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This story is completed
And when they went out on missions, she'd huddle up next to Elizabeth in the Gateroom, eyes watery and pathetic. The first two times, she'd whined so high-pitched and screechy that John was afraid she'd break the glass of Elizabeth's office walls.
"I hear she sleeps in his bedroom," Cadman said, breaking John out of his stupor. "I mean, I would've figured McKay for a little kinky. Beyond all that babbling awkwardness there's got to be some sort of seriously repressed animal, you know?"
John didn't know. That was sort of the point.
"But I guess I can't blame him. If someone looked at me like that, I'm not sure I could say no," Cadman continued, casually reaching around to fix one of the buckles on John's pack. Was he really getting that careless?
"How does she look at him?" John mumbled, though he wasn't quite sure why. It was obvious.
"Like he's the whole reason for her existence. I mean, screw the laws, right? Carson says he can't even determine her exact age anyway. She's old enough to fall in love with him."
"Yeah, well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see what Rodney's decided."
Cadman smirked at that, giving her weapon one last check before heading out the door. "I know what he's decided. Came and asked me for advice last night. I've got them set up for a romantic dinner up in the observatory tonight. Stars floating above their heads, a warm sea breeze, French wine and a home cooked meal – and she doesn't even seem to mind if Rodney talks too much, so really, what could go wrong?"
"Tonight?" John asked, barely conscious of Elizabeth's usual farewell salutation before he stepped through the gate. Rodney planned a romantic dinner for the day John was going off with Cadman's team to check out a possible beta site?
"That's what I said," Cadman answered. "How will he ever pull it off without me?"
Then there was a flash of light, and it all went black.
The next thing John knew, someone was slapping his face. Hard, too.
"Hey," John gasped. "Stop that." He had a mother of a headache, and things felt off enough as it was. Was all the hitting really necessary?
"Thank god, Sir." It was Harris' voice. Good ‘ole Harris, never missed the southern accent. "Are you okay to move?"
It was dark. When did it get dark? And John felt sort of dizzy – nauseous. What was going on? "Report?" John asked.
"Some sort of ambush, Sir. Stun grenades. Not energy-based like the Wraith ones. Good old flash bangs, with a lot more oomph. You got the most exposure. Look, we're in a defensible position right now, but we have to move."
God, John was dizzy and it was really dark. He tried to struggle up, but how was he supposed to find his bearings like this?
"Cadman?"
"We split up. She and Schwartz are in a cave about a three clicks from here. The plan is to sit tight and wait for backup to come through the next time Dr. Weir opens the gate and we can signal her."
"Good plan," John muttered, massaging his temples. "Why's it so dark in here?"
"Oh, um . . . Sir . . . it's not. You're just experiencing a side effect of the stun grenade. My vision was off for an hour or so, but I can see fine now."
"An hour? How long've I been out?"
"Two and a half, Sir. You hit your head when you fell. Been in and out of it for a while. Said some pretty weird things."
"Like what?" John really wished he could see Harris' face right now. He needed to read whether or not there was going to be a serious problem with this.
"Well, I don't want to ask and you don't have to tell, but in my humble opinion, Sir, you should just go for it."
"Go for what?" And since when did Baptist Marines from Georgia give big fat gay love advice anyhow? Wasn't this the part where John got the shit beat out of him?
"You know, that whole hard-on you've got for . . ."
"Harris?" John heard Cadman's voice drifting over a nearby radio and suddenly remembered to panic about this whole temporary blindness deal. Where was Rodney? He had to find Rodney . . .
"Here, Ma'am."
"I've got backup coming in. Just hang tight, okay?"
"Yeah, tight . . ." John slurred, before losing consciousness again.
When John woke up, Rodney wasn't there. He was in the infirmary, if that really mattered. Everything was blurry, bright white blobs floating in and out of his vision.
Carson said that everything was fine, that the shock would wear off on its own. Except John knew it wouldn't. Where the hell was Rodney?
Had she kidnapped him? Maybe this was like the thing with Chaya, only she was – you know, evil. And . . . yes, evil. Redheads, immediately in love with Rodney McKay, high screechy voice – incontrovertible signs of pure unadulterated badness.
John lurched to his feet, yanking out the IV without even a second thought. It was, of course, not the first time he'd done that. Now, where did Cadman say? Oh, yes, the observatory. And that was . . . where, exactly?
John stumbled out the infirmary doors and down the corridor. It was frighteningly easy. Carson was just too damned trusting. John grinned a bit at that, stumbling into the nearest transporter. Where was he going again?
Oh, yes, Rodney, evil girl, observatory. Candles. Was there a fire hazard? Was he even in charge of fire hazards? He could have sworn he'd delegated that one.
John practically fell out of the transporter and into . . . hey . . . they were getting a little friendly there. Not good, leaning in like that. If Rodney wasn't careful, he might lead the girl on. Or maybe catch her hair on fire.
"That's dangerous," John said. It was kinda dark in here. His vision was blurry.
"Sheppard?" Rodney asked, incredulous. "What are you . . . oh, my god, is there a Wraith attack? Is the city sinking?" He tapped on his earpiece. "Hello, Chuck . . . Gateroom guy . . . eh . . . did you try rerouting power from the secondary generation capacitors . . . what do you mean ‘your name's not Chuck?' Chuck, this is no time for a thing like this . . . ‘what thing like this?' Chuck, I've got Sheppard here, white as a sheet, interrupting what would otherwise be a spectacular date and . . ."
Rodney narrowed his eyes and stood abruptly, dragging a little bit of the tablecloth with him, before rushing to John's side. "What're you doing here? Are you okay?"
John considered that for a moment. He was feeling a little off. For one, the floor looked a little further away than he was used to. And it was pretty dark in here. Then he remembered pervasive darkness, Harris' soft southern accent and the fear . . . "I was afraid," he said. "You weren't there."
In the background, the girl looked on impatiently. John scowled at her. She shouldn't even be on a date with Rodney anyhow. It was past her bedtime.
"John?" Rodney whispered. His grip was warm on John's arm.
John blinked, and then somehow he was laying on the ground, his head resting on Rodney's lap, panicked babble rushing by above him.
"Rodney?"
"Oh, good. Carson's on his way. You just . . . you stay there. What happened anyhow?"
"Mission went south." John winced. His head was starting to pound again. "Concussion."
Rodney sighed, his fingers trailing lazily through John's hair. John smiled. This was the life.
"Not so fast, Colonel. I'm not quite done with ya yet," Carson said. He didn't even look up from the chart he was looking at, the bastard.
John groaned. He was tired (even though he'd spent the last day or so pretty much sleeping). And his head still hurt. All he wanted was to get back to his own quarters and curl up for a nice long nap.
"Groan all you want, but you're staying," Carson chided. "You know I don't enjoy you when you're bored and grumpy anymore than you do, but believe me, I'm doing this for your own good."
John hung his head shame-facedly. "Sorry, doc. I just want to get out of here before uh . . . Rodney comes back."
Carson nodded. "Aye, I can sympathize, Colonel. I do not envy you listening to that . . . er . . . noise, with a headache like I'm sure you're sporting."
"Why does she do that anyhow?"
"As far as I can tell, there's nothing wrong with the way that she interprets sound – almost as though she already understood our language – suggests she'd been through the gate, it does. But when we took cerebral scans we found that the speech centers of her brain were configured quite differently. It's not that she can't make noise, but that she doesn't seem to understand how to control vocal cords." He shrugged. "Can't for the life of me figure out why."
"And you don't think that's, um . . . sinister?"
Carson laughed, fingers finding John's pulse. "Hardly, Colonel. She's a dear, that one. Poor thing must have gone through some sort of trauma. That's the best I can come up with. Gets a wee bit screechy when she's upset, but I cannot even be sure it's conscious. Could be a form of retardation, though from what Rodney tells me, she's a bit of a savant. He's taught her all sorts of things. She's very good with harmonics, apparently."
John scowled. Rodney used to teach him things. "But why does she always have to screech so much around me?" He knew he was whining, but he'd had the mother of all migraines; high-pitched choking was probably the last thing he needed.
"I think it's perfectly obvious, Colonel. For some completely unfathomable reason she's attached herself to Rodney."
"No kidding," John mumbled, sighing theatrically when Carson shone the goddamned penlight in his eyes for the five bazillionth time in the past two days.
"She's jealous of the attention he gives you. Honestly, the times he's brought her in here on her own she's been quiet as a mouse. I showed her the gene sequencing software – kept her occupied for hours."
"Yeah, well, she needs to get used to Rodney spending time with other people. I need him back on my team."
Carson sighed. "Aye. You know, I think she'd feel a wee bit more secure if he'd just . . . erm . . . accept what she's offering." Carson blushed. Thank god the man didn't go into gynecology. John suddenly felt very very sorry for the poor Athosian women Carson saw on the mainland.
"You don't think she's a little young for him, Doc?"
Carson shrugged. "To tell ya the truth, we have no real way of knowing exactly how old she is. Wear and tear, diseases, dental health, things we normally use as indicators of age are all as perfect as a newborn babe. She's most likely younger than him, but clearly old enough to make her own decisions. I don't begrudge her the opportunity. And Rodney either, for that fact. He's been under too much stress recently. And that whole debacle with Katie. He could use someone to take good care of him."
Yes, and that someone could be John. Couldn't it? Why not? "I guess."
"It upsetting you that he's the one to get the girl this time?"
"No," John said, with hesitation. It bothered him that this time, the girl might get Rodney.