The Mirror Of Emotions 4

Out Of The Frying Pan

by Cynical_Coat

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/asc/ccoat/mirror04.php
Summary: Rodney sits John down and has a chat about his past, and why it makes him so self-conscious

Deidre...

Rodney burrowed deeper into the comforting scent of John, running from the wash of emotions left in the wake of a dream.

A nightmare...

He lashed out with his arms, searching for that reassuring solidity that was the man he thought he might really love. Struck out, even as he drew his knees up against his chest, instinctively reducing his enemy's chance of landing that fatal blow.

-Deidre...-

Warm radiance, too bright and pure to be artificial, beamed against his face, setting the backs of his eyelids ablaze with crimson heat. He groaned and slowly came back to himself.

-Deidre...-

There was a stillness, a silence, in the room that echoed painfully in his ears, making him feel frightened and desperately alone. Abandoned.

Opening his eyes, he quickly ascertained the reason.

John was gone.

Clawing his way into full wakefulness, Rodney clutched the blankets to himself, holding in each breath of that smell as though it could protect him from remembered horrors.

As if it could protect him from the past.

He forced himself off of the bed, to his feet. From there he mechanically began neatening the mess John had left in his haste. He gently picked up the clothes and possessions strewn about, little pieces of the only person to really get past his barriers since...

-Deidre...-

He noticed John's laptop lying open on a stack of books and went to shut it. What he saw when he turned it around made him smile. A warm, real smile, since he had no one to hide it from here.

An awkward self-photo of John (taken with his field camera, which lay nearby) smiled back at him from above a simple message.

"Rodney: Talking to Weir. Rain stopped. See you at breakfast. - John."

The message was brief, direct, to the point... but the fact that he had left one at all, that he had left a little fragment of himself to greet Rodney as he woke... It was the kind of effort that people just didn't put forth for him. How many beds had he woken in, depressed and alone, wondering if the fleeing party had just remembered suddenly that they'd left the stove on, or they needed to let the dog out... or maybe they'd run off because they'd sobered up and gotten a good look at him.

For someone who seemed so confident and full of himself, he was awfully self-conscious.

Scrubbing his hand through his hair, he padded toward the bathroom, stopping in the doorway when he remembered that he wasn't in his own room. Sighing, he started to turn, another note catching his eye from the mirror above the sink.

"There's a towel for you by the shower, and your clothes are on the chair. Don't leave."

Rodney leaned against the door-jamb, an inexplicable shudder hitching through his chest, followed by a deluge he had been holding back for God only knew how long. He sank to the floor, leaning his forehead against the cool metal wall, letting this uncomfortable weakness seep out through his eyes. He cried himself dry quickly, hiccuping now and again, feeling miserable and sick, his eyes aching, his heart aching... This was just like-- Just like--

-Deidre...-

He lost track of time as he sat there, wallowing in misery and guilt, before--

"Rodney?... Rodney, what happened?" Strong hands on his shoulders, turning him around. Warm hands, gentle hands. And that face... John was frowning at him worriedly. "Did you fa-- pass out again?... I knew I shouldn't have left you alone..." He shook his head, gathering Rodney into his arms like a child, smoothing his hair and kissing his forehead.

"...no." Rodney whispered against his shoulder. "No, I didn't... I got your note. Both of them..." And that set his eyes burning again, searching for tears that had already been shed.

John pulled away, still holding Rodney's shoulders loosely.

"Is that why you're sitting on the floor?" He peered more closely at Rodney's face. His eyes. "Were you... crying?" He said it carefully, gently, not wanting to bring his defenses up. Rodney wiped ineffectively at his face, not meeting his gaze.

"That's ridiculous... I don't cry." He mumbled, his throat still thick with tears. He expected some snide remark.

-like you don't faint? or snore?-

But John just took Rodney's face between his hands, looking into his eyes with a boundless compassion born out of his own pain.

"What happened, Rodney? What did I do? What did I say?..."

Rodney shook his head, that assumption of guilt cutting deep into his heart.

"Not your fault..."

"Then what?"

Rodney met John's gaze finally, needing to alleviate that concern, no matter if it hurt.

"Deidre."

John nodded silently, and then pulled Rodney to his feet.

"That sounds like a very long story, but... We have an appointment with Dr. Beckett, and then you need to eat. After that, if you feel up to it..." His eyes finished that and Rodney nodded, fighting back the impulse to hug him.

-why?-

Because he had to know... he had to know that what he felt, he felt for John... and not for--

-Deidre...-

***

"You're just about back to new, Rodney... A good meal, some more rest, and you'll be right as rain."

Rodney groaned, quickly reverting to his snarky self.

"The last thing I want to hear about right now is *rain*..."

Carson smiled at John, as if to say 'there you go, all better... now you deal with him'.

"You know what they say, well enough to argue--" He shrugged. Rodney's eyes brightened.

"You mean I can go back to work?"

Carson shook his head.

"No strenuous activity for at least another day."

"I feel fine!"

Carson laughed.

"Aye, and I bet you felt 'fine' yesterday, right up until you fainted."

Rodney grimaced at the word, and mumbled under his breath.

"... good enough for government work..."

"And that's about all you're good for right now." Carson shot back and Rodney pretended to sulk. At least, he *pretended* to pretend...

"Fine. Can we go? I'm hungry." His stomach rumbled as though to punctuate that.

"Go."

Rodney all but ran out of the infirmary. John moved to follow him, but Carson grabbed his arm. When John turned to him, his eyes were serious.

"I mean it, Major... he still needs to rest, so... no-- *strenuous* activity." Carson stressed the word, raising his eyebrows significantly. John nodded, his face paling again.

"Duly noted, Doctor..." He said formally, and then flashed a grin to take the sting out of it. "I'll do my best..."

Watching him hurry out into the hall, Carson guessed that was all he really had the right to expect.

***

Once fed, Rodney felt a bit more himself. He walked down the hall next to John, watching the other man out of the corner of his eye, trying to isolate what made this a companionable, comfortable silence, as opposed to the awkward ones he was used to. After all, it was just as silent. Just as heavy.

But there was something warm about this, something accepting.

-he knows I'll start when I'm ready...-

Trust.

Acceptance.

Love.

... Despair.

He felt that remembered pain welling up again, pressing against his heart, choking him. One thought spiralled through his mind, destroying his determination not to cry.

-Deidre...-

He didn't know how they reached his room so quickly. He only knew the feel of strong arms around him and vaguely comforting nonsensical mutterings. Then the door was closed and he was curled up on his bed, trying to cry with arid eyes that left him aching, wanting to empty his stomach, wanting to just dig a hole, crawl inside and--

"Shhh... it's okay, Rodney. Don't fight it..." John was craddling him, wrapping him up in that endlessly alluring, boundlessly calming scent.

He smelled like earth.

Like Earth.

Like home.

Rodney pushed away from him, clasping his arms tightly around himself, not able to even look at him. He knew the pain he would see there. The misunderstanding in his eyes.

"Rodney, what did I d--"

Rodney shook his head, cutting him off.

"Why do you assume that you had to do something? That it has anything to do with you?" He thought about that for a second. "Alright... it has something to do with you, but not anything you did-- or didn't do..." He took a deep breath, steeling himself against that ingrained defense mechanism. He couldn't faint his way through this. He couldn't snark and bluff his way through, either. He had to confront it.

-Fear is the mind killer. I will face my fear, I will let it pass through me...-

-god... I really am a geek...-

"She hurt you... This Deidre."

Hearing her name from his lips sent a shudder through Rodney, shaking him to the core. He raised a hand to his temple.

"Will you let me tell it? I don't think you can quite do it justice." He sighed, hoping that John would take the hint and shut his mouth. "Yes, she hurt me. More than anyone else ever has." He laughed, running a hand through his hair. "And you know how?" He saw John wince, felt his muscles tighten, tensing, readying himself for what ever crushing agony Rodney was about to lay bare. "She told me the truth."

John blinked at him, but didn't say a word. He didn't have to, Rodney could read his reaction in his eyes.

-the truth? That's what has you all wound up? How bad could the truth be?-

"You remind me of her." He said, with no fear of mockery for once. John knew what he meant. "The little things... the notes this morning. The picture. She would have done that. She was constantly reassuring me, reaffirming her love for me. Even at the end she said she loved me. That she always would." Another little laugh, trying to distance himself from the pain. "She..." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "When I was a kid, all I wanted to do was play the piano... When I was twelve, my instructor told me to quit. Basically he told me I didn't have the soul for it. Said I was a fine 'clinical' player, with no sense for the art."

"What did you do?" John asked, tensing again.

"I quit... but I went years thinking that he was wrong, that he was just jealous of my talent. Until Deidre... she used almost the exact same phrase." He licked his lips. "She said that I was good at the mechanics of love..." He remembered how she had laughed, and tossed her hair, amending that... she had said he was *great* at the mechanics of love. "But that I was emotionally distant. Clinical. Almost disdainful..." He closed his eyes, wishing, not for the first time, that he had known what he'd had at the time. Would he have acted differently? Somehow, he didn't think so. No, to be truthful... he knew that he wouldn't have changed. Maybe was incapable of change. He had a self-destructive streak an inch wide and a mile deep, another little phrase he'd held onto from his childhood. He'd been sure she was wrong about him until he had seen both her and Samantha on that hill in Greece, working together in a way they couldn't work with him, even though they were supposed to be against each other. Because he was wrong, and they were right, and that's all there was too it. "She said I was a 'taker', never giving back anything but attitude and excuses. And when she'd had enough, when I had taken everything that she was willing to give... she cut me loose."

"How long?" John asked after the silence had stretched as far as he could stand. Rodney frowned at him, not understanding exactly what he meant.

"How long has it been? Or how long were we together?"

"Both."

"We were together for almost two years... about three years ago. Right before I got personally involved with the Stargate program. Thinking about it now, I guess she's the reason I'm here." He hadn't thought of it like that, but it was true. Losing her had driven him even further into his work. If that was possible.

"Do you still love her?" There was a tautness to the question, a latent jealousy that made him oddly happy.

"I thought I did. But now..." He sighed. "I don't want to take anything away from you. I don't want to drive you away... I don't want to lose you. Because--"

John put a hand on his shoulder, smiling.

"I know."

"I know you do." Rodney whispered. "I want to say it..."

John wrapped his arms around him again.

"But you don't have to say it right now. If we have nothing else, we have time."

Time.

Time to forget.

Time to live.

Time to love...

Time to fuck it all to hell.

Just by being himself.

One thing he could do with just then, would be no time at all.

***

He awoke alone for the second time that day, groggy and disoriented. He could hear the shower running, and for one crazy moment he was back at his flat in Toronto all those years ago, coming out of one of those self-induced coma's that only come after a heavy bender and a one night stand, trying desperately to remember who was in his shower... it had taken him a while to piece together the two sets of crumpled boxers on the floor, the nearly empty tube of lubricant on his night stand, that odd tight, slick feeling that seemed to run right through the center of him. Too long, for the genius he had already become by then, to realize there wasn't a woman in his shower, and even then he couldn't come up with a name. He had run, barely pausing to get dressed, he had run from his own apartment, waiting hours before he went back. The man had been gone by then, and Rodney had counted himself lucky that he hadn't taken anything.

-didn't he?-

But this wasn't Toronto... it was Atlantis.

And that wasn't some nameless, faceless one night stand in his shower... it was John.

The water stopped and Rodney listened to the sounds of John drying off and then dressing. There was something painfully intimate about hearing him do those simple things while he was supposed to be asleep. Why, he couldn't have said... it just was... Maybe it was because he had run that day, or maybe because he hadn't today...

Whatever the reason, it was likely to stay hidden.

Rodney had had enough of self-analysis to last him a life-time in the last forty-eight hours.

John came into the main room, still drying his hair, and caught Rodney watching him by the light that spilled out from the bathroom door behind him. He smiled, draping the towel over his shoulder in a way that was so comfortable and unthought of that it made Rodney's mouth go dry to remember that was the same towel that he used on a daily basis... that it had touched parts of John that he had only dreamt about.

"You're supposed to be resting."

"I'm sick of resting."

John cocked his head, slipping into the grin that had all of Atlantis hot and bothered.

"You're supposed to get some sleep."

Rodney propped himself up on his elbows.

"I did... I don't want to sleep anymore." He realized that he was in his underclothes again when he shifted beneath the covers.

-must have put me to bed after I dozed off...-

For some reason, that didn't make him as angry as it should have.

John was still grinning as he dropped the towel and came forward to sit on the edge of the bed next to Rodney.

"Aren't you tired?" He drawled, slowly drawing back the blankets, shifting his weight so that he could throw them off completely. Rodney found that he was a little tired... but John didn't let him answer. Instead, he leaned forward, kissing Rodney passionately and pressing him back against the pillows, his hand's sliding up under Rodney's shirt without giving him time to be self-conscious. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull the shirt up over Rodney's head. His lips were back even as he threw it to the floor. When he let the scientist breathe again, it was only so he could trail kisses down his neck, over his chest, down to his stomach and back up again, nuzzling and nipping at his earlobes. Rodney's panting morphed into a ragged gasp when John's hands deftly pulled his boxers down around his thighs, leaving him suddenly exposed. The gentle brush of fingers over his engorged cock ripped a moan from his throat, and he could feel the flash of a grin against his throat. "You like that, Rodney?" John's breath nearly scalded the sensitive skin of his throat, and the feather light, almost nonexistent caresses rendered him inarticulate. He fought for coherent thought against the rising tide of desire.

"Not supposed to do anything... strenuous..." He breathed, moving his hips slightly up against John's palm. "Doctor's orders."

John pulled back, grinning like a fiend.

"Not strenuous... relaxing. Trust me, when I'm done with you, you'll sleep like a baby." He started kissing his way down Rodney's chest again, sending a shudder through him as he ran his tongue around the rim of his navel, letting it just barely slip inside before returning to the edge. By the time his lips brushed his cock, Rodney was in a place pleasently beyond thought. It was a place he could easily get used to being, two maybe three times a day. He let his hands roam through John still damp hair, revelling in the feel of it sliding through his fingers. And then he was gasping, his grip tightening in those locks as John took him fully into his mouth, and had he been capable of anything even resembling real thought, he would have memorized the exact movements of his tongue and hands for his own use. It was like a dance, carefully choreographed and spontaneous all at once. Like he knew the steps but not the stage.

Had he been able to think in metaphor, he would have thought that.

But he wasn't... all he could manage to concentrate on was how wet and hot and beautiful this was. He'd been dreaming of this so long.

Had he been able to think at all, he would have realized, from the gentle, almost awed way that John was sucking him off, that he knew what he was doing. Quite well. But beyond knowing the mechanics of the act, beyond knowing *what* to do... he knew what he *wanted* to do. What he wanted to do to *Rodney*.

But he wasn't... all he could manage to concentrate on was how wet and hot and beautiful this was... and how fucking close he was to--- to--- to---

His mind stuttered as he came, shooting his seed down John's willing throat, aching for more even as he climaxed.

Had he been able to think at all, he would have realized that John had swallowed... that he'd swallowed hard, pulling back, licking his lips and then licking Rodney clean with long, gentle swipes of his tongue. He would have seen the hungry gleam in his lover's eyes that said he would gladly take up residence between his legs if only Rodney could do that over and over and over and over...

But he wasn't... wasn't able to form a single thought. As promised, he was already asleep.

Grinning, John gently pulled his boxers up and crawled into the bed next to Rodney, covering them both with the blankets and wrapping his arms around him.

"Good night, Rodney." He whispered into his neck. "I love you..."

Next: ...into The Fire