "Huh? Oh, right. Well normally you'd be correct, but unfortunately, they were renovating the engineering building that year so our classes were scattered all over campus. Solid-State Physics and Advanced Thermodynamics were in the English building, so you can imagine our bitterness at tripping over all the ambitious soon-to-be McDonald's employees to get to our classes everyday." Rodney leans his head back against the wall. He's surprised he remembers it as well as he does; he hasn't thought about his undergrad for years, but the memory is so clear he can almost hear the buzz of students in the air. "I'm assuming you're getting to the funny part sometime soon." Rolling his eyes, Rodney cracks his neck and settles in. "The third week of March was always prank week, so a bunch of us banded together and came up with the ultimate plan. James acquired us two ten by ten feet sheets of Plexiglas, I got the chloroform and Sandi and Megan picked up the Sea Monkeys." There's a pause as Sheppard thinks it over. "Tell me you did not turn the atrium into a fishbowl." Rodney smiles, enjoying the tinge of admiration in Sheppard's voice. "Well, we would have except for one tiny problem. The chloroform." "You knocked yourself unconscious?" "Ah—no. I appropriated James' SCUBA set; I guess he had planned on swimming in the fish tank when it was done. No, the problem was that though the chloroform welded the joints of the Plexiglas together, it failed to weld the sides to the tiled floor. We tried to improvise by sealing the bottom with the rubber fire hose, but then of course it turns out that the campus security could detect activation of the fire safety equipment and well...I don't need to go on, do I?" Sheppard chuckles. "And the Sea Monkeys?" "We let them loose in the freshmen fluid dynamics labs. There was a nice big dam there that they used to study flumes. The freshmen all brought them home as pets the next day. The best part is that the atrium had so much water damage they had to relocate all the classes to the chem building. Now that was justice. Since English 101 was the largest class it got assigned to the auditorium which just so happened to be situated in the same hall as the organic chemistry labs. Justice. "So what about you, Sheppard? You went to the Air Force Academy. What was the worst prank you ever pulled?" Sheppard shuffles around in the dark until he's sitting up again. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." "That's no fair. I told you mine, and that was completely embarrassing. I can't believe I didn't think of how to seal the tank onto the tiles. In my defense, I was young and naïve back then." Sheppard's quiet for a few minutes and at first Rodney thinks he's just coming up with the right story, but the silence is not of someone trying to remember something funny. Instead, it seems to Rodney, that Sheppard's debating whether or not to say something at all and he's not sure what to make of it. The darkness is absolute and he has no way of knowing what Sheppard's thinking. Not that Sheppard usually wears his thoughts on his face, but even the few clues he's learned are useless here. Finally Sheppard breaks the silence. "Just out of curiosity, why do you always call me Sheppard? I have a first name, you know." The question catches him totally by surprise and suddenly he's grateful for the darkness because it gives him some cover while he thinks of an answer. Unfortunately the only thing that occurs to him is the truth. "I just never presumed I could call you anything else," he says, biting off the rest of the sentence. "You call Elizabeth by her name." "I've known her longer." "Maybe," Sheppard concedes. "But I think in terms of actual hours spent working together, I beat her by a long shot." "Yeah, but..." Rodney stops because he has no idea what to say. Well, his mouth knows what to say, the explanation is already running through his mind. Thankfully, whatever small filter he has between his brain and his mouth is actually working today because it stops everything from spilling out. The truth is he doesn't dare. He respects Sheppard so much it scares him. Every mission they go on, every plan they execute, part of him is always scared of letting Sheppard down. So he always strives to be better than who he is, to do more than what he ever thought he was capable of. He's been around the military enough to see the kind of friendships that can be forged; always been a little envious of them from afar, if he's man enough to admit it. Then he met Sheppard and got to be a part of his team. And now, for better or worse, Rodney wouldn't trade it for the world. Wouldn't trade away the constant life and death situations, the allergies, the bugs, Sheppard's awkward social skills, or the myriad of people and things that have tried to kill them, because for the first time in his life, he has people he can truly call friends. It just so happens that the man he respects the most is the one who keeps the most personal distance around him. He calls Sheppard by his last name because he doesn't dare encroach on that space. It doesn't even feel right calling him John in the privacy of his own mind. "Well—whatever. You can call me what you want, Rodney, it doesn't matter. I was just curious." Rodney bites his lip. With nothing to rely on except the tone of Sheppard's voice, he has the impression that it actually matters a great deal. The Morning After "We'll fight them together," Rodney mutters under his breath, rapping on the section of wall to get some water. He takes a sip before shutting it back down. He's starting to get hungry again...or maybe he just never stopped being hungry and now he's just noticing it. Regardless, Sheppard's not stopping him, so he moves over to the other panel, gives it a few hard knocks and picks up the two bread rolls after they fall from the orb. Paying close attention to the process, he decides that it looks like the food is materializing in front of the orb as opposed to traveling through it. Putting one of the rolls in his mouth, he chews it while going back to the panel he just knocked on. "Damn," he says to himself as he finishes the roll. Looking at the one left in his hands, he glances over to Sheppard to see if he's hungry but Sheppard's lying with his head against the wall, eyes closed. Rodney can tell he isn't sleeping because every few minutes Sheppard shifts around, as if trying to get comfortable. Fuck it, he can knock on the wall and get two more for himself when he wants, he thinks as he starts to eat the second roll. After their talk last night, Rodney was ready to put aside his fears and start preparing for what's likely going to happen as their captivity continues. But between last night and this morning, something changed. Last night they had fallen asleep side by side again, after he and Sheppard had sat there for a long while, not communicating, just lost in their own thoughts. Then Sheppard had started going over various techniques for how to resist coercion other techniques their captures were likely to use. Just be strong, Rodney. Don't let them dehumanize you. And hold on to your neuroses. Ironically enough, they'll actually help you deal with the sensory deprivation they're subjecting us to. Sheppard had talked and he had actually listened, even though the subject continued to haunt him throughout the night. Rodney figured it was no secret he had control issues. He was well aware of his own psychological and physical idiosyncrasies; he was capable of self-diagnosis which was part of the reason he found medical doctors so superfluous. He'd figured out he was a control freak during his first PhD. TA-ing all those freshmen, supervising them in the microprocessor programming lab nearly gave him an ulcer. Undergrads were the worst; they had nothing to lose and lots of free time to muck around the computer network, loading programs they weren't supposed to and playing around with the registry just for shits and giggles. Every hour they spent in the lab, he had to spend five resetting everything so he could get his own work done until it got to the point where he just said fuck it and instituted his own preventative controls. Unfortunately, the dean's secretary hadn't liked his helpful popup windows and couldn't be bothered to remember the password giving her the faculty administration rights, even though he'd personally written it on a post-it note just for her. After that whole fiasco, he'd only been assigned higher level classes where the students were at least close enough to graduation that he could threaten them with failing and it would actually mean something. The bottom line is it's all about control. He likes things a certain way. He likes his computer set up a certain way and everyone in his section knows better than to mess with his directories or install shit on his computer. He likes his lab bench on Atlantis exactly as it is—messy but with a certain chaotic order, because he knows where everything is and can find it in a pinch. He likes understanding himself; it gives him some feeling of control over the rather unpredictable nature of biology. He likes knowing that he can understand almost anything, if he works at it long enough, and he likes knowing that he can hold his own when it comes to solving the many crises that decorate their life on Atlantis. This is why he thinks it should be obvious to Sheppard that the thing that scares him the most about their situation is the complete and total loss of control that's inherent in their capture. They are at the mercy of whatever lunatic is behind this, and any lunatic that can think up a doorless grey room for a holding cell is certainly a lunatic worthy of being scared of. He's not sure if Sheppard gets all this about him, but he thinks so. Sheppard's smarter than almost everyone gives him credit for. And if there's one person Rodney doesn't want to disappoint, it's him. So last night he'd listened and paid attention, and Sheppard had rewarded him with his approval and then they'd moved on to talking about other things. It had been nice, and at the end, before they'd started drifting off to sleep, Rodney had even forced himself to say, "Goodnight, John," though it felt alien coming out of his mouth and he concedes he might have said it so quietly Sheppard probably didn't even hear. Everything was looking up and he woke up this morning with a renewed sense of purpose. They had a game plan, he was ready to make Sheppard proud and keep himself together long enough to figure a way out. Surprise surprise, though, things never go to plan. Since Sheppard had woken up, their conversations had been stilted, and Rodney felt like he'd been punched in the gut. There was no hint of the easygoing friendship they'd shared last night. After breakfast, Sheppard had gone back to the other side of the room, curled up and feigned sleep. You make no sense whatsoever, you know? Rodney thinks as he glares at Sheppard. Call me John. Now don't talk to me. Let's get out of here. Now I'm going to sleep the day away. Rodney has the irresistible urge to go kick him. Why bother bringing up the subject and convincing me that maybe I can still have some level of control over the situation if I learn your military mumbo jumbo and then you don't help me carry through with it? Screw it. You know what? I'll figure this out myself. There must be something I can do. I can't reach the orb, but there's gotta be something electrical or mechanical behind that wall that makes the food appear. Mice get a lever to push, we get a wall to tap; both are physical systems unless it's just someone watching us behind that orb... Starting at the panel that gives him the food, Rodney runs his fingers up and down the wall. He can't see or feel any indication that this section of wall is different than any of the others. "Are you really watching me?" Rodney asks the orb, and then pretends to knock on the wall, stopping his knuckles millimeters from the surface each time. Nothing happens. So then he knocks properly, and two bread rolls appear and fall to the ground. "Ah-ha!" Rodney picks up the bread and starts to eat a third one. This means that there must to be some kind of sensor or mechanism behind or within the wall and that the production of bread doesn't happen because the orb sees them knocking. It happens because they actually knock. Starting at the very bottom of the wall and moving up, Rodney runs his thumbnail along the fine grain of the surface, until he feels a small catch, just to the right of where they knock. "Where's my damn screwdriver when I need it," Rodney curses as he works at the lip in the wall, breaking his nail and then moving on to using his left hand. He doesn't care if he's talking to himself. He needs to talk. It helps him think. It gives the rest of his body something to do so he can formulate what needs to be done. Sparing a quick glance again at Sheppard, Rodney decides that if it annoys him, well, that's okay too. Finally, the panel of wall starts to lift up, at first only enough so he can get his fingertips underneath, but once he does that, he gives it a good yank. The wall starts to bend, and he lets out a whoop of glee as soon as he sees the processor controls underneath. "Ha!" Rodney shouts in victory. Then without thinking he lifts the panel all the way and reaches in to touch the microchip board. A bolt of electricity shoots out from the wall, traveling all the way up his arm, and sends him sprawling on the floor. ~~~ John hears it before he sees it but only by a microsecond. He opens his eyes in time to see Rodney being thrown to the ground, yellow sparks shooting from the panel. "Rodney!" he shouts and is on his feet instantly. He runs over, glancing quickly at the control panel, but there's no sign of malfunction; in fact the wiring looks completely intact. The blast wasn't an accident then, but rather intentional punishment for trying to access the controls. He kneels down and quickly puts his hands on the side of Rodney's face. Rodney's unconscious, his face clammy but he's still breathing. "Come on, Rodney, talk to me. You okay?" There's no response. John quickly does a cursory examination, checking for burns and other injuries, and miraculously finds none. Nothing to explain why Rodney's unconscious except for smell of electricity in the air. Not knowing what else to do, he eventually rolls Rodney onto his left side and sits next to him, keeping his hand on Rodney's arm. "I'm so stupid," John says miserably, gripping Rodney's arm tighter than he needs to. He doesn't know what the hell his problem is. Aside from the fact that they're stuck here, things were going okay last night. He and Rodney had talked, and he'd gotten the impression that Rodney had really been trying to understand what he was saying. Eventually he had even told Rodney about the prank he'd pulled while on his Basic Officer Training and they'd laughed and shared other personal stories for most of the night. For the first time since this whole ordeal had started, John had felt okay. He had no idea what had prompted him to ask Rodney about using his name though. Lots of people called him Sheppard; even more people just called him sir. His best friend at the Academy had called him Shep, so why did it matter that Rodney never called him John—he'd made his choice three years ago. The truth is, back on Antarctica, he'd been considering resigning his commission at the end of his assignment before Elizabeth had asked him to come along. He'd had enough of the military way of doing things. Which meant that coming to Atlantis hadn't just meant moving to another galaxy, it had meant staying with the military for the rest of his life. The military who had cost him a normal life growing up when his father was moved from base to base, uprooting his family every few years. The military who in return had given him a father with a temper and a drinking problem because his wife and son could never live up to his expectations. The military who had given him the chance to fly, in exchange for watching his friends die. The military who had forced him to stop caring because otherwise he wouldn't survive. Back in Antarctica, staring out at the crystalline beauty of the glaciers, he'd come to the conclusion that the military had cost him just too damn much. His ex-wife had once accused him of having a mistress. John still remembers that night because he had laughed and laughed. She'd left and gone to her mother's house because she had thought he was laughing at her but really he'd just been laughing at the very idea. He hadn't been able to give his wife what she'd needed; his attention, his caring. The very idea of loving her as much as she needed was so outside the realm of what he was capable of it hurt to think about. The idea that he would then be able to carry on with another woman on top of the guilt he already felt was beyond absurd. It only occurred to him after he signed the divorce papers, that maybe his wife had been talking about the Air Force instead. So when Elizabeth had presented him with a one-way ticket to another galaxy, he had carefully considered his options: finally leave the military and stay on Earth, or run away and start over. He suspects he had made the decision he did because he's a sucker for the promise of adventure, but mostly because deep down, he knows he needs to be a part of something bigger. It was the reason he joined the Air Force in the first place. The sacrifice was worth it. The fact that living in Atlantis had given him so much more than he'd ever dreamed of shouldn't have clouded his judgment. Last night, when Rodney had casually whispered his goodnight, it had hit him like a sucker punch. It had shown him that sometime over the last three years, he'd started to let his guard down and that had been his mistake. He had let himself believe that though his life still had protocols that had to be followed, the boundaries weren't as rigid as they used to be. He'd been wrong to ask Rodney to call him John. He couldn't afford the distractions, especially not here. So this morning he had tried to re-erect the walls, put some distance between them, but watching Rodney move about was just too difficult. He was just so alive he couldn't help but make you alive as well. He'd caught Rodney's hurt expression when he had brushed him off and gone back to feigning sleep. And now Rodney was injured because he lacked the strength to be Rodney's friend. John grits his teeth and slides Rodney closer. "Sorry, buddy." Entropy John looks at the panel more closely, running his fingers over the place he had seen Rodney pry up. There's nothing there now. The wall has apparently healed itself during the time he was sitting with Rodney. Rodney's still lying on the floor, unconscious. He hasn't moved, though John's been vigilant about making sure he's still breathing. Looking at his wrist in frustration, John counts to ten. He hates not having a watch. He has no idea how long it's been, or what else he can do. The frustration is driving him mad. Looking back at the panel, the hairs on his neck stand straight. There's nothing natural about this whole place and he has to fight the urge to punch it with his fist. Stepping back, he debates knocking on it and getting some food. His stomach is in knots and he's not hungry at all, but he knows he needs to keep his strength. He hasn't eaten since last night and still his stomach revolts at the idea of eating more bread. Resigning himself to it, he makes a fist, and knocks on the wall to get some food. Nothing happens. He tries again. No bread falls from the orb. The room is completely silent and panic starts to flare in his chest. "Okay, I know you're not broken because you just fixed yourself. You're doing this to spite me, so stop it and just give me the damn bread," John says, knocking harder this time, in case the wall wasn't paying attention. Nothing happens again, so John smacks the wall with his hand. Looking around the room, John notices the bread roll Rodney had been holding when he was shocked. There's a bite missing from it, but John picks it up and starts to eat. It's already starting to get stale, but suddenly he's famished. When he's done, he looks around again but the only other roll of bread he sees is the roll they placed to mark the food wall. With a sigh, John leaves it and takes a drink instead. The water sloshes around in his stomach, making him feel a little nauseous, but splashing some on his face helps. Going back over to Rodney, John sits down and tries to think. He has no idea who their captors might be. The Wraith wouldn't do something like this, and the Genii lack the technology and patience to try. He can't shake the feeling that there's something oddly familiar about the room and walls, but it's probably because they're the only things he's had to look at for the last four days. Goosebumps tickle his forearm so he rubs them with his hands. Above him he feels a slight breeze, but looking around he can't see where it might be coming from. A shiver shakes through him and it's only then that he notices it's slightly cooler in the room. "This is not happening," John says to himself even though part of him is not really surprised. They've had it easy these last few days. He checks over Rodney and notices goosebumps on his arms as well. He moves a little closer, rubbing Rodney's arm and realizes he's actually grown accustomed to touching him now. ~~~ John shivers openly, gripping Rodney who's still unconscious but now lying in his lap. The temperature has dropped at least twenty degrees and he knows he should get up and move around but that would mean leaving Rodney without any extra body warmth. Rodney hasn't moved at all since collapsing, but his face is pale and he's constantly shivering. "Okay, you've made your point," John yells at the orb, frustration and fear taking up permanent residence in the middle of his chest. "Why don't you tell me what you want so that we can make a little progress here? It's pointless to torture us if we don't know what you want. Let me help you." He grimaces at the silence and wishes he'd paid more attention to Elizabeth during her negotiations. He feels like a used car salesman talking to the damn thing and his own tactics for dealing with this haven't been very successful; it would be nice to have something else to try. He puts his head down on Rodney's chest and accepts that there's a very good possibility there's no rescue coming at all. Their captors aren't playing by the normal rules, and John wouldn't be surprised if they haven't even made any demands. No demands mean that Elizabeth has no more information that they do about what's going on. Which means they are out here on their own. ~~~ John exhales and watches the vapor collect against Rodney's cheek. He doesn't remember ever being this cold; not even in Antarctica. McMurdo was well insulated and everyone took precautions against the cold when working outside. There was also a lot to do, if one was inclined, to keep one busy. A bout of shivering courses through his body and John bends his head back to Rodney's chest. At this point, the sharing of body heat is helping him as much as it is Rodney. Rodney's breathing is shallow and slow and it's only then that John notices that Rodney's stopped shivering. Fear and adrenaline force him to gently slide Rodney back to the floor and get up, though his muscles are slow and uncooperative. He trips over his feet as he makes his way to the wall; he hasn't been able to feel his toes or his fingers for a while now. Starting randomly on the first section of wall he touches, John starts to whack it with the palm of his hand, moving forward and back in a desperate attempt to get some response from the orb. If Rodney's not shivering any more, then he doesn't have much time. The reverberations from hitting the wall over and over again send a sharp pain up his shoulder and he stumbles trying to walk around the room, hitting every section of wall he can. "Come on, you son of a bitch," John curses as he reaches the halfway point around the room. He almost wishes the siren would sound again because at least that would mean someone's still there watching them, interacting with them on some level, not leaving them here to freeze to death. "What do you want me to do? Lie down on the floor? Scream? Stand on my head? Give me some kind of fucking clue!" Panting, he stumbles again and cries out when he actually trips and falls, banging his knee on the floor. Lying there helpless, he closes his eyes. He's just so damn tired. "What do you want?" he whispers again, trying one last time to figure it out. The cold is making his brain sluggish because he swears he can feel the answer close by; it just keeps slipping through his grasp. Not knowing who their captors are makes it that much harder to figure out their motivations but John knows it's the only key to surviving this. Detention usually serves one of two purposes: to exert an effect on the society on the outside or to exert an effect on the person on the inside. It's possible they've been captured just to remove them from the equation and that maybe whoever's behind this is now attacking Atlantis. Maybe he and Rodney have been put aside for future use after Atlantis is conquered or maybe they're here because their captors are hoping they'll give up information so that Atlantis can be conquered in the first place. It doesn't really matter. Both options lead to the same thing. The only reason for locking them in this cell and doing these things to them is to break them. That's what their captors want. John tries to swallow but his throat is dry. The invisible air currents cooling the room are also sucking the moisture out of the air. "Is that what you want? You want to break me? If you do, will you let Rodney survive?" The room doesn't answer, but it suddenly occurs to him why the people behind this locked them in here together. Everything so far has had a purpose; he shouldn't be surprised that this has one too. He figures all the sensory deprivation is mostly to crack Rodney. Sure, he thinks the room is creepy, but he's pretty sure it freaks Rodney out more than it does him. He's been in worse spots, he's been caught by worse people. A warm place to sleep coupled with food that comes mostly on demand—it's not that bad. It cuts into Rodney worse though. Rodney needs control of his surroundings, needs to understand what's going on and this is the opposite of both. If this keeps up long enough, he thinks that Rodney will eventually break, will regress until he's telling their captors anything they want to know. He's come a long way since Kolya, but something tells John these bastards are a thousand times worse. But now he finally understands how they plan on breaking him and the insidiousness of it is staggering. It's like they stuck a probe into his head and rooted around until they found the one thing in there that could destroy him. Then they stuck him and Rodney in here together because they knew that eventually he would loosen his guard and let Rodney in. The cracks were already there, waiting for it to happen. There's no hiding that they're friends, and even though John's been careful with all the people he's grown to care about in Atlantis, he knows he's been slipping. He's started to want more...to need more, which doesn't make sense. He doesn't understand why now that he has friends, he feels the loneliness even more. He'd die for each and every one of them; there's never been any question about that at all. What he'd never let them do is die for him, and keeping his friends at arms length ensures that that will likely never happen. It also ensures that he'll never be exposed to the stabbing pain of loss and betrayal again. Now he realizes he's being asked to make a choice. Let Rodney die, or let Rodney in—and both options hold the power to destroy him. Drifting at the edge of consciousness, John realizes he doesn't feel cold anymore; but blowing a breath still makes a cloud of vapor in the air. His mind stumbles over the ideas floating around and he knows he should let Rodney die. The cold will kill Rodney before it kills him, since Rodney's already in a compromised state. Then their captors will have a choice to make; either raise the temperature in the room and let him live, or let him freeze to death. If he freezes to death alongside Rodney, so be it. But if they hope to use other methods to gain information from him, letting Rodney die will make that impossible. It's something he's sure he'll never recover from and that apathy will destroy whatever chances his captors have of getting anything out of his mind. If he lets Rodney in, however, there's a good chance Rodney will still die, or worse, and the pain of that might spill the secrets in his head like sand falling though his fingers. He knows better than to let it happen that way; aside from vowing he would never open himself up like that again, he knows that there's too much in his head that can be used to gain an advantage in an attack against Atlantis or Earth. He knows that the integrity of his mind is the only thing of value that he possesses and that to give it up would be worse than just lying down and dying; but it's not just his death he's contemplating here. It's Rodney's, as well. The knot of fear tightens in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. It's already too late. He made a mistake. Somewhere in the last few days he already let Rodney in—because the truth is, he shouldn't even be having this conversation with himself. It shouldn't change anything if it's a matter of Rodney's death or not. The greater good can never be compromised. He's required to let both himself and Rodney die before giving up knowledge that could endanger anyone else. What makes you less valuable than some fucking codes? A part of his mind rages out. And why do you have to feel guilty for caring about the people you're supposed to die for? Why does part of your sacrifice have to include dying alone? Isn't it enough that you've lived your whole life enclosed in your own private shell, never letting anyone close enough to learn the secret that John Sheppard might actually be capable of love? Stop it! John answers back, swatting at the air as if that will stop the voice from speaking. Stop it. If I give in, I give in to everything, and they win. They've already won. The voice carries on relentlessly. You're both going to die here. Going to Rodney now only buys you time; they're still going to kill you both eventually. At least for the first time in your life, you won't be alone. I can't. They'll be able to use Rodney against me. They already can. But maybe he'll surprise you. Maybe letting Rodney in will make you stronger. John clenches his hands over his ears, but the voice in his head won't stop. Maybe it won't. Maybe he'll be so disgusted by what I need that he'll hate me for it. By what you need? You mean comfort? Love? Accepting of who you are? Don't be ridiculous. He's not your father. His strength leaves him with the mention of his father and he drops his head against the floor. Lying there, as images from his past come to life, he's surprised to feel wetness on his cheeks. You goddamn bastard. Go to him. Even if it's the last thing you do. Go to him and embrace who he is and let yourself feel for the first time in your poor pathetic life. Taking a deep breath, John rolls over onto his stomach, grimacing as his pain travels through his limbs. Lacking the strength to get up, he scrambles his legs, forcing his feet to push himself forward, his feet screaming and feeling like little stumps on the end of his legs as he drags himself with his elbows closer to Rodney. Inch by inch, each movement making his body beg for a rest, John pushes forward the few feet to where Rodney's lying. Just when he thinks he can't move anymore, he reaches forward and grabs Rodney's limp hand, lacing their fingers together. "Sorry, Rodney," John whispers, finally collapsing and lying his head on the floor. Rodney's hand feels so cold in his, but for just a moment John basks in the feeling of touching him. It's true John's touched him before. He's avoided doing so, but especially lately he's found himself reaching out. But what he's doing now isn't just a friendly pat on the back, or a hand offered to help someone up. He's not doing this to keep Rodney warm and alive, he's touching Rodney for himself. To feel the presence of another human being, to feel the presence of Rodney and know that at the moment they both exist, and that he cares about Rodney and values him, and if they're going to die right now, at least they won't be alone. Rodney's hand is solid and real and maybe just for this moment, John feels solid and real as well.
Rodney blinks, the brightness of the room greeting him when he opens his eyes. Every muscle in his body hurts, and his head feels like it's been used for badminton practice with him as the birdie. Letting out a groan, he tries to move, gingerly lifting his head to see what the hell happened. All he remembers is trying to access the panel on the wall and something shooting out at him. "God, remind me never to do that again," he croaks out. Looking around he sees Sheppard lying beside him, looking pale but otherwise okay, and then notices that their fingers are intertwined. He stares at their hands, suddenly forgetting about his aches and pains. Rodney sits up, careful not to let go, and moves forward to get a closer look at Sheppard. Sheppard's lying on his side a foot away. He's far enough away that he had to reach out to grab Rodney's hand. Something tugs at his heart and Rodney reaches over and gently shakes him. "Sheppard? You awake? Wake up." There's a moment before Sheppard starts to stir, but eventually he rolls over, unconsciously taking back his hand and rubbing his face. Rodney lets his hand go and sits back, giving Sheppard some space. "We're alive?" Sheppard asks, sitting up. "For the moment. What happened?" Rodney looks around the room. It looks exactly the same as it did before, except that the panel he had managed to open is now closed. Sheppard rubs his arms. "You were out for a long time and wouldn't wake up. Then the room started to get colder and colder. I thought we were going to freeze to death." Rodney can't put his finger on it, but something tells him Sheppard's holding something back. If that's all that happened then he can understand Sheppard lying next to him for warmth, but not a foot and a half away reaching for his hand. Rodney carefully skirts the issue. "You okay?" Sheppard nods. "I guess. The room feels like it's back to normal, so that's good." "Did you have to do something to get the heat back?" Rodney asks, referring to the fact they have to lie down on a certain section of floor to get the siren to stop. Nothing these last few days has been straightforward. Sheppard looks at him, licks his lips and then turns away, slowly getting to his feet. He moves carefully, as if testing his feet and legs and not quite trusting that they won't give out. "Hungry?" Sheppard asks, walking over to the wall. Right on cue, Rodney's stomach grumbles. "Starving. But you didn't answer my question." "Well, I hope this works," Sheppard replies, ignoring him and leaning against the wall as he gives it a knock. With a sigh, Rodney gets up and goes over to the food lying on the floor. "Hey, try again. Only one bread roll came out." "I was worried about that," Sheppard says, giving the wall another knock. Rodney looks up expectantly, but nothing happens. It takes him a second to remember, but when he does, a wave of guilt washes over him. "Shit. That's my fault. I knocked twice, got four rolls, and then messed around with the panel. Now it's punishing us, isn't it? Here, you take this," he offers the roll to Sheppard. Sheppard gives him a surprised look and then shakes his head. "No, you go ahead. You were injured—" "And you almost froze to death right along with me. Here—" Rodney takes the roll and breaks it in two, handing Sheppard the slightly bigger piece. "—Just eat it." "Thanks," Sheppard says quietly, taking it. They eat in silence for a few minutes, Rodney sneaking glances at Sheppard whenever he can. Something happened while he was out but he can't figure out what it is. They move over to their usual place close to the shut-off zone for the siren and sit against the wall. Rodney's still hungry but he bites his tongue and suffers. There's no way he's going to complain. "Why would they do this?" Sheppard looks at him and Rodney can see the circles under his eyes. "They're trying to turn us against each other. That's what this whole tactic today has been about." "What happened when I was out?" Rodney asks, quietly, trying to convey that he really wants to know, but that Sheppard isn't under any pressure to answer if he doesn't want to. The last thing Rodney wants to do is go back to the situation they had this morning, if it really was this morning. It feels like a week ago since he fiddled with the panel, angry with Sheppard for ignoring him. This time Sheppard just shakes his head. "Can we talk about it later? My head is killing me, and I just need some rest." Rodney nods and then slides over a little so he can lean against Sheppard. "You're a great leaning post, you know." Sheppard's lips curl up in a smile and he leans back against Rodney. "You're not bad yourself." ~~~ It's pitch black when John opens his eyes again. The headache has receded a little at least, but the hunger pains in his stomach have intensified. Beside him, he feels Rodney stir. His shoulder's wet, so he shakes Rodney's awake. With a snort and a jerk, Rodney shifts and wakes up, twisting around. "Wha? Huh? What's going on?" "Nothing," John says, patting him on the arm. "The lights are just off. You were drooling on my arm." "For that you woke me up?" "It feels like Niagara Falls on my shirt." Rodney grumbles and mutters, kneading John's arms like a pillow, but after moving around for a few minutes, resigns himself to being awake. "How are you feeling?" John asks, after they've been sitting in silence a few minutes. He's not sorry Rodney's awake, he feels emotionally exhausted after everything that's happened today and figures he's entitled to a little company. "Lousy. My back is going to need major chiropractic work done if we ever get out of here and I'm so hungry I could eat a horse. God, I don't think I've ever been this hungry. I think it's hard to say what hurts more, my stomach or my back, though my neck's a close second. You?" John smiles at the litany of complaints. "Better. If your hunger's really bad you can try and find your way to the water and have a drink." "And try not to fall into the toilet? No thanks, I can wait. How long do you think we've been asleep?" "I have no idea. At least three or four hours, I think. I suspect we still have some time to go in the dark. We'd better find the water fountain." Together they get up and stumble around, counting off paces until they find the corner they think the toilet is in. It takes them a while to find the right section of wall to knock on, but eventually John hears a swoosh and the trickle of water shooting out from the wall. Using his hands against the wall to navigate and listening to the sound of the water, John still manages to lean forward too far and gets water up his nose and down his shirt. Coughing and sputtering, he eventually finds a good angle to take a drink. At least the water is refreshing, soothing his throat and tongue, which makes up partly for the nauseating smell. After Rodney's turn, they fumble around and eventually close the water and make their way to a comfortable section of wall. "I just thought of something," Rodney starts after they've settled down. "It's been bothering me since I woke up, but I couldn't figure it out. When I had that access panel open, there was something distinctly familiar about it."
Rodney pauses as if weighing his words. "Sort of. I've never seen a distributor panel exactly like it, but it used a crystal-based network to deliver the signals." That makes John sit up straight. "It's Ancient? "More like a bastardized version of Ancient design. It's as if whoever's behind this stole some of their technology and adapted it to their own use. Maybe we're on an abandoned Ancient outpost or something. I don't know." "Maybe they want us because of the gene?" "Maybe," Rodney says, shifting toward him until their knees touch. "But I don't think so. When I was fiddling around with it, it didn't hum the same way Ancient devices do when I activate them. I don't think it paid any attention to my gene at all." John mulls over this new information. It still doesn't tell then anything concrete, but at this point, any information is an improvement. "Do you want to tell me what happened now?" Rodney asks. John sits there in silence. He knew Rodney would ask eventually but he was hoping to put it off a while longer. Maybe even indefinitely. "Don't do this again. Look, I'm not stupid. I know something happened when I was out, something other than the room trying to freeze us to death. I think if you tell me, maybe I can use that information to try and figure out what's going on." Leaning back, John exhales. "I told you the important part. It's going to try and turn us against each other." "Why?" "Because it wants to break me." Rodney is silent and John bites his lip wondering if he said too much. The memory of lying there, reaching out to touch Rodney's hand, is burned into his mind, and makes him feel like he's in freefall just thinking about it. "Because it wants to break you? That makes no sense. I think it would affect me as well." "Maybe." John feels slightly disembodied talking about it now. The darkness helps in that he doesn't have to look at Rodney's face, but it also feels like he's talking into a void. "I don't know how I know, but the room gave me a choice. I could let us freeze to death or..." "Or?" "You're going to think it's ridiculous." "I've heard of a lot of ridiculous things, trust me. I could write a book on the number of ridiculous things people tell me everyday. Somehow I doubt this is one of them." John feels Rodney's hand on his arm. The touch is solid, just like before, but warm this time. Alive. They're both still alive because he made his choice. "Or I could reach out to you and accept the fact that I need you to be close to me," he says quickly, bracing himself for Rodney's reaction because saying it out loud makes it sound so dirty. "I don't mean anything weird, I just mean I want to be able to talk to you and let you in; if you want to that is." "So let me die or let me be your friend. Please don't tell me this was a hard decision to make." "We all have our weakness, Rodney, please don't belittle mine. You have no idea what this is going to cost me." Rodney rubs his thumb on John's arm. "Sorry." The silence settles over them and John leans his head back, just enjoying the feel of Rodney's touch. He has no idea what it means, no idea what he really wants from Rodney except that he doesn't want Rodney to stop. Mustering all the courage he can, John slides his hand onto Rodney's leg and grips it tight. Beside him, he hears Rodney's intake of breath. "What do you want?" Rodney asks, after the silence stretches on. John hasn't moved a muscle, not wanting to spoil the moment. "I don't know," John replies, knowing he should pull his hand back before they cross a different kind of boundary, but his hand doesn't want to move. Reluctantly, he forces himself to stand, in the hopes that putting some distance between them will help. "I'm sorry. I'm no good at this. I—" Rodney catches his arm and stands up as well. Gripping John's forearm, he asks quietly, "Do you want to stop?" The darkness is absolute and all he can feel is the pressure of Rodney's fingers on his arm. They feel like hot pokers, burning his flesh, and all he wants to do is pull away and at the same time bring him closer. "I don't know. I don't know what any of this means." John shakes his head and then realizes Rodney can't see. "No. Not if you don't want to." Rodney pulls him toward the wall and leans him up against it. John feels Rodney slide his hand down his arm, and he shivers in response. Rodney's standing so close, their legs are less than an inch apart and Rodney trails his hand up John's upper arm, down his chest, settling it down the side of his body. Rodney steps in closer until they're face to face. "Rodney," John stammers out. His heart is beating a mile a minute, every touch Rodney lays on his body notching up the tension until he can hardly breathe. The only thing stopping him from spinning out of control is the feel of Rodney's hands on the side of his body. Rodney leans in closer. "If this isn't what you want—" John slips his hands around Rodney's waist, bringing him closer. They're almost the same height, so when Rodney leans in, letting the sides of their faces touch, the stubble of their beards, scratches John's face. His heart is pounding so loud he's not sure how Rodney doesn't hear it and then Rodney's moving, tilting his head up a fraction of an inch and without even thinking about it, John finds himself looking down, ready to meet him. Rodney lips are dry but soft, and John sinks in, kissing him, before he even realizes what he's doing. By the time the word kissing goes through his mind, it's only the pressure of the wall against his back that's holding him up. Rodney leans back, breaking the kiss and breathing heavily against John's cheek as his hands travel down his torso to his waist and slips underneath his t-shirt. Then Rodney's lifting it up and trying to get it off. "Rodney?" "Your shirt's all wet down the front. I just thought..." Rodney lets the edge of John's t-shirt fall back down. John quickly grabs the hem and lifts it off for him. Rodney rewards him by touching his chest with his hands, skirting over his nipples which sends a surprising shock through his body and rubbing his hands along John's ribs. The kiss may have boggled John's mind, but it's this touch all over his skin that finally makes it all real. Rodney is touching him, really touching him, and it's okay for John to touch him back. Reaching forward, he starts with Rodney's arms; they're closest to his hands and safe. He's touched them before even though never like this. John splays his fingers over Rodney's bicep, feels the muscles tense and contract under his hands and even without seeing, he knows he's having the same effect on Rodney that Rodney's having on him. And he doesn't have a clue what he should do next. "Rodney, I—" "John." His name hangs in the air as Rodney grips the side of his face and kisses him again, hard and unrelenting, and John grasps him tight against his chest, finally giving in completely. Their stubble is rough, their breaths are stale, but he takes it all, holding Rodney tight. With their bodies pressed tight against each other, John quickly becomes aware that he's hard. It catches him off guard because he just wasn't expecting it, but with Rodney standing as close as he is, he can feel Rodney's erection as well. Instinctively, he pushes his hips against Rodney's, pressing their cocks together through their pants because now that he's down this path, there's no way he's able to stop. It's like he's in a flat spin. The sensations are overwhelming. Rodney lets out a groan and pretty much crumples against him. "Jesus, Shep—John, you really know how to go from zero to sixty." John grins into Rodney's cheek. "That's me." He feels Rodney lean back and almost starts to protest before he feels Rodney reaching for his belt. With a quick pull, Rodney has it off and he's opening John's pants and suddenly John can't move fast enough to keep up. John fumbles with Rodney's belt and fly; it feels so odd to be taking them off someone other than himself, but Rodney slips his hand in his boxers and John stops thinking. The moment Rodney curls his fingers around his dick all his half-formed thoughts go out the proverbial window. All he wants to do is feel; feel Rodney's cock in his hands, feel the sweet pressure of Rodney's hand around him, encompassing him, touching him, blocking out every single thought and sensation there is except for Rodney. Rodney obliges and pushes him back against the wall, pressing their bodies together through their half-open pants, and then slides down John's legs. "Huh? What are you—" John starts but the question answers itself when he feels Rodney's tongue, licking the head of cock. He throws his head back and grabs Rodney's shoulders. "Oh, God." Rodney licks his whole length, sucking him into his mouth and using his hands to give John the friction he needs. John groans and tries to hold on, the pressure rising and he doesn't think he can handle much more. He pulls Rodney up, begging him to stand because he doesn't want to come without feeling Rodney beside him. Rodney tries to stand but John's legs crumble and they slide the floor. "I want—"John maneuvers Rodney so that he can climb between his legs, crawling up Rodney's body until he's lying on top of him. John can feel Rodney everywhere, his chest, his face, his arms, his legs, his cock. He wants every single inch of him. John reaches between them, grabbing their cocks with one hand and rubbing them together, the pressure increasing until he can feel it pounding in his ears. "John—" this time it's Rodney's turn not to finish a sentence as he shouts his name and the feeling of Rodney ejaculating between them sends John careening over the edge with a scream of his own. Lying there breathless, he wonders if he's ever going to be able to move again. The bones in his body feel like they've lost all their consistency and his muscles are perfectly happy having nothing to hold on to. Eventually he manages to roll off to the side, and finding Rodney's hand with his own, he continues to lie there. For the first time in years, he feels like a whole person. They lie there for a long while, whispering and joking until John finally convinces Rodney to go with him to the water and waste-hole so they can clean up. They make their way back and forth, and it's only when they're lying on the floor ready to sleep that a cold, hard knot forms in John's stomach. They have to do something soon. This is what the room wanted him to do which means that the morning will bring a whole new game. He can just feel it. And he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he can never let Rodney be used against him. It's just not an option. "Ready to get out of here?" he whispers into Rodney's ear, putting an arm around his chest and spooning him close. Rodney quickly nods. "Hell, yes. What do you have in mind?" The Hypothesis When the lights come on the next morning, they both get up and quickly take care of their morning necessities. Rodney gurgles some water as John slips his t-shirt back on and when they're ready, John has a quick glance around the room. It looks exactly the same as it did the day before, but he can sense there's something up in the air. The orb looks extra sinister this morning and the room seems quieter as well. Looking at Rodney, John scratches his ear to signal that they should start. Rodney gives him a curt nod, then tugs his shirt down before casually walking over to the food panel and giving it a good solid knock. Nothing happens, as he expected, but John doesn't waste any time listening to Rodney's rant. He uses the distraction to pick up the piece of bread they've been using to mark the food panel and bringing his arm back, he throws it with all his might toward at the orb. They've been here at least five days and the bread is so stale it's hard as a rock. He used to play baseball in high school. It was one of those sports where you didn't have to be around at the beginning of the school year to join, since it usually ran in the spring, and he'd always had pretty decent aim with a ball. Golf came later, but for him it all started when he pitched a fastball to Tom, the captain of one of the house league teams, who also happened to be the Base General's kid. He hits the orb right on target. A crack echoes around the room and suddenly the siren starts blaring. Holding his hands to his head, he searches the floor for his bread roll, finds it just a few feet away and throws it again at the orb. Over and over again, he picks it up and whips it at the orb, sometimes hitting it, sometimes not. Each time he hits it, the siren gets louder and louder until he can't tell if he's breaking it anymore because his ears can't distinguish any further increase in volume. But it doesn't matter. A microsecond glance at Rodney tells him the plan is working; he's succeeded in distracting the orb. Across the room, Rodney's got the panel off and he's hunched over with half his head in the wall, and wires hanging out everywhere. He throws the bread again and this time when he hits it, the orb flashes a light so bright it threatens to blind him. Between the light and the siren, it feels like his head is going to explode. He doesn't dare ask Rodney how it's going, even if he thought there was any way Rodney could hear him. His ears are killing him, he can hardly see, but they've gotta be almost there. Just a little bit longer. He finds his bread again and throws a fastball in the direction of whatever is left of the orb. The sound of shattering glass is followed by complete darkness and utter silence as the lights and siren turn off. It's such a shock to his senses that he stands there for a second, paralyzed. Then, the sound of metal pieces interlocking together spurs him back into action.
"COMING! COMING!" Rodney shouts back and John can hear him coming closer. He's just about to ask Rodney what's talking him so long when Rodney comes barreling at him, tackling him to the floor shouting "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" The whole room explodes around them. ~~~ John pushes aside a chunk of sheet metal that's lying over his head, and looks around. His head is pounding, his ears are ringing, and he's pretty sure he's going to throw up. Beside him, he feels someone trying to move around, and he quickly starts to dig Rodney out. "Oh, sweet mother of God," Rodney groans as he pushes his way free of the debris with John helping him as best he can. He's buried fairly well beneath a collapsed wall. Rodney's face has an assortment of cuts and bruises, but the worst is a three-inch gash across his forehead. Bracing his legs against a more solid piece of rubble, John lifts up a girder that's pinning Rodney's upper body and that's when John notices there's a six inch spike sticking out of Rodney's chest. "Oh shit," John curses as a cold knot of fear settles in his stomach. "Rodney, you're hurt!" "No shit. Every single cell in my body is killing me and you're busy stating the obvious. Will you hurry up and get this thing off me?" John just stands there, pointing to Rodney's chest and the slow trickle of blood that's coming from the wound. He's not a doctor, but that spike is running right through Rodney's lung. Rodney looks down and gingerly touches the spike. When he looks back up, his face is ashen and his hands are trembling. "That can't be good." "Look, just don't move. I'll figure out a way to get you out. Maybe if we can get to Beckett quickly—" Rodney lifts an arm and points to something behind John. John glances back, and for the first time, really sees their surroundings. Waves of nausea rolls through him stronger than ever. They're in Atlantis. Two people are approaching them down a long hall and John doesn't waste any time. He doesn't recognize the two men, but he hurdles over the remaining debris in his way, desperate to get to them. "What the hell is going on here? Rodney's seriously hurt. Get Beckett and Weir down here now. I want some answers." The taller of the two men looks at him oddly for a moment, and then the shorter one starts whispering in his ear. They're not wearing the usual uniforms of Atlantis personnel and then he remembers Rodney's hypothesis that they might be on an Ancient outpost instead; one very similar to Atlantis. If that's the case, then whoever these people are, they're certainly not his friends. And by jumping up to meet them, he gave up his tactical advantage and maybe whatever chance he had of saving Rodney. "Who the hell are you?" John shouts, just so that they'll stop whispering between themselves. The taller one steps forward, approaching cautiously. "I am Mirak and this is Dabih. I am in charge of the experiment." "The experiment?" Mirak's matter-of-fact statements, while Rodney lies behind him, minutes away from death, ignites a fury so strong in John, he has to clench his fists to keep them from shaking. "Yes. The experiment you and Doctor McKay have been participating in. If you will come with me, I will be happy to answer your questions in my office. Dabih must get to work repairing the chamber." "Rodney's dying, you son of a bitch." John moves quickly, grabbing Mirak and twisting him around so he's close to John's body, while at the same time grabbing the energy pistol Dabih is carrying in his side holster. He holds the weapon up to Mirak's head. "Get him some medical help for him now, or so help me I will kill you right here." Mirak tries to twist away, but John tightens his grip on the man's windpipe until he starts to wheeze. Dabih looks toward Mirak but Mirak just shakes his head. "Put the weapon down, Colonel Sheppard. You are not going to hurt me." "See, that's where I beg to differ." "Sheppard!" Rodney calls out to him and John risks a millisecond glance over in time to see Rodney trying to pry the stake out of his chest. "Don't move it, Rodney. Just sit tight; I'll get us out of here." Mirak struggles against him and John pistol-whips him in the throat. "Get medical help here right away or your friend is going to have some extra air conditioning for the deeper part of his brain," John directs his threat to Dabih. Dabih looks to Mirak in confusion and Mirak chokes trying to speak. John eventually releases his grip just a little. The murderous rage is still coursing through his veins but if there's the slightest chance Mirak will help Rodney, he'll do whatever it takes. "Medical help is not necessary, Colonel Sheppard. Your friend is fine," Mirak wheezes. "My friend has a six inch metal spike through his chest. He's not is fine." "If you will spare another look at him, you will see that he has removed the spike and is suffering only mild injuries. Perhaps then you will allow me to explain things so that we may get back to work?" John flicks his eyes toward Rodney, and sure enough, Rodney's still alive. His shirt is stained red and torn where the spike used to be, but Rodney's is holding the piece of metal in one hand and looking at him as if he just removed a thorn. "He's right, Sheppard. I'm okay. I have no idea how, but I'm okay." Looking back down at Mirak, John pushes the weapon into the side of his head. "You have about five seconds to start talking." Mirak looks at the weapon John is holding and then seems to resign himself to talking here in the destroyed hall. "I have been put in charge of finding the human weaknesses we can exploit to ensure a decisive victory when we reach Earth. Your help and that of Doctor McKay has been greatly appreciated." "What have you done to us? How did you get us here?" John tightens his grip on the weapon. The mention of Earth has chilled him to the core. "Though you have no memory of it now, you are performing a noble and valuable service for us." "I don't know how you know about Earth, but neither of us wouldn't help you destroy it. I will however be happy to destroy you." Mirak gives his head a shake, and before John can fire, Dabih whacks him on the side of the face, sending him flying through the air until he lands painfully on the floor. Mirak straightens up and walks over, removing a long, thick blade from the back of his belt. John tries to scramble but Dabih has him pinned against a column. He grabs John's arm and holds it out, putting pressure on the outside of his elbow to keep John from bringing it back in. "I do not enjoy doing this Colonel Sheppard, but you leave me no choice. Neither you nor Doctor McKay are usually very co-operative at this stage and we have found that this method is best for ensuring your attention. You will not destroy us, Colonel Sheppard, because you are one of us." Mirak holds up his blade, and with a long smooth stroke, brings it down against John's arm, severing his hand. John screams. The pain is like nothing he's ever felt before and the shock almost makes him black out. He fights for breath and struggles to control the waves of pain that are traveling up his arm, but he can hardly even open his eyes. He bares his teeth and forces himself to look at Mirak because if this is how he's going to die, at least he's going to die facing him. Mirak is still standing in front of him, the blade now resting easily in his hand, watching him. Dabih lets him go and he falls forward, clutching his injured arm to his chest. It's all he can do. Lying there, John cradles his arm against his chest, breathing and just trying to cope. After a moment, he can't stand it any longer and he braces himself to look at his arm. When he finally looks at it, it's nothing like he expects. There's minimal blood. His arm ends at his wrist in a clean cut and on the floor next to him, his hand is slowly dissolving into a thousand tiny metal things, scurrying about like ants. When his entire hand is gone, the metal ants turn as a swarm and make their way back to him. Like something out of a horror movie. "You have nothing to worry about," Mirak says, bending down so John can see his face. "You will heal like all the other times you have healed and if you relax, the pain will not be as bad. As I've said, it's interesting to note that this is usually how the experiment ends, though I must say, this is the first time you've made such a mess." He gestures to the rubble all around. John jerks his body away from the metal ants coming toward him, but they're too quick. They jump on his leg and scurry up his body and down his arm, crawling all over him until they congregate on his arm and head down to his wrist. John can't help but look on in horror as they slowly rebuild his hand. "Who are you?" John stammers out, trying to shake them off but he can't. The pain has lessened, but it's still a dull throbbing sensation as the metal ants, which look more like little robots now, slowly reassemble into his palm and thumb. "Who are we?" Mirak says with a smile. "We are Asuran. We created you and Doctor McKay out of memories and thought-waves we extracted from the real Sheppard and McKay when they were captured almost a year ago. You've been helping us study them." John glances over to Rodney and catches his eye. There's a look of horror and revulsion in there as Rodney watches John's fingers extend. Rodney's still working to get free and the injury to his chest doesn't seem to be slowing him down. Mirak continues speaking. "Many people doubted us. They said this experiment was a waste of time, that we had all the information we needed. We were able to extract the human's strengths and weaknesses during the initial mind probe, but this experiment has allowed us to examine manipulation and coercion techniques far beyond our wildest expectations. I feel this information will be invaluable when we begin our attack on Earth. Though many of our kind do not recognize it yet, they owe you a debt of gratitude." John shudders as the implications of everything finally clicks in his mind. His hand is completely intact now and he turns it over and wiggles his fingers. "What the hell am I?" With a nod from Mirak, Dabih wanders over to the wall and activates a switch. The world freezes before him as hundreds of memories are dumped into his brain. Memories from Sheppard after he met up with Niam, memories of Oberoth when he probed their minds. All these combine with the influx of information he can now access from the Asuran's database. He's an Asuran. He plays over the memories they extracted from the real Sheppard at the time the initial mind-probe and then he knows for sure. He's a replicator. "None of this was real?" he asks, unable to believe it. Everything that he is, the last forty years of his life that he can remember are just memories borrowed from somebody else. "The last five days, by your calendar, were real. You and Doctor McKay have been repeating this experiment for a while, but we are careful to reset your memories before we restart. We tried the others that were captured as well, but we found the dynamic between the two of you to be the most valuable to explore." He can taste the bile in the back of his throat. He glances over Rodney and sees him sitting on the floor, shell-shocked. "We suspect that the feelings you've started to have for Doctor McKay are an artifact of the confinement. In our experiments, we have discovered that during isolation, both of you start to develop superstitions; assuming that if you always act in a certain way, you'll have the same results. In fact, if the experiment is carried on long enough, these superstitions makes conditioning the mind much easier. We have also noticed that both of you will start interacting with inanimate objects as if they are alive. On numerous occasions we have observed you and Doctor McKay talking to the orb, or the feeding panel. These feelings both of you develop are just another byproduct of the human mind's ability to be manipulated. Fascinating, isn't it?" John turns his hand over, wiggling his fingers. Aside from the scar on his wrist, he's perfectly fine. A dull, bottomless rage starts to fill him, and it consumes everything else. They were just part of an experiment. They aren't real people. They're not flesh and blood. The long blade dangles idly in Mirak's hands and Dabih is standing close to Rodney holding the energy weapon. John slowly gets to his feet, testing his body out slowly, not trusting it not to dissolve out from under him. He catches Rodney's eye and gives his ear a scratch. They planned on escaping today, and he has every intention of carrying on with that plan. Rodney's eyes open wider, but then he gives him a slight nod. John turns to Mirak. "I may or may not be the real John Sheppard, but you have to ask yourself if that really matters? Inside my head, I'm John Sheppard and I'm as real as I need to be. Are you ready to deal with that?"
Thwap-thwap-thwap. John watches Sheppard and McKay running through the dense bush just outside the perimeter of the ruined village. Putting down his binoculars, he returns to his equipment and starts setting up; he doesn't have much time. The Thasparian ship is on their tail and closing fast. The bipod and baseplate go together fairly easily, but the cannon is trickier and he has to force the latch to hook it up. He picked up this latest batch of weapons from the Manarians and he has to say he's not terribly impressed with the quality. Not that the US military has great quality control when you need it the most, since everything is always made by the lowest bidder, but—he stops himself. He's not part of the US military. Gritting his teeth, he goes back to work, assembling the mortar; he'll deal with his lapse later. He gets it assembled just in time to turn around and see Sheppard pushing McKay away and making a break for it. Loading a heat-seeking shell, he aims it toward the ship and fires. ~~~ "Feel better?" Rodney asks, hooking the cooking pot over the fire. "Marginally," John says, pulling his whetstone out of his bag. Their makeshift camp is set up for the night and John has all the time and place he needs to do this properly. This planet is nice and uninhabited. A good place to deal with today and to plot his next course of action. Rodney snorts in disbelief. "If you don't believe me, then why do you ask?" John asks, adding water to the rock, and starts to hone the edge of his blade. "Because it's getting pretty crowded around here with all your psychoses." "Your choice to stay here with me, not mine." Rodney stays silent and John can tell he's mad. He doesn't look up, though, and keeps sharpening the blade. Part of him wants to tell Rodney that he had warned him, all those nights ago. John had known the price of letting Rodney in would be high; he just hadn't thought it would be so devastating. Maybe if he hadn't known what he was missing, he wouldn't feel like his soul was missing now. "Why are you doing this?" Rodney eventually asks, and John glances up to see him standing there with his arms crossed. "I forgot today. I forgot what I am." The blade finally gleams in the sunlight. He gets up and walks over to a large rock marking the edge of a dried-up ravine. Putting his arm up on the rock, John takes a deep breath, his heart suddenly racing. It doesn't matter how many times he's done this in the last month, but it's this moment right here that always freaks him out the most—looking down at his hand, watching his fingers move, knowing that it's a part of him he's about to chop off. The pain afterwards is not trivial, but compared to this moment, it's nothing. He tells himself he's doing it so he can remember that he's nothing but a machine. Staring down at his hand, however, he realizes that he's also doing it so he can bask in the human-like fear, gripping his heart. This is the only time he feels anything anymore. He's about to bring the blade down on his wrist when Rodney grabs his hand and stops him. "You're an idiot sometimes, you know that, right?" "Go away, Rodney." "No, John. I won't. Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face. Didn't you learn anything from what Mirak did to us?" John tries to shrug his arm off, but Rodney's just as strong as he is, especially since Rodney removed all the limiting physical characteristics that were programmed into them. "We were the subjects, not the scientists. Maybe you learned something for all that, but I just learned I'm something I'm not, once again." "Let me be with you again," Rodney pleads. "No." But Rodney doesn't let go and suddenly John finds himself too exhausted to keep fighting him. He's been at this for a month; following Sheppard and his team around, trying to help them out and doing whatever he can to keep from thinking too much even though his mind never shuts off. "I watched them, you know," Rodney says casually. "From my spot on the hill. I watched McKay go over to Sheppard and help him up after you knocked that ship out of the sky. They're going to be okay, I think, no thanks to you." "If I hadn't fired, they'd definitely be dead now." "Maybe," Rodney says, lowering his arm but keeping their hands together. John tries not to pay any attention to the warmness of his hands. "But you know what? I recognized the look Sheppard gave McKay today when he saw that McKay was alive. The more I think about it, the more I think Mirak was lying to you when he said what we experienced was just a predicable response to the stimuli. I think what they have is real. I think what we had was real as well." "Let go," John says, trying to walk away, but Rodney's holds him back. "No. Back in that grey room, you made me listen to you and we got out. I trusted you, now I'm asking you to do the same. Just hear me out." "What does any it matter?" John says, leaning against the rock in exasperation. "We're out." "No we're not. We don't have four grey walls to look at anymore, but we're still just as trapped. And it matters because I think Mirak was trying to manipulate you in the hallway before we managed to escape. I was going through the code I decompiled last night and in order for them to do what they did to us, they had make significant modifications to our base code. The Asurans have automatic software updates, we don't. They're all bound to follow the hierarchy of the society they've built, we're not. But it's more than that as well. They literally made us into Sheppard and McKay but underneath, we're still like them. I think Mirak was scared of us, because we don't suffer from the same limitations they do. "What I'm trying to say is that I don't think we need to make contact with Atlantis. You've been doing what you've been doing in the hopes of proving yourself to them. I say we skip that. If you really want to help them out, if you really want to be free of them, then you've got to accept who you are. The good, the bad, and all the replicator bits. Stop trying to apologize for being less than what you think you should be and let's take advantage of what we are." John looks at him skeptically. "We're machines, Rodney. We're not superheroes." "I know," Rodney says, threading their fingers together. "But we could be. We're faster, stronger and smarter than the real McKay and Sheppard, and we have access to the Asuran database. I say we go back there and turn the tables." Despite himself, John can't help but be a little intrigued. It sends a thrill through his body to watch Rodney's eyes sparkle with excitement. It feels like it's been such a long time since he's felt anything other than hate and fear. "What do you mean?" "I'm suggesting that we go to the High Council on Asuras and tell them that Mirak's has a plan for seizing control of the planet away from them. We tell them that he's been secretly plotting to use the knowledge gained through his experiments to manipulate his fellow Asuran's not the humans on Earth." "You're crazy. Why would they buy it?" "Because I'm me and I can spot bad science from a mile away. Mirak himself said that many Asurans already thought his experiments were a waste of time. On top of that, he chose to use us as a model system instead of real humans. He tested it on his own kind. Why would he do that? There are human settlements on hundred of planets in this galaxy, he could have just scooped some up like the Wraith do all the time. It's like all the pharmaceutical companies back on Earth that test their drugs on mice and then fail when they go to clinical trials. The data he's collected is fundamentally flawed for conquering Earth because he's dealing with two completely different life-forms. Just because we have the same memories and thought process that McKay and Sheppard do, doesn't mean that our reactions to similar situations are going to be the same. I think I can introduce enough doubt into Oberon's mind that maybe they'll start going after their own and leave Earth well enough alone." John rolls the idea over in his mind, unable to help himself from appreciating the irony of Rodney's plan. "Manipulate them into believing that their manipulation data is flawed?" "Exactly." "And how do you plan on us getting out of there without being reformatted?" Rodney smiles and pulls him a little closer, grabbing John's other hand. "I figured I'd leave that for you to decide. You can't expect me to do all the work around here. You did mention once that we could fight them together with my brain and your wit. I think your wit better start pulling its weight around here." Letting himself enjoy Rodney's enthusiasm for the moment, John feels Rodney's hands move up his arms, tugging him closer. They stand there for several minutes, Rodney running his fingers up and down John's arm, John's head leaning on Rodney's shoulder. "This still isn't real," John says, regretfully, raising his head. The numbness has receded a little, but there's no changing the fact that they're not alive. "We're just machines, Rodney. Lifeless, machines, executing a code that someone else has created. What we feel isn't real, whatever we choose to do in the future has already been decided. Do you really think we have any free will?" Rodney sighs and pulls John away from the rock and back toward their camp. Sitting John down on the floor by the fire, Rodney passes him a bowl of soup. "What does it smell like?" "Rodney—" "No, really. Just humor me. What does it smell like?" John puts his face toward the steaming cup and inhales. The onion-like vegetables are the strongest smell, but there are also hints of spices, he doesn't recognize. "I don't know, like vegetable soup, I guess." Rodney nods. "Vegetable soup. Fine. Now does it really matter if you smelled the nutty flavor of the susu seeds because neurons fired in your brain or if you smelled them because chemical receptors in your nose sent a command to your brain telling you that you smelled them?" John thinks about and eventually gets what Rodney's trying to tell him. And maybe it's true. Maybe it doesn't matter how they experience their lives, as long as they experience them. He's still not sure, though. "I didn't smell any susu seeds," John says, watching Rodney throws his hands up in the air. He knew Rodney was going to do that, because Rodney always throws his hands up in the air when he's having a fit of exasperation. Whether or not Rodney does so because he's been programmed to or because that's the only way he has of expressing exactly how frustrated he is, John doesn't know. And maybe it doesn't really matter. "I give up! You're impossible, you know that right? Besides the fact that I spent four hours shelling those seeds, that wasn't the point at all. How do you function with that limited view of yours?" John smiles for the first time in a month. "Wit, Rodney, wit. I don't want you complaining that I'm not doing my share. Now, if you're done insulting me, why don't we start going over that plan of yours?" ~fin All feedback greatly appreciated! Leave a comment :: Read comments
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