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SGA gen fic for kink_meme (unedited, unbeta'd, you get the idea)
I kinda just wrote this off the cuff for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sga_kinkmeme. I don't even think I spell-checked it. *is ashamed*
Aftermath (gen teamfic; ~1200 wds; probably PG-ish but deals (non-graphically) with the aftermath of gang-rape and drugging - see original post and prompt for details - and contains mention of a suicide attempt)
At first Ronon thought the drugs had been the worst violation of all - messing with their heads, tearing down their inhibitions, making their memories a jumbled, confused mess of random sensory images. But he realized as his head cleared, over the next few days on Atlantis, that the drugs had been a blessing. A lot of his memories of Running were like that - random flashes, out of context, out of order. If Melena were here, she'd probably say it was the mind protecting itself. The emotional impact was dulled; it was like those things had happened to someone else.
And so he was able to sort it out, to separate himself from those things that had been done to him, just like the Running. He still felt filthy and violated, and he showered without looking at himself in the mirror - not until the bruises healed, the bite marks sealed up. Seven years with a Wraith tracker in his back had not taken away his ability to think of his body as his own (I try not to let things I can't change bother me, he'd once told Rodney), and forced addiction to Wraith enzyme hadn't taken it away, and this wouldn't either.
It was just ... hard.
But the others - the others. John had locked himself down, all military precision and ramrod-straight posture, his entire self closed up like a box; the damage was hidden inside, bleeding out where no one could see. Rodney was the opposite, wide open and wounded, wearing his soul in his eyes like a raw and gaping scar - just looking at him was enough to scrape a fingernail down the edge of Ronon's own self-control. Teyla was barely contained fury, lashing out at the slightest provocation, her naked anger made all the more awful by her obvious struggles to gather the tattered shreds of her calm around herself.
Ronon wondered what the others saw when they looked at him.
He wondered what everyone else saw, too. Woolsey walked around them like they were bombs waiting to go off. The new psychologist, whose name Ronon couldn't even remember, made marks on a piece of paper and smiled with a false empathy. Kate might have understood, but this new woman knew nothing, understood nothing; she'd only been in this galaxy for a couple of months. Jennifer reached for them with sympathetic hands, and they flinched away, even Rodney. None of them could bear to be touched.
The new psychologist offered drugs, and Ronon flinched back in a deep, visceral horror.
"They're just to help you sleep. To ease your depression and get you back to the person you used to be -"
He walked out and didn't come back.
******
Ronon took to walking the halls, late at night. Movement helped. It was a little like Running again - just keep moving, don't stop, they'll catch you. Even if they were memories that could not hurt him. Not in any physical way ...
He found John sometimes - on a balcony, in a gym. Sometimes they worked out together until their muscles trembled from exhaustion. Sometimes John's knuckles were bleeding, and Ronon didn't ask about it.
What changed things was Rodney's suicide attempt.
It was a completely half-assed suicide attempt. Ronon could tell that Rodney didn't intend it to work, because if Rodney actually wanted it to work, he probably knew a hundred ways of rigging various equipment to take himself out without harming any other person or thing in the lab.
No - Rodney had apparently taken the psychologist up on her offer of sleeping medication, because one night he took the whole bottle, along with a bottle of clear, high-proof Madaran moonshine. And then he staggered into one of the labs, threw up and passed out in front of half a dozen startled scientists.
He ended up in the infirmary getting his stomach pumped. Ronon walked in on the scene: Rodney huddled and miserable-looking, his face gray, and John chewing him out in a voice that had gone beyond fury into a cold, steady monotone. John was white-faced, his spine tense as a length of carbon steel, struggling so hard for control that Ronon could see him shaking from head to foot. His hands were balled into fists, pressing the knuckles against their fresh, red-stained bandages.
"You could have died," John was saying in that terrible, low voice. "You fucking selfish bastard."
"Oh, what, am I taking away your title as the ruling champion of the death wish?" Rodney demanded back, in a hoarse voice raw with anger. "At least I had the guts to -"
"Don't talk to me about courage when you're laying there in a hospital bed because you're a fucking coward."
Jennifer, hovering with a basin in one hand, gave Ronon a heartbreakingly grateful look. He wasn't sure what she expected him to do, but then he took another step forward and was able to see the fourth member of their team in the bed beyond Rodney. For an instant he thought something had happened to Teyla, too, but then he saw that she was fully dressed and lying on top of the covers, curled up with her knees tucked up and her face towards them. Taking another step, Ronon saw that she was not asleep. Her eyes were open, her face fixed, her hands covering her ears as John and Rodney shredded each other. Her face was wet with tears.
At that, something brittle inside him snapped and shattered. He crossed the infirmary in a few quick strides, not sure if he was going to lay either of them out with a punch - because they both deserved it - or, or ... he didn't know. Behind him, he heard Jennifer gasp.
Instead he grabbed John by the tightly corded muscle of his shoulder and pushed him down onto Rodney's bed. Teyla, startled, half-uncurled and pushed herself up. They all stared at him.
"You're all selfish idiots, every one of you," Ronon said, and curled his hand around John's neck, gripping it, pulling John into his shoulder so hard that he probably left more bruises to join the rest. He put his other hand on Rodney's chest, and buried his face in John's hair, because he couldn't look at them anymore. Couldn't look. Couldn't think.
John's breath hitched against him. After a moment, Ronon felt Rodney sitting up, and he slid an arm around Rodney's chest and pulled him in tight against his other side. Rodney gasped a little and then sagged into him, sweaty and limp.
Ronon still had his eyes squeezed shut, his face hidden in John's hair. He knew when Teyla joined them because the bed dipped under her weight, and then small strong arms wrapped around the three of them, and her body pressed into Ronon's back. He didn't have a hand free for her, but he could feel both John and Rodney shift against him, almost at the same moment, to wrap their free arms around her.
Ronon didn't have to look to know that their hands would slide across her back, and meet, and clasp.
And they all held on.
~~~
sga_kinkmeme. I don't even think I spell-checked it. *is ashamed*Aftermath (gen teamfic; ~1200 wds; probably PG-ish but deals (non-graphically) with the aftermath of gang-rape and drugging - see original post and prompt for details - and contains mention of a suicide attempt)
At first Ronon thought the drugs had been the worst violation of all - messing with their heads, tearing down their inhibitions, making their memories a jumbled, confused mess of random sensory images. But he realized as his head cleared, over the next few days on Atlantis, that the drugs had been a blessing. A lot of his memories of Running were like that - random flashes, out of context, out of order. If Melena were here, she'd probably say it was the mind protecting itself. The emotional impact was dulled; it was like those things had happened to someone else.
And so he was able to sort it out, to separate himself from those things that had been done to him, just like the Running. He still felt filthy and violated, and he showered without looking at himself in the mirror - not until the bruises healed, the bite marks sealed up. Seven years with a Wraith tracker in his back had not taken away his ability to think of his body as his own (I try not to let things I can't change bother me, he'd once told Rodney), and forced addiction to Wraith enzyme hadn't taken it away, and this wouldn't either.
It was just ... hard.
But the others - the others. John had locked himself down, all military precision and ramrod-straight posture, his entire self closed up like a box; the damage was hidden inside, bleeding out where no one could see. Rodney was the opposite, wide open and wounded, wearing his soul in his eyes like a raw and gaping scar - just looking at him was enough to scrape a fingernail down the edge of Ronon's own self-control. Teyla was barely contained fury, lashing out at the slightest provocation, her naked anger made all the more awful by her obvious struggles to gather the tattered shreds of her calm around herself.
Ronon wondered what the others saw when they looked at him.
He wondered what everyone else saw, too. Woolsey walked around them like they were bombs waiting to go off. The new psychologist, whose name Ronon couldn't even remember, made marks on a piece of paper and smiled with a false empathy. Kate might have understood, but this new woman knew nothing, understood nothing; she'd only been in this galaxy for a couple of months. Jennifer reached for them with sympathetic hands, and they flinched away, even Rodney. None of them could bear to be touched.
The new psychologist offered drugs, and Ronon flinched back in a deep, visceral horror.
"They're just to help you sleep. To ease your depression and get you back to the person you used to be -"
He walked out and didn't come back.
******
Ronon took to walking the halls, late at night. Movement helped. It was a little like Running again - just keep moving, don't stop, they'll catch you. Even if they were memories that could not hurt him. Not in any physical way ...
He found John sometimes - on a balcony, in a gym. Sometimes they worked out together until their muscles trembled from exhaustion. Sometimes John's knuckles were bleeding, and Ronon didn't ask about it.
What changed things was Rodney's suicide attempt.
It was a completely half-assed suicide attempt. Ronon could tell that Rodney didn't intend it to work, because if Rodney actually wanted it to work, he probably knew a hundred ways of rigging various equipment to take himself out without harming any other person or thing in the lab.
No - Rodney had apparently taken the psychologist up on her offer of sleeping medication, because one night he took the whole bottle, along with a bottle of clear, high-proof Madaran moonshine. And then he staggered into one of the labs, threw up and passed out in front of half a dozen startled scientists.
He ended up in the infirmary getting his stomach pumped. Ronon walked in on the scene: Rodney huddled and miserable-looking, his face gray, and John chewing him out in a voice that had gone beyond fury into a cold, steady monotone. John was white-faced, his spine tense as a length of carbon steel, struggling so hard for control that Ronon could see him shaking from head to foot. His hands were balled into fists, pressing the knuckles against their fresh, red-stained bandages.
"You could have died," John was saying in that terrible, low voice. "You fucking selfish bastard."
"Oh, what, am I taking away your title as the ruling champion of the death wish?" Rodney demanded back, in a hoarse voice raw with anger. "At least I had the guts to -"
"Don't talk to me about courage when you're laying there in a hospital bed because you're a fucking coward."
Jennifer, hovering with a basin in one hand, gave Ronon a heartbreakingly grateful look. He wasn't sure what she expected him to do, but then he took another step forward and was able to see the fourth member of their team in the bed beyond Rodney. For an instant he thought something had happened to Teyla, too, but then he saw that she was fully dressed and lying on top of the covers, curled up with her knees tucked up and her face towards them. Taking another step, Ronon saw that she was not asleep. Her eyes were open, her face fixed, her hands covering her ears as John and Rodney shredded each other. Her face was wet with tears.
At that, something brittle inside him snapped and shattered. He crossed the infirmary in a few quick strides, not sure if he was going to lay either of them out with a punch - because they both deserved it - or, or ... he didn't know. Behind him, he heard Jennifer gasp.
Instead he grabbed John by the tightly corded muscle of his shoulder and pushed him down onto Rodney's bed. Teyla, startled, half-uncurled and pushed herself up. They all stared at him.
"You're all selfish idiots, every one of you," Ronon said, and curled his hand around John's neck, gripping it, pulling John into his shoulder so hard that he probably left more bruises to join the rest. He put his other hand on Rodney's chest, and buried his face in John's hair, because he couldn't look at them anymore. Couldn't look. Couldn't think.
John's breath hitched against him. After a moment, Ronon felt Rodney sitting up, and he slid an arm around Rodney's chest and pulled him in tight against his other side. Rodney gasped a little and then sagged into him, sweaty and limp.
Ronon still had his eyes squeezed shut, his face hidden in John's hair. He knew when Teyla joined them because the bed dipped under her weight, and then small strong arms wrapped around the three of them, and her body pressed into Ronon's back. He didn't have a hand free for her, but he could feel both John and Rodney shift against him, almost at the same moment, to wrap their free arms around her.
Ronon didn't have to look to know that their hands would slide across her back, and meet, and clasp.
And they all held on.
~~~
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But that last scene--GUH. Wonderful and a very awesome Ronon POV and voice throughout
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