Opposition of the Stars, by kageygirl, for the Darkness challenge

Title: Opposition of the Stars
Author: kageygirl
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: post-"Siege 3", mild Season 2 spoilers (of the kind readily available from Gateworld)
Summary: There's nothing there in the dark that wasn't there in the light.

Thanks to maching_monkey for the lovely simian beta. Any remaining unfortunateness is, as always, all me. *g*


Opposition of the Stars


"How come you're so calm?"

Rodney cracks one eye open--which is very nearly pointless, as dark as it is--and turns his head in the direction of Sheppard's voice. "Is there some reason I shouldn't be?" Sheppard is just a more solid piece of darkness, and Rodney waves an unseen hand at him. "What do you want me to do instead? Panic? How's that going to help?"

Sheppard sighs heavily, a whispery rushing that fixes his location in the dark. "I don't want you to panic, McKay. I just..."

"Just what?" Rodney opens both eyes and sits up a little straighter against the wall. "You've been expecting me to have some sort of hysterical reaction, is that it?"

"Well, considering how quickly you tend to jump to the worst-case scenario... yeah, I kind of expected you to not be taking this so well." There's an edge in Sheppard's voice that's almost palpable, a bizarre combination of childlike accusation and ruefulness.

Rodney laughs softly, more for effect than out of humor. "Sorry to disappoint you, Colonel, but having lived through the Wraith attack may have shifted my assessment of the inherent danger in this type of situation. Being locked in a closet hardly registers on the scale of 'things to worry about' any more."

Not that it's really a closet, of course, more of a small storage room near the computer core. At least, Rodney has been assuming it used to be a storage room, since his initial guess that it might be a way to access the power control circuits had apparently been wrong.

"Well... good." There's a new, odd undercurrent in Sheppard's voice, and Sheppard pauses for a long moment. "Glad to hear it."

Rodney's got nothing else to occupy him, so he thinks about that undercurrent as he keeps talking. "After all, we're both critical to the running of the city--me more so that you, admittedly--and it shouldn't take long for someone to notice that we're missing. When we don't answer the radio, they'll look for our life signs on the sensors. It's not as if we didn't inform the control room where we were heading."

And then one of the programming conflicts had flared up, one of the ones they'd generated when hooking the naquadah generators into the power system. Which was, ironically, the very thing they were here investigating. 'They' meaning Rodney was investigating and Sheppard was theoretically watching his back, because who knew when they'd stumble into the next ten-thousand-year-old nasty surprise, and Rodney sure as hell wasn't going to find it alone.

But this wasn't one of those surprises, just a black-out that had caused both the lights and the door to stop working. Because of course Rodney has nothing better to do than sit on his ass in a small dark room with Sheppard.

Sheppard breaks into Rodney's train of thought in typical mildly-disturbing Sheppard fashion. "You're assuming whatever's messing with the radio isn't also blocking the sensors."

Okay, that might possibly be a concern, but--no. "I'm sure they'll be fine. We're talking about the difference between a relatively weak RF signal--which is probably just experiencing interference from the computer core--and integrated sensors that were designed to scan the city. And with the ZPM in place, scanning the entire city is much less problematic than it used to be."

He hears a rustling, and Sheppard says, "Don't jump--I'm just moving over." The rustle gets louder as Sheppard slides closer to Rodney. Sheppard's hand brushes against Rodney's thigh, and he does startle at the unexpected contact, but he doesn't say anything. He hears Sheppard heave another sigh as he settles back down.

"Colonel?"

"Yeah, Rodney?"

He almost doesn't ask--Rodney knows he's not the best with people, so he doesn't usually bother trying--but Sheppard has an incomprehensible habit of stoically playing down his own problems, and Rodney would prefer not to find out the hard way if there's something really wrong with him. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. Just bored." But Sheppard doesn't sound bored, he sounds... something. Tired, maybe. No, more like... melancholy?

Whatever it is, Rodney is finding it distracting. Discomforting.

It makes his voice sharper than he intended, but Sheppard won't hold it against him. "I apologize for not being more scintillating company."

As it hits him, Rodney blinks a few times, not that blinking helps anything but his state of mind. "Wait, that's it, isn't it? You really did want me to panic."

"That's crazy."

"No, no, you were looking for some amusement." Rodney snorts. "You were hoping I'd provide you with a little entertainment while we waited."

"Rodney. That's not what I--" Sheppard's hand closes around Rodney's forearm unexpectedly, and Rodney twitches violently in surprise, his heart pounding. Primitive lizard-brain response to being grabbed in the dark, he knows, but that hardly stops it from happening.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack, Colonel?" Rodney tries to pull his arm away, but Sheppard holds on, and Rodney settles for taking deep breaths to quell the entirely unpleasant adrenaline spike. "Warning next time, thank you."

Rodney considers pulling out his scanner again--it had been absolutely no help as far as getting them out of here was concerned, but the glow from the screen would provide some light. He could at least see Sheppard's face, try to figure out what it is he's hearing in Sheppard's voice that's making him uneasy. But that seems... wrong, somehow. Inappropriate.

He has the most absurd notion that he shouldn't be able to see Sheppard's face while Sheppard's hand is on his arm. Rodney can feel the tension in Sheppard's curled fingers, pressing into his skin.

Sheppard squeezes his arm, a smooth clench and release that reminds Rodney of being instructed to fire a gun. "I was just thinking that--things used to be easier, is all." Sheppard's voice is quiet, but there's still that strange undertone to it.

Rodney gives him a disbelieving laugh. "Are you serious? When?"

Sheppard's arm moves in a way that Rodney can tell is a shrug, even though he can't see it. "Before."

"Before...? Before what?"

Sheppard shifts again--Rodney finds himself oddly grateful for the hand on his arm, now, because it gives him more of a sense of connection to Sheppard than listening to a disembodied voice in the dark. "Before the attack. Before Colonel Caldwell and the Daedalus showed up."

Rodney can feel himself frowning--not that it matters in the dark, but he can't help it. "You thought it was easier... before we were resupplied, and got the ZPM, and had a way to contact Earth again. When we were cut off and helpless in the face of an unstoppable enemy fleet."

"Well, no, not the helpless part." Rodney hadn't realized how well he's come to know Sheppard, but he can practically see the way Sheppard must be wincing as he says that, just from his tone of voice. Sheppard goes on, more softly. "But--yeah. Before everything got really bad, it was... easier."

"When was that, exactly?" Rodney knows he's getting insistent, but Sheppard's making even less sense than he usually does, and between that, the hand on his arm, and the tone in Sheppard's voice, he really is getting nervous, and he's trying to focus. "When we were still unknowingly sending out a Wraith homing signal on half the worlds we explored? Or when we were running low on food staples? Or maybe when we were pissing off a bunch of militarized fanatics who lack the decency to kill themselves off quickly with their inadequate radiation shielding?"

Sheppard chuckles, the hand on Rodney's arm flexing. "Those weren't the good times?"

"Oh, god. You're secretly afraid of the dark, and you never told me, and it's driving you nuts, is that it? That has to be it." Leave it to Sheppard to keep that sort of thing to himself, until they're trapped in a closet and Rodney has to keep him calm. "Just remember, Colonel, there's nothing there in the dark that wasn't there in the light."

Sheppard gives him a short laugh. "If anything were driving me nuts in here, Rodney, it wouldn't be the dark." Okay, that was Sheppard being sardonic. Rodney's heard that often enough.

"But there's nothing else in the room with--oh. Very funny."

"I thought so." Sheppard moves around again, though to Rodney, it sounds more restless than purposeful. "No, I was just... Yeah, we were screwed, but we knew what to expect, kind of. I knew what to expect."

"Really? What did you expect?" Rodney is genuinely curious, because he'd never seen their situation as especially predictable.

"You know. Things would go bad, you'd bitch and moan until we got you back on track, and then you'd fix it."

Rodney shakes his head--again, pointless, but it would take him more effort to suppress the urge than to just go with it. "And, what? My inability to get us out of here means that I can't fix things anymore?"

"That's not it, Rodney, I--you just threw me a little, is all." Sheppard taps one finger on Rodney's arm a few times. "You don't need me to keep you from freaking out anymore."

"I object to your characterization of a perfectly natural reaction to extreme stress," Rodney says, with a hint of asperity, but the whatever-it-is is back in Sheppard's voice, and it's disturbing him a little. He adds, more softly, "And to be perfectly honest, I only said that this situation wasn't cause for concern."

Sheppard gives him a rusty chuckle. "I just thought you'd be worrying about the air in here, or having enough food. Something."

"Air vents in the ceiling, energy bars in my vest."

"Good to know." Sheppard shifts again, bumping Rodney's arm. His shoulder is warm through their clothes. "That's not... really all of it, actually. Other things felt... easier... too." Sheppard's thumb strokes lightly across the inside of Rodney's forearm, light enough to send a tingling thrill over his skin. "Possible."

And just like that, Rodney feels it spring up: that strange, heavy tension between them. Most of the time it's just a pleasant background buzz he gets from being around Sheppard, and sometimes--like now--it's like a live twisting current, like a Van de Graaff generator, ionizing the air, charging every breath Rodney takes.

And in that same shock of awareness, Rodney knows exactly what Sheppard is talking about. "When we were cut off. Out of contact."

"Yeah." Sheppard changes his grip, fingers gliding over Rodney's skin, delicate but with a definite purpose.

Rodney shivers, and he knows Sheppard felt it. "It was just us, out here. No guarantees we could reach Earth again, ever."

"Yeah." Sheppard's voice is rough, and Rodney closes his eyes ineffectually as his own throat goes tight. Hearing his own want echoed in Sheppard's voice makes it that much worse.

This is as close as they've ever come to talking about the thing they don't talk about.

But this isn't Rodney's line not to cross. It's Sheppard's.

As much as Rodney finds the American military code of conduct barbarically anachronistic in this respect, he has no right to compromise Sheppard's career. And there's still the team dynamic to consider--when they go off-world, Rodney is operationally under Sheppard's command, and pure common sense advises against fishing off the company pier.

Sheppard's hand tightens, and he shifts around to face Rodney, on his knees; Rodney feels one of them nudge against the side of his thigh. Sheppard slides his hand up Rodney's arm, cradling his elbow. Rodney's hand slips over Sheppard's forearm, in a sort of natural reciprocation, and the fabric of Sheppard's jacket sleeve bunches under Rodney's fingers.

Sheppard's free hand settles on Rodney's chest, and glides up until it's cradling Rodney's cheek, his thumb running along Rodney's bottom lip.

Rodney can hear Sheppard breathing now--just a little uneven, and closing in from above, too slowly and too quickly and Rodney hates himself for what he knows he's about to do.

"We can't," Rodney whispers. "We can't, we can't, we can't."

"I know," Sheppard says, and his words paint Rodney's lips with little warm puffs of breath. "Jesus, Rodney, I know."

But Sheppard leans in, closing the distance between them, and Rodney's not strong enough to turn his head, to push Sheppard away.

Rodney knew he wouldn't be, damn him.

Their noses bump at first, and Sheppard's mouth wanders across Rodney's lips, but the catch and drag is too great a tease, and Rodney winds a fist in the collar of Sheppard's jacket and pulls him in hard.

The angle is awkward as hell, and Sheppard has to lean his hand on Rodney's shoulder to keep from overbalancing, but Rodney's lost in this, lost in how much he wants this and needs this and god, it's better than he never let himself imagine. Sheppard's mouth is warm and insistent, desperate, and he groans into Rodney's mouth, a broken, helpless sound.

Sheppard tastes like things that Rodney has never had the right to want, to need, to hope for.

When they come up for air, Sheppard rests his forehead against Rodney's, panting, and Rodney can taste Sheppard in those hot breaths, the way he can still taste Sheppard on his lips, on his tongue.

"Fuck," Sheppard says, and Rodney couldn't have said it better.

"John," and it feels strange in his mouth, but the man with a hand on Rodney's neck, still gripping his arm like a drowning man is not Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, not his team leader, not even his cheerfully aggravating friend.

"I'm sorry," John says, and his voice is thick with regret, with guilt.

"I know," Rodney says, and he has to swallow hard. "I know, I know. Me, too."

Because everything changed, and they can't go back to the way things used to be, when this seemed not just possible, but inevitable. They should not have done this, because it can't happen again, ever, and now Rodney knows that he's going to be assaulted by the sense-memory of Sheppard's mouth at random moments, that he'll remember what Sheppard tasted like, and there won't be a damn thing he can do about it.

There's a muted thunk, and through his closed eyelids, Rodney can tell that the lights have come back on. He hadn't realized his eyes were still closed.

God, he wants to see Sheppard's face, but he knows that's a very, very bad idea right now. So he keeps his eyes shut as Sheppard moves away, even when Sheppard presses an unsteady kiss to his forehead, and Rodney waits until he thinks he hears Sheppard stand up before looking up at him.

Sheppard's back is to him, and Rodney climbs to his feet stiffly, one hand against the wall for balance. He can't stop staring at Sheppard's back, at the subtle wrongness of Sheppard's posture. Sheppard looks fragile, somehow. Bowed, in a way that Rodney's never seen him before.

Sheppard touches the door control, and of course it slides right open. He looks back at Rodney, his expression almost unnaturally blank, and it's the 'almost' that makes Rodney's chest feel hollow, aching like it might collapse in on itself. Sheppard says, "We, uh--we should probably get out of here while the getting's good."

Rodney sets his jaw and nods, following him out into the brightly lit hallway. But Rodney can't help licking his lips, and he knows that it's already far too late.

---

Therefore the Love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debarrs,
Is the Conjunction of the Mind,
And Opposition of the Stars.

--Andrew Marvell, "The Definition of Love"