Fic: Suddenly At Last

[sgasesa-admin.livejournal.com]

Title: Suddenly At Last
Author: yin_again
Pairing: McKay/ Sheppard
Rating: Light R-ish, at the most
Recipient: forcryinoutloud
Spoilers: None
Summary: Rodney's a genius, you know - that means he can figure stuff out. Eventually.
Happy Holidays, forcryinoutloud; this story had a mind of its own and fought me every step of the way. I hope it's nicer to you!

Suddenly At Last

It took Elizabeth nineteen days to negotiate John's release. On the morning of the nineteenth day, the wormhole engaged and John's limp, naked body was tossed through to land abruptly on the gate room floor. Rodney was at his side before the wormhole disengaged, screaming into his headset for Carson. John opened the eye that wasn't swollen shut and managed to whisper, "Miss me?" before passing out.

~*~

There were nineteen broken bones, and Rodney wondered if there was one for each day or if the numbers were just a random occurrence. Three ribs, six fingers, left wrist, left collarbone, four toes, left cheekbone, left radius, left ulna and a hairline skull fracture - John was a mosaic of tape and plaster and spidery black stitches. The hospital gown and crisp, white sheets covered most of him, but Rodney counted at least forty stitches on his hands and neck and chest and face. He's had surgery twice, and he doesn't have a spleen anymore, and he'll probably set off the metal detectors in airports for the rest of his life.

But he's alive, and when Rodney fell asleep, slumped in an uncomfortable chair with his forehead on the foot of John's bed, Carson simply put a blanket over his shoulders and left him be.

~*~

John woke to a fuzzy tongue and fuzzier head and recognized the morphine. He tried to take stock of his injuries, but it was too much. Instead, he looked down, just past his plaster-wrapped arm, to see Rodney's face smashed against the sheet just an inch from his left hand. The Kasiia had apparently preferred John's left side; the big guy with the crooked nose had spent a lot of time on his left, managing to break every finger on that side except for the pinky, plus the wrist and both of the bones in the forearm - John could still hear the two distinct snaps as each bone had given way under practiced hands.

Stretching out the uninjured finger, he managed to touch a wisp of Rodney's hair where it lay on the sheet. Blue eyes blinked rapidly for a second, and then Rodney was there with him, that genius brain waking up like a shade rolling up over a sunny window.

"Hey," Rodney said, sitting up with a wince. "You need anything?"

John tilted his head toward the water glass on the bedstand, his mouth too dry to speak. Rodney picked it up and pointed the straw at him, watched while John took careful sips designed to move his face as little as possible.

How are you feeling?" Rodney asked.

John made a noise that sounded like "Huh."

"Morphine," Rodney said, smiling. "Good stuff."

John settled for blinking once for "yes," and let the darkness crash back over him.

~*~

It went on like that for three days - John woke about every twelve hours, had some water, enjoyed a few moments of morphine and crashed again. Five times, Rodney was at his side; once, it was Teyla. On the fourth day, Carson cut the morphine dosage and John woke up to an exhausted-looking Rodney and a world of fuzzy-edged pain.

"Ow," he said, giving up on the idea of moving.

"You have a knack for understatement," Rodney observed, barely looking up from his laptop. "Carson, he's awake."

Dr. Beckett hurried in with a worried smile and proceeded to make John curse a lot over the course of five excruciating minutes. He stepped away, pretending not to notice John's tightly pressed lips and wet eyes, but he injected something into the IV that made the edges fuzzier, and John was grateful.

"How long?" John asked, once Carson was gone.

Rodney looked up from his laptop. "Nineteen days. And then you've been here for four."

"No," John said. "How long 'til they let me out?"

Rodney snorted. "I think it's going to be a while."

John looked like he was going to say something, but drifted off again. Rodney went back to his work with a shrug.

~*~

"I had surgery?" Morning, and John was awake again.

Rodney nodded. "Wrist and abdomen. There was internal bleeding. You want some Jello?"

"Yeah," John said. "What else?"

"What flavor do you want? They have red and green."

"Red," John said. "What else?"

"What else, what?" Rodney busied himself with the little cup of Jello and the plastic spoon.

"What else aren't you telling me?"

Rodney held a spoonful of Jello out, and John gave it a dirty look.

"Your spleen," he finally said. "Well, your ex-spleen."

John accepted the Jello and swallowed it. "Is a spleen important?"

"I'm a scientist, not a voodoo shaman," Rodney sniped, shoveling more Jello at John. "You can live without it, that's all I know."

It's a lie. Rodney looked it up. He knows that John will have to take antibiotics for two years, and that he'll always be more susceptible to Pneumococcus and Haemophilus influenzae and Meningococcus, and that he'll have to be vaccinated against them.

~*~

Rodney explained the spleen thing again on day five. And on day six. On day seven, John complained about the catheter so much that Carson put an aircast on each foot and he and Rodney led John in a clumsy shuffle that ended at the bathroom. John refused any help, and he was still smiling a little when they dragged him back to bed.

~*~

On day eight, some of the stitches came out and John's left wrist and hand were recast. The morphine made a short return visit.

~*~

On day twelve, Rodney found a surly John propped up in bed, a surly Carson barricaded in his office, and a traumatized medical staff trying to stay as far away from both of them as possible.

"He's not going to discharge you any time soon," Rodney snapped, flopping down into his usual chair. "You still have stitches, and you don't even have one fully useable hand."

John looked like he was ready to explode. Rodney's utter nonchalance probably didn't help.

"I. Am. Bored," he snarled.

"You don't say." Rodney kept the sarcasm to a minimum with great effort. "How's your head?"

"It's bored."

"No headaches? Double vision?"

"No."

Rodney clapped his hands and stood. "Okay, let me go negotiate with Carson and see what I can do." He cracked his knuckles and left before John could say anything.

~*~

"I can't believe it." John slumped comfortably in a wheelchair, his white scrubs covered with a fluffy blue robe that smelled like Rodney. "With your diplomacy skills, I was pretty sure you'd 'negotiate' me back into the catheter."

"Very droll, Colonel. Way to insult the guy who just got you a day pass. Carson was thrilled to get rid of you - he says you're an even worse patient than me."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Me, too."

In the lab, Rodney parked John's wheelchair next to his own workstation and sent Miko scurrying to find an adjustable table for John. Once that was done, he rigged up a duct-tape and rubber-band apparatus that let John work a stylus with a modicum of control. Rodney placed a data tablet on the table and pointed to a folder marked "Sheppard."

"Check the math on all the files in here. If you need help with the data entry, scream at Miko. Have fun." And Rodney was gone, already halfway across the lab to yell at someone.

After four hours of checking math, John found and corrected eighteen minor errors, three major ones and disproved one of Kavanagh's pet theories, much to Rodney's joy and Kavanagh's disgust. Rodney gave him a brilliant smile, and Kavanagh gave him a look that could peel paint.

"Now, that," Rodney said, unwrapping the tape from John's right hand, "Is what I call a good day's work."

"Half day," John grumbled, barely stifling a yawn.

"More like a quarter day, really, but Carson says you'll turn into a pumpkin if I don't return you on time." Rodney deftly steered the wheelchair back down the hall.

As they passed the mess hall, they both sniffed appreciatively at the savory smells. "Any idea when I get real food again?" John said.

"I'll ask," Rodney assured him, but, by the time they reached the infirmary, John was nodding off, his head slumping down on his chest.

"Here he is," Rodney told Carson quietly. He nudged John's shoulder. "Wake up, sleepyhead; you're home."

After a barely-awake bathroom stop and a quick examination of his stitches and bandages, Carson left John sleeping and met Rodney in his office.

"He's fine, lad - just tired. He'll be better for having gotten out." Carson reached out and clasped Rodney's shoulder. "He's going to be fine - he's well on his way to a full recovery."

"Good, good," Rodney said. "He wanted to know about food."

"Aye." Carson nodded. "Why don't we let him sleep a bit, and then you can bring him some of the soup they're making in the mess hall, see how that goes over?"

Rodney nodded, letting his head drop down into his hands.

"A wee nap wouldn't hurt you any either, Rodney," Carson said. "I can call you in while to wake you."

"I'm fine," Rodney said. He got up and headed for the door. Stopping with his hand on the jamb, he turned back. "Thanks, Carson."

"Anytime."

Rodney returned to look in on John, who was sleeping peacefully. Stepping further into the room, he straightened the blanket over John's feet, careful not to put any pressure on the soft splints that cradled his broken toes.

"Rodney?" John's voice was soft and drowsy.

"Yes?"

"You're being really nice to me. Am I dying?"

Rodney barked a short laugh. "You're not dying, Colonel. I have it on good authority that you're going to survive this time."

"Oh," John said, turning his head to rub his face against the pillow. "Then why are you being so nice?" He sounded like he was seconds from drifting back to sleep.

"You're a bright guy," Rodney said, turning to go. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

~*~

The soup went over well, and John's rehabilitation continued. He spent mornings in Rodney's lab, doing math or fiddling with Ancient devices, or sometimes just hanging out. As soon as he was able to wield a spoon with some accuracy (holding it between his right thumb and forefinger while keeping the two broken fingers on that hand straight), he started having lunch in the mess hall. This allowed everyone on base to take turns adoring him, which made Rodney snarly, but netted John plenty of chocolate and other get-well-soon gifts.

In the afternoons, the goon came to torture him. Lalia Roberts wasn't actually a goon - she was a physical therapist. And she didn't actually torture John - torture didn't have quite so much repetition. Lalia's efforts generally left John sore, cranky and in a good bit of pain, which made his and Rodney's nightly chess matches become something akin to a bloodsport, which they both enjoyed much more than they let on.

Despite the distractions afforded him, by the third week of his hospitalization, John's boredom was back full force.

On the twenty-third morning, when Rodney came to take John to the lab, he was greeted with a question - "What do you know about sailboats?"

The answer was a little surprising. "Quite a lot, actually."

As soon as his fingers felt nimble enough to type, John had demanded his laptop and had begun using the times when his pain kept him up at night to search the Ancient database.

"I was looking for any mention of surfing," he told Rodney. "And I found a reference to sailboats."

"What about sailboats?"

"Well, we have some - they're here." He pointed to the map of Atlantis on his screen, specifically to an unexplored area around one of the far piers.

Rodney crowded up beside John to look. "How big are we talking, here?" he asked. "Dinghies? Skiffs?" He tapped the screen, zooming in on the area. He clicked and scrolled some more, then let out a low whistle. "Colonel - it looks like you are now the commander of a small fleet."

"Cool," John said. "I don't know anything about boats."

There were several people on Atlantis who did know quite a bit about boats - most surprisingly Rodney and Ronon.

"Sateda was over eighty-two percent water," Ronon said with a shrug.

"I spent eight summers sailing Desolation Sound - my parents thought I should get outside more." Rodney actually smiled when he said it. "I'm actually really good at it." He pulled a worn wallet out of his back pocket and showed John his Canadian Yachting Association membership card.

When John found his voice again, he asked, "Do the boats give us any tactical advantage?"

Rodney snorted. "No, they're seriously low-tech. They could be used for recreation, though. Want to take a look?"

And that's how John wound up with his wheelchair parked in a huge drydock, watching the intergalactic odd couple of Rodney and Ronon de-mothball a small part of the Atlantis Armada.

~*~

Rodney, as it turned out, knew almost everything about sailboats. Ronon, too, showed a large body of knowledge, and several other Atlanteans used their downtime to assist in restoring the boats as soon as Elizabeth gave her permission to recommission them. Rodney had selected a sleek thirty-six foot racing sloop, its hull made of a polymer that made him whoop with joy and spout off a long string of statistics about water resistance and fluid dynamics. He refused all of John's suggestions and named it Schrödinger, even though it wasn't a catamaran.

Ronon chose a slightly larger, slightly heavier craft that he named Ed. He refused to explain the name, and no one pushed the issue.

John's chair stayed parked near the large sling and crane apparatus that held Schrödinger suspended above the floor, and he searched the Atlantis database using a long list of sailing terms Rodney had provided. The day he found the stored sails, Rodney spun his chair in a circle until he threatened to hurl.

"It's got thrusters in addition to the sails," Rodney said, frowning. "That's cheating."

John reached for the schematics. "Don't whine - it's safer this way. It's also got the Ancient equivalent of GPS and sonar and radar."

They pored over the plans until it was time for John to go back to the infirmary for physical therapy. He found that he hated to leave, and not just because Lalia was a sadistic monster.

~*~

Five weeks after his return to Atlantis, John was relieved of the splints on both feet and his right hand. His toes looked pretty normal, but the last two fingers on his hand were stiff and knobby and still a little crooked. He looked at himself in the mirror, noting the almost-faded bruising over the left side of his face - the cheekbone was mostly healed but still tender. His stitches were all out, leaving behind thin, raised red lines. His ribs still ached a little, and the broken finger and toe joints did, too. His abdomen still felt sore, and his left wrist and hand would remain in the cast for a few more weeks. His collarbone had healed completely, and the headaches from the skull fracture had finally receded. Carson happily discharged him.

His room was exactly as he'd left it, right down to the dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. John awkwardly bagged and taped his cast and took a long, clumsy shower. It felt like heaven. He spent a while figuring out how to dress around the cast, and he had to settle for soft loafers instead of boots, but he felt like a new man. Clean, dressed, and under his own power, he made his way to the drydock unassisted.

Rodney and Ronon were standing next to Ed, doing something involving the Ancient equivalent of ropes and canvas, and John had to clear his throat to get their attention.

Rodney looked up with a scowl that immediately turned into a wide grin. He bounded over to John like a happy golden retriever and lightly grasped his shoulders. "Colonel! You're upright. And dressed. Did you escape?"

John laughed and clapped Rodney on the shoulder with his good hand, squeezing the muscle firmly. "Nope, I'm legal. Carson let me out."

Ronon joined them. "It is good to see you well," he said. "We can use the help."

John continued looking at Rodney, even as he scowled, happy to be eye-to-eye with anyone. Ronon wandered off back to his ropes.

Rodney didn't let go of John's shoulders, but he looked down at the floor. "He's right," Rodney said quietly. "It's good to have you back."

John, too, looked away, but he squeezed Rodney's shoulder again. "It's good to be back. I... uh..."

Rodney looked back up and their eyes met. He shook John back and forth gently by the shoulders and interrupted. "Come on - let's get Schrödinger seaworthy. I want to take you sailing." He turned and loped back toward the boat. John followed with a bemused smile.

~*~

It took three days to get both Schrödinger and Ed ship-shape and stocked for the open water. During those three days, John figured out how to open and flood the drydock, Rodney figured out how to un-step the tall masts for both boats, and Ronon worked up the courage to ask Teyla to accompany him on Ed's maiden voyage. She accepted graciously.

Rodney also browbeat Elizabeth into okaying a four-day shakedown cruise, which she did, contingent on a detailed "float plan" being filed and Rodney's assurances that the vessels would stay close to one another and be in constant radio contact. John let Carson poke, prod and test him, and was found to be healthy enough for the voyage despite the cast that still remained on his left forearm.

Zelenka presented Rodney and Ronon with detailed charts of the oceans surrounding Atlantis; Dr. Simpson turned out to be a passable painter, and she carefully lettered the boats' hulls with their names. The mess hall supplied provisions, Major Lorne scrounged up reasonable facsimiles for deck chairs and cushions, and Rodney produced an extra-large batch of his SPF100 sunscreen.

The morning of the launch, John gave Atlantis the command to flood the drydock and watched as Rodney and Ronon used the boats' thrusters to move them to the edge of the pier, where a crane crew assisted in un-stepping the masts and rigging the sails. He went back to his room and grabbed his duffle, and didn't bother to pause and wonder what the hell he was doing. He was going sailing with Rodney in a 10,000-year-old sailboat on an ocean located in a different galaxy, just five weeks after having the living crap tortured out of him by a bunch of disgruntled Iron-Age assholes - a crisis of logic seemed entirely superfluous.

He walked out onto the pier and felt the breeze lift his hair. The ocean air was cool, and a couple of Tylenol managed to keep his soreness down to a workable level. He reached the brow that had been laid from the pier to Schrödinger's deck and knocked lightly on the handrail.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" he called.

Rodney popped up from the cockpit and grinned widely at him. "Granted! Welcome aboard, Colonel," he said, reaching for John's bag and stowing it just inside the cabin door. "You want to check the navigation equipment?"

"Aye, aye," John replied with a jaunty salute, and Rodney shoved him gently toward the appropriate console.

In the afternoon, half of the city turned out to watch Elizabeth gleefully smash a hand-blown bottle of Athosian ale against each hull, officially both christening and launching Schrödinger and Ed, the Atlantis Ad-Hoc Armada.

Rodney showed John how to raise the mainsail with the electric winch he'd installed. "As soon as your cast comes off, I'm getting rid of the winch," Rodney groused. "It's cheating."

John smiled as he watched the crisp, white sail unfurl into the wind. He looked back to see Ed gliding behind and slightly to their left - port - side. He waved to Teyla and Ronon, and they waved back. Ronon looked like some kind of barbarian pirate, standing at the wheel of his boat, dreads blowing in the wind, and Teyla looked as serene as ever, perched lightly on one of Ed's rails, leaning into the sea spray.

~*~

John didn't know where they were going, but they were making excellent time. His job seemed to be raising and lowering sails to Rodney's specifications and occasionally glancing at the navigational screen to make sure they were on the prearranged course that would lead them to a small cove on the mainland, where they would anchor for the night. John was amused to note that Rodney actually could steer in a straight line on the water, unlike in the air.

The sun was starting to set as they reached the cove. On Rodney's order, John pushed the button that released the anchor. Rodney turned the wheel slightly to one side, and John felt the slide-drag-snag as the heavy anchor bit into the sandy bottom, finding purchase. He watched as Ronon completed a similar maneuver, anchoring Ed about a hundred yards away.

"Why don't you go see what's in the galley?" Rodney said.

"Sure," John drawled, feeling easy and loose from the sea air and the gentle motion of Schrödinger on the mostly-calm water. He kept his hand on the wall as he moved into the cabin, not wanting to bang his wrist.

The doors from the cockpit led into a salon area, furnished with a built-in dinette and a pair of soft-looking couches. The galley was off to one side and contained a small refrigerator, a two-burner stove and a small sink. Wooden cupboards lined the walls, and small inset lights illuminated the countertops. John dug around in the refrigerator until he found bread and meat for sandwiches. He made semi-turkey for himself and pseudo-ham for Rodney and grabbed two sort-of-pears and two bottles of ale, balancing everything on a handy tray. He returned to the cockpit, where Rodney had set up a small table and two folding chairs.

John set his tray down and took his chair, looking out over the water toward Ed, silhouetted in the fading sunlight. He leaned over to pick up the radio microphone, missing his earpiece for a moment.

"Schrödinger to Ed, Captain Dex, do you read?" he said.

Ronon's gruff voice came back. "This is Ed."

"Just checking in," John said, waving toward the other boat.

"All's well; leave us alone," Ronon said, and John could hear Teyla's slap land on his arm before he released the radio's 'send' button.

"Have a nice night - Schrödinger out." John replaced the microphone and grinned at Rodney, who was already halfway through his sandwich. He popped the top from his bottle of ale and drank deeply. "It's nice out here," he said, tilting the bottle toward Rodney in a jaunty salute.

Rodney nodded and finished his sandwich, then twisted the stem from his pear before taking a loud bite. "Yeah," he said with his mouth full. He swallowed, then continued, "Don't mind Ronon, he's been waiting days to get Teyla out here and make his move."

"Really?"

"Yes, Colonel Oblivious. And how sad is it that I figured that out before you?" Rodney finished his pear and tossed the core over the side of the boat.

"I've been off my game," John explained. "I don't have a spleen, you know." He took another bite of his sandwich.

"And it turns out that the spleen, not the heart, is the organ that governs love?" Rodney grabbed John's pear and took a bite before replacing it.

"It's the truth," John insisted, "Cross my spleen." He looked up just as the sun started slipping below the horizon. "Look," he said, gesturing with his bottle.

"He shoots, he scores," Rodney said, finishing off John's pear in two bites.

"Huh?"

Rodney pointed toward the other boat, where John could see Teyla and Ronon in a close embrace.

"I meant the sunset," John said. "But, that's pretty interesting, too. I guess we'll have to rename Ed the Love Boat."

Rodney gathered up the remains of their meal and walked into the cabin, singing under his breath. "Love, exciting and new..."

John followed, settling down on one of the couches and watching as Rodney tidied the galley and dimmed the lights. "Do you think that's going to have an effect on the team?" he asked.

Rodney sat down next to John. "Not any more than this is," he said, just before he leaned over and kissed him.

John was surprised for a moment, but he didn't let it hold him back. Within half a second he had caught on, and he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass him by. He slid his good hand into Rodney's hair and opened his mouth, licking gently across Rodney's lower lip. Rodney deepened the kiss, bringing both hands up to cup John's face. The pad of his thumb traced lightly over John's injured cheekbone, as if the touch could fuse the cracked bone and take away the pain. John hooked his left arm over the back of Rodney's neck, letting the weight of the cast pull them closer together.

The kiss ended naturally, and John couldn't help the sly grin that crossed his face. "How long have you been wanting to do that?"

"Almost six weeks," Rodney said, smiling back. His smile faltered when he added, "And nineteen days."

John gave him a soft kiss, then leaned their foreheads together. "I've been wanting you to do it for over a year," he admitted.

"I tend to be something of a late bloomer," Rodney said. "I wish I had known."

"It's best to be cautious in matters of the spleen," John said, then leaned in to kiss Rodney again.

"I really want to take you to bed," Rodney said when they came up for air. "But I don't want to hurt you."

"I want that, too," John said, feeling breathless and warm and happy. "The bed part. But, I'd really like to lose the cast first. I can't really touch you the way I want to."

"We can wait," Rodney assured John, smiling shyly. "I can wait."

John smiled back. "I can wait - I've waited this long..."

"You really..." Rodney said wonderingly.

John nodded. "Rodney, I've been half in love with you since the second time you saved my life."

"Love?"

John rested his head against Rodney's shoulder. "That's why I can wait."

"You sound so sure... how do you know? I... I've never, I mean, I don't know anything about love."

John laughed and settled himself more comfortably on the couch, feeling the rocking motion of the boat on the water down deep in his bones. "Love's like algebra, Rodney - someone has to show you how to do it."

Rodney's arms encircled John's shoulders strongly. "I've mentioned that I'm a fast learner, right?"

~fin

Comments

[luthien.livejournal.com]

This was lovely. Loved the way you treated John's slow recovery, and the second part of the story with the boats was great. The boat called Ed made me laugh - it's so Ronon. And the ending was very sweet. Thanks.

[yin-again.livejournal.com]

Thank you - I cracked myself up with Ed. I'm so glad you liked it.