collision

As much as Rodney would hate to admit it, he's distracted, and it's not by some grand question or imperfect equation. Just a sentence, a few brief words that resonate at the center of his mind whenever he sees Sheppard.

I want things to be okay.

At first he shrugs it off. At first it makes sense. Sheppard wants things to be the way they've always been.

Only, by the time he goes to bed that night, Rodney has questioned every single word in that sentence and staring into the dark, he wonders about what things Sheppard wants to be okay.

Rodney figures this is what makes him a bad liar. He always says what he feels. Sheppard? He could be saying anything.

Though Rodney can't be certain about things being okay, nothing seems exceptionally bad between him and Sheppard. They've fallen back into their gentle bickering and Sheppard doesn't stand miles away as if one of them might ignite from being too close.

Yes, to use a Sheppard word, things are cool.

While walking towards the gate one day, an alien sun sinking in the background, Rodney thinks back to a sunset he shared with Sheppard. The one that felt like it took an entire ocean to douse out the bonfire that started all the awkwardness.

He imagines whatever it is that Sheppard's afraid of is at the bottom of the ocean now, hiding under Atlantis. Embers that aren't allowed to breathe under the weight of a city.

He can't even hate Sheppard, though somehow that would be better than things being cool.

“Rodney. Rodney. Rodney? Rodney, are you listening?”

Rodney rolls his eyes and looks up at Radek. “Of course I'm listening.”

“What did I say?” Radek asks, arms folded across his chest.

Rodney thinks about it. He's pretty sure the words 'energy' and 'surge' featured heavily, but that could be one of a thousand conversations they've had this week. “You said, 'Rodney, are you listening?'”

Radek narrows his eyes at Rodney.

“Look, get over it and just tell me what you want to tell me. Unless it's not work related, in which case, go away.”

Radek shakes his head. “You have been distracted lately. It is not good. You are making mistakes.”

Rodney stops tapping at his keyboard. Mistakes. Mistakes are bad. “Really?”

“Yes. Your shirt is inside out,” Radek points at Rodney's chest.

Rodney scowls down at his shirt and considers telling Radek that it's all a part of energy conservation, but it's late, he's tired and so utterly distracted that it's depressing. He frowns up at Radek. “When did you notice?”

Radek shrugs. “This morning.”

“Why didn't you say something?” Rodney snaps.

Radek looks around shiftily. “I was looking for the right moment?”

Rodney closes his eyes and shakes his head. Idiots. He's surrounded by idiots.

When Sheppard says he wants things to be okay, he possibly means that they should pretend he was never lying in that cell, a bloody hole in his gut and Rodney's hands covered in blood. Maybe he'd like to forget that he looked at Rodney in a way so wanton and telling, it left an imprint on the air around them.

Maybe he'd like Rodney to forget that the only time Sheppard offered up the naked truth was when he thought he was going to die.

On one hand, Rodney desperately craves more of this truth, that flicker in Sheppard's warm eyes.

On the other hand, he'd prefer Sheppard to just stay alive.

This is what compromise must feel like.

Rodney falls hard and it's not for the first time.

He's in pain and his head feels like it might explode if all his muscles don't rip apart first. He feels himself being dragged and propped against something hard and there's a hand slapping at his face.

“Rodney, I need you to stay with me here,” Sheppard says, his voice a little ragged.

Rodney opens his eyes and shakes his head. Everything is so wrong. All the wrong colors, all the wrong sounds and his heart racing in his chest.

Sheppard is the worst. His eyes are completely different, the colors inverted somehow, glowing at the edges and his face is flushed with something bright that's seeping into the air around him.

Rodney curses and closes his eyes because seeing like this hurts more than all the pain in his body. It's as if the whole universe has had a cigarette stubbed out on it, leaving a hole with a burnt edge. It's somehow worse than the Wraith and every nightmare put together.

“Rodney? Listen to me,” Sheppard's voice echoes out there somewhere. “Rodney! Listen!”

Rodney tries to ignore the shudders, blinking until the blurs become edges and Sheppard is something like he used to be.

“We can't stay here, Rodney, I need you to help me,” Sheppard is saying slowly. “You understand?”

Rodney frowns. No, he doesn't understand at all. He doesn't understand any of it. It's all wrong. It's all inside out.

Sheppard lays a hand on Rodney's cheek and says evenly, “Rodney, I need your help. Tell me I can count on you.”

There's a big hole in the universe somewhere, a big burnt out hole and Rodney McKay put it there. It's so ridiculous it's funny and he wants to laugh until he's sick.

Moments later, he realizes that Sheppard's holding him tight and something is cracking in Rodney's chest, drowning out the noise of everything else.

Rodney wakes and the lights in the infirmary take forever to stop burning his eyes. His head is throbbing, but without pain and his muscles feel sore, but in an indistinct and fuzzy way. The familiar smell of the infirmary makes it all bearable. Home makes everything bearable.

A sleepy sound makes Rodney turn his head to the side and he sees Sheppard in a chair, sleeping awkwardly with arms folded across chest and body at a tilt, cheek almost touching shoulder.

He has a purplish bruise near his mouth, a halo around a straight cut in the bottom lip. Rodney has no memory of how Sheppard got that bruise or how they've ended up in the infirmary. All he remembers is a simple celebration cut short by raiders and escaping a fate as someone's personal physicist, which might have been worse than it promised, since the raider seemed to misinterpret what a physicist actually did.

What he does seem to remember is clinging hard, fingers rigid and a voice in his ear; it's okay, it's okay.

He remembers thinking, it's not okay. He remembers thinking that Sheppard is nothing but a black shadow with colorful edges and really, Rodney should be afraid and running away.

But there's something warm at the center of that shadow, emanating in slow and silent waves. Something that'll have you believe the lie that everything's okay, even when it's not.

“What?” Sheppard asks, making Rodney realize that the other man is awake and staring right back.

“Just thinking,” Rodney says.

Sheppard smirks. “Figures.”

Rodney sighs and looks up at the ceiling, listening to Sheppard work up the courage to ask something that's not straight out of the manual for macho bullshit.

After a long pause, he finally asks, “You okay?”

Rodney rolls his eyes and barely resists the urge to tell Sheppard to shut up, please.

Rodney is finding ways to dilute his distraction. The fact that Sheppard is willing to bury whatever it is he feels seems to help. If he can lounge twice as much as usual, then Rodney can point out the immense stupidity of the people that surround him with more frequency. If Sheppard has a charming smirk and know it all smile for every occasion then Rodney has the latest in astute, yet witty retorts known to Atlantean-kind.

Things are okay with a capital, yet amazingly fake and hard-hearted O.

Rodney falls hard, Sheppard on top of him and a sharp rock underneath his back. Rodney opens his mouth to protest as life is complicated enough without damaging important parts of his body. However, Sheppard clamps a hand over Rodney's mouth with a loud, “Shhh!”

They listen for a long time, every sound of the forest becoming important. For now it seems as though they've lost their pursuers, which is good because death is a bad thing, but bad because it probably means Ronon and Teyla are being chased.

Of course, considering what Teyla can do with sticks and the size of Ronon's gun, Rodney figures he ought to be feeling sorry for the natives of the week that took a dislike to the Atlanteans.

They lie there long enough for Rodney to stop thinking about their endangered lives and start noticing how firm and warm Sheppard's hand is on his face, his fingers on Rodney's cheek. Of course, then he has to think of Sheppard lying there on top of him, mouth slightly open and eyes wide as he listens to the forest.

The funny thing is, before Sheppard decided to let his secret bleed out in that cell, Rodney had never looked this long and hard. He had looked, of course he had looked. Who wouldn't? But not like this. Not with unfulfillable intention. Before, Sheppard's mouth was enticing. Now it's perfect and Rodney imagines that's it's three kisses to the center of wherever.

Rodney grabs Sheppard's hand and pulls it away from his mouth with irritation. “Mind if I don't suffocate?”

Sheppard rolls his eyes and shakes his head, beginning to ease off of Rodney. He puts his hand somewhere on the ground and grunts in surprise, hand slipping and making him land hard on Rodney.

“Okay, ow,” Rodney complains.

“Crap,” Sheppard is muttering, pushing himself up again while Rodney is simultaneously trying sit.

Somewhere in their efforts to be upright again, they end up with their mouths either side of a very small space. Sheppard looks...like he's lying. His eyes shift away, his mouth clamps shut, jaw clenching. It's like being shoved away to the ground and makes Rodney want to shove back.

But, he remembers telling Sheppard, “What did you think I was going to ask you for? Seriously, why couldn't you just tell me?"

Hating Sheppard is harder than...something he doesn't want to think about.

“Okay,” Rodney says. “Either get off or shift to the left because I totally can't feel my leg anymore.”

Sheppard looks at Rodney, laughing a little. Then nodding, smile on his face, he moves aside, leaving Rodney in the path of a cool breeze.

Rodney should resent Sheppard for teaching him to become a better liar, but it'll probably come in handy one day.

When things begin to resemble some kind of normality, everything has to turn inside out again. For weeks Rodney's been able to ignore that sensation that makes him feel like the bottom of his stomach is falling out whenever he looks at Sheppard too long. For weeks, he's been berating himself for trying to hate Sheppard.

You don't always get what you want. Deal with it, he tells himself. Sheppard's doing it.

At least, he's dealing with it well enough when he's sober.

They make a trade with a village and drink to it, only Rodney declines the drink on account of a suspiciously acidic aroma. Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla drink what amounts to about three shot glasses each, after which they decide that caution is a good idea.

An hour later, Rodney regrets rolling his eyes at Sheppard when he used the word 'caution' because as ever, fate was tempted and gave in.

Sheppard makes it to their hut under his own steam, which is amazing because a minute later he's lying sprawled on the low bed, completely wasted and mumbling nonsense that Rodney can't hear.

Rodney takes a brief moment to ponder over the scenario of the natives turning nasty and three quarters of his team in a drunken stupor. He decides to sleep with the gun close at hand, dumping his jacket on top of Sheppard's, P90 underneath the pile.

For a moment he thinks about leaving his shoes on, in case there's a need to make a quick get away, but hearing a sleepy mumble from Sheppard makes him wonder if the natives are even sober enough to turn nasty. A minute later, his shoes are next to Sheppard's, close to their jackets and Rodney is tiredly crawling into the bed, pulling up a thin, but warm wool blanket over himself and Sheppard.

He lies back with a sigh, things bouncing around in his head, noisy and distracting. He's not sure if he's slept at all when he wakes up because it feels as though he was only drifting to begin with.

Sheppard's groaning, hand on face.

“You all right?” Rodney asks, propping himself up on an elbow.

Sheppard's hand comes up, pointing at his head as he scowls. “Like...uh...my teeth...when I had my teeth out,” he almost slurs, looking annoyed by the inability to concentrate.

Rodney nods. “Well, at least you're not singing.”

Sheppard frowns sleepily. “Singing?”

“Yep. Had no idea Teyla knew such bawdy songs. She's got a great voice though.”

Sheppard laughs, eyes closed and teeth showing. Rodney can't remember Sheppard ever having smiled like that. Three kisses to the center, he thinks.

“Ronon?” Sheppard asks.

“He's not drunk as you two. Just enough to be depressed,” Rodney answers.

Sheppard laughs quietly, looking disheveled, face flushed with heat.

Rodney tries to ignore the fact that Sheppard seems to be staring at him, eyes blinking slowly, glowing from the light of a dim lamp, flame flickering at the center of his large pupils. He seems to be scanning Rodney's face, charting a new territory perhaps.

Rodney looks away, wishing Sheppard could be this truthful without alcohol or fatal wounds. Maybe it is too much to ask, but Rodney's no hero. Just human.

He lies back down, closing his eyes, listening to John breathing close by, wishing he'd fall asleep, sober up and go back to living his lies. Only, when he turns his head to the side and opens his eyes, Sheppard is right there, asking with one single look.

Rodney hates himself as his hand just floats up, fingers skimming Sheppard's jaw, over rough stubble and warm skin. They skim all the way down the side of his neck, feeling a small change in skin texture, where a bug tried to feed. His thumb pushes up Sheppard's chin until it reaches his bottom lip, pulling it forward, the wetness catching the light of the lamp.

He can almost feel Sheppard's heart, thumping hard under his skin as he takes Rodney's hand, pulling it away, but holding on, before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Rodney's.

It's not a kiss, not really. It's Sheppard sighing into Rodney's mouth, swallowing hard so Rodney can feel it. Rodney presses against Sheppard, chest to chest and kisses Sheppard hard and hungry. Sheppard's hands move to his back, holding onto his shoulders as Rodney covers Sheppard's body, the blanket bunching up between them. He bites at Sheppard's bottom lip, tastes the inside of his mouth and lets his hand trail down Sheppard's body, heat radiating through the clothes.

There's a broken sound, like need, but Rodney can't tell if its from him or from Sheppard because all he wants to do is bury himself under Sheppard's skin, their bodies nowhere close enough, even with Sheppard pushing up into the kisses, like a man who's stumbled out of a desert and can't get his fill of water, it's nowhere close enough.

And that thought is like a tide breaking on the shore. This is all...it's all wrong.

Rodney pulls back slowly and stares at Sheppard, the other man looking confused. Rodney shakes his head. “Not like this.”

“What?” Sheppard asks, still not sounding anywhere near sober. “Rodney...it's okay.”

Rodney moves off of Sheppard. “Forgive me, Colonel, but the last I checked, people that are drunk out of their minds rarely know what they're doing. How about you sleep it off?”

Rodney doesn't look at Sheppard as he gets out of bed and puts his shoes on. He doesn't want to see anything. He doesn't want to know anything. Screw this.

He sulks by a fire, where Ronon joins him in the middle of the night, the booze having worn off.

In the morning, Teyla's out first, looking a little delicate, tensing at every loud sound. Ronon and Rodney try to tease her about the singing, but she doesn't have a clue what they're talking about. Sheppard stumbles out soon, wearing his sunglasses and looking pale, asking how the hell someone can get this wasted from three drinks.

Rodney feels like being very loud and annoying, just to add to Sheppard's misery. It seems unfair that only he gets to remember the night before.

Of course, it's ideal for Sheppard, isn't it? Things can continue being okay.

“Too bad Teyla can't remember anything. We could have gotten a lot of mileage out of her singing,” Rodney laments as they finally head back to Atlantis.

“She's lying,” Sheppard says flatly.

Rodney looks at Ronon and Teyla who are walking on ahead, out of earshot. “Really?”

“If she pretends she can't remember, you can't tease her about it,” Sheppard says.

Rodney frowns at Sheppard. “She told you that?”

“No,” Sheppard says quietly. “I'm pretty sure a side effect of that gut rot isn't amnesia.”

It takes Rodney a second before he realizes what Sheppard's talking about. A whole damn second, which seems way too long for any realization in this galaxy.

“Oh,” Rodney says. “Right.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard says.

Rodney waits for more. Maybe a real talk, one where Sheppard uses words instead of blank spaces. He waits for a very long time. “Well? And?”

Sheppard shrugs. “And what?”

Rodney stops, grabbing Sheppard by his arm and pulling him around. “What happened last night? I thought we were both agreeing on you repressing and denying.”

Sheppard jerks his arm out of Rodney's grasp. “Nothing happened last night. Remember?”

Rodney frowns, blinking at the disbelief he's feeling. “You are kidding me! You're pissed off because I knocked you back when you were drunk?”

Sheppard looks a little appalled. “No!”

“Well, what then?”

Sheppard starts down the path again. “Forget it.”

“No, let's not forget it. Let's not forget it all,” Rodney says, falling into step with Sheppard.

“I don't want to talk about this, Rodney,” Sheppard says, his tone indicating that the conversation is over.

Rodney snorts. “How unlike you.”

Sheppard looks like he's going to ditch Rodney and walk on ahead, so Rodney sticks an arm out.

“No, please, allow me,” he says and then walks away, joining Ronon and Teyla, leaving Sheppard alone, where he can keep all his precious thoughts to himself.

On the night of the Athosians' new year celebrations, as everyone sits around a huge bonfire, eating, drinking and laughing, Rodney catches Sheppard staring at the fire, lost in thought.

Sheppard turns to look at Rodney and it's as if he's expecting something in return. Sheppard raises his glass, making a face and Rodney resists throwing his own at Sheppard's head. Nevertheless, he raises his glass, adding this to his list of most memorable bad new year's celebrations. Probably the worst. At least the others had fireworks.

Knowing his luck, the Pegasus Galaxy's version of fireworks will come later.

Fireworks come in the form of a hive ship blowing up over Atlantis, debris bouncing off the city's shield and producing the most fantastic display ever. It shouldn't be so pretty, but it is.

Or maybe Rodney's just exhausted and the blow to his head is messing with his mind. Next to him, Sheppard is also staring at the sky, bruised and tired. They spend so much time bruised and tired. Doesn't seem fair. Even the sky is looking like one huge bruise.

Rodney shakes his head and turns to go. “I need some sleep.”

He makes his way to his quarters, telling Radek he doesn't want to be disturbed unless there's another Wraith ship or Atlantis is sinking. He's in the process of kicking off his shoes when there's a knock at the door. Rodney goes to it, promising death to whoever it is not heeding his instructions.

The door slides backs and Sheppard walks in, hands going straight to Rodney's face, mouth taking his lips. Rodney manages to smack the crystal by the door, shutting it as he and Sheppard do an awkward waltz across the floor, shoving away each other's jackets, breaking from their kisses for the smallest of seconds.

They land on the bed and Sheppard is holding Rodney down by his wrists, kissing with heated intent. When he breaks away for a moment, Rodney looks over his face, noting a tremor somewhere about the mouth.

“You're not drunk. Let me guess. Almost dying again beginning to get to you?” Rodney asks.

“Maybe,” Sheppard says roughly, his fingers tightening around Rodney's wrists.

“And maybe tomorrow you'll pretend this never happened?”

“Probably,” Sheppard says, hard, heavy and alive.

Rodney nods, a little breathless. “Your call.”

Sheppard kisses him hard, stealing his breath and for a moment, it's like almost dying again.

Sheppard is so good at pretending that most of the time Rodney wonders if he imagined that whole night. After all, when he awoke the next morning, there were no signs that it was anything but a dream.

If it weren't for that fleeting look of guilt, too short for anyone else to notice, Rodney wouldn't believe it happened at all. But Sheppard lets it slip sometimes, when he's forgotten to keep his face on, something like regret.

At this rate, hating Sheppard will become as easy as everything else Rodney feels for him.

When Sheppard comes to Rodney, it's like he's angry and resentful. Like he has no choice. Like he can't do this without making it hard on himself.

Many times, it's been like a fight to see who gets to be in control and when Sheppard does let Rodney lead, it's like he's lost something to let that happen.

Being with someone shouldn't be this hard, Rodney thinks, but the truth is that even when they're touching, they manage to be miles apart.

Lying over him, moving slow, too slow for Sheppard's liking if the frustrated sound he makes is an indication, Rodney gives up the fight. He can't fix this, whatever this is. All he knows is that he doesn't want it to stop.

Nothing's been resolved. It's just come crashing down around them, turning into an uncoordinated mess of want. Fingers tightening in Sheppard's hair, teeth raking across his jawline, Rodney puts every ounce of anger and need into his kisses. This isn't even sex anymore. It's just arguing in another language.

When they finish and John turns his head away, eyes closed and his flushed face unreadable, Rodney almost expects him to apologize.

Rodney watches for a moment, waiting for Sheppard to look at him. Giving up, Rodney lets himself fall on top of Sheppard, kissing his shoulder. If Sheppard doesn't want to be here, he can be the one to walk away.

The tide turns in some moldy smelling cave where they find an Ancient device built into the wall. It could hold amazing secrets or be the Ancients version of a telephone booth. Whatever it is, Rodney is intent on not leaving unless they can remove it from the wall or at least figure out what it does.

He spends the better part of a day, shouting at his assistants who act more boneheaded than usual just because the cave is cold and dank, whereas the Marines posted to keep an eye out look bored and trigger-happy.

People filter out when the evening comes because according to Sheppard not everyone can spend twenty-four hours holed up in a cave. As night falls, Rodney can hear sounds of the camp that's been set up outside, something making everyone laugh, while he stares at the exposed panel in the wall, doing nothing more than blinking.

Not long after, Sheppard arrives, arranges a circle of rocks and throws a stack of branches in the middle, building a warm fire. He doesn't look at Rodney or say anything, just going about his business, so Rodney turns back to his work.

Sheppard spends the night by the fire or making small trips outside. Sometimes when Rodney looks back, he's poking a branch at the fire or he's rifling through his rucksack, making some kind of noise.

It's when the noise stops that Rodney looks back to see Sheppard staring at him. Oddly, he doesn't look away, like he usually does. He just stares.

“What?” Rodney asks.

“Just thinking,” Sheppard says.

“Isn't that against regulations?” Rodney asks, getting a laugh out of Sheppard. Rodney abandons his work and moves closer to the fire, sitting next to Sheppard. “Um...so, what are you thinking about?”

Sheppard shrugs. “I dunno. This. Us. Whatever the hell it is we're doing.”

Rodney looks to the cave entrance and back at Sheppard, who is now finding the fire fascinating. “I thought it was just sex.”

Sheppard's nodding. “Yeah. That's what I thought.”

Rodney doesn't take his eyes off of Sheppard, even though he feels like jumping up and urging Sheppard to the finish line. “But?”

Sheppard looks up at Rodney, his expression quizzical, eyes charting Rodney's face. Then he laughs and looks away, shaking his head. “You're not even my type.”

Rodney snorts and rolls his eyes. “What? Busty? Ascended?”

Sheppard has a smile on his face and it warms Rodney because he hasn't made Sheppard smile in a long time, not like he used to.

“Seriously,” Rodney says, trying not to urge. “What are you saying here?”

Sheppard is blinking at the fire, mouth opening silently. Rodney wants to reach over and help somehow, but Sheppard is all walls even when he's open.

“Another galaxy,” Sheppard says slowly. “New planets, aliens and the lost city of Atlantis. You'd think it would put things in perspective.”

Rodney takes Sheppard's arm to make the other man look at him. “It is totally okay to want this. You're smart enough to figure that out. Figure it out already.”

Sheppard watches Rodney for a while before he nods mutely and looks away, Rodney letting go of his arm. They sit quietly by the fire and though the silence seems to stretch forever, he's sure that Sheppard is closer than he's ever been.

Rodney wakes with a groan, already disgruntled with the universe. The days are getting colder, the ZPM emptier and in four hours he and his team will be off on another mission, trying hard not to get killed. He could really do with a lie in and to be able to feel his arm, which for some reason seems to be completely numb.

Grimacing, Rodney pulls at his arm, opening his eyes when he realizes that it's under a warm weight. Rodney sees Sheppard lying there on his stomach, face turned away. He's partly lying on Rodney's side, dressed in his workout clothes, giving off waves of warmth, even though he's lying on top of the covers.

Rodney sits up and just stares. Sheppard doesn't stay the night. He's not there in the mornings. Discretion is still defined as paranoia. Yet, there he is, sleeping.

Rodney leans over Sheppard, relishing the feel of the other man's body against his. “Hey.”

Sheppard stirs, face scrunching up in objection. “Five more minutes.”

“What are you doing here?” Rodney asks quietly.

Sheppard blinks and squints up at him. “You want me to go?”

Rodney shakes his head and resists saying something stupid. “Of course not. You're just more careful. You know, about this.”

Sheppard nods slowly. “Well, I was about to take a run and I remembered what you were saying about the jumpers the other day and I figured since you never sleep I'd grab you to talk about things over breakfast before we have our briefing and gear up for the mission.”

Rodney nods. “What thing about the jumpers?”

Sheppard narrows his eyes, obviously trying to make something up. “I'll leave that detail up to you.”

Rodney smiles, coaxing one out of Sheppard. “Why didn't you wake me?”

Sheppard shrugs. “You looked tired.”

“So, you just got into bed and went to sleep,” Rodney says, hoping Sheppard won't suddenly freak out and run away.

“Yes, I did,” Sheppard says slowly. “Seemed like the thing to do.”

Rodney nods, hoping his smile won't crack his face in half, which seems like a real possibility. Sheppard senses this, which is why he's rolling his eyes.

He gently pushes Rodney back, getting up from the bed. “I think I'll go for that run.”

Watching Sheppard walk away, Rodney knows it should bother him that the other man still keeps the minutest of spaces between them, but it doesn't. He and Sheppard are just millions of atoms never really touching, holding on to each other, rather than flying apart. They're just human.

“John,” Rodney calls out.

Sheppard turns from the door. “Yeah.”

“Breakfast?”

Sheppard smiles. “Sure. Save you a seat.”

The door slides shut and Sheppard is gone, the bed still warm where he lay. Rodney rolls over, burying his face in Sheppard's pillow, knowing that things aren't perfect, but they are okay.

- the end -