Work Text:
‘You know what we’re missing around here?’ John asked, slouched in his chair on the far side of the Ancient lab.
‘Some silence?’ Rodney quipped back, irritated.
‘I was going to say reclining chairs, but…’
‘If you’re bored you can leave, but the equipment in here is potentially delicate, so I don’t want anything moved without my explicit clearance,’ the scientist replied, back still turned to his companion.
John figured it was relatively safe to take the man up on the offer.
Their introduction to the people of M23-ME3, or Manevent as the locals called it, had gone the way their introductions often did. When they mentioned they were from Atlantis, it was clarified that they did indeed mean the home of the Ancestors, though they were not Ancestors themselves, even if they were capable of using the Ancestor’s technology. The Maneventians, being as technologically stifled as most others civilisations encountered in the Pegasus galaxy, had escorted the team to an otherwise non-descript cave with a hidden hatch in the floor that led to the lab now occupied by just John and Rodney, in the hopes that they might discover something that could provide protection from Wraith cullings.
Long after Ronan, Teyla, and their Maneventian guides had returned to town, Rodney remained focussed on the equipment before him. Likely he wouldn’t notice while John snuck back to town to bring them both something more hearty to eat than the ration bars stashed in their pockets. Not that Rodney would necessarily remember to eat those or even stop for a drink of water if any particular gizmo or doodad worked its way to the top of his mental priority list. It was a personal fantasy of John’s that just once he could occupy that position himself.
The trip to town and back without a guide would take John two, maybe three hours, including any time needed to be chatty with the locals, but then Teyla was already on the task and would surely give him an efficient summary. Even still, by the time he returned it would be late enough to justify having to bring camping equipment back with him.
Although the prospect of sleeping on a hard floor was not typically one that excited John, this particular scenario held certain… opportunities. Rodney was definitely going to have even more of an objection to the hard floor than John, but John already had a solution. The most logical way of protecting his teammate from back pain would be to stack their sleeping rolls on top of each other to create a single less uncomfortable place to sleep. Of course then by necessity there would be only one bed… which they would have to share… without any strangers or teammates to see them…
The sun was already beginning to set by the time he had returned to the cave entrance, and lost in the fantastical notion of seducing Rodney with logic (and rugged protectiveness), it wasn’t until he was climbing down the stairs that it hit John, the faint almond smell amongst something smoky and metallic. His eyes frantically searched the lab station where he’d left him, but there was only carbon scorching on the walls. A few desperate paces into the room Rodney’s form came into view on the other side of one of the copious workbenches, on the ground, face-first, blood oozing from every part of the back of him.
‘Ronon, Teyla, come in.’
The sight gripped at his heart, but John refused to panic. Panicking was how people died unnecessarily, and Rodney was too precious to lose due to something so basic as a lack of professionalism.
‘Go ahead Sheppard.’
‘Rodney’s been injured in some kind of lab accident. I need you to contact Atlantis to send a medical team for evac.’
He had been expecting an immediate acknowledgement of his orders, but instead the pause that followed filled him with increasing dread. While waiting he shucked his bag, all thoughts of a "romantic dinner" from the food he'd brought were similarly discarded.
‘The townspeople have already started a feast in our honour. Finding a sober guide back to the gate in the increasing darkness will take some time. Not to mention, the gate is even further away than that lab.’
John shook his head with resignation. Of course when Rodney needed him to save the day it couldn’t be so simple. It never was.
‘I’ll make a more thorough assessment of his injuries and see what I can do to stabilise him, you just work on finding a sober guide.’
Rodney groaned slightly as John put a hand on his shoulder. Good. He was at least conscious. From what he could see of the back of Rodney’s scalp, there were certainly shrapnel pieces in amongst the blood and hair, but nothing that looked big enough to have caused any serious damage. As for the rest of his body… This was far removed from what John had in mind for his first time undressing Rodney, but the thought barely registered as he rolled him into a recovery position and took to his jacket and under-shirt with the scissors from the first aid kit. He had just about finished his inspection of Rodney’s injuries by the time that Teyla radioed in.
‘John? We found Caezar, he’s willing to guide us to the gate, but he brought us to one of their healers first, and Faxon insists that Rodney comes to the village.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘...and then I just talk at it, and he will hear me? Colonel Sheppard, it is Faxon speaking. A peculiarity we discovered amongst our trading partners is that injuries acquired on Manevent must be treated with a local salve or the wounds progress unstoppably. You must bring Doctor McKay to me.’
‘Sounds like some kind of exotic bacteria and a local antibiotic treatment. Hey, why didn’t you tell us about this before?’
‘Because we didn’t expect you would necessarily injure yourself during your short stay with us,’ Faxon explained.
‘Alright, fine. Rodney’s got plenty of shrapnel in him, but nothing appears to have penetrated deep enough for him to be in real danger. We’ll come to you.’
‘See you both soon,’ Teyla replied.
Where he had previously wished to spend hours alone, just himself and Rodney in the lab, now Teyla and Ronon couldn’t come soon enough. Reasonably, in the growing darkness outside, it would take them longer to arrive.
‘You still with me?’
Another non-specific groan from Rodney had him worried that the man might be concussed. Certainly there was a large red mark on his forehead from where he must have hit the floor. It made John second-guess his decision not to send Ronon and Teyla to Atlantis, but now was not the time for indecisiveness. He had patched up worse wounds than this on battlefields, and he was reasonably certain those former teammates were still alive and well back on Earth. He had been about to suggest that Rodney not fall asleep if he was concussed, but the sight of the bottle of antiseptic in the open first aid kit had him considering that sleep might be kinder.
He decided to start with the back of his head because Rodney had lost a reasonable amount of blood, and might become unnecessarily cold if John removed the space blanket now covering him. Clean water from his canteen was the first washing liquid of choice. John gently poured a slow stream onto Rodney's scalp, chased by his fingers which massaged away crusted blood in the search for shrapnel to remove. The fine dark-chocolate-coloured strands fluttered in rivulets of water and fresh blood as they flowed over John's fingers.
It struck him that rubbing small circles on another person’s scalp should usually elicit a shiver of excitement or a groan of pleasure. Fortunately, Rodney was not shivering, since it would have been more likely due to hypothermia. But unfortunately, groans of any kind – pleasure or pain – were absent too. He must have fallen asleep at some point. Following a splash of antiseptic, a long drawn-in hiss followed by a soft and slow ‘Owwwww’ was heard. Rodney wasn’t going to sleep after that.
‘Stay with me, Rodney.’
‘...Alw…’
Damn it, he did fall asleep again.
John mentally catalogued “running his fingers through Rodney’s hair” as something to fantasise about later as he wound one of the disappointingly few bandages around his head to stymie the bleeding. Sliding the space blanket down a little he moved onto the man’s back. John couldn’t recall ever having seen Rodney shirtless before, which was astounding given the amount of time they had been exploring the galaxy together and all of the danger they’d been through. Now though, it was easy to sneak peak at his chest hair. It looked light and fluffy, soft like the down of a baby duckling. Okay, maybe John could afford one moment of unprofessionalism. He brushed the chest hair with his fingers to find it feeling exactly as he imagined.
His attention returned to Rodney’s back, and the blood that continued to slowly ooze over it. He repeated the care he had shown Rodney’s scalp, shifting the space blanket around to uncover only the patch of skin he was working on cleaning and disinfecting. He had run out of bandages and dressing patches long before he’d reached the back of Rodney’s legs. Ronon, Teyla, and their guide Caezar patiently waited for him to finish the task of removing all of the shrapnel and giving the wounds a cursory wash.
The four of them hoisted Rodney out of the cave, and onto a stretcher to be carried back to town. John knew the slow and deliberate steps were necessary to avoid them tripping. If they dropped Rodney then any of the superficial cuts that had already stopped bleeding could easily re-start. Still, each one felt like an eternity in punishment for failing to keep Rodney safe.
In the hall of healing, John dismissed Teyla and Ronon. In the absence of any true next of kin, as his commanding officer the care of Rodney, and any medical decisions that needed to be made, were his responsibility.
‘You’ve done a reasonable job, within your limitations,’ Faxon tried to state kindly as he inspected the sorry state Rodney was in.
In one of the many side rooms off the hall of healing’s atrium, Faxon rustled through a cupboard to produce a jar of ointment with a distinct alcoholic smell. ‘We don't have much, but even using it sparingly I can pretty much guarantee an uneventful recovery.’
John considered that perhaps the alcohol content was the true antiseptic, in which case he should have ordered Ronon and Teyla to the gate. But if it were so simple, surely the ointment couldn’t be so scarce? Unless the Maneventians were confused about how their salve worked? But then, why wouldn’t their trading partners find their own similar medicines effective? If he could acquire some, perhaps the team on Atlantis could answer some of those questions definitively, but by then it would be irrelevant to Rodney.
‘If you are confident in your own abilities, I will leave you to it. Some of our younger revellers have partied a little too hard and need my attention.’
With that, he excused himself, and John was once again alone with Rodney. He was grateful for the fire burning in the centre of the atrium that kept the entire healing hall warm, so he no longer had to worry quite so much about the risk Rodney losing heat. He started at the legs this time, and methodically worked all the way up to Rodney’s head, taking his time to properly massage the ointment into every minor cut and abrasion.
‘Don’t stop,’ Rodney managed to barely mumble when John was washing the residual ointment off his hands.
John turned, unsure if he had actually heard Rodney say something intelligible, but still excited by the prospect of what he thought he’d heard.
‘Did you-?’
‘Keep going.’
There was no mistaking Rodney’s barely awake mumble. John eyed up the only bed in the room, obviously designed to sleep only one occupant… and since all the blood loss could have led to shock, and shock could have led to hypothermia… even if the healing hall was heated, really John was duty-bound to climb into that bed to make sure that Rodney wasn't cold.
‘Since you asked so nicely.’
His fingers very quickly found Rodney’s scalp once more, this time massaging everywhere that the cuts weren’t so as not to open them up again, strands of hair no longer matted with blood slipping easily between his fingers. The soft moans of pleasure that had been missing earlier finally reached his ears, he felt a shudder that he was sure was pleasure and not hypothermia. If he’d taken Rodney back to Atlantis he would have had to leave him in the sterile infirmary, unable to get close enough to provide the sort of care that not only facilitated recovery but actually made it pleasant. Then he’d be missing reclining chairs and Rodney.
‘That… Keep going with that…’
Perhaps in a less fraught situation back at Atlantis (but not in the infirmary) John could reach his hand down to card his fingers through Rodney’s downy chest hair. Or if he were more bold, run his fingers through an even lower wiry patch… maybe run into something hard for his hands to suddenly become preoccupied with instead… but now was not the time. He could file that away with the rest of his fantasies. Since Faxon guaranteed his recovery, John could tell him how he felt at any time, there was no need to spoil this particular moment.