Back From The Well

 

Author: NA8

Fandom:Stargate Atlantis

Pairing(s):Beckett/Sheppard/McKay

Warnings:rape, torture

Spoilers: None - AU

Summary:A massive tragedy has befallen Atlantis and her people are trapped

on a primitive world where technology is forbidden and they are forced to

work as slaves.

 

 

Nominated Category:

Best Slave Fic: Acted TV & Movies - Slash

---

 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

 

Part 1

 

Every step hurt; the sun burned down onto his naked, lacerated shoulders, enflaming his already burning back, and the damaged fingers on his right hand throbbed incessantly. The road stretched endlessly ahead of them, with the dunes from the previous dust storm piled high on either side. Rodney hoped they weren't due for another dust storm – out here, on the road like this, naked and exposed, he didn't see how either he or the other slaves could survive. The Karkaran slavers would be fine – they were dressed from head to foot in long robes, the light, graceful fabric covering their faces entirely, shielding their eyes with a thin strip of gauze, but the slaves they were shepherding along the sweltering road were mostly naked, or else wearing only tattered rags. The soles of Rodney's feet were blistered from walking on the hot dust, but he hurt in too many other places to notice or care about the pain in his feet particularly; all his energies were spent on just putting one of them in front of the other. At the back of his mind there was a vague, nagging worry about Radek, now all alone back at the plantation. Radek was already sick and without Rodney to take some of his workload he doubted the other man would survive for long. Rodney couldn't help but blame himself; getting sold at this point was the worst thing that could have happened. Not that he was sorry to leave that goddamn shithole of a plantation far behind, but now Radek would be alone and friendless and Rodney had experienced enough of this dog eat dog world to know that he wouldn't last long.

 

There was a slight dip in the road, and, his feet dragging, Rodney tripped and fell. He lay there for a moment, winded, as the pain kicked in and his torn shoulders screamed their protest. Instinct had caused him to put out his injured hand to break his fall, and a sickening wave of pain engulfed him, making him vomit up bile onto the dusty dune. There was little enough to come up – they were fed such meagre rations that his stomach was never full. Rodney spewed and retched for a few seconds and then dropped back onto the dust, too exhausted to move. A harsh shout sounded somewhere along the road and then he heard hoof beats, and one of the Karkaran overseers loomed into sight.

 

"Get up!" he snapped, his horse's hooves drumming dangerously close to Rodney's head. Rodney closed his eyes, hoping one of the hooves would land on his skull, longing for the comfortable oblivion of blacking out, no longer caring what happened to him. "If you don't get up we'll leave you here by the side of the road," the Karkaran said, and Rodney felt the searing swipe of the man's whip as it flicked hard against the bare skin of his chest.

 

"I really don't give a damn," he muttered into the dust, thinking that being left out here, naked and alone, in the middle of nowhere, was probably preferable to the fate that awaited him once they got to the slave market.

 

"With your throat cut," the Karkaran added, in an ugly tone. Rodney didn't consciously move, but some instinct took over and he found himself rolling onto his side and staggering to his feet. He resumed his place in the line, walking on autopilot.

 

They walked for three days, and rested by night. The days were blisteringly hot, the nights freezing cold, and Rodney hated the stench of the slaves as they huddled together for warmth. They weren't give blankets, they were barely given food and there was only just enough water to sate his constantly dry throat. Was Radek still alive, he wondered, as he lay in the middle of all that human flotsam and jetsam by the side of the dusty road. Were any of the others?

 

The Karkarans had taken Atlantis by surprise several months previously; nobody had heard of them, and nobody knew anything about them, but they had gated in stealthily one night, which shouldn't have been possible. Rodney had since learned that the Karkarans were extremely efficient bandits who went from gate to gate, plundering what they could, and they had perfected a device that enabled them to lower the shields on their victims' gates, allowing them to sweep in and overpower them. This was their way of life, and they were very good at it. They'd swiftly corralled the Atlanteans before they'd even had a chance to mount any kind of defence of the city. Rodney had been sleeping one minute, his arm slung across Carson's thigh, John's chest pressed against his back, and the next minute he woke to find five armed Karkarans with nets and ropes in the room. He knew John had tried to fight and had been taken out by a savage blow across the head from the butt of a gun. He also knew that he would never forget the sound of Carson's scream as he'd scrabbled over the bed towards John's unconscious body. Rodney had tried to reach both his lovers but had been caught in a net, and as he struggled to get free he must have been hit as well because the next thing he knew he was waking up in a holding pen in a slave market on Karkara with a dozen or so other Atlanteans, all of whom he knew by sight but none of whom he knew very well. He hadn't seen either of his lovers again since that night and he had no way of knowing whether John had died back in their room on Atlantis or whether he too had been sold in a dusty Karakaran slave market. In some ways he almost hoped it was the former; he couldn't bear the idea of John bowing his head to these rapacious aliens, of them stealing his lover's dignity and making him into a slave. John was a soldier and his instinct would be to fight, and Rodney couldn't see how that would have made him tempting to any prospective buyer. He'd learned himself, the hard way, not to talk back, which wasn't easy for someone with his temperament. John at least knew how to hold his tongue – but his fists? If he was pushed hard enough? Rodney doubted it. As for Carson – Rodney couldn't even bring himself to go there. Carson was the kindest, gentlest soul he'd ever met, and the thought of Carson being beaten as Rodney had been beaten by various of his Karkaran overseers since his capture made tears of despair prick at the back of his eyes, so he'd long since forced himself not to think about what might have happened to Carson. It hurt too much.

 

From talking to the others in the holding pen he'd quickly pieced together that Atlantis had fallen to the Karkarans, and they, as spoils of that victory, had been brought back to Karkara to be sold as slaves. At first Rodney had hoped that because of his scientific knowledge he'd at least be of some value to the Karkarans and treated well because of what he could do for them, but that hope was soon quashed as he found out more about his captors. The Karkarans were afraid of technology for some reason he hadn't yet been able to figure out, and while the bandits who roamed offworld were clearly adept at using it, no technology of any kind was allowed on the homeworld itself. The penalty for having so much as a watch on your wrist was death but the Atlanteans had been stripped of all their personal effects in any case to prepare them for their new lives as commodities on the buoyant Karkaran slave market. That was his first experience of enforced nakedness and at first it had bothered him a lot – until he found out there was worst yet to come. The fitting of his collar had been one of many low points. All slaves on Karkara wore thick leather collars - they weren't locked on, but it was an offence punishable by a severe beating to remove them. Rodney hated the way the collar chafed at the skin on his neck – you could never forget about it - it was always there, rubbing the sore skin underneath. There was a thick ring set into the buckle which the Karakarans used to attach leashes in order to herd and corral their slaves; it was all so incredibly soul-destroying.

 

On the afternoon of the fourth day the slave convoy arrived in Shalla, one of the largest towns in the area. They were hustled along a bustling street to the slave market, which was nothing more than a cluster of big cages, surrounded by white tents. Rodney was relieved to be shoved into a cage with twelve others from the convoy of slaves who'd just walked in from the country. He sank down against the side of the cage and closed his eyes, grateful for a chance to rest. The cage was in the shadow of one of the tents so it at least afforded him some shade. He didn't feel right – he knew that his fingers were broken, and he wondered whether they'd eventually heal in the same misshapen position they were currently in, but it was his back that was particularly hurting him, and he could feel the fever sweeping through his body. Even in the shade, his forehead was beaded with sweat that dripped down the side of his face and into his beard, and he could tell by the heat in his shoulders that the lacerations had become infected. If he turned his face he could just about make out the purple swellings that criss-crossed his back in long, hard, raised welts. He was sweating off more than he was taking in and he longed for water but knew from experience that they'd get food and water only twice a day, at sunrise and sunset. Slaves were fed and watered after the horses – the Karkarans knew their priorities.

 

Rodney had been sold twice before so the market itself held little fear for him. The first time he'd been sold to some kind of travelling trading consortium to work in their kitchens. That hadn't been bad work – at least he'd got to eat well enough, even if he did spend most of his days and half his nights peeling vegetables and scrubbing pots. He'd learned there that you never looked a Karkaran freeman in the eye unless you wanted a beating – and he'd been on the receiving end of several before that lesson had finally sunk in. He'd been there for a few months before being sold on, in an entirely random way, to work on a massive plantation that needed extra manpower to bring in the harvest. Their only crop was rinula - something akin to cotton – it left your fingers covered in tiny cuts when you picked it but when it was woven and dyed it produced the light, graceful robes that the Karkarans – and only the Karkarans – wore. It was against the law for slaves to wear robes – if you were lucky, you got to drag a piece of old sackcloth over your body, but just as often slaves went naked, and although Rodney had long since lost his embarrassment about that, he had never entirely become accustomed to it either.

 

One of the slavers came into the cage and began jotting down the various numbers tattooed or burned onto the slave's wrists. Rodney gazed at his without emotion but that hadn't been the case when they'd first marked him. For some reason this indignity had hurt more than the loss of his clothes, perhaps because it signified to him, for the first time, what his status on this planet was. He'd kicked up a fuss, shouted and screamed, but they'd just knocked him down, sat on him, and tattooed his wrist anyway, laughing and jeering at him the entire time. Now the dark green-blue markings on his wrist were irrelevant to him and he couldn't exactly remember why they had upset him so much at the time; there had been so many worse humiliations since. He held up his arm wearily to the slaver as he came by, and the man looked up the number in his sales' ledger.

 

"Says here you've worked in kitchens and in the fields," the slaver said, glancing at him.

 

"Yeah – and before that I was an exceptionally brilliant physicist and mechanical engineer but you don't seem to have much call for those professions around here," Rodney told him, the fever making him flippant. The slaver grinned.

 

"That smart mouth get you into much trouble?" he asked.

 

"Plenty," Rodney replied.

 

"Well, hold your scum tongue when we've got buyers looking at you or I'll cut it out myself," the slaver told him.

 

"I would expect nothing less," Rodney said wearily, resting his head on the back of the cage.

 

"Stand up," the man ordered. Rodney did as he was told, heaving himself to his feet and then swaying slightly, the sweat trickling into his eyes. The man looked him up and down and wrote something in the ledger, then motioned with his finger. "Turn around." Rodney did as ordered, beyond humiliation. "Says here you stole from your previous owner," the slaver said. "Is that why they flogged you?"

 

"I never even met my previous owner," Rodney replied, glancing back over his shoulder, "but I really doubt that the stale old loaf of bread and rotten vegetables I took from the gutter at the back of the kitchens was food he was intending to feast on himself. However, yes, that's why I was punished."

 

"So, we've got one fairly useless slave who steals and he has the marks on his back to prove it to any prospective buyer," the slaver growled, motioning that Rodney could turn around again. "We'll put you down for half a zenari and if you don't fetch it we'll throw you in the junk cage at the end of tomorrow's trading."

 

"You're so kind." Rodney sat back down with a thud, and leaned his head back on the cage. So this was it – he'd seen the junk cages at the end of the trading day, filled with slaves who they couldn't even give away. They were herded together and their throats were cut and their carcasses sold for god knows what purpose – to be boiled up for glue like old horses maybe, Rodney wondered. He had no idea whether he'd reach the modest sale price – half a zenari was hardly going to make the trader rich, but Rodney knew he wasn't in good condition, and if *he* was a prospective purchaser he doubted that he'd look twice at himself. He wasn't brawny enough for physical labour, or pretty enough to adorn the bedroom of any prospective master or mistress, and with his swollen, misshapen fingers it was clear he wasn't going to be able to do much by way of skilled work either.

 

"Great. Here I am, the most brilliant physicist of my generation, and I'm unlikely to even fetch half a zenari on this god forsaken hellhole world," Rodney muttered to himself. Last time he'd been here, he'd fetched two zenaris, but that had been before the plantation and that place chewed people up and spat them out half dead. The plantation…Rodney closed his eyes, and thought about Radek, who was still back there, rotting to death out in the rinula fields.

 

~*~

 

The plantation stretched as far as the eye could see – row upon row of neatly tended plants, baking in the hot afternoon sun. Rodney stumbled down from the cart with a dozen or so other newly purchased slaves and was taken to a huddle of rundown, ramshackle huts. He smelled them before he got close and retched – the stink of human sweat, faeces and despair was overwhelming, and he longed suddenly for the massive bowls of vegetables he'd been peeling for the past few months, even if they did come complete with the bad-tempered fist of the chef who ruled the place like a martinet.

 

The plantation overseers were dressed in coarse linen pants and loose shirts; only high-caste Karkarans wore fine rinula robes – these overseers were low-caste Karkaran freemen and they couldn't afford the expensive fabric. Rodney was wearing an old, coarse tunic made of sackcloth which he'd been given in the kitchens where he'd previously worked and he was glad of that much at least. The new slaves had no possessions so they didn't need to settle in and they were simply put straight to work. Rodney did 6 hours in the fields until sunset, and quickly learned how to snap the rinula off at the bud and throw it into his sack. It was hardly mentally stimulating work, but it was hard, back-breaking labour. The overseers roamed the plantation looking bored. If they thought you weren't working quickly enough they flicked their whips lazily in your direction - and sometimes they just did that anyway, for something to do to relieve the tedium. Rodney's fingers were soon cut and bleeding from the sharp rinula branches and he had several slashes of blood over his body as well from the whips. He was relieved when time was called and they were all herded back to the huts for a paltry meal of stale bread and dried meat. Labour was plentiful and cheap on Karkara, courtesy of the offworld bandits and the constant supply of slaves they brought home, and there was little need to keep your slaves in good condition when you could just buy new ones if they died. When the meal arrived, the slaves swarmed forward, each fighting to get their share of the small amount that was on offer. Rodney was still in reasonably good condition and managed to shove his way to the front and get a fair handful of food. As he pushed his way out again he noticed another man on the outskirts of the crowd, bone thin, his skin stretched like paper over his ribs, trying in vain to push his way in towards the food. The man was wearing a pair of tattered pants but had nothing to cover his chest and his skinny body was liberally adorned with numerous vivid red whip marks so Rodney guessed he wasn't exactly popular with the overseers either. The man looked at Rodney, and then ran towards him. Rodney held the food defensively against his chest and prepared to be ambushed. The man reached him, put out two skinny hands…and patted his face.

 

"Get off me," Rodney protested, pushing the insistent hands away. "You can have some of the food but take your hands off me.

 

"R…Rodney?" the skinny man squeaked. "Is that you? I can't see very well without my glasses."

 

"Radek?" Rodney gazed at the other man in astonishment. Radek seemed to have aged by 10 years. He had a long, straggly beard the colour of dark wheat, and his collarbones were so prominent they looked as if they would cut through the thin layer of skin that protected them.

 

"It *is* you! Oh thank god!" Radek beamed happily at him.

 

"Well there's no need to be so pleased. It's not like I've brought the cavalry or anything. It's just me," Rodney said, grabbing Radek's arm and leading him away from the throng around the food.

 

"Yes. It's just you," Radek said happily. "I'm sorry – it's been a long time since I last saw anyone from Atlantis."

 

"There were others? Who?" Rodney asked quickly, handing Radek half the bread and meat, and stuffing some of the rest in his mouth and chewing furiously, desperate for the sustenance to relieve the ache in his belly. Radek's eyes were luminous and sympathetic in his gaunt face.

 

"Not either of the two you would like to know about. I haven't seen either Doctor Beckett or Colonel Sheppard - I'm sorry, Rodney," he said softly and Rodney felt hopes he hadn't even realized he'd been nurturing fade painfully in his chest. "I was with a couple of the women to begin with," Radek said, his face shadowed with sadness. "Laura Cadman and Katie Brown?"

 

"Yes?" Rodney asked eagerly, desperate for any news.

 

"I was sent here, to work in the fields, but they were…they were sent to work up at the house," Radek said and there was something about the way he said it that made Rodney's heart sink.

 

"They're pretty women." Radek shrugged his shoulders and Rodney felt his hands curling into fists, understanding what that meant all too well.

 

"Are they still there?" he asked.

 

"Katie is. Laura…she died," Radek told him softly. Rodney glanced up in shock. He'd had Laura Cadman in his head once, and although he'd never exactly viewed her as a friend, he'd come to appreciate her gung-ho style and sharp wit.

 

"How?" he asked. Radek bit on his lip.

 

"You know Laura. She was a fighter – a marine. They tried to rape her but she fought back. She never gave in, no matter how much they tried to break her spirit - so in the end they killed her. That's what I heard anyway." Radek gabbled through the story with as few words as possible but even so, Rodney could barely take in the horror of what he was being told.

 

"Oh god. Oh no. Poor Cadman." He could almost hear her strident, combative voice, as if she was still in his brain, and he could imagine her dying this way; she just wasn't the kind of woman who'd roll over and give in. "And

Katie?"

 

"She has a more docile temperament I think. She didn't give them any trouble so they kept her," Radek said. Rodney bowed his head. No matter how bad his own circumstances, it still hurt to hear what was being done to the rest of his people.

 

"How long have you been here?" he asked Radek.

 

"Since the beginning," Radek replied. "It's not good here, Rodney."

 

"It's not good anywhere on this garbage heap of a planet," Rodney snapped.

 

"No, but you…you look as if you’ve been fed," Radek muttered. Rodney glanced down at his own body and realized that even though he'd lost a few pounds, it was nothing to the dramatic weight loss Radek had experienced – and he'd been slim enough to begin with.

 

"I'm sorry, Radek," he said softly, handing the man the rest of his food. Radek took it gratefully and stuffed it into his mouth.

 

"I'm not strong any more," Radek told him between chews. "At first I was able to fight my way to the front and get more food, but now…" he shook his head."It's harder now."

 

"Well, I'll get your food for you. I'm good at shoving people out of the way," Rodney told him, with only the barest glimmer of a smile.

 

"Thank you." Radek smiled back, and for a moment Rodney saw a glimmer of the man he'd worked so closely with for the past couple of years. "Come on – I'll show you where we sleep," Radek said, swallowing the last of the food. The sleeping quarters were no more than stinking mud huts with reed mats on the floor and some extremely ragged blankets, but Rodney was too exhausted to care. He threw himself down next to Radek, pulled a blanket over his aching body and closed his eyes. Radek settled beside him, his breath coming in wheezing gasps.

 

"You're ill," Rodney said.

 

"Just…asthma," Radek replied. Rodney opened his eyes and turned his head to gaze at the other man. He'd forgotten that back on Atlantis Radek had taken regular doses of his inhaler. How the hell was he coping out here without any medication? No wonder he looked so old and ill.

 

"There's something in the crop that makes it worse," Radek explained.

 

Rodney fought back a wave of angry helplessness. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't take Radek away from here, couldn't somehow ease his strained breathing, and he felt so damn useless.

 

"Tomorrow you'll work with me," Rodney said firmly, because the only one thing he could do was help Radek with his workload; judging by the slashes of red all over the other man's body, the overseers weren't exactly pleased with Radek's output.

 

"Thank you, Rodney. I am very happy you are here," Radek said softly.

 

~*~

 

Rodney woke at dawn, as the sounds of the marketplace began to erupt around him. It took him a few seconds to realise where he was and for a moment he thought he was back on the plantation with Radek. He could hear someone's strained, noisy breathing, and he reached out to check that Radek was still alive, as he did most mornings, but instead found thin air, and realized that the wheezing was his own. He came to, blearily, to find that the fire in his back had kept the chill of the night at bay, and his body was burning up. He felt much worse today than he had the previous day and that wasn't good because if he didn't get sold today he'd be lying in the middle of a pile of corpses with this throat cut by the evening and his chances of being sold were slim if he looked like he was about to die anyway. Who'd waste good money on a slave with infected skin, broken fingers and a high fever?

 

The door of the cage was opened briefly and some food and a pail of water were placed on the floor. Rodney tried to get up, but the slightest movement sent shockwaves of pain through his body so he stayed where he was. He wasn't hungry anyway – or at least his stomach was contracted in semi-starvation but he didn't feel like eating. He was too ill.

 

The sun had risen higher in the sky next time he opened his eyes, and there was a prospective purchaser prowling around the cage. He didn't even look at Rodney – he just stepped over him and grabbed the arm of the man beside him.

 

"He looks strong enough. He'll do," he said. "Take him outside so I can get a better look at him."

 

Rodney turned his face back to the side of the cage. Now, even despite the hot sun overhead, his skin felt cold and clammy. He could no longer feel his broken fingers but maybe that was a good thing; they'd hurt so much. Maybe he'd die before Radek, he thought to himself, and a crooked smile tugged at his lips. There was some irony in that. Not that he'd know whether Radek was alive or dead.

 

He'd worked beside Radek for a few months, bringing in the seemingly endless rinula harvest. Radek was slow, his laboured breathing and starved condition making it hard for him to push his way between the sturdy bushes, especially carrying the heavy sack, but he did have slender, nimble fingers and found it easier to divest the branches of their buds than Rodney, who had much bigger hands. So they pooled their resources, and Rodney carried both sacks, and held the branches back, while Radek picked the rinula. It worked well enough and the overseers mostly left them alone. Rodney fought his way through the crowd for food for both of them every night, but Radek's physical condition was a constant concern to him. The other man was so very frail that Rodney doubted he'd last long unless he was allowed to rest and could build up his strength with food – and neither of those things was likely to happen.

 

After a couple of weeks on the plantation the routine was already taking its toll on Rodney. He noticed how it was always the most recently acquired slaves who got the best portions of food, simply because they were stronger, and it worried him that his own strength was fading with every passing day. Each morning it seemed there was a new body to leave outside the door for the overseers to feed to the dogs, and he dreaded that one day it would be Radek. As they were leaving in a long queue to go to the fields one day, he saw Radek, further up the line, flinch as a big overseer, with his long red hair plaited into a Karkaran braid, rode past. The man rode back again, examining the line carefully, and then his gaze fell on Radek. He grabbed Radek's arm and pulled him away from the line of slaves, and Rodney felt his throat go dry. He broke out of line, and ran after them, purely on instinct.

 

"Can I help? He's not very well. He has trouble breathing. If you needed someone to fetch something I could do that?" he offered. Radek put a trembling hand up to his mouth, and Rodney gazed at them both blankly, wondering what the hell was going on. The overseer leaned down in his saddle and grinned at Rodney.

 

"I like him – I like the way he wails like a baby, but as you're so keen to take his place why not? You're new aren't you?" Rodney didn't have time to reply because the overseer grabbed his arm and dragged him over towards the big well where they drew their water, and then dismounted, Radek in one hand, Rodney in the other. He threw Radek down by the side of the well and Radek pushed his hand into his mouth and began to tremble.

 

"Radek, what's…?" Rodney began but next thing he knew he'd been thrown forward, headfirst, towards the well wall. He nearly went over the rim but reached out desperate hands to scrabble for purchase on the stone. He felt his sackcloth tunic being ripped open, and then rough hands grabbed his ass. He knew what would happen before it did because of the wrenching sobbing sounds Radek was making beside him, and he tried to kick back, to struggle, but then he remembered Laura Cadman and he knew he didn't want to die out here. He wished he could be as brave as she'd been, but Carson and John might both be alive out there somewhere, and while he still had that hope to cling to he didn't want to die. There were no gentle hands caressing him, no murmured voices in his ear, no lube, no skilled fingers moving inside him, no John making wisecracking comments about the way Rodney mewled like a kitten, or Carson stroking his hair and kissing him deeply. There was only a sharp wrenching sensation in his ass, and a scream that came from deep within his gut and rose up, forced and guttural, out of his throat. He could feel the hard stone wall of the well rubbing the front of his thighs and genitals and the thick length of the overseer pounding in his ass, causing little rivulets of warm blood to run down his thighs and somewhere beside him he could hear Radek, still sobbing. It seemed to go on forever but he suspected it only lasted a couple of minutes. His fingers slid helplessly on the rough surface of the well but he couldn't get any purchase. His ass was in the air, and the overseer was bigger than him, and well fed; there was simply no contest. He tried to block out what was being done to him, and gazed down into the deep, dark blackness far beneath. Someone was staring back at him from the inky depths and he realized, with a dim hint of recognition, that it was him. He could see his own desperate face, with the agonized eyes and wild, unkempt hair and beard gazing up at him, beseeching him to stop this, to save them both, but he couldn't and there was nothing to be done but lie there until the overseer came deep inside him, shouting a bellow of triumph as he shot his load into Rodney's unwilling body. The man withdrew and rearranged his pants, then dragged Rodney up by the scruff of his neck.

 

"You know, I think I like you as much as I like him," he grinned, glancing from Rodney to Radek and back again. "You cry like a girl." Rodney gazed at him, still numb, his body aching from the assault, blood and semen running down his legs. He wished he hated the man, but he felt nothing but pain. On this world, this treatment was somehow inevitable. In fact, he couldn't think why he hadn't been expecting this all along. How naïve had he been?

 

"If you're done, we should get to work," he managed to say finally.

 

"Yeah – I'm done – 'til next time," the man chuckled, and then he put a big arm around Rodney's neck, pulled him close, and deposited a sloppy, aggressive, wet kiss on his lips. For some reason, that hurt more than the rape had, and Rodney shoved the man away. "Play nice now," the overseer said, backhanding him casually across the jaw with a force that sent him flying onto the wet ground beside the well, and then he turned back to his horse, hauled his large frame into the saddle and rode off in the direction of the fields. Rodney wiped away the thin trickle of blood that was flowing from his cut jaw, and glanced over at Radek, who was lying in a little huddled heap on the earth by the well, still sobbing.

 

"We have to go, Radek," Rodney said, grabbing the other man's arm and hauling them both to their feet. "If we're late we'll be punished."

 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Radek babbled as Rodney hurried him down towards the field.

 

"Shut up," Rodney hissed, as he grabbed their sacks from the cart, ready for the day's work. "Just shut the fuck up all right?" Radek nodded nervously, and his sobbing subsided, but for the rest of the day he kept shooting worried little glances in Rodney's direction. That night it was Radek who pushed his way through the crowds for food, while Rodney went outside to the well to try and wash the blood and semen from his body. Rodney hated himself for still being hungry after what had happened, but when Radek brought him the food he stuffed it into his mouth as eagerly as ever. They sat on the side of the well, neither of them talking, for a long time, and then Rodney finally spoke.

 

"Why didn't you tell me?" he said quietly.

 

"Because I only had sorrow to share and there was too much of it as it was," Radek said, his eyes fixed on the ground. "And also, Rodney, it was not an easy thing to speak of, to you of all people, but I had no idea…I should have told you…I didn't think this would happen as it did today. I'm so sorry."

 

"What do you mean, to me of all people?" Rodney asked.

 

"You - Rodney McKay. You, my boss. How was this something I wanted you to know? That this man did these things to me."

 

Rodney shook his head, sort of understanding, but appalled anyway. There was nothing to be done about it and no way to escape it. What it all boiled down to was survival – and if he wanted to survive then he just had to take everything they threw at him and somehow live through it. For now, all he could do was scrub his sore body clean and hope there wouldn't be a next time but he was realistic about that as well.

 

"How many times?" he asked. Radek screwed up his face, and glanced at the food squashed into his hands.

 

"I don't remember. Does it matter? Many times," he whispered.

 

"I'm sorry," Rodney said quietly, staring at the water beneath them, and his own reflection, pale and shocked, staring back at him.

 

"I too…yes." Radek said no more, and they sat out there silently until it was completely dark and the second moon had risen and it was too cold to remain there.

 

~*~

 

It was late afternoon when Rodney woke – there were long shadows on the ground, and he realized he was alone in the cage – everyone else had been sold. A soft, black, hide boot was nudging his foot.

 

"This one?" The slaver sounded surprised. "He's hardly worth looking at. Give him a couple of hours and we'll throw him in the junk cage."

 

"Then he'll be going cheap," a voice replied, in a hard, guttural Karkaran accent. Rodney glanced up to find himself face-to-face with the tall, black-clad figure of a Karkaran warrior. The man's body was completely covered, from head to foot, in expensive rinula, and he had a gleaming silver blade hanging from his belt. Wrapped around his head was the kind of turban that only a high-caste Karkaran could afford, and he wore a long Karkaran braid down the right hand side of his face. His eyes were just visible behind a layer of the thinnest black gauze, fully protecting him from any dust storms. He wore an under-layer of tight black shirt and pants, to keep the dust out, soft hide boots that came up to his knees, and a long, light, floating coat over the top of this ensemble.

 

It wasn't easy to make out the features behind the gauze, but Rodney did see the deep scar that covered the man's left eye, closing half the lid and standing out as a livid gash, confirming his suspicion that the title of Warrior wasn't honorary, and this man was not to be messed with. He dropped his gaze quickly, because experience had taught him that Karkaran noblemen viewed eye contact by a slave to be deeply offensive.

 

"I'm sure I could sell your master something better," the slaver said, glancing over his shoulder towards the tent outside. Rodney followed his gaze and saw the man sitting on his horse by the tent, surrounded by an entourage of free born Karkaran warriors and attendants. Rodney had never seen such a wealthy Karkaran up close before – he'd never seen either of his previous owners at all, as he'd simply been part of a job lot of slaves, bought to do a menial job. This man though, was clearly extremely wealthy. He was dressed all in white, a colour only the highest caste Karkarans wore, and his white turban was decorated with golden jewels. The rings sparkled on his gloved fingers, and the horse between his legs was a magnificent silver stallion. He had several black-clad warriors around him, each of them heavily and visibly armed, their faces all covered against the dust storms. As Rodney watched, an attendant brought the nobleman a glass of wine which he sipped casually in the late afternoon sun.

 

"Don't tell my master what he wants to buy," the scarred warrior growled angrily to the slaver. "I am his quartermaster, not you."

 

"This one has only worked in the fields and kitchens," the slaver continued, licking his lips nervously. "He won't be any use in a fancy household like your master's. He even stole from his previous owner – look." Rodney was dragged to his feet, and he let out a yelp of pain as he was turned around and thrown bodily against the wall of the cage. "He was whipped for his crime," the slaver said, displaying Rodney's lacerated back to the warrior. "Come on – let me show your master something worth buying."

 

"Turn him around again – I want to look at his face," the warrior said, in a low, hard tone.

 

Rodney swallowed. He was used to dealing with slavers and overseers but he had never been looked at by a high-caste warrior before and he was acutely aware that if he said or did the wrong thing then this warrior would slit his throat and walk away without a backward glance. The slaver dragged him back and turned him around and Rodney gazed carefully at the warrior's black hide boots, feeling nauseous and trying his hardest not to faint. Maybe there was a small chance that this rich Karkaran would buy him and judging by how low the sun hung in the sky, this might be his last chance at avoiding being thrown into the junk cage this evening.

 

"I suppose he might wash up all right," the slaver said, grabbing Rodney's head and turning it this way and that so that the warrior could view him.

 

"Can he read and write?" the warrior asked.

 

"I don't know but he's got a quick tongue on him so he probably learns fast," the slaver said, clearly having decided that this sale was better than none if the rich nobleman's quartermaster couldn't be persuaded to view any of his more expensive slaves. "He'd probably look all right in your master's library. Maybe he could fetch and carry for him? That might be a use for him," the slaver said, clearly racking his brains for a selling point. "Think you could do that?" he asked Rodney, poking him in the ribs.

 

Rodney sighed. It was stupid of him – he knew that the minute the words were out of his mouth, but he was too ill and too heartsick to care. "Well, I've got a doctorate in physics so I guess I could manage some light fetching and carrying for a race of priapic technophobes, yes," he said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

 

The slaver raised his hand for the blow Rodney was entirely ready for, but the warrior stopped him with a laugh.

 

"He's smart. My master wants someone smart. He'll do."

 

"Really?" The slaver glared at Rodney who sank to his knees, too shaky to stand, and unsure why he was even still alive. "Was your master looking for a fuckslave?" the slaver asked anxiously. "Because if he is, then we have some younger, prettier specimens over here."

 

"Those boys would bore him," the warrior said, glancing over to the other cage where some naked youths lolled in the sun. "My master wanted someone older. Less malleable. Smarter. He likes a challenge," the warrior said.

 

"Fine," the slaver sighed, finally running out of ways to convince the quartermaster to buy a more expensive slave. There was no accounting for taste after all, although it was clear from the look in his eyes that he thought the rich nobleman could have afforded someone more promising than Rodney. The slaver grabbed Rodney's arm, pulled him to his feet again and shoved him out of the cage door. He took him over to the ledger, where the warrior was busy counting out some money from a bag. The warrior was given a bill of sale, and then a leash was attached to Rodney's collar and he was handed over to the warrior. The man pulled him over to the horses, and he staggered behind him, barely able to stand upright. The white-clad nobleman leaned forwards in his saddle and surveyed his new purchase intently, and then nodded at the warrior and the two exchanged a glance. It wasn't possible to see his expression behind the fine white gauze that covered the nobleman's face but he didn't seem particularly pleased with his purchase. His gloved hands clenched down on the reins of his horse and he reached into his robes and pulled something out. Rodney suppressed a shudder wondering now whether he had just escaped death merely in order to experience something even worse.

 

"Here," the nobleman said, handing the warrior the flask he'd fished out of his robes. The warrior nodded and turned back to Rodney. Rodney eyed the flask suspiciously, suddenly recalling the slaver's words and the warrior's reply. A fuckslave? Was that what he was now? He didn't see how that could be any worse than what had happened to him back at the plantation but he had heard stories about the games the Karkarans liked to play with their more unfortunate fuckslaves, and the more highborn the nobleman the more cruel they seemed to be. Was that why he'd been purchased, to be strapped down and exposed to even more pain and suffering, writhing in agony at the whim of this wealthy, high-caste stranger? The stories he'd heard had been vague and frightening but there had been talk of potions that made you particularly susceptible to pain. Was that why they'd bought him? Because he was already in such a condition that it wouldn't take much to make him scream?

 

"Drink this," the warrior said, handing him the flask. "All of it." Rodney gazed at it blindly.

 

"Please…don't…" he cried incoherently, throwing himself at the nobleman, imploring him, but his unsteady legs gave way beneath him and he found himself hanging onto a white sleeve. He was dimly aware that he would be punished for laying hands on a Karkaran nobleman and he steeled himself for the blow. The nobleman circled the horse backwards, shaking Rodney off his sleeve, and glanced around to see if anyone else had witnessed his honour being sullied by the unclean hands of a slave but the marketplace was now nearly empty and nobody was watching.

 

The warrior grabbed Rodney from behind and held him tight, handing the flask back to his master. The nobleman took it and nodded at the warrior, and next thing Rodney knew his mouth was being forced open by the warrior's hard, black-gloved hand. The nobleman undid the flask, leaned forward in his saddle, and poured the foul-tasting fluid down Rodney's throat. Rodney spluttered and gasped for air, but the warrior held him fast and didn't let him go until he'd swallowed all the liquid. Then the nobleman put the flask back in his robes, glanced at the warrior again, and nodded once more.

 

"Get him on the damn horse quickly," he said, his voice so low and taut that it practically vibrated.

 

Rodney stood there, still choking on the liquid. His legs felt heavy, and his broken hand was throbbing from where it had been knocked in the melee. Next thing he knew he was going down, and the warrior caught him as he fell, and dragged him over to his horse. He was dimly aware of the warrior throwing a thin linen cloak over his body – it was mercifully soft but he still cried out as it settled around his torn shoulders. Then the warrior vaulted onto his horse and two of the other warriors took hold of Rodney and handed him up so that he was sitting in the saddle in front of the warrior. The warrior's body was hard and muscled behind his, and he put one strong arm around Rodney's waist to keep him upright, grabbed the reins, and then nudged his horse out into the convoy. Somewhere ahead, Rodney could just make out the nobleman's flowing white robes, surrounded as he was by the bobbing black-turbaned heads of his warriors around him, and then he felt his eyes growing heavy. His belly felt warm from whatever potion they'd fed him, and the pain in his back and hand seemed to fade. He didn't sleep but the steady motion of the horse's footsteps lulled him into a state of pleasant numbness. Perhaps, after all, the drink in the flask had merely been given to him to make him drowsy and malleable for the journey. He was glad that the warrior had both his sinewy arms wrapped around his waist because he thought that otherwise he might have fallen off the horse sideways and he doubted the white-clad nobleman would have taken too kindly to that. He wondered what the man intended to do to him when he got him back to his house and shivered in fear. The warrior's arms tightened around him as if he thought Rodney was going to jump off the horse and make a run for it but Rodney knew there was no escape. Now he wished he was back at the plantation and he closed his eyes and hoped that Radek was having a better day than he was.

 

~*~

 

After that first time, the rapes were frequent. It was usually the same overseer, but sometimes the others joined in, taking his place when he was done. What bothered Rodney as much as anything was how casual it was; it was always short, brutish and painful, and done with such an air of total indifference to his misery. It wasn't even as if their sole reason for raping him was the pleasure they took in his suffering – they simply didn't care. He was a receptacle for their boredom as much as their lust, as they spent every day standing in a field with a whip, urging the field slaves to work harder. They were low-caste Karkarans, freemen but the lowest of the low as far as Karkaran society was concerned, one notch above slaves themselves, with no chance of ever moving up the food chain - and Rodney suspected they viewed rape as one of the perks of an admittedly tedious job. Rodney wasn't alone in being picked out for their attention but the overseer who'd raped him first did seem to get some perverse pleasure from having Radek lie beside the well, sobbing the entire time. "Two for the price of one," the overseer would say with a satisfied smile after finishing with Rodney. "His whining turns me on and you're a good fuck."

 

"If you could just shut the hell up when he's doing it then maybe he wouldn't find the pair of us so endlessly bloody appealing," Rodney snapped at his colleague, and he knew Radek really tried, but the other man was simply too distraught to be able to sit beside that well and stay silent. Radek was growing visibly weaker before his eyes – neither of them was being fed enough considering the long hours of hard physical labour they were doing and Radek's asthma had taken its toll on his thin body. Rodney would sometimes pinch the other man in the night just to make sure he was still awake, and grew especially panicky whenever Radek's wheezy breathing faltered for a second. Radek was his lifeline – without him he wasn't sure he could have survived the almost daily rapes and the back-breaking routine. His own health wasn't good either – they were working them into the ground and Rodney was starting to worry about what would happen when the harvest was over. Would they just kill the slaves? Or would they sell them on?

 

One day Radek couldn't get up. Rodney covered him with a sheet and left him there, hoping the overseers wouldn't slit the scientist's throat while he was gone. A day or two's illness might be ignored but after that they'd just shove Radek out of the door with the corpses, to be fed to the dogs, dead or alive. When he got back that evening, Radek was lying on his side, shivering, his breathing coming in hard gasps.

 

"You need food. You have to get your strength up," Rodney said desperately.

 

"Yes, Rodney," Radek nodded.

 

"Don't you dare damn well die on me," Rodney admonished fiercely.

 

"No, Rodney." Radek shook his head. He gazed at Rodney with a smile curving his lips.

 

"What are you grinning at?" Rodney demanded. "What the hell is so funny?"

 

"You, caring about what happens to me," Radek said, his eyes shining bright with delirium. "For a long time the only time you'd notice me was when you could shout at me for doing something wrong."

 

"That's crap," Rodney said shortly, although actually he knew it was true.

 

"No, no, no – it's not a criticism," Radek muttered. "When we went to Atlantis that changed – I did some good work and you started to notice me and that made me swell with pride. At first I thought it was just me wanting your praise, but everyone on your team was the same. You were the great Dr McKay, and we all wanted to impress you so much."

 

"Really?" Rodney frowned. "I never was very good at all that winning friends and influencing people stuff."

 

"Of course we were all very scared of you and your temper," Radek added.

 

"Of me?" Rodney was taken aback. He knew he could be irascible and sharp-tongued but mainly he thought his team viewed him with the same mixture of exasperation and fond contempt as most people he encountered.

 

"Yes, yes," Radek nodded vigorously. "You always knew how brilliant you were, but you never knew how much we knew it too," he added. "That would explain why you kept telling us so often," he grinned.

 

"If only I thought anyone ever listened then maybe I wouldn't have had to say it so often," Rodney groused.

 

"Ah, we listened! We listened to every word you said," Radek told him. "I know you, Rodney and if anyone can save us it's you."

 

"What?" Rodney glared at him. "Radek I'm a physicist, not a miracle worker, and in case you haven't noticed there's no technology on this planet and it's not as if I can piece together a spaceship from bits of bath tub or anything. This place might as well be the middle ages and we are well and truly stuck here. Being a genius doesn't make one blind bit of difference here," he added bitterly.

 

"No, but you will save us," Radek said insistently, reaching out a feverish hand to take Rodney's and press it firmly. Rodney gazed at the other man blindly. How had he never seen the hero- worship in Radek's eyes before? Had it always been there? He realized with a slow blink of amazement that it had, and that he had just never noticed it before.

 

"You need food," he said quietly. "I'll get you some food. You'll get better if you eat."

 

He gently disengaged himself from Radek's grasp and went outside. He sat down on the side of the well – the place that was so often the site of some of his worst suffering in the morning was also the place he usually went to in the evening to sit and think. He glanced down into the inky depths and saw himself staring back, the way he did most days when he was being raped, although usually then his face was twisted into a pained grimace. Now he looked at himself through Radek's eyes, and saw something else entirely. He didn't feel like a hero – he never had been the hero – that had always been John's role in all their lives, not his, and yet somewhere along the line Radek seemed to have decided that he was the one who could save them all, and he had no idea whatsoever where to start. The plantation was so heavily guarded by overseers that there was absolutely no chance of escape. He supposed it might be possible to sneak into the kitchens and at least steal some food to keep Radek alive, but that was the limit of his miracle-working abilities.

 

Rodney got up, fear rising in the pit of his stomach because he knew how dangerous this was, but he ignored it. If it had just been for him then he knew he wouldn't have the courage to do this, but it was for Radek, and that made it worth the risk.

 

Rodney stole quietly up the path to the kitchens, feeling his heart pound in his chest. It was late, and there didn't seem to be anyone around. He found the back entrance and stumbled over an old tin tub lying in the gutter, covered by a thick wooden board. Rodney moved the board aside - it seemed to be some kind of compost, but sticking out at the top amid all the vegetable peelings was half a loaf of stale bread and a few moulding vegetables. Rodney took them and wrapped them under his thin tunic, before turning and scooting back to the slaves' quarters.

 

Radek ate the food gratefully, and smiled his thanks. Rodney took a little for himself but made sure that Radek ate most of it; the other man needed some sustenance if he was to stand a chance of fighting off his illness. It had all been so easy that Rodney decided to try again the following night. After that he did it every night, and usually came back with something. Sometimes he was lucky enough to steal a bone with some meat still left on it from the overseers' plates, and although he was still ill, Radek did show some small signs of improvement – enough to at least stay out in the fields all day, even if Rodney had to do all the work.

 

Maybe he got over-confident, although judging by how scared he was when he tiptoed up that path every evening, Rodney really didn’t think that was the case, but one evening he was coming back with the scraps of food he'd stolen and he had the misfortune to pass the overseers' hut at exactly the time one of them came outside to piss. He glanced at Rodney, glanced away, and then glanced back as he made out the strange shapes under Rodney's thin tunic.

 

"What have you got there?" he asked roughly, coming over.

 

"Just something for my friend. He's sick," Rodney said, shrinking back against the wall. He wasn't sure what to expect – maybe a backhander or two, or maybe a cut throat – it wasn't easy to tell with these people.

 

"Is that food? Have you been stealing food?" the overseer roared, and Rodney closed his eyes as the man took hold of his tunic and pulled him into the lamp light that was flooding out of the overseers' quarters. Some of the others came outside having overheard the commotion and then everything happened so quickly that Rodney barely had time to draw breath. First they found the food, and then the chief overseer decided that this was a good excuse for an object lesson, although Rodney was more of the opinion that he was seizing on the whole thing as an excuse for some sport. All the slaves were woken and dragged from their quarters, and Rodney's eyes sought out Radek's pale, scared face in the crowd. There was some kind of a long lecture which Rodney largely blanked out through sheer terror, and then the chief overseer was looming over him, his face flickering menacingly in the torchlight. He was a tall, thin man, with a livid scar on his chin that looked like the legacy of one bar-room brawl too many.

 

"Which hand did you use to steal the master's food?" he demanded and when Rodney made no reply, one of the overseers grabbed his right hand and placed it on a rickety old table. Rodney tried to move it, worried that they were going to cut it off, but three of the overseers sat on him, holding his arm into position, and then he saw the chief overseer take one of his fingers in his hand and he closed his eyes - and next thing he knew there was a loud, sickly crack and a wave of pain engulfed him, and he could hear himself screaming like a wounded animal. The chief overseer took each finger in turn and broke them all, and afterwards Rodney sank to the ground, clutching his wounded hand to his chest. He was sobbing in pure agony but his hope that this would be the end to it was cut short when they pulled him up, stripped off his tunic, and tied him to the side of a tree. He wasn't sure what was happening; there was a lot of noise and shouting all around him and he was out of it from the pain in his hand, but then he caught a glimpse of the chief overseer grabbing a whip from one of his men, and Rodney buried his face in his arm and whimpered as he hung from the ropes around his wrists.

 

He'd received numerous cuts from these whips before while out in the field but he'd never been strung up and flogged at full force while tied up before, and each cut seemed to bite deep into his skin. He knew he was screaming, yelling, sobbing, begging for it to stop, but nothing made any difference and he had a sudden premonition that he was going to die out here, hanging from this damn tree. He wished that he could at least have said goodbye to Carson and John. They were the best thing that had ever happened to him and he still wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up with both of them. Surprisingly enough it had been the unassuming, retiring Carson who had somehow brought them all together and made it happen, and at the time Rodney had been utterly shocked that not just one, but both the attractive, intelligent men he had worshipped from afar for so long wanted him to be in a relationship with them but they did. He had never been happier in his entire life than those few short months they'd had together. They complemented each other somehow – John was witty and laid back, able to trade insults with him and calm his more irrational outbursts, while Carson was so kind and nurturing, making Rodney feel loved and wanted, which wasn't something he'd ever experienced before and it still astonished him that anyone would feel that way about him. Were they still alive, Rodney wondered, as that whip flayed bloody streaks into his shoulders, back and buttocks. Were they out there somewhere, waiting for him? Or were they dead, or suffering the way he was suffering right now?

 

The two moons shone brightly overhead, and Rodney gazed up at them from under sweat- soaked hair. "Remember me," he whispered into the night. Had he ever really told them how much he loved them and how grateful he was that they loved him too? Had he ever told them how surprised he was that they wanted him to be with them, and how he had never felt this way about anyone else before? He couldn't remember ever saying he loved them, because he didn't find that kind of thing very easy, but he hoped he'd shown them how he felt, with his actions and his caresses. He remembered some nights, just lying there, wide awake, staring at them, still bemused that they were both there, both sprawled out in his bed, next to him. Often he ran his hands over their features in the dark, gently, soft as a whisper, taking care not to wake them, making out familiar, beloved features and wondering how something this wonderful could have happened to Rodney McKay. Nothing wonderful had ever happened to him before. He should have told them that he loved them, but now it was too late, and he'd never see them again. "Remember I loved you," he whispered to the two shining moons overhead, and at some point soon after that he mercifully blacked out.

 

They left him hanging there until dawn and then cut him down. He didn't remember much about that, or the subsequent decision to sell him for a pittance to the slavers who were passing through on their way to Shalla. He didn't get a chance to see Radek again before he was shoved into the convoy of slaves and told to walk, and while he was happy enough to leave the plantation behind him, he worried about the other scientist. Radek wasn't strong, and Rodney had no idea how he'd cope without him. Would he be able to get enough food? How would he fare in the fields without Rodney to do the lion's share of the work? Rodney fretted about it endlessly; Radek had placed his trust in him. Hell, Radek had been the only person in his entire life ever to look at Rodney with an expression of hero-worship in his eyes, and Rodney felt he'd let him down.

 

~*~

 

Rodney came to as they clattered into a cool, shady courtyard. Dozens of people swarmed out from the house to take hold of the horses, and the warrior dismounted, pulled Rodney off the horse, and immediately swung him up into his arms and pushed his way through the thronging crowd. Rodney was dimly aware that the warrior must be pretty strong to be able to take his weight, but then he remembered how little food he'd been living on these past few months and he guessed that maybe he wasn't such a dead weight after all.

 

He heard someone asking something, but the warrior didn't reply, just kept pushing ahead, and then he was climbing up some steps. Rodney turned his head and saw the billowing white robes of the nobleman ahead of them. The master swept into a room and the warrior followed, carrying Rodney as easily as if he was a child.

 

"Put him on the bed," the master said, and Rodney stirred, feeling that he was missing something he should be aware of, something important and obvious. The warrior laid him on cool, white, rinula sheets and he cried out as his sore back made contact with the surface. "Is the room ready?" the master demanded of the people in the room. "Have you laid out everything I'll need?" and Rodney whimpered, wondering what the hell they were going to do to him.

 

"It's all right. Hush, dautie," a lilting voice said somewhere over by the door but he had no idea who they were talking to.

 

"I'll go while you do this. I won't be any use and I'll just get angry," someone else said. Rodney grasped onto the sheet and tried to slide onto the floor to get away from whatever was about to happen next because it sounded like it was going to be bad.

 

"All right, but don't go far – we'll need you soon," the master said. "And don't go getting into any fights either," he called after the warrior. The warrior turned, and Rodney cowered in fear as he saw the anger writ in every hard line of his body.

 

"I won't go far. I'm not promising anything about the fighting," he snapped, and then, with one last glance in Rodney's direction, he was gone.

 

"The rest of you can go too," the master said to the bustling people in the room as he peeled off his rings and then the thin white gloves underneath them. "He's scared half out of his wits – it'll be better if I do this alone. Wait outside the door – I'll call you if I need you." They scuttled out of the room and Rodney shrank back on the bed as the nobleman approached. What the hell was he going to do to him? The man sat down beside him and reached out a hand and Rodney flinched away from it in fear, his entire body trembling.

 

"Rodney, dautie, it's all right. It's only me. I'm sorry," the man said in a soft, gentle voice.

 

Rodney felt as if his brain wouldn't kick into gear and he blamed the drug they'd given him earlier. He felt so slow, and his mind was leaden. He was sure he should understand what was going on here but somehow he couldn't get his thoughts together. He gazed at the nobleman blankly, watching as the man unwrapped the white gauze from around his face, to reveal two worried blue eyes and a mop of thick dark hair. "Rodney, it's me, Carson," a soft Scottish voice said. Rodney gazed at the man blankly, wondering if he was hallucinating. "I'm sorry we couldn't say anything earlier. We have to be so careful when we're out in public. John's better at it than I am, so he always does all the talking."

 

"John…John is here?" Rodney asked, as if in a dream.

 

"Aye – that was John who carried you up here," Carson said.

 

John…John was the warrior who had held him so carefully on the horse, his arms wrapped around him to keep him from falling? How could that scarred man with the guttural Karkaran accent have been John?

 

"His eye…?"

 

"It's fine. He'll tell you all about it himself. He's upset, Rodney, and he doesn't want to overwhelm you. He knows he'll get angry if he stays and he doesn't want that."

 

"Angry? With me?" Rodney asked blankly, too tired and befuddled to understand any of this.

 

"No, Rodney!" Carson said swiftly. "Not with you – with the people who hurt you. It's all he can do not to take his knife to those slavers when he has to haggle to get one of our people back, and today was much harder on him of course because it was you. He would have stayed to be with you but you need medical attention and he knows he won't be much use until you're feeling a wee bit better."

 

Rodney found himself gazing at the other man again, searching for something, some kind of recognition but his brain stubbornly refused to accept what his eyes were telling him. His gaze settled blankly on Carson's face, seeking out the familiar, the beloved, and he reached out to trace the other man's features with his fingertips, like a blind man. His eyes might deceive him but surely his fingers wouldn't? He would know Carson's features by touch alone – he had traced them often enough when they'd shared a bed together back on Atlantis. The face was the same beneath his trembling touch; leaner, harder, but still the same jaw, the same cheekbones, the same lips.

 

"Carson?" he whispered.

 

"Aye…hush now…you're very ill, Rodney and I need to help you. Will you let me?" Carson said softly.

 

"Are you sure I'm not dreaming?" Rodney asked.

 

"Och no, dautie, you're not dreaming," Carson told him, reaching out a hand to gently soothe Rodney's long hair away from his face.

 

"Dautie?" Rodney asked, latching onto the unfamiliar word.

 

"It's an old Scottish word," Carson explained, those gentle fingers still stroking him. "It means darling one."

 

"Am I safe?" Rodney asked. "Am I really safe?"

 

"Yes, Rodney. You're ours now. We bought you and this place is ours. Nobody can take you away. You have no idea how long we've searched, or how hard. John was out every day, scouting everywhere. He visited the slave markets every day, rode out into the country searching for you. He was tireless. It was him that recognized you today. I wasn't sure it was you, but he said it was worth a closer look."

 

"Have I changed that much?" Rodney asked.

 

"Just the beard and hair – and you're a fair bit thinner," Carson said. "But those eyes are still the same. Now, Rodney, there was a powerful painkiller and a mild sedative in that flask you didn't want to drink from earlier but…"

 

"I thought you were trying to poison me," Rodney said, confused. "I thought you were going to torture me."

 

"I think someone's already done that, dautie," Carson said sadly. "I couldn't give you anything to knock you out completely because I needed you to be able to ride back here, and now I need you awake so I can examine you. I can't give you any more of the painkiller for another hour or so – I already gave you more than I should and you're so weak I don't dare give you any more - are you okay to hold on that long? Will you be brave for me?"

 

"Yes…it's fine," Rodney said, his mind still reeling from the recent turn of events. He still couldn't get his head around all this.

 

"I'm sorry we couldn't have been kinder to you back at the market," Carson said softly, "but we didn't dare risk letting you know who we were until we got you safely back. John always insists after one incident we had…and he's right…but it's so hard and I'm so bloody useless at it so he dresses me up like a nobleman so that everyone will be afraid of me and I won't have to talk to anyone. I needed to get that painkiller down you back there so you could start to feel better. You were in such a bad way I was worried we might not even get you home."

 

"I feel kind of woozy," Rodney said.

 

"That's partly what I gave you, but partly because you have a fever," Carson said in those same low, calm, steady tones. "Now hold on, Rodney. Let me take this collar off you." He reached out and undid the leash attached to the collar, then carefully tugged the buckle open, and finally removed the thick, hated object from around Rodney's neck, throwing it onto the floor with a look of disgust. Rodney reached up his hand, and massaged his neck. It felt strange to be released from the collar after so many months. The skin underneath felt itchy and raw, and he scrabbled at it with the fingers of his good hand – it was the first time he'd had access to it in months. Carson gently pried Rodney's fingers away before they could scratch the sore area too hard and began to wash the sore skin underneath, his mouth set in a grim line as he worked. He finished by putting some ointment and a dressing on it, and then stroked Rodney's hair again. Rodney opened his eyes, not having even realized that he'd closed them, feeling hazy and spaced out.

 

"Now, roll over onto your front, Rodney, so I can tend to your back," Carson told him.

 

Rodney allowed Carson to help him roll onto his front, and surrendered to Carson's ministrations, still lost in a haze. The doctor swiftly removed the light sheet covering him and then gently washed the long, livid welts on his back, before applying some kind of a cool ointment to them that took the edge off the pain and made his body feel pleasantly numb. Then Carson wrapped his body in white gauze, bandaging him in the soft fabric, before turning him over again. Carson washed his entire body, his touch unfailingly warm and gentle, going slowly, never more than Rodney could take at any one time, his fingers checking bones and muscles and skin as he went, finding a catalogue of mistreatment that Rodney saw reflected in his horrified eyes. He applied ointment to Rodney's numerous wounds, and took some time over his cut feet, washing, treating and dressing them, before finally reaching for his damaged hand.

 

"They're all broken," Rodney told him, his teeth chattering from shock, from the relief of being safe, and the knowledge he could finally let go now, and allow someone to take care of him. "They held me down and the chief overseer broke them one by one."

 

"Aye, I can see that," Carson said softly. "Rodney – I need to set these, and that means I have to pull them into place. It'll hurt – not as much as when they were broken and the painkiller will take the edge off the pain, but it'll still hurt. After I'm done there will be no more pain, I promise, and you can sleep. Will you let me do that, Rodney?"

"Yes…" Rodney nodded, his teeth still chattering. Carson wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and then went to the door and called someone. A few seconds later a familiar face appeared in the doorway. John had unwrapped his turban but was still wearing the black clothes he'd been in previously. Rodney's eyes were drawn to the long scar over his eye and for the first time since he'd arrived here he felt like he wanted to cry.

 

"Hey," John said, pausing in the doorway to gaze at Rodney for a second.

 

"Hey," Rodney said back, wearily.

 

"The doc says he needs some muscle power in here and I guess that's me." John gave a John-like smile and Rodney felt something breaking inside him.

 

"It's really you," he whispered.

 

"It really is," John said, coming over to the bed. He sat down behind Rodney, and put his arms around him again. "Okay, it's all right," John said. "We're both here." He held Rodney's wrist and Rodney remembered being held down over a rickety table as two moons shone down on him and he flinched. "Hey." John kissed his hair. "You trust us right?" Rodney remembered John holding him down the first night they'd all made love, while Carson kissed his throat, and John had said something similar back then.

 

"Yes," he replied, leaning back against John's warm, solid chest. Carson took hold of his fingers, gently, carefully, in his hand and felt the first one, examining it with the utmost care, and then, without warning, he manipulated it back into place. It didn't click as it had when it had been broken, and the painkiller rendered the pain less sharp, but god it still hurt. Rodney howled, and John's arms held him fast against his chest. It seemed to take an agonizingly long time to set all the fingers, and Rodney thought he might have passed out, because next thing he knew they were all splinted together in a neat line and immobilised in a bandage, and Carson was sitting on the bed beside him, stroking his hair again.

 

"All right, Rodney, it's all done," he said. "I know you hurt in other places but that's the worst of it and I don't want to put you through any more tonight."

 

Rodney wondered if Carson knew about the rapes. His examination had been very gentle but very thorough and he was just about the best MD ever born, so Rodney doubted he'd missed anything. He wanted to explain but he was too tired.

 

"I'm sorry," he said, but he wasn't sure what he was sorry for or even who he was sorry for.

 

"Hush, Rodney," Carson said, pouring something from a vial into a glass of water. "Will you take this now? It'll help you sleep."

 

"Radek…" Rodney said, urgently as Carson passed him the glass. "He was so ill. I know where he is. We have to save Radek."

 

"We will, but not now. Now you need to sleep, Rodney," John said behind him, his hands still warm and tight across Rodney's chest.

 

"They broke my fingers and whipped me because I stole some food for Radek," Rodney told them urgently, suddenly worried that he might never wake up and then nobody would know where Radek was. "His asthma is really bad and they're working him into the ground. He's on the plantation where I was. I can take you there."

 

"You will, Rodney, you will," Carson said soothingly. "Here, drink this."

 

"I will." Rodney nodded obediently. "Or you'll have John hold my mouth open again and pour it down me." It was meant to be a joke but somehow it didn't actually seem at all funny once he'd said it.

 

"Aye, I'll set John on you," Carson replied, with a sad smile. John kissed the side of his face, and Rodney sleepily raised the cup to his lips and drank from it.

 

"Tastes really nasty," Rodney muttered.

 

"It'll help fight that infection. It's not what I'd use if we were back on Atlantis but it works in a similar way," Carson told him.

 

"There's something I should really tell you," Rodney said, trying to remember what it was. He had a sudden vision of himself staring back from the bottom of a well.

 

"Not now, Rodney," John whispered in his ear.

 

"No. Not now," Rodney whispered, feeling drowsy. Carson shifted and Rodney whimpered.

 

"Don't leave me!" he begged, scared that none of this was real and if they moved out of his sight he'd never see them again.

 

"I'm not, Rodney. We're both here," Carson said. John shifted over so that Rodney could lie down and then he put his arms around Rodney again, pulling him close, against his chest, the way they always used to sleep back on Atlantis. It felt warm and familiar, and Rodney relaxed into his lover's hard, muscled arms. Carson slid into the bed beside Rodney, facing him, and Rodney slung his arm over Carson's thigh, where it belonged. Carson closed the distance between them and softly kissed Rodney's forehead, his hands gently stroking Rodney's arm, up and down, up and down.

 

Rodney felt himself slipping away, and some time, hours later, he had a dream that he was lying on soft pillows with each of his lovers on either side of him, their arms protectively laced around him, keeping him safe, and at one point in the night he woke up, and found out that it wasn't a dream after all and that was when he started to cry.

 

---

Part 2

 

Warm hands reached for him in the dark and gentle words of comfort were whispered into his ears. John didn't say anything, but his hands fastened even more tightly around Rodney's body while the tears fell. Carson kissed his face, and talked to him, hands softly stroking his arms, and forehead, and hair, calming him. He couldn't hear what Carson was saying because he was crying so hard and he was dimly aware that he'd be ashamed of himself in the morning but he was too tired and hurt too much to care. Somehow it had been easy to keep going through it all when there had been no other option, but now that he was safe, and reunited with the two people he loved most in the world…now all he was able to do was fall apart. He hoped he was at least doing it with good grace and a minimum of fuss. He wore himself out with crying, one arm wrapped around Carson's shoulder as he sobbed furiously into the other man's neck. Behind him he knew from the tense lines of John's body that he felt angry and helpless in the face of the enormity of what had happened to Rodney, but John stayed where he was, his arms holding Rodney tight and keeping him close, constant and unwavering, wrapped around Rodney's thin body.

 

At some point he stopped crying, more out of exhaustion than anything else, and then he slept again, his face nestled on Carson's shoulder.

 

When he woke John was gone and Carson was sitting in a chair by the bed, mixing something with a pestle and mortar.

 

"What are you doing?" Rodney mumbled, glancing over at him.

 

"I'm having to do things the old way, like my grandmother taught me," Carson told him, turning to him with a smile, and putting the pestle and mortar down. "How are you feeling, Rodney?"

 

"Like someone hit me with a truck," Rodney replied honestly. He tried to sit up and let out a groan as his entire body protested.

 

"I don't think you'll be going anywhere just yet, Rodney," Carson told him with a sympathetic smile. "I'll help you to sit and then you can eat. After that I want to examine you and change your dressings." He got up and helped Rodney into a sitting position and then brought him a tray.

 

"I'm starving," Rodney said, surveying the bread and bowlful of thin soup on the tray. "Is this all there is? I could eat five times this amount."

 

"Aye, I'm sure you could, but by the look of you it's been months since you had a good meal," Carson told him. "If you eat too much then I can guarantee you'll just bring it straight up again and the point is to start building you up. I've seen to it that it's plain food – if you ate anything rich in your current condition then it might well kill you."

 

"If you say so," Rodney said dubiously, sticking his spoon into the soup. He felt absolutely famished and harboured a small nugget of resentment towards Carson for not giving him more food. The soup tasted delicious but Rodney barely noticed because he slurped it down so quickly, wiped the bread around the bowl and then stuffed that into his mouth too, desperately needing the sustenance in his aching belly. He demolished the lot in a few seconds, despite Carson's admonishments to go more slowly, and a few seconds later he felt a wave of nausea and brought the whole lot up again. Carson sighed as he held out a bowl for him to vomit into, and Rodney gazed at him over the top of it with a hangdog look.

 

"Sorry," he muttered when he was done.

 

"You're the physicist, I'm the doctor," Carson told him. "If I need to know about ZPMs I listen to you and if you need to know about the human body, you listen to me. Yes?" It wasn't really more than an affectionate scolding and Rodney grinned and leaned back on his pillows while Carson went to the door and called for more food. This felt like the old days and that made him feel better than any medicine in the world. Carson came and sat back down on the bed, and took Rodney's good hand in his own.

 

"Seriously, Rodney. How are you?" he asked.

 

"I'm fine. I'm sorry about last night." Rodney ducked his head and felt his cheeks burn.

 

"Rodney, there's no need for apologies. I'm just sad it took us so long to find you and you had to suffer for so long out there."

 

"Where are we?" Rodney asked, glancing around. He was in a big, airy room, with light rinula curtains at the window. Outside, the sun was high overhead and he guessed it was past midday. "Did I sleep that long?" he asked, surprised.

 

"You've been asleep for 17 hours straight," Carson told him. "It was partly the drugs I gave you, and partly your own body needing the rest."

 

"Where's John?" Rodney asked anxiously. At the back of his mind he couldn't help worrying about John – the colonel's body had been hard and tense last night, and Rodney knew how he hated any kind of emotional fuss. He hoped his tears hadn't been too much of an embarrassment to all concerned.

 

"He's out working. There's a lot to do," Carson told him. "Everyone's pretty excited that you're here. I told them you won't be fit to see anyone for a wee while, but you've got a long list of visitors for when you feel up to it."

 

"There are other people from Atlantis here? Carson, what is this place?" Rodney asked in bewilderment.

 

"I'll tell you when John gets here – he said he'd join us for lunch and judging by what happened to your breakfast you'll be ready for that shortly," Carson said with a grin. "Now, first things first…I want to examine you."

 

Somehow it had been easier being examined the previous evening, through a drug-filled, exhausted haze, but now that he was reasonably compos mentis Rodney found it harder. Carson gave him more pain medication before unwrapping his bandages but in the bright light of the room, Rodney saw more marks on his body than he had realized were there. Back when he was a slave he'd taken little notice of all the many wounds on his body, but now that he was here, with normal people who looked healthy and weren't covered in sores, cuts and bruises, he realized just how appalling his body looked.

 

Carson's fingers were as gentle as ever as he checked Rodney over. He seemed pleased by the progress of the wounds on Rodney's back and after washing them down, he applied more ointment and bandaged Rodney's torso again. He left Rodney's hand alone, for which the scientist was grateful, and gently palpated Rodney's abdomen. Rodney winced in pain, and Carson looked up at him.

 

"It's tender, yes? The lower bowel?" he asked.

 

"Yeah." Rodney shrugged.

 

"I noticed some other discomfort last night. I'd like to do an internal examination, Rodney. Are you up to that?" Carson asked. Rodney sighed.

 

"Carson is it really necessary and does it have to be done by you?" he asked, feeling his cheeks flush slightly. It was one thing to be examined so intimately by your doctor but quite another by your lover, when, on another occasion, it might be the kind of activity you did for pleasure. But he knew that wasn't really the problem; he just didn't want to face the whole conversation he was sure they were imminently going to have - and he also knew Carson well enough to know he wasn't going to be able to avoid it either. His pride had been shattered enough already and he wasn't sure he could bear to surrender the last remnants of it, not even to Carson.

 

"Yes it is necessary and yes it does have to be me. Rodney there aren't any other doctors here – there's only me. I've got some of my nursing staff but nobody I'd trust to do this – and I think you'd be more relaxed with me than anyone else in any case – yes?" Carson asked. Rodney gazed sightlessly down at the sheets. "Yes, Rodney?" Carson asked again. The truth was there wasn't anyone else that Rodney would have allowed to touch him so intimately right now, not even John, so Carson was right about that.

 

"Will it hurt?" Rodney asked at long last. Carson hesitated.

 

"A little, maybe, depending on the damage, but I'll be very careful. Do you want to tell me what happened first?"

 

"Not really." Rodney shrugged.

 

"Rodney." Carson just sat there, waiting.

 

"I think you've guessed it, Carson. The details don't matter. You know what this planet is like. I was raped, several times. The last time was about 4 days ago," Rodney rapped out, as business-like as possible.

 

"Did you bleed after any of the rapes?" Carson asked, in a matter-of-fact tone, every inch the professional. Rodney was glad he wasn't making a big emotional deal of this – he didn't think he could have stood that.

 

"Frequently." Rodney shrugged.

 

"Did you receive any medical attention?"

 

"Yeah, right," Rodney snorted. "Because the Karkarans are such a caring, touchy-feely kind of people."

 

"I'm worried about the tenderness and the fact you vomited up your food earlier. I didn't get you back just to lose you through inefficient doctoring. I really need to do that exam, Rodney," Carson told him firmly.

 

"Okay. Fine." Rodney rolled over onto his side and hid his face in his arms as Carson bustled around the room, gathering things – Rodney didn't want to know what kind of things. Then he sat back down on the bed and gently did the exam. Rodney was worried about how tense he'd be – now that he had some control over his body and what was done to it, it was hard to allow anyone to do anything invasive, but this was Carson after all, and Rodney willed himself to relax and let him to get on with it. In fact, it hurt much less than Rodney was expecting and Carson was as gentle and thorough as always. When he was done, Rodney rolled back over and gazed at him. "Well?"

 

Carson nodded, his face guarded, and Rodney guessed it was as difficult for him to treat his lover in this particular circumstance as it was for him to be treated. "There's no internal bleeding at least – I was worried there might be. There are some other minor issues but I think I can take care of them. I can certainly relieve the soreness – I've given you something for that. As for eating – next time you just need to take it much more slowly I think."

 

Rodney sat and stared at the wall glumly, suddenly feeling completely exhausted and depressed. Which was ridiculous, he told himself, because he was here, and he was safe, and he wasn't back at that god-awful plantation and Carson's careful fingers were a damn sight less painful and intrusive than being thrown down over the side of a well and having your ass invaded by some oaf with a whip; which was why it made no sense at all that he was crying silent tears of soul- destroying sadness. Carson didn't say anything, he just put his arms around Rodney and held him until he was done, stroking his shaking body the whole time, and then he drew back and smiled at him.

 

"I know something that will make you feel better," he said. He got up, went over to the big oak table at the side of the room and brought back a fresh bowl of water, some soap, a pair of scissors and a sharp knife.

 

"I'm not following how this will make me feel better," Rodney said.

 

"I thought I'd shave that beard and trim your hair for you," Carson told him with a laugh.

 

"You don't like the beard? I thought maybe it was a good look for me." Rodney scratched his hairy chin speculatively.

 

"When did you last see yourself?" Carson asked carefully.

 

Rodney remembered a pale, watery reflection gazing back at himself from the bottom of a well.~

 

"Clearly? Not since Atlantis," he said. "Do you have a mirror?"

 

"I do, but are you sure you want to see?" Carson said.

 

"That bad, huh?" Rodney chuckled. "I'd like to see the beard before you shave it off, Carson. I've never grown one this long before. I thought maybe I looked distinguished."

 

"Hmm. Well, you should prepare yourself," Carson said, handing him a small square of glass. Rodney took a deep breath and then raised it and gazed at himself. It took awhile for his eyes to believe what the mirror was showing him; he looked like some crazy street guy, with a long, wild beard, and shaggy, unkempt, matted hair. The beard ended abruptly where his collar had been; that skin had been rubbed bare and was red and chafed. Rodney gazed at his hollow cheekbones, and the gaunt, haggard lines of his jaw, and then glanced up at Carson.

 

"My beard is kind of ginger," he commented. Carson smiled. "And I don't like the streaks of white. Shit, Carson, I'm no longer surprised you had trouble recognizing me – I'm just surprised John had the slightest inkling it was me beneath all this."

 

"I wasn't sure at first," a voice at the doorway said, and John entered the room, closing the door behind him. "Sorry, I'm running late – I grabbed something to eat while we were out. How're you doing, Rodney?"

 

"I'm fine," Rodney said. "Just contemplating my new look. Carson thinks I should lose the beard but hell, it took months to grow!"

 

"I could just trim it," Carson offered.

 

"Yuck. Does that mean we have to get beard burn every time we kiss you from now on?" John said and it was such a John comment that Rodney laughed out loud, feeling his spirits lift.

 

"Nah. You're right. Carson – go ahead," Rodney said, sitting back. John came and sat down in the chair beside the bed, tossing an apple in the air and catching it again. "So how *did* you recognize me, John?" he asked. John grinned.

 

"It wasn't until you made that smartass comment to that bastard who was selling you," he said. "Up until then it could have gone either way – it sort of looked like you but you were mainly looking at my boots and I really needed to see your eyes. I was just beginning to think I'd take the risk and buy you anyway, just in case by some miracle it was actually you and not just my own hopes misleading me, and then you opened your mouth and pure Rodney McKay spewed forth. What was the phrase – 'a race of priapic technophobes'?"

 

"Ah, yes…I thought maybe I was going to have my tongue cut out for saying that but I don't think he actually understood that it was an insult – in fact I don't think he understood what I'd said at all," Rodney grinned, as Carson finished cutting the ends off his beard and began lathering his face with the soap.

 

"You have no idea how pleased I was to hear those familiar snarky tones," John grinned back. "Rodney, we've been looking for you for so long." His voice was strained as he said that and Rodney sensed a whole world of despair in it which took him by surprise. He didn't know why he should be surprised that his lovers had been as worried and concerned about him as he'd been about them, but he was.

 

"Carson said," Rodney murmured. "You have a new look yourself, I see," he added, changing the subject in case this one led somewhere tearful, glancing at John's long, neatly braided hair.

 

"Yeah – it helps to convince them I'm one of them if I wear the Karkaran braid," John shrugged. "And Carson really loves braiding it for me in the morning."

 

"I do not!" Carson protested but the little grin at the corners of his mouth belied that comment. He picked up the sharp knife and began carefully scraping at Rodney's beard.

 

"Are you going to explain what's happening now? What is this place?" Rodney asked. "And Carson said there were some other people from Atlantis here? Who? How many? And, you know, how the hell?" He screwed up his face and Carson sat back with a sigh.

 

"Rodney McKay, if I'm going to do this then you'll have to sit still," he admonished.

 

"I'm sorry. Go on. I'll just sit here. You and John can explain all this to me and I'll try not to ask too many questions."

 

"That'll be a first," Carson muttered under his breath, returning to his work.

 

"Okay. I'm sitting still. Tell me," Rodney demanded. John took a bite of his apple, and nodded towards Carson.

 

"The story starts with him. He's the reason we're all here," he said as he munched. Rodney glanced at Carson, who was flushing.

 

"Well, that's not exactly true. I just started things off, you're the one who…"

 

"He's just being his usual modest self – ignore him. This place, our freedom – it's all down to him," John said to Rodney with a roll of his eyes, interrupting Carson. Rodney caught Carson's arm as it came up to shave his beard. He rolled back the white sleeve and found the dark blue-green numbers tattooed on the doctor's wrist, proof that he'd been a slave, just as Rodney had. Then Rodney glanced at John, and he shrugged and slid his black shirt half way up his arm to reveal the tattoo on his own flesh.

 

"Damn it," Rodney growled. "I really didn't want this to have happened to either of you. I screamed and hollered and kicked up such a fuss when they tried to tattoo me that eventually they had to sit on me so they could write their stinking numbers on my skin."

 

"They had to knock me out to do it," John said cheerfully.

 

"While I just offered them my wrist like a good boy," Carson added.

 

"Go on with the story," Rodney nodded, as Carson busied himself with shaving his beard again.

 

"Well, I was bought by a local businessman with a sideline in extortion and money lending," John said. "He wasn't exactly Mr. Popular so he wanted some bodyguards to look after him. No freeman would do it – they all hated him too much – so he had to rely on slaves – which isn't the best idea when you have to arm them."

 

"At least he was too scared of you turning on him to treat you badly," Carson said. "You had food, clothes, water and a warm place to sleep."

 

"That's true," John nodded.

 

"So what happened?" Rodney asked, glancing at John's scarred, half-closed eye.

 

"Oh this?" John reached up and touched it lightly; it clearly didn't cause him any pain. "My owner and I fell out. He wanted me to kill someone who'd welched on a deal and I wouldn't. Had a couple of the other slaves hold me down and tried to blind me in one eye as an object lesson in obedience. Luckily for me, not all the slaves were on his side. We made a fight of it, and he got scared and ran off."

 

"There was nowhere to go though," Rodney said sullenly. "You were still a slave – only now a slave who'd assaulted a freeman."

 

"I know. He could have had me killed but he was so tight-fisted that he couldn't bear to stand the loss – he'd paid good money for me after all. So he decided to just sell me on instead, so I could become someone else's problem," John shrugged. "That's where Carson comes in. You tell him your part of this story, Carson," he prompted. Carson finished shaving off Rodney's beard, washed away the last of the soap, patted his face with a towel and then picked up the scissors to start on his hair.

 

"I was sold to a wealthy businessman. He owned this house," Carson began, as large wads of hair started to fall onto Rodney's shoulders and arms. "He also had terminal cancer."

 

Rodney looked up in surprise and Carson pushed his head back down reprovingly. "You'll end up with one side longer than the other if you keep doing that. I'm a doctor, not a barber," he groused, and Rodney shared a sideways grin with John. "Anyway, he knew he was dying, but the pain was debilitating and it was a long, slow death. He'd heard that I was a doctor from offworld, and as all the quacks on this planet are just that, quacks, he thought I might be a worthwhile purchase. As it turned out, I was able to make his last few months a lot more comfortable than they would have been otherwise. They don't have good drugs and medicines here like we had back on Atlantis, but I spent hours down the herb market, finding out about what they do have, and I managed to mix him some potions that meant he could go on working – and he loved his work so much that he didn't want to stop. He was working on some big deal, and even though he knew he was dying he still wanted to close the deal. I think he thought he'd have left a worthy legacy if he could just make it happen – he needed to make it happen for his own satisfaction before he died. He didn't have any friends and family, and although I was just a slave, he was good to me. He was an austere man, but he had a fine mind and he'd often sit up into the night talking with me. He was fascinated by my stories about Atlantis. He hated the fact that his people have all these ridiculous laws prohibiting technology – although I think that was more due to the fact that he could see all the wasted business opportunities and it chafed at him." Carson finished cutting and picked up a comb and combed Rodney's hair through. "Well, he secured the deal, and then he was content to just sit back and die. I made him as comfortable as possible and a couple of days before he died he called in his lawyers, and freed me. They said he was crazy, but he was determined and what he was doing was perfectly legal. He left me this house and all his money and there was nobody to contest the will so he got his way. I stayed with him until the end and then I wondered what on earth I was going to do next." Carson got the mirror and handed it to Rodney. "There – you look much more presentable now," he said. Rodney ran his hand over his smooth chin and rubbed it thoughtfully. Now that he had been cleaned up, he could see just how gaunt and pale his face was. His features were pinched from pain and deprivation and there was bruising along his jaw from frequent backhanders, but his eyes were the same as ever – just as Carson had said. They still shone, bright blue and curious, inside his hollow face.

 

"So what did you do?" he asked Carson, relieved beyond belief that at least none of the things that had happened to him had happened to the doctor. He had never been able to bear thinking about it during his own captivity and he felt a surge of happiness to discover that Carson hadn't been raped, abused, or beaten. It was bad enough that he had the same tattoo etched on his wrist that they all bore, but at least he hadn't suffered as much.

 

"What could I do? I knew I had to find my people. You all had to be out there somewhere. So I started frequenting the slave markets. I hated leaving any of those poor wretches there, but I couldn't save the entire planet. I'd been looking for a couple of weeks when I stumbled across John. He was my first purchase." Carson took back the mirror from Rodney and placed a fond hand on John's shoulder. "I was so nervous when I bought him – I thought I'd screw it up for sure, that they'd find me out and sell me instead of allowing me to buy."

 

"He dropped all his money," John supplied with a wink at Rodney.

 

"Thank you, John," Carson said reprovingly, cuffing the other man lightly on the back of the head.

 

"I couldn't believe it was him," John grinned at Rodney. "And I sure as hell couldn't believe he owned all this when he brought me back here. Talk about landing on your feet."

 

"I was lucky," Carson said soberly. "I'm very much aware that others were not so fortunate." His hand squeezed Rodney's shoulder briefly. "Anyway, we decided to use the money to find our people. John started riding out to visit all the slave markets, while I made some house calls as a doctor as an excuse to check out all the slaves who weren't up for sale. If we found one of our people who wasn't for sale, I just asked for them instead of payment for my services. Only a couple of my clients refused, and John took care of them."

 

"Really? How?" Rodney glanced at John.

 

"I never wanted to know," Carson grimaced. "But we got back every single one of our people that we found. They all live here – it's a big house, and they're safe here."

 

"Who do you have?" Rodney asked eagerly. "Do you have Elizabeth?"

 

"Yes – we found her about a month ago," John told him.

 

"Is she okay?"

 

John hesitated and glanced at Carson.

 

"She was in a better state than you when we brought her in, but she can tell you about it herself. She's top on your list of visitors for when you're receiving them," Carson told him.

 

"Major Lorne, Teyla, Miller and Ronon are here – they were part of the warrior posse accompanying us when we found you," John said.

 

"Great. Everyone got to see me looking like a crazy guy," Rodney complained. Carson shook his head.

 

"They've seen it all before, Rodney," he said softly. "You weren't the first we brought back in this kind of condition. They're just glad to be able to help – and they've been loyal and true to the end. There isn't one of them who hasn't been utterly committed to finding our people. They've ridden for days on end, combed farms and cities, trying to track you all down."

 

"I know about some other people," Rodney said quietly. "I told you about Radek last night. He's back on the plantation. He told me that Katie Brown is there too. He also told me that Laura Cadman is dead."

 

Carson took a sharp intake of breath. Rodney explained in a few short words what Radek had told him, and John turned away and slammed his fist angrily into the wall. Rodney flinched and looked up at Carson in surprise. This wasn't typical behaviour from John; the Colonel was usually the most laid-back of them all – it was he who usually calmed them both down if they were upset about something. Carson shook his head and put a finger over his lips and Rodney bit back the enquiry he had been going to make.

 

 

"You can draw me a map," John told him. "I'll bring you some paper this afternoon."

 

"No. I'm going with you. I can be more help that way," Rodney argued, because he needed to do this for Radek. He'd formed a bond with the other man during their time on the plantation and he hadn't forgotten the hero-worship he'd seen in Radek's eyes – and he desperately wanted to live up to it.

 

"I'm not taking you with me. You'll draw me a map," John insisted.

 

"What, you think just because you bought me that you can tell me what to do as well?" Rodney flared, and then he wished he hadn't said that because the expression in John's eyes wasn't pretty.

 

"No, but you're not well enough to go and you're more use to us here," John told him through gritted teeth. "Damn - how could I have forgotten how annoying you are?"

 

"Forgive me for being myself," Rodney snapped. "And what do you mean by being more use to you here? What the hell is there for me to do here – work in the kitchens maybe? Or do some fetching and carrying for Carson?"

 

"That's enough," Carson said firmly, breaking into the argument. "Rodney, you won't be well enough to ride for a couple of weeks, and it sounds as if Radek can't wait that long. There's no question of you going," he said. Rodney gazed at him in surprise – Carson wasn't known for laying down the law, but on this topic he had made himself very clear – and when Rodney opened his mouth to protest, Carson shot him a look that made him close it again.

 

"All right," Rodney said sullenly. "I'll draw you a map."

 

"Good. Thanks," John said, curtly nodding his head, and then suddenly his face creased into a big grin. "Damn, but it's good to have you back, Rodney," he said. "Nobody around here argues with me the way you do. I missed that."

 

Rodney allowed himself to be mollified by that comment and cast John a furtive grin in return. "When will you go?" he asked.

 

"Tomorrow. First thing. So I'd better leave you now and go and make sure everyone's packed and ready." John got up and leaned towards Rodney. "Really, it's very good to have you back," he said softly, and then he reached out to put a hand on the bed and kiss Rodney's cheek, but the movement was sudden, and all the talk about the plantation had reminded Rodney of being back there, and he acted purely on instinct as he saw the black clad arm coming towards him and flinched away. John stopped, and drew back, a horrified look on his face.

 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…I was just spooked," Rodney tried to explain but it was too late. John's eyebrows were drawn into a fierce, angry knot across his brow, and he glanced at Carson over Rodney's head. Carson sighed, and gave an almost imperceptible nod, and John's entire body became taut with fury. He didn't say another word, just stalked out of the door and slammed it shut behind him.

 

"Great," Rodney commented sourly. "So much for doctor/patient confidentiality. Don't think I don't know what that nod meant, Carson."

 

"We talked about it last night when you were sleeping. Several of our people have been raped, Rodney and John's not stupid; he knew from the condition you were in that there was a fair chance you'd been mistreated in that way too, in addition to all the other abuse," Carson said softly.

 

"What's happened to him?" Rodney asked miserably, gazing at the door. "I've never seen him like this – he's so angry."

 

"Yes, he is," Carson said, coming to sit beside Rodney on the bed. "But he isn't angry with you, although sometimes when he flares up like this it feels that way. He's angry with himself. He feels he failed Atlantis, Rodney."

 

"What? That's ridiculous!" Rodney exclaimed. "They gated in at night. We were sleeping. How the hell was he supposed to know they could even do that?"

 

"He was assigned to Atlantis to protect us, and the way he sees it, he failed. He feels he should have known about the Karkaran bandits, should have examined the gate defences in more detail, should have had a plan for what to do in the event of that kind of blind attack."

 

"Nobody could have anticipated what happened that night," Rodney protested. "It wasn't his fault."

 

"I know that and you know that, but he's blaming himself anyway. He has a hard time of it when he hears what some of our people have gone through, and of course now there's you…and that hurts him more than anything else because he loves you."

 

"He does?" Rodney didn't know why he was surprised.

 

"Don't be daft, Rodney," Carson admonished. "You know that."

 

"Well…it's just we never talked much before all this happened," Rodney sighed.

 

"But you know we both love you, right?" Carson said.

 

"Yes," Rodney said in a quiet voice. "Of course I do. Sorry, Carson."

 

"Then think of it from his viewpoint. Those men burst into our room in the middle of the night and pulled you out of his arms. They stole you away from him and sold you to people who beat you and raped you, and he'll never forgive himself for what they did to you because he loves you and he wasn't able to protect you."

 

"They hit him over the head with the butt of a gun! He was out cold!" Rodney protested.

 

"I'm not saying it's logical. I'm just saying that's how he feels," Carson sighed. "He's been like this since I found him. It hasn't always been easy dealing with it. He's still John, and he cares deeply, but sometimes the situation is too much for him and then he needs to let off steam."

 

"Last night…you said something to him about not getting into a fight," Rodney remembered.

 

"Aye – he's taken to prowling the streets at night looking for tavern brawls. He's been known to start one just to work off his rage," Carson told him, with a worried frown.

 

"Really? I mean this is John we're talking about," Rodney said, unable to take it all in.

 

"He's still John, Rodney, he's just really hurting right now. Don't get me wrong – he's doing a brilliant, tireless job, but maybe that's part of the problem. He's worn out half the time, and he pushes himself too hard and has been getting by on too little sleep for too long. I was hoping that once we found you…" Carson bit on his lip, and then put a hand on Rodney's arm. "We've both missed you very much," he said softly. "I love him and I know he loves me, but there was always a gaping hole in our lives without you. I felt like we were wounded, just limping along, and we need you to make it work. What you said earlier – maybe you were right. We didn't talk. Everything was easier back then and it didn't seem necessary to say anything, or talk about how we felt, but now…maybe now it is. I love you, Rodney. Not a day has passed since we were separated when I haven't thought about you. I've been sick with worry, wondering where you were and what was happening to you."

 

Rodney stared at Carson, feeling the tears prick behind his eyes again.

 

"I used to deliberately not think about you," he muttered. "Because I knew I couldn't bear it if they'd done to you what they did to me. I just couldn't take it."

 

"Well they didn't. I feel as if I got off so lightly compared to some of our people," Carson sighed.

 

There was a knock at the door and Carson went to open it. Someone handed him a tray of food and he brought it back to Rodney, who sat up eagerly, reaching for it.

 

"Uh-uh. Not after last time," Carson told him. "This time I'm feeding you myself, and we'll take it slowly."

 

"I'm not a child, Carson," Rodney bristled.

 

"No, but you're my patient so I get to be bossy with you," Carson grinned sitting down and picking up the spoon. He fed Rodney slow spoonfuls, and Rodney felt the ache in his stomach gradually ease as the food warmed him. This time the food stayed down and when he'd finished Rodney felt too tired to speak.

 

"You need to get some more sleep," Carson told him with a fond smile.

 

"You won't go anywhere while I'm asleep will you?" Rodney asked, feeling stupid for being so needy but anxious all the same.

 

"No. I'll stay right here. I don't have any other patients needing me at the moment so I'm entirely at your disposal," Carson told him. "Here." He sat down on the bed beside Rodney, put a pillow on his lap, and moved Rodney over so that his head was resting in Carson's lap. Then he gently stroked Rodney's hair until Rodney was lulled into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

~*~

 

When he woke it was dark outside, and Carson was sitting at the oak table in front of the fire and - Rodney's heart thudded in his chest – John was there too. They were both eating, talking quietly. He lay there for a moment, just watching them, enjoying the sounds of his lovers' voices – voices he hadn't been sure he'd ever hear again, and then he tuned into what they were saying.

 

"I've gone through the details with Teyla, Ronon, and Lorne. We'll be leaving first thing in the morning. I'm leaving Miller in charge here to protect the rest of you."

 

"Make sure you say goodbye to Rodney first. He's freaked out by that little temper display of yours earlier."

 

"Well I'm sorry about that." John somehow managed to sound both irritable and contrite at one and the same time.

 

"He's just jumpy right now – and you being angry around him doesn't help. He's had enough of that these past few months as it is."

 

"I know. I said I'm sorry."

 

Carson's hand reached out and gently covered John's, and Rodney noticed that John's hand had been freshly bandaged.

 

"At least going after Radek will give you something to focus on," Carson said wearily. "I'm weary of mending these endlessly bruised knuckles. You will take care, won't you, John? This plantation Rodney describes sounds like the stuff of nightmares."

 

"I'll be fine – and I will bring Radek back," John said in a determined voice.

 

"Aye, I have no doubt. I've made up something for him for the journey home. I'll give the instructions to Teyla. Rodney said that Radek is suffering badly from his asthma. I wish I could lay my hands on some Ventolin but I've prepared something that will at least help ease his chest. I've also packed some ointment and flasks of painkillers. If Radek is in the same condition as Rodney then it'll be a hard journey home with him."

 

"Is Rodney going to be okay?" John asked, and his voice was tight with concern. "I mean, he still sounds like the same old Rodney but…he's so damn thin. I'm almost frightened to touch him. Last night when I put my arms around him I thought his ribs would break if I held him too tight."

 

"He'll be fine. He just needs time," Carson said softly.

 

"And how soon before we can get him to…" John paused and bit on his lip.

 

"Not yet. He's too weak at the moment. Give him a few days. Maybe by the time you get back then we can tell him about it, but not until then. I don't want him fretting and you know what his mind is like once it's engaged. It'll distract him from his recovery."

 

"He's our best hope, Carson," John said bleakly, and Rodney wondered what the hell they were talking about.

 

"I know. All the more reason not to push him before he's ready," Carson replied. "I'll not have him carrying the burden of all these people while he's still so sick."

 

"His back…will he be scarred for life?" John asked.

 

"Aye," Carson replied with a tiny shrug of his shoulders. "Now don't go getting angry again, John," he warned as John threw his napkin onto the table with a muttered curse.

 

Rodney jumped, unable to stop the reflexive reaction to John's muted outburst, and both the men turned to look at him. Rodney sought out John's gaze anxiously and was relieved to find the other man smiling at him.

 

"Hey – we saved you some dinner. Apparently we have to feed you really slowly or you throw up," John said.

 

"Aye – very slowly. I'll let you feed him this evening," Carson said, getting up. "I was thinking, Rodney – would you like to take a bath? I wouldn't normally recommend it with your injuries but I think you'd feel better if you were really clean and I've got some oil that will help your skin heal – I could add that to the water."

 

Rodney glanced down at his body. Carson had washed him on the bed a couple of times but that hadn't been enough to remove months of sweat and grime and he liked the idea of a bath so he nodded eagerly. Carson disappeared and John came over and fed him some more soup and bread, and neither of them spoke. It felt good just being alone with the colonel again, especially as John seemed to be calmer now than he had been earlier.

 

"How did you learn that Karkaran accent you used yesterday?" Rodney asked, after he'd been fed. "I had no idea it was you back at the slave market. You sounded completely different."

 

John shrugged. "It seemed a useful thing to acquire. They don't argue with me so much if I sound like a belligerent, high-caste warrior, although that damn slaver I bought you from kept trying to convince me you weren't worth the sale. I was running out of reasons to buy you and thought I'd have to get tough with him if it went on any longer."

 

"You mean that wasn't you being tough?" Rodney asked, with a grin. "You seemed scary enough to me."

 

"Oh I can be much more scary than that, believe me," John said, and there was something about his tone that sent a shiver up Rodney's spine. "Here – I've brought you some paper so you can draw that map." John got up and handed the paper to Rodney.

 

"Ah – slight problem." Rodney surveyed his damaged right hand.

 

"Use your left – and tell me everything I need to know as you go along. Any landmarks, how the plantation is laid out, where Radek sleeps, how many overseers there are, what weapons they carry, what the daily routine is – everything. We'll get Katie as well if we can – but we might need to make a separate trip for her if Radek is in as bad a way as you say."

 

Rodney spent the next hour or so going through everything John wanted to know in some detail and then Carson returned and he and John helped Rodney out of the bed, and guided his unsteady legs out of the bedroom and down the hallway towards another room.

 

"Wait 'til you see this, Rodney," John grinned as they entered the room at the end of the hallway. Rodney had been expecting a tin tub in the centre of a bare room, but instead he found a massive recessed pool of water, with dozens of tiny, lit candles around the perimeter.

 

"Is this a bath?" Rodney gaped. "It's more like a small swimming pool!"

 

"Well, Carson is a very wealthy man," John replied with a grin. "And I'm guessing his former owner really liked bathing!"

 

The pool was full of warm water that smelled partly scented and partly medicinal, and now Rodney knew why it had taken Carson so long to prepare it – he had no idea how many kettles of water must have been boiled to provide the hot water but he was guessing it was a significant amount. He knew from his weeks in the kitchens just how long it took to get those big pans boiling over an open fire.

 

"Who does all the work?" he asked Carson, as they helped him to the side of the bath.

 

"We all do," Carson replied. "Those of us who aren't searching for our people or tending to the sick anyway. We have a kitchen rota and as for the bath – we don't fill it very often because it takes so long, but whenever we bring someone back they get the scented bath. It's kind of a welcome home gift." He gave a little smile, and Rodney guessed that had been his idea. It sounded very like the kind of thoughtful thing that would only have occurred to Carson Beckett. "When it isn't a special occasion we usually just wash out by the well," Carson added, and Rodney felt himself stiffen.

 

"Okay?" John asked anxiously, as Rodney's step faltered.

 

"Fine," Rodney said stiffly, allowing them to seat him on the edge of the bath. "Thank them for me – the guys who boiled all this water. I know what a total pain in the ass that must have been."

 

He watched as John stripped off his black rinulan clothes and laid them on a bench at the side of the room and then swiped his hand through his braided hair to release the long, dark locks. Finally, John stepped into the bath and held up his hands to help Rodney in beside him. Carson helped Rodney out of the thin robe he was wearing and removed all his bandages save for those on his broken fingers, and then guided him into John's waiting arms. The water was warm and soothing and it didn't sting as much as Rodney had been expecting when it made contact with his wounded body so Rodney guessed that there was something numbing in the medicinal oil that Carson had put in the bath. He gave a sigh of pleasure as he relaxed into John's arms and John gently held him in the warm water, the back of Rodney's head resting on John's shoulder, John's strong arms wrapped around Rodney's chest. Carson removed his own clothes, slid into the water beside them, and then reached for a pot of oil and poured some into his hands.

 

"Only the best stuff for you – Carson won't let me use this stuff because it costs so much," John told him, squeezing him lightly.

 

"The money isn't endless," Carson sniffed. "Especially considering how many people we've brought back here and how many mouths there are to feed."

 

"See, Carson would actually make a really good Karkaran nobleman," John joked. "He's got these ledgers where he keeps the household accounts and he's always boiling up these weird potions with ingredients he's brought back from the market."

 

Carson refused to rise to the bait. He warmed the oil in his hands and then gently placed them on Rodney's chest and began soothing it into his skin. Rodney sighed and relaxed. This felt so good. His body had known only deprivation and abuse for so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to actually feel warm and fed and loved like this. He closed his eyes and surrendered himself to Carson's loving touch, while John held him, frequently pressing little kisses onto the side of his face. There was nothing sexual about the experience, even though all three of them were naked together. Rodney hoped that one day he'd want to make love to them again but right now it was good just to feel their naked flesh warm against his own, and their loving hands cleaning his body. Carson reached for a washcloth and began rubbing Rodney's body carefully, and months of ingrained grime fell away, revealing his pink skin underneath, although that also had the effect of throwing his many cuts and bruises into stark relief. Rodney gazed down at his shrunken stomach and prominent ribs with regret, barely recognizing himself.

 

"Hey," John said, turning his face and catching his lips lightly with his own, breaking into his despondent mood. "Why don't I wash your hair?" John suggested when he'd finished kissing him. He handed Rodney over to Carson, who held him while John took handfuls of the warm water and gently trickled it over Rodney's head. Then he poured some of the oil directly from the bottle onto Rodney's wet hair, and slowly, gently, massaged it in. His long fingers caressed Rodney's head, massaging his scalp smoothly, and Rodney zoned out, lost in a haze of pleasure. John's thoughtful face loomed over him, intent as he went about his work, and Carson's loving hands held him up in the water and he felt completely safe and secure under their tender ministrations. John washed the oil from Rodney's hair until it was clean, and then took Rodney back from Carson, pulling him close for another light kiss.

 

Rodney clung to his shoulders, tracing his fingers over John's wiry, solid body. John had always been lean, but now there was an even more sharply defined six-pack and his muscles had become harder, toughened by the hard life he'd been living. His skin was darker as well, tanned by the hot Karkaran sun that had only burned Rodney's paler flesh, causing it to peel back to its usual pallor again. The dark hair on John's chest was plentiful and Rodney nuzzled against the familiar contours of his body, enjoying the sheer physical sensation of being close to him again. He dipped his head and claimed John's lips with his own, softly, without passion, simply making contact with the lover he had missed so much. He traced his good fingers over John's face, the way he'd traced them over Carson's face the previous evening, finding the familiar patterns of cheekbones and skin, needing to connect with that sense of the beloved again. His fingers paused over John's scarred eye.

 

"Damn, and you were always the pretty one," Rodney grinned. "Now Carson will have to take over that title."

 

"You're kind of cute yourself," John told him, kissing him again.

 

"Yeah, but you were always the really cute one," Rodney said. "I kind of like it though – makes you look wild and sort of depraved."

 

"That's me. Definitely depraved," John winked. Rodney kissed the scarred flesh, trying to come to terms with the change in his lover.

 

"Can you see out of it?" he asked.

 

"Yeah – there's nothing wrong with the eye itself, it's the eyelid and skin down the side."

 

"If we were back on Atlantis I could make him as good as new in no time," Carson sighed behind them. "It only requires a wee bit of cosmetic work."

 

"It could have been worse," Rodney said, glad that this was the only scar on his lover, thankful that he didn't have to see the same marks on John's body as were livid in his own flesh. He ran his fingers through John's loose, dark hair, trying to come to terms with that as well.

 

"You must miss that half an hour you used to spend in front of the mirror every morning rubbing gel in your hair to get it to stick up," he teased, allowing the long, dark, wet hair to float through his fingers. John's face looked different without the familiar, mussed-up peak of hair on top of his head. The smooth, long hair framed his face, giving him a slightly exotic appearance that Rodney liked. John just grinned at the teasing, and caught Rodney's lips in another kiss, a deeper one this time that took his breath away and made him remember just how good it had been, all those months ago on Atlantis, back in a different lifetime.

 

He could feel Carson behind them, gently caressing Rodney's arms and the back of his neck with his fingers and lips, and Rodney reached out an arm to pull Carson into the embrace. This felt so right, a lover under each arm, the way it always used to be. Only they'd never bathed together like this on Atlantis. They'd fallen into bed, frequently, for plenty of mind-blowing sex, but they'd never done anything like this. Rodney had the feeling that back on Atlantis they would have shied away from anything as simple and heartfelt as this. They would have been embarrassed by their own emotions, and he knew that he would have made some smart remark to deflect his own discomfort, but here, after all that had happened to them, they clung together, simply lost in their joy at being reunited.

 

Rodney traced the fingers of his good hand over Carson's sturdy, fleshier body. The other man had lost weight, as they all had, and the frequent riding and tougher lifestyle had made his body harder. His chest was as broad ever though, and his shoulders just as solid and reliable, and it felt so good to run his fingers through the hair on Carson's chest and let his lips nuzzle the side of Carson's neck, while John's fingers idly caressed his own neck. He could feel the wet bandage on John's hand as the other man stroked him, and they floated there for a long time, in a tangle of limbs, entwined in each other, warm and content, until the water started to cool and then Carson finally, regretfully, disengaged.

 

"I don't want you getting cold, Rodney," he said, helping Rodney out of the bath and reaching for a big towel at the side. He wrapped Rodney in it and gently patted him down, stealing kisses here and there as he went.

 

"I hope you don't do this for all your patients," Rodney murmured, thoroughly enjoying all the attention.

 

"Only the ones I love - and so very nearly lost," Carson said softly, and Rodney's breath caught in his throat at that, and then John's hand was there, on his shoulder, and another towel was rubbing his hair dry. He felt suddenly exhausted once more and then he was falling. He barely remembered John swinging him up into his arms and carrying him back to his room and putting him to bed. He only woke once in the night and this time he only cried for a little while, and very early in the morning, when it was still dark outside, John kissed him goodbye and he clung to him for a moment, scared to let him go in case he didn't come back, frightened about what might happen to him at the plantation, knowing all too well what kind of a place it was. But Radek was still out there and he needed John more than Rodney did right now, so finally Rodney let him go, and Carson pulled him back into the warm bed and covered them both with the blanket and wrapped his arms around his waist, and Rodney fell asleep once more.

 

~*~

 

The following day Carson allowed him a visitor and Rodney insisted on being allowed to sit up in the chair by the fire in order to receive her. He felt strangely nervous and hoped he didn't look too much like a freak show but the minute the door opened and Elizabeth stepped inside he knew he needn't have worried. Elizabeth had changed too; her wavy hair had been cut into a severe crop, and, like all of them, she had lost weight. Already very slim, she was now as frail as Rodney, and he didn't like the lines of pain he saw etched on her face, or the wisps of silver in her hair. He got up, clutching his blanket around his shoulders, and walked towards her, slowly, carefully, anxious not to embarrass himself by keeling over – he still wasn't very steady on his feet. She wasn't either – he saw that she was walking with a stick and limping heavily on her right leg. He heard the sad sigh escape from his lips and felt a glimmer of the anger that he knew was consuming John right now. This was Elizabeth, damnit! She was someone he respected, someone he was fond of, and someone he utterly believed in as a leader. What had they done to her? She stepped forward carefully, leaning on her stick, and they both faltered into the centre of the room and met each other halfway.

 

"Rodney." She stood there, gazing at him, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

 

"Elizabeth." He stood there too, smiling inanely. There didn't seem to be any need for words. He made no move – something about her reminded him of a startled gazelle and she seemed very fragile to him in a way that he'd never felt about her before. They gazed at each other for a long time, taking in every new, pain-etched line, desperately searching for every familiar feature, their eyes devouring each other. Her gaze settled briefly on the raw, sore skin on his neck where his collar had been, and travelled down to his bandaged hand before rising once more to his eyes, and drinking up everything that was in them. He didn't turn away, or deflect her scrutiny with a wisecrack, but just stood there, and allowed her to look – allowed her to see. Then he, in turn, looked her up and down, taking in her twisted leg and the sadness in her eyes, and he wanted very much to take her in his arms and hug her, but something stopped him; something about the way she carried herself, which made him very wary about making any sudden movements or crowding her out. His arm rose a little towards her but he was careful to keep his distance. She stood there for a long time, just gazing, and then, finally, she hobbled a little closer to him, closing the gap between them, and she very carefully, very slowly, put her arms around his neck, and hugged him close. He slid his arms around her frail body and breathed in the scent of her hair, and was just very, very glad that she was still alive. She and he went back a long way and he was extremely fond of her. She finally released him and he stepped back and gestured with his hand to the seats in front of the unlit fire. She limped towards them and sat down with a sigh.

 

"I'm so glad you're alive," she told him. "When John rode in with you a couple of days ago we could hardly believe he'd finally found you. He's been like a man possessed. He's obsessed with getting us all back, but you were his special hope and I know that each time he came home without you he was devastated. Thank god he finally found you."

 

"I'm glad you're alive too," Rodney told her, never taking his eyes off her pinched, pointed face. "Does your leg give you much pain?"

 

"It'll be fine although I think I'll always need this." She gestured towards the cane. "But I'm really very lucky. Rodney – shall we not talk of what was done to us?" she asked, and he noticed the beseeching look in her eyes. She had read in him some of what she had suffered herself, and he knew that she, like him, was tired of all the pain, and longed for their relationship to be the same as it had been before.

 

"That sounds fine to me," he told her easily. "John has gone to get Radek. I've been with him for the past few months."

 

"Yes. Carson told me." She smiled, and nodded. "Thank god for Carson. Without him…" She shook her head and gazed at the blackened logs lying in the fire grate.

 

"Yes. He's a hero in his own quiet way," Rodney nodded. "Elizabeth…last night I overheard Carson and John talking. They spoke about some kind of task they want me to do. Do you know anything about it? I'd ask them myself but I know they won't tell me and Carson will only scold me for eavesdropping."

 

She raised a thin hand and gathered her shirt more closely around her throat. "Yes, Rodney, I do know about it," she said quietly. "But you weren't meant to overhear that and Carson would be very angry with me if I said anything to you yet."

 

"But there is something to hope for?" Rodney asked, feeling tired even from this brief conversation.

 

"There's always something to hope for," Elizabeth replied.

 

They sat and talked for a little while longer, about everything and nothing, and neither of them said where they'd been since they last saw each other, or what had happened to them, but both of them knew all the same.

 

A couple of days after that, Carson allowed him to get dressed and helped him to walk around the house. The place was huge and Rodney was suitably impressed by the big rooms, which were mainly stuffed full of mattresses to accommodate all their people. Now Rodney felt grateful that he got to share a room with Carson and John and didn't have to bed down with so many others; privacy had been something he'd missed during his months as a slave. The house also had a laundry room, a library, several large, airy living rooms that looked out onto the courtyard and a massive stable block.

 

"I always wanted to marry a man of substance," Rodney said approvingly, after having received the full guided tour.

 

"Aye, well you've yet to get the ring on my finger," Carson replied with a grin.

 

"Are you playing hard to get?" Rodney asked suspiciously.

 

"It's a bit late for that I think," Carson laughed, and he pressed a kiss to Rodney's cheek. They ended up in the large, flag-stoned kitchen, where a dozen or so people were sitting around a big wooden table, chatting as they prepared food. Rodney recognized some familiar faces and they all waved and greeted him by name. It felt almost like being home. Almost. "I can help with the food," Rodney said. "I've had a lot of practice peeling vegetables if that's any use."

 

"When your hand is better," Carson told him. "Maybe when you're stronger you can help feed the horses, or draw water from the well."

 

"Not the well. I'd prefer the horses," Rodney murmured, and Carson looked at him sharply but Rodney avoided his gaze.

 

~*~

 

As each day passed they both worried more and more about John. Rodney was now well enough to walk around the house unaided. His back drove him insane with itching and Carson had taken to making him wear gloves in bed so he wouldn't scratch the healing scabs. He was so irritable about it that Carson boiled him up some special lotion which smelled disgusting but did take the edge off the itching at least. His fingers were healing well; they ached every now and then, but at least they were on the mend, thanks to Carson's careful daily examinations.

 

Finally, on the afternoon of the fifth day, there was a clattering of hoof beats and several horses galloped into the courtyard. Rodney was immediately swept up in the throng of Atlanteans running out to help with the horses and to see who, if anyone, had been brought back to safety. Rodney pushed his way through the crowd anxiously to John's horse, and grabbed the bridle with his good hand. There was a bundle of rags slung on the saddle in front of John, and for one heart-stopping moment Rodney thought that Radek was dead, and John had merely brought back the corpse, but then John was yelling for Carson and handing the bundle of rags carefully down to eager, waiting hands. Rodney took a step back as John dismounted and then John lifted Radek as if he barely weighed a thing, which was probably close to the truth, and made for the stone stairs into the house at a run, Carson close behind. Rodney followed them, his heart in his mouth. What he could see of Radek didn't look good; the other man was in an even worse condition than when he'd left and barely looked as if he was breathing. John placed Radek on the bed, and then walked back towards the door.

 

"Are you okay?" Rodney stopped him, trying to peer under the black gauze to see the expression in John's eyes. John's black clothes were dusty and streaked with what looked suspiciously like blood. Lots of blood.

 

"I'm fine. We got Katie too but she's not in bad shape. Well, physically at least. She was able to ride," John said curtly.

 

"Radek?"

 

"Hanging on by a thread." John didn't say anything more, just left the room, slamming the door shut behind him as he seemed to do a lot these days.

 

"Can I help?" Rodney asked Carson, edging over to the bed and gazing at the grey face peering out from the bundle of rags. Radek moaned and muttered something and his eyes opened and closed again, then opened once more and gazed blankly up at Rodney.

 

"Radek – it's me, Rodney," he said, sitting down on the side of the bed and taking Radek's hand in his. "He can't see very well without his glasses," Rodney explained to Carson. Radek squeezed his hand and gave him what could have been a smile or a grimace.

 

"Help me get him undressed," Carson said and between them they quickly stripped Radek out of the rags, revealing his painfully thin body, the ribs protruding. Radek's breathing was coming in wheezy gasps and Carson glanced around. "Damn it where's John?" he asked. "I need to know how much of that medication he gave Radek and when."

 

"I'll go and find out," Rodney said. He found John in the courtyard by the well. He'd stripped off his shirt and turban and was standing there bare-chested, ladling cool water over his head. Rodney gazed at him, horrified, taking in the streaks of dried blood that were liberally streaked all over his lover's naked chest. "What happened?" he asked, hoping that none of the blood was John's. It didn't appear to be.

 

"We got into a bit of a fight." John gave a grim smile. "I was hoping to steal Radek away in the night but we made too much noise and one of the overseers came to investigate. So I had to kill him." He didn't look too upset by that.

 

"Was he a big guy – long red braid?" Rodney asked hopefully.

 

"No." John squinted at him meaningfully through a haze of water. "But I got that one later on, out by the well. Why? Was he the one?" His body was taut as he stared at Rodney and they both knew what he was referring to.

 

"He was the worst one," Rodney replied quietly.

 

"Then I'm glad it was me who killed him," John said in a low, fierce voice. "After we killed the first overseer, Ronon grabbed Radek and got him onto one of the horses, but some of the other overseers came looking for the first guy and we had a fight on our hands. That big guy – he was a coward. He took one look at us and turned tail and ran. I didn't want him going to wake up the guards at the house so I chased him down outside and put my sword through that big gut of his."

 

Rodney thought that maybe he should feel something but to be honest he just felt numb.

 

"What about the chief overseer? The one who broke my fingers and whipped me?" he asked, morbidly fascinated despite himself. "Tall, thin guy, bald, scar on his chin like someone broke a bottle and gashed him with it?"

 

"We got him too." John gave a very satisfied smile. "Lorne took him out. He wasn't so brave when he was dealing with armed soldiers and not half-starved slaves."

 

"Did any of our people get hurt?" Rodney asked.

 

"Just cuts and bruises. I sent Teyla up to the house to find Katie – I thought that would be the hard part but Teyla was lucky. Ran across her and managed to get her out without anyone noticing. We might have some trouble though. That place belonged to someone pretty high caste, and if they trace the raid to us then we'll have a battle on our hands."

 

"Do you think they knew who you were?"

 

"No." John shook his head. "But they might make enquiries and we haven't exactly been living very peacefully, what with one thing and another, so it won't take them long to put two and two together if they really try."

 

He reached for a towel and rubbed his long, wet hair and Rodney's heart sank. That didn't sound good.

 

"Oh – Carson wants to know what medicine you gave Radek," Rodney said, clicking his fingers, suddenly remembering.

 

"I've already sent Teyla up to see him. She was in charge of that. She can tell him," John said shortly.

 

"Where the hell are you going?" Rodney asked, as John stalked off, out of the courtyard, in the direction of the street.

 

"I just need a couple of hours by myself," John told him curtly. "I'll be back."

 

Rodney watched him go, feeling a rising tide of panic in his stomach. He was glad they'd got Radek back, but something bad was happening to John and he didn't have the first idea how to handle it. He was suddenly aware of Elizabeth's gaze on him, from across the courtyard, and he lifted his head to look at her. They shared a knowing glance and he sighed. She knew they had a problem brewing here too, but she didn't know what to do about it either. Besides, right now maybe it didn't suit them to deal with it; the brutal truth was that at this moment in time John was more use to them in his current persona of rabid rottweiler. Nobody liked seeing him like this, but everyone was acutely aware that he was doing a damn fine job of rescuing people and keeping them all safe.

 

Rodney gave another sigh and then turned back to the house to find out how Radek was doing.

 

~*~

 

Radek was weak but he had fewer injuries than Rodney had had when he'd been brought in. His main problem was malnutrition and his asthma and once Carson had treated the latter and he got some food down him he soon began to improve. Within two days he was sitting up in bed, and within 3 he was playing the prime number game with Rodney, just for something to keep their minds occupied – and, if he was honest, Rodney was grateful to have something to distract them from actual conversation. He was very glad that Radek was alive and would soon be better, but the memory of their shared misery out by the well back at the plantation was always at the forefront of his mind whenever he looked at the scientist. Neither of them spoke about the plantation, and Rodney wondered if they ever would – and whether it would always hang there, forever between them, if they didn't. Radek had another frequent visitor; Katie Brown had been very concerned about Radek during their journey back and their shared experience of life on the plantation, however different their respective suffering had been, had given them some kind of bond, so she spent a lot of time at Radek's bedside.

 

The following day, Rodney was called to a meeting of the senior staff – the first he'd attended since arriving. It was almost like the old days, back in the control room on Atlantis, if you could discount the fact that Elizabeth's skin was as pale and thin as paper, John looked like some kind of exotic alien with braided hair and a deep scar over one eye, and Rodney himself was three sizes smaller than he had been. Only Carson seemed unchanged in their midst but Rodney wondered if even that was an illusion. Yes, Carson hadn't suffered physically the way he or Elizabeth had suffered, but there was something about the invisible weight that Carson seemed to be carrying around on his shoulders that made Rodney as uneasy about the doctor as he was about his other lover.

 

"Rodney, I know Carson would like to give you a few more days before asking you this, but there's something we need you to do and I don't think we can wait any longer," Elizabeth told him earnestly.

 

"If I can help then I will, of course," Rodney said quickly. "But I have no idea what use I can be. I'm a physicist, and of course, also a mechanical engineering genius, but there's no technology of any kind on this planet, so I don't see what…"

 

"That's not exactly true," John interrupted, and Rodney turned to gaze at him in surprise.

 

"All we need is a distress signal, Rodney," Elizabeth said softly. "The Daedalus was making its way back from Earth to Atlantis when we were captured so she has to be out there somewhere. I have no doubt that Colonel Caldwell has been looking for us ever since we were taken but with no clue as to where we were sent…it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack."

 

"I can't make a distress signal without some kind of radio transmission," Rodney said. "Certainly not one that's strong enough to reach a ship that could be several hundred light years away. Even if I could construct a rudimentary radio signal from the naturally occurring materials on the planet, it could take several years to reach the Daedalus."

 

"We need something faster than that," John told him. "Things are looking ugly out there. The Karkarans didn't like Carson's owner handing him this house and all this money in the first place and we haven't exactly kept our heads down and avoided trouble since then. There's a buzz about us – and if those people from the plantation start making enquiries then it won't be long before they come knocking on our door."

 

"I still don't see how you expect me to construct a distress signal out of nothing," Rodney said.

 

"Technology is against the law, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist," Carson told him, leaning forward in his seat. "There's a gate on this world, Rodney, and the bandits go to and fro, bringing in new slaves and other saleable commodities. Some other stuff has to get through – however zealous the authorities are in tracking it down."

 

"Have you found something?" Rodney asked eagerly.

 

"Yes. Lots of things." John got up, retrieved a wooden box from the corner of the room, and dumped it in front of Rodney. Rodney glanced inside eagerly – and then his heart sank. In the box were dozens of small items of machinery, ranging from a couple of old watches to what looked like half a naqada generator; there was even a piece of an Ancient energy cell but none of them were whole, or working, and there wasn't a single item that looked like it could generate a distress signal.

 

"We've had a team of people out looking for this kind of stuff and we've thrown anything we could find in here," Elizabeth told him. "Do you think you can do anything with it?"

 

Rodney glanced up, his gaze travelling from face to face, taking in the expectant, hopeful looks. He didn't want to be the one to take that hope away but realistically speaking he didn't see how he could construct anything useful from what they'd given him.

 

"I may be a genius but this is just a box of random objects," he told them in clipped tones, angry that they were placing the burden of all this hope on him when it was so very unlikely he'd be able to do anything with what he'd been given.

 

"Yeah, but like you said, you're a genius," John told him. "If ever we needed you to live up to that moniker it's now, Rodney."

 

Rodney took another look at the box and gave a deep sigh.

 

"Fine. I'll see what I can do," he muttered. Everyone smiled and sat back in their seats in relief, as if he'd already constructed a signal and the Daedalus was, even as he spoke, hovering overhead on a rescue mission. Only Rodney knew just how unlikely it was that this plan would work. He took the box all the same, and stomped off to find a quiet corner to examine it in more detail.

 

The box was full of a delightful assortment of oddments but there was nothing that Rodney could see that would create a powerful enough distress signal to alert the Daedalus. He stared at the box glumly for two days, fiddling endlessly with the various bits and pieces within, but drew a blank. On the night of the second day, Carson came looking for him.

 

"Are you coming to bed, Rodney?" he asked. "I'm worried about you. You've been looking into that box for 36 hours solid and you're still not completely better. I don't want you having a relapse."

 

"I'm fine," Rodney muttered. "Well, you know, apart from being asked to work miracles."

 

"It's a bit like turning water into wine then I take it?" Carson sighed, placing two firm hands on Rodney's neck and rubbing away some of the tension.

 

"Worse," Rodney sighed. "Most of these things aren't even from the same planet so there's no consistent energy source even if I could get something working, which I can't. They're all stone dead."

 

"You need some rest," Carson said, depositing a kiss on his head. "Maybe inspiration will strike in the morning. I don't want you sitting up for another night puzzling about this, Rodney."

 

"John said we might not have much time…" Rodney began.

 

"Aye, well, John's so used to pushing himself too fast, too far, that sometimes he forgets and does it to those around him too. We don't want you having a relapse, Rodney; you're our only hope."

 

"Ah, you make a fine Princess Leia," Rodney said, patting Carson's hand affectionately. "I've never exactly seen myself as Obi Wan Kenobi – I lack a certain zen-like Jedi quality - but I'm very flattered to be considered anyone's 'only hope'. If only I could live up to the expectation."

 

"Will you come to bed?" Carson urged.

 

"In a minute. I'm not done thinking," Rodney replied, still gazing at the contents of the box. Carson sighed.

 

"I knew this would happen the minute we showed you this stuff," he groused. "Don't stay up too late."

 

"I won't," Rodney lied, waving a casual hand in Carson's direction as the other man left the room.

 

He removed all the contents of the box and gazed at them again, then started tinkering with them once more. It wasn't easy with only one good hand but he managed to get a faint glow out of the Ancient energy cell. Not that it was much use but at least there was a glimmer of life left in it. If only he could somehow rig up the naqada generator to some kind of elementary radio signal, and use the energy cell to power it…Rodney stood up excitedly. "That could work," he said to himself, throwing all the items back in the box and grabbing it. He ran up the stairs to their bedroom, raced over to the bed, and grabbed Carson roughly by the shoulder.

 

"Damn it, Rodney, what time is it?" the doctor growled.

 

"Time? I don't know. Who cares? Morning – I heard a cock crow a little while ago. Anyway, I need Zelenka. Can I have him?"

 

"What?" Carson blinked blearily.

 

"He's got two good hands and he's the only one who'll understand what I want to do with this stuff."

 

"He's been very ill, Rodney," Carson said uncertainly.

 

"Yes, yes, I know but he can stay in bed. I'm not asking him to go out and do a full day's work in the fields for god's sake! I just want him to follow my instructions so I can see if I can rig something up here."

 

"All right – in the morning," Carson told him firmly. Rodney pouted. "Why don't you come to bed in the meantime?" Carson asked, trying to pull him down onto the warm sheets but Rodney wasn't having any of it.

 

"I'll see what I can do until he wakes up," he said, grabbing his box and running back downstairs again. Damn, but it felt good to be using his brain again after so many months of enforced manual labour!

 

 

Rodney bounced into Radek's room three hours later, full of energy. The other scientist was eager to help, despite Carson's misgivings, and Rodney outlined what he had in mind.

 

"I need your hands, Radek," Rodney told him.

 

"I can't see very well," Radek pointed out.

 

"Well I can see and you have two good hands so between us we'll figure something out," Rodney beamed. "Do you understand what I want to do?"

 

"Yes…but is this all there is to work with?" Radek gazed at the contents of the box with a miserable expression on his face.

 

"I know – that's what I thought - but if we can just use what's left of the energy in that power cell…"

 

"I suppose it might work," Radek said uncertainly. "If anyone can make it work it's you, Rodney."

 

"Well, that's very true," Rodney hummed happily to himself.

 

 

They worked for the best part of the morning, until Carson threw him out telling him that Radek had to rest and that it would be a good idea if Rodney rested as well, although he didn't actually expect him to. They resumed later in the afternoon. In the evening, Rodney demanded that everyone went out and tried to find something that he could use for an antenna and by nightfall Dr Simpson had returned with a makeshift piece of very fine copper that she'd stolen from the local blacksmith that would do. By midday the next day, Rodney had something that he thought might be halfway workable and he called the others into the meeting room to show them.

 

"It's not very sophisticated," he told them, noting their faces as they looked at the distinctly unpromising device, held together in places by strips of rinula, and generally speaking looking extremely rickety. "But I think it might work. I can't programme in the Atlantis command codes, so Colonel Caldwell won't actually know it's us, even if he is out there looking for us still after all this time, but I did do something extremely clever with the signal, so it only resonates on an Earth type frequency. That should clue him in. If this does work and if he is out there then he should pick it up immediately – and with the Daedalus's hyperdrive that would mean that he could, theoretically, be in orbit within a few days." Rodney didn't actually have any expectation that would be the case, but it was certainly the best case scenario.

 

"That sounds promising," Elizabeth said, leaning forward in her chair.

 

"Of course he wouldn't be able to contact us to let us know he's here as we have no communications facility but he should be able to zero in on the signal," Rodney shrugged.

 

"Well, we don't have any other options so…let's go ahead." Elizabeth waved her hand.

 

"Okay then." Rodney tightened a couple of connections and the energy cell flared feebly into life. Rodney sat back expectantly.

 

"Is that it?" John made a face.

 

"Were you expecting it to get up and dance around the room, Colonel?" Rodney snapped. "It works doesn't it?"

 

"How do we know?" John asked.

 

"Well, that's just it - we don't exactly," Rodney shrugged. "I mean, I think it's transmitting but I don't have a receiver so it could just be lit up a pretty colour and doing absolutely nothing."

 

"Great." John rubbed his hands over his forehead wearily.

 

"Hey – this is as good as it gets!" Rodney protested. "You didn't exactly give me a lot to play with here."

 

"Okay, okay." Elizabeth raised her hands. "Rodney – thank you," she said with a nod in his direction. "What do we do now?"

 

"Just wait." Rodney crossed his arms over his chest and glared at John. "And hope," he added.

 

~*~

 

As it turned out, their situation was just as desperate as John had feared. A few days later a posse of black-clad warriors turned up on their doorstep. John went out to speak to them, but returned grim-faced.

 

"They're not happy," he said, wrinkling his forehead in one of those ironic frowns of his that led Rodney to believe that 'not happy' was something of an understatement. "They think we stole a couple of slaves from them a week ago and killed a few of their overseers. They requested that we let them in so they could check out our house to see if we have Katie."

 

"What did you tell them?" Elizabeth asked.

 

"I told them where they could shove their request and now they're going to fetch some friends and then they're coming back to check the house anyway, with or without our permission."

 

Rodney clenched his fists. He'd been safe for only a couple of weeks, and now he feared that would be taken away from him and he'd be sent back into slavery. He wasn't honestly sure he could bear that again, not after being so recently reunited with the two people he loved most in the world. And he knew that he would rather die than go back to that plantation. Why couldn't they have had longer to bask in the peace and safety of this home Carson had made for them here? Why did it all have to end so soon? Hadn't they all suffered enough?

 

"What should we do?" Elizabeth asked. "We could leave."

 

"No. We have nowhere to run to and we'll be worse off out in the open. We'll be better off trying to defend the house. I've been through it with Teyla, Ronon and Lorne – we thought this might happen and we have a plan."

 

Rodney glanced at Carson, remembering what he'd told him about how John felt about failing to defend Atlantis. It was clear that John wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

 

They spent the next few hours preparing for the imminent attack. John assigned Rodney and Radek to the room with the feebly pulsing distress beacon while the marines took the prime defensive positions in the main part of the house.

 

"Why can't I be out there with you and Carson?" Rodney protested. "I've been useful in battles before."

 

"I know. When you were fit," John replied.

 

"I'm fine – and I'm a much better fighter than Carson. Why are you allowing him out there?"

 

John rolled his eyes. "Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he's a doctor and if this gets ugly, which it almost certainly will, then we might end up having wounded?" he suggested.

 

"Ah. Yes. Okay," Rodney acknowledged. "But what do we do if they get in here?" Rodney asked John anxiously, sitting down at the table next to the distress beacon, along with a small group of other Atlanteans, mainly scientists. "Shouldn't you…you know…give us swords or something?"

 

John looked at him steadily for a moment. "Would you know how to use them?" he asked finally.

 

"Well, no…" Rodney admitted.

 

"Well then. We'll save the knives for people who will actually use them to fight with," John said.

 

"But if they get in here we'll…" Rodney began.

 

"Rodney – if they get in here then it's all over," John told him fiercely. "We'll have lost. The only way they're getting round me, and Ronon, and Teyla, and Lorne, and Miller is if we're dead, and if we're dead then you are too."

 

Rodney stared at him, shocked. John's eyes were fierce, the left one burning beneath the scarred flesh and Rodney actually felt a little bit afraid of him.

 

"Here." John threw a knife onto the table and it gave a little zing as it came to rest, half-embedded in the wood. "If they get in here, use it - any way you can." Rodney glanced from the knife back to John, understanding what he meant. He sat down at the table next to Radek, his heart thumping in his chest.

 

"Can we win?" he asked softly as John made to leave the room. John paused.

 

"We won't be slaves again, Rodney," he said firmly. "If we don't win, then we'll die fighting them. The only way any Karkaran gets his hands on any of my people again is if I'm dead."

 

And then he was gone. Rodney gazed silently at Radek, who was mumbling something softly under his breath in Czech. Katie Brown was sitting next to him, her face strained and her large eyes dark with distress; Radek took her hand and squeezed it sympathetically. Dr Biro and Dr Simpson were seated across the table, exchanging tense glances. Outside, Rodney heard hooves pounding in the street and there was a lot of shouting going on. He wished that he was with John and Carson. After a little while the shouting gave way to the sound of sword on sword and the noise of battle grew closer and closer, until he could hear clanging just down the hallway. Rodney couldn't bear it any longer and got to his feet. There was no way he was going to just sit here while John and Carson were out there, fighting to save their lives. He grabbed the knife from the table and ran towards the door, his arm outstretched…when suddenly he wasn't in that stone room any more, he was running full pelt into a naked Asgard, and the walls around him were humming.

 

"What the hell…?" He came to a skidding halt, glanced around, and came face to face with Colonel Caldwell. "Oh thank god!" he cried, feeling the deck of the Daedalus beneath his feet. The knife dropped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor. "Oh my god! This is it. This is the best case scenario – and that *never* usually happens!"

 

"Dr McKay?" Rodney saw the shock at his gaunt appearance reflected back in Caldwell's eyes. "We got your signal – no way of making out individual life signs so we thought we'd just beam up everyone closest to it." Rodney glanced around and saw Radek, Katie and the others who had been in the room with him, all looking wide-eyed and disoriented by the sudden change in their circumstances.

 

"Everyone within a 3000 square metre radius," Rodney screamed. "Do it! Now!"

 

~*~

 

A ragged cheer broke out from the Atlanteans as they realized they were safe and the fighting stopped immediately everyone was beamed into the Daedalus's flight hangar. The Karkarans who had been caught up in the sweep looked around, bemused and seriously scared by their sudden transportation onto the spaceship. There was chaos for awhile but Colonel Caldwell swiftly got a grip on the situation and returned the Karkarans back to where they'd come from, while Carson and the doctor aboard the Daedalus set about tending to those Atlanteans who had been injured during the skirmish. Rodney was relieved to find that John had escaped unscathed save for a minor cut to his arm. Caldwell set about assigning quarters to the rescued Atlanteans, who were so numerous they had to bed down several to a room, before ensconcing himself in a private meeting room with Elizabeth for an extremely long chat.

 

It turned out that Caldwell had been looking for them for several months after returning from Earth to find Atlantis in the hands of the Karkarans. He had been combing the Pegasus galaxy for them ever since, to his credit, despite the increasingly less politely worded requests from Earth that maybe it was time to give up. He had been back to Atlantis a couple of times as well but each time the Karkarans had directed enough firepower in his general direction to ensure he kept his distance - but now John was adamant that he take them there.

 

"The Karkarans have the city, Colonel Sheppard, and they're perfectly capable of defending it," Caldwell growled at him. "We nearly got shot down last time we approached."

 

"Well this time we'll be more careful," John replied. "Look, it's been months since you were last there – they might have got lazy, or careless. It's worth a shot."

 

Caldwell had allowed himself to be persuaded in the face of John's vehemence and they set a course for Atlantis.

 

Everything changed now they were on the Daedalus; they were all swept up in the bustle of so many people sharing a ship whose facilities were stretched to the limit. Rodney didn't see either of his lovers alone during the entire journey because they were bunking down with so many other people. They were all kept busy in any case – John in briefing and preparing Caldwell's best men for an assault to re-take Atlantis, Carson with the injured from the skirmish back on Karkara, and Rodney in helping the crew of the Daedalus. It felt strange to be dealing with technology again after so many months of hard physical labour and Rodney felt an odd sense of dislocation as he worked. People kept asking him so many questions and it was hard to get his brain into gear to answer them.

 

More than anything, Rodney missed the quiet time he'd spent with his lovers in the big house on Karkara. He was glad to leave the planet itself far behind but he had experienced ten months of hell followed by two weeks of relative peace and quiet and now everything had changed once more and there had been no time to adjust back to being Dr Rodney McKay after having been a nameless slave for so long. He felt like he was winging it – struggling to keep up as the pace of events outstripped him - and he wished he could at least have the comfort of falling into bed with his lovers at night. He missed their kisses and little touches of affection; he missed the quiet conversations he'd had with Carson, and most of all he missed having John hold him while they slept.

 

Now he shared a small room with 9 people, taking it in turns to use the bathroom at night, and while the accommodation was certainly a hell of a lot better than it had been on the plantation, it unsettled Rodney. He got tired easily, his body ached, he was plagued by minor nagging headaches and his back was still tender; nobody was making any concessions to his physical condition but Carson was rushed off his feet and everyone was stressed out so there didn't seem to be any point mentioning it. It was bad enough that Carson deemed it necessary to do a full blood work and physical exam on everyone who'd been on Karkara, looking for god knew what kind of alien virus, and, which he'd muttered quickly under his breath without looking at Rodney while he'd drawn a syringe full of his blood, 'sexually transmitted diseases'. Rodney was just relieved to be told that the tests had all come back negative – it was one less thing to worry about.

 

A few days after leaving Karkara, the Atlantean homeworld loomed into view. Caldwell took a cautious route in towards the city, expecting the Daedalus to take fire as it had the last time, but this time their approach was surprisingly easy and nobody challenged them.

 

"Is the shield up over the city?" John asked, gazing over Rodney's shoulder. Rodney shot him a look; John was still dressed in the garb of a Karkaran warrior – most of them were still in their Karkaran clothes, including Rodney, because there weren't enough uniforms to go around, but Rodney wasn't entirely sure that John still needed to wear the Karkaran braid and keep that sharp knife hanging from his belt.

 

"No," he replied, straightening up, his back protesting a little; the scar tissue was very sensitive and often felt sore when he was hunched in one position for too long.

 

"Good. Then we can transport straight down there," John said grimly, striding away. Rodney gazed after him helplessly, knowing that there was nothing he could say to dissuade his lover from going into this unevenly matched fight. John was like a man possessed; he was obsessed with finding the Karkarans who had taken Atlantis in the first place and making them pay for what they'd done to his people.

 

John took with him his usual team of Ronon, Teyla, and Lorne, together with several of Colonel Caldwell's best men in the advance guard that beamed down to the lower levels of the city. His plan was to make a stealth attack, taking the Karkarans by surprise, the way they'd taken him by surprise ten months or so previously. Rodney and Carson stood on the bridge of the Daedalus, Rodney anxiously nibbling on his thumbnail while they waited to hear from the attack team, and ten minutes later John's voice came over the radio, nearly giving Rodney a heart attack from sheer relief that his lover was still alive.

 

"We have the control room," he said, and his voice sounded strange, distant and…almost cheated? "There's nobody here," he added. "The city is empty. You can all come home."

 

---

 

Part 3

 

Home. Rodney walked through the old, familiar city, trying to remember what it had been like to live here, in this beautiful place, away from the constant fear of beatings, rape and death. How had they never appreciated the peace and beauty of Atlantis before – why had they always taken it so much for granted? The marines had secured the city and even John, prowling, restless, relentless John, was satisfied that it was safe. Even so, he had posted a dozen armed guards in the gateroom and instituted new gating protocols before he'd allowed any of the civilian staff to return.

 

Some of the Atlanteans were in tears, while others just wandered around the place, looking bemused. Some people were laughing, excited, while for others it was all too much, and they retreated to their quarters for some time alone. Rodney went straight to his lab and paused in the doorway, Radek right behind him.

 

"What is it? Is it okay?" Radek asked, trying to peer over his shoulder.

 

"They trashed the place," Rodney said quietly, unsurprised; the Karkarans had trampled roughshod over everything else in his life – why should this room be any different? Everything was a mess; chairs and tables upturned, spillages everywhere. Rodney stepped inside, hearing glass break under his boot. "Stupid, imbecilic savages," Rodney muttered, finding equipment destroyed, computer screens in smithereens on the floor, naqada generators shattered.

 

"Ah well. We can tidy up," Radek said, with a resigned shrug of his shoulders.

 

"Oh for god's sake – look around you! It's a complete and utter mess!" Rodney snapped, turning on Radek angrily, only to find himself looking into the same hero-worshipping eyes that had gazed on him so hopefully back on the plantation, and he bit back the tirade he'd been intending to unleash on the hapless scientist. "Yes. Of course," he said, in a softer tone. "We'll tidy up. Yes."

 

"We're home, Rodney," Radek said, his eyes shining happily as he gazed around the room. "Because of you," Radek added. "See, I said you would save us, Rodney and you did. We're home." He beamed a smile of utter sincerity and Rodney had a sudden memory flash of Radek, dressed only in a pair of ragged pants, his body covered in cuts and bruises, lying on his side, sick and wheezing, and telling Rodney that he'd save them. Rodney blinked the memory away, reached for an upturned chair, righted it, and sank down into it, feeling utterly drained. All his life he'd wanted people to recognize his brilliance but somehow, now it had happened, it didn't mean anything. Instead of basking in the glow of Radek's admiration it just felt like a burden, as if he somehow had to take responsibility for Radek's good opinion and live up to it. He tried to say something, to answer Radek, but when he looked up at the other scientist all he could see was the half-starved, whimpering man who had huddled on the ground beside the well and sobbed throughout Rodney's worst suffering, and the memory was so real and vivid that for a second it threatened to overwhelm him. Rodney got to his feet abruptly and walked out, leaving the lab in Radek's insanely cheerful hands.

 

Rodney wandered along the hallways to Carson's quarters – the rooms they'd all shared before this whole ordeal had begun - and paused in the doorway. Nobody was there – he presumed Carson was in the infirmary and god knew where John was, probably scouring the city looking for someone to fight, Rodney thought wearily.

 

Rodney pushed the door open and stepped inside, and his breath caught in his throat. Unlike the lab, this room was exactly the same as when they'd left it; clearly the Karkarans hadn't used it. Carson's quarters were bigger than most and comprised a small living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom off to the side. Rodney walked over to the bedroom and peered through the open door. Carson's lamp lay smashed on the floor and there were signs of the fight that had taken place here that night. Rodney paused, crouched down on John's side of the bed and touched his hand to the streak of dark red blood that still stained the floor; John's blood, from where they'd hit his head with the butt of a gun.

 

"Rodney, are you all right?" a soft Scottish voice asked behind him. "Radek radioed me."

 

"I'm fine." Rodney stood up. "It's just the same as when we left it, Carson," he murmured.

 

"I wish I could say the same for the infirmary," Carson replied, coming to stand beside him.

 

"The lab was a mess as well," Rodney said. "Radek was being all upbeat about it and I wasn't in the mood. That's why I left."

 

Carson put a hand on Rodney's shoulder as they looked around the room, and Rodney knew Carson was remembering the events of that night, nearly a year previously, just as he was. The large bed they had shared was rumpled, the sheets pulled back, half of them trailing in a heap on the floor and Rodney remembered the shock of waking to find the Karkarans in the room. John had leapt into action, fists flailing in all directions, fighting against the intruders and there had been that loud crack as they hit his head and then he had gone down and Carson had been screaming as he tried to scrabble over the bed to get to him and Rodney had been caught in some kind of net and he kicked and fought but then there had been a loud crunch and everything had gone black…Rodney saw something lying under one of the upturned chairs and fished it out; it was John's thigh holster. He remembered John with short hair and no scar, wearing a uniform with this strapped to his thigh, lying on the bed laughing at something Rodney had said, but that seemed like a lifetime ago and a different John altogether.

 

Rodney threw the holster onto the bed and turned and went over to the closet. He found his uniform hanging in there and swiftly divested himself of his Karkaran clothes, anxious to be rid of the last trace of that planet. He caught sight of his scarred back in the mirror, and his jaw tightened. He quickly pulled on his black shirt to hide the sight of it and then dragged his pants on – only to find they gaped around his thin waist and resolutely refused to stay up. Angrily, he searched for one of John's belts and slid it through his pants and then tightened it viciously. Then he looked at himself in the mirror, longing to see the man he'd once been now that he was dressed in his old clothes - and his breath caught in his throat. Even with the uniform he still didn't look like himself; his shirt hung off his shoulders and his pants looked as if they belonged to someone else entirely. He looked like a child playing at dressing up in his father's clothes. Rodney gazed at himself sourly, hating the way his jaw jutted out and his cheekbones sunk in. The uniform didn't feel as familiar as he'd hoped – it felt strange, heavy and constricting after so many months of wearing a thin tunic, when he'd been allowed clothes at all.

 

"Ah – Dr McKay. Nice to have you back," Carson said, brushing Rodney's shoulders with his hands affectionately, trying to lighten the mood.

 

"I don't feel very back," Rodney muttered.

 

"Well, at least our quarters haven't been trashed," Carson said, changing the subject as he gazed around the room again. "We can tidy up."

 

"I wish everyone would stop damn well saying that!" Rodney growled, and he kicked the Karkaran clothes he'd just discarded out of the way, and turned and stalked out of the room and out of Carson's quarters. "We can tidy up," he mimicked under his breath as he strode off down the hallway. "That's all it'll take, just a tidy up, and then everything will be the same as it was, only it won't." He came to a sudden stop, his breathing coming in fast gasps, and he leaned against the wall and tried to steady himself.

 

"Rodney." Carson ran down the hallway after him. "We could choose different quarters," he said, crouching down so that he could make eye contact with Rodney.

 

"I don't want different quarters, Carson," Rodney said helplessly, still struggling for breath. "I just want it back to how it was before. You, me, John…nothing good like that ever happened to me before and it's all falling apart. I can't look at Radek without remembering the plantation and being thrown down against that bloody well and, and…and you're walking around with the weight of the entire galaxy on your shoulders and John…John isn't John at all! There are some things you can't just tidy up, Carson." He took a deep gulp of air, pushed himself to his feet again and ran off down the hallway, and this time Carson didn't follow him.

 

Rodney walked around for an hour or so, trying to get himself under control. When he finally thought he could trust himself not to have another outburst he returned to the lab to find Radek overseeing his team of scientists in the clear up.

 

"Good. Great," Rodney said tightly.

 

"McKay." John appeared in the doorway. "I need you to start work on the gate defences," he said tersely. "I want to know precisely how the Karkarans got round the gate's shield and how we can stop anything like that happening again."

 

"Fine." Rodney was relieved to leave the lab and he followed John out into the hallway. "Our quarters weren't trashed," Rodney said, by way of conversation as they walked back to the gateroom.

 

"What?" John turned to look at him with a distracted frown.

 

"Our quarters. I mean…Carson's quarters. They're the same as when we left them," Rodney said, wondering if John even intended sharing them again. It had been something that had happened by mutual unspoken consent the first time around – he and John were both spending every night there anyway that it seemed simpler to move all their stuff in. John made no reply, leaving Rodney with no idea where they all stood. "Did you find any sign of the Karkarans?" Rodney asked, as they entered the gateroom.

 

"Several of the rooms in the city are trashed and a lot of stuff has been stolen but there's no sign of them apart from that."

 

"So why did they leave?" Rodney asked.

 

"I don't know. That's what you're going to find out," John told him, striding up to the gate controls.

 

"Would this be before or after I fix the gate?" Rodney snapped.

 

"Well you're the genius – I'm sure you can do both," John replied, slapping a hand on Rodney's shoulder and guiding him into his seat. Rodney flinched away from the touch, and John recoiled and charged off back down the stairs again without saying another word. Rodney gazed after him glumly.

 

"I don't want to be a genius any more," he muttered sullenly as he started to run his fingers over old, familiar symbols.

 

It took several hours for Rodney to figure out how the Karkarans had by-passed the gate's defences all those months ago, but John wouldn't let him even take a break until he had a working theory. Then he spent a few more hours working on a way to ensure it could never happen again. Rodney was convinced he'd cracked that a good couple of hours before John was convinced and the colonel made him go through it with him three times before he was finally satisfied that the gate was secure. After that, Rodney was exhausted – it had been a long time since he'd been forced to use this much grey matter and he was thrown by the sudden change of pace in his life. He knew he needed to sleep but he wasn't entirely sure where to go. He still had his own quarters but he hadn't even checked those out and had no idea what condition they were in. In the end, he found his feet wearily taking him back to Carson's quarters, and he knocked on the door, uncertain if this was where he was supposed to be. Carson opened it and gazed at him with a worried frown.

 

"Sorry about earlier," Rodney muttered contritely. "I was...in a panic. Am I allowed in?"

 

"Of course, Rodney." Carson stood back and Rodney entered the room, and paused.

 

"So…you…uh…tidied up," he mumbled, flushing slightly, glancing around. Carson had done a good job of it as well, he thought to himself. There was no broken glass, the bed had been completely remade with clean sheets, and even the dark red, dried bloodstain beside the bed had been scrubbed away.

 

"Well I thought the infirmary could wait until tomorrow – especially as all our patients are currently being cared for on the Daedalus. We need somewhere to sleep tonight after all," Carson replied. "Have you seen John?"

 

"Yes…he's…" Rodney twirled a hand around distractedly. "Well, you know, rushing around trying to keep things safe."

 

"Aye. I thought he might be."

 

Rodney was too tired to make conversation and too depressed about his deteriorating relationship with John to want to talk about it, so he just stripped off his uniform and crawled into bed. Carson undressed more slowly, and Rodney watched him, waiting for him to be done so he could turn the light off and get some sleep. He noticed a bruise on Carson's thigh, and another on his arm, yellowing now, not recent, and he wondered if Carson had been hurt in that final showdown on Karkara and that made him feel even more out of touch with his lover that Carson hadn't told him. Carson slipped into the bed beside him a few seconds later and put a questing hand on Rodney's thigh. Rodney froze. Was this one of the reasons why it was all going wrong, he wondered? Was sex all they'd ever had in common and now that he was no longer in the mood, maybe there was nothing left? How long could he ask them to be patient, after all? And he had no idea when he was going to feel like being touched in a sexual way again – if ever.

 

"Sorry, Carson," he said, brushing the hand away. "I'll sleep on the side. Maybe when John comes in you and he…"

 

Rodney usually slept in the middle, but this way if John was actually still living with them and did come back to the quarters, then at least he and Carson could have some fun.

 

"Rodney – I didn't mean to pressure you," Carson said as Rodney shifted over. "You just looked like you needed some stress relief."

 

Rodney closed his eyes, having no reply. He knew this must be confusing for Carson but it was confusing for him too and he had no idea how to deal with it. Back when they'd last shared this bed, Rodney had been up for anything. In fact both his lovers used to joke that he got an erection if they so much as touched his arm by accident when reaching for the salt when they ate. Rodney was a high-strung man and Carson was right – sex in one form or another had been a very efficient way of bringing him down and keeping him calm back in the old days and both Carson and John had been extremely efficient at using it for just that purpose.

 

Rodney fell into an uneasy sleep, from which he awoke with a startled gasp and a strangled cry when the door opened a few hours later, memories of the Karkaran invasion flooding back. He took a moment to focus and realized it was John.

 

"Easy, Rodney. Only me," John said, stripping off his clothes and jerking a hand through his braid to release his hair. Rodney watched as John slid a knife under his pillow, and put his newly reclaimed P90 on the nightstand, then he slipped in beside Carson, turned his back on both of them and they all laid there, in silence. Was this the way it was going to be, Rodney wondered, remembering that warm, loving bath they'd shared back on Karkara. There was no lack of love here, surely – just too many no-go areas and three block-headed men who didn't have the faintest idea how to navigate the complicated emotional terrain in which they were currently stranded.

 

Rodney woke again early in the morning to find the bed empty. He heard muted voices and gazed blearily across the room to see Carson, clad only in a pair of boxer shorts and an open bathrobe, standing over a seated John braiding his hair.

 

"Now we're home I could cut this off for you," he suggested.

 

"No," John said curtly.

 

"Why not? It's not really a standard military haircut…" Carson began.

 

"Because I have to go back to Karkara," John told him.

 

"What?" Carson's fingers stopped what they were doing and he gazed at John, aghast.

 

"Some of our people are still missing, Carson," John said in a low, hard tone. "And I don't leave people behind. I'm just going to stay here long enough to make sure Atlantis is safe and then I'm going back to Karkara and this time I'll have Caldwell's men with me and we'll be sure to kick some Karkaran ass if they don't give us back everyone they took."

 

"Okay. I understand. Just be careful." Carson's fingers resumed their work, nimbly plaiting the hair so it hung down the side of John's face. He finished what he was doing, tied it off, and then his fingers gently examined John's scar. "You don't need to keep this though," he said. "Why don't we schedule you in for some surgery to take care of it?"

 

"No," John said, catching Carson's hand in his own to stop the doctor's probing.

 

"Why not? You don't need that for your trip to Karkara."

 

"I'm not getting rid of it."

 

"But why?"

 

John paused for a moment, and then looked up at Carson with a dark expression in his eyes.

 

"Rodney won't ever be able to get rid of the scars on his back," John said, in a low, fierce voice. "Why the hell should I be able to get rid of this?"

 

Carson rocked back on his heels and stared at John. "John, you having a scar or not having a scar won't make any difference to what happened to Rodney," he said.

 

"No," John said bitterly. "Nothing I do can make a difference to what happened to Rodney. It's too late for that. Every time he looks at me I can see that."

 

"John…he doesn't blame you for what happened," Carson said, taking John's face in his hands and gazing at him urgently.

 

"Yes he does – and he should," John rapped out.

 

"No. You're wrong. He's just having a hard time dealing with what happened to him."

 

"Did he tell you any of what happened?"

 

Carson hesitated. "Nothing beyond the obvious, no. He doesn't want to talk about it and there's no reason why he should if this is the way he wants to deal with it."

 

"Every time I look at him I can see those bastards and imagine them…damnit, I can't forget the way he looked lying in that cage," John growled.

 

"John, he honestly doesn't blame you and you need to forgive yourself too," Carson whispered, taking hold of John's face and kissing his lips gently. John's hands slid around Carson's waist and he kissed him back, eagerly, hungrily. Rodney lay there, just watching them kiss, envying them their intimacy, and suddenly resenting the fact that they'd had four months alone together during their time on Karkara; while he'd been rotting on that plantation, they'd been sharing a bed, and making love, and becoming close, and now he felt left out.

 

He watched as John pulled Carson towards him and captured one of the doctor's nipples with his tongue, latching on and sucking down hard. Carson moaned and put his hands on John's shoulders and John slid his hands under Carson's robe and tightened his grasp on him. Carson gave a little cry and John got up and pushed him against the wall, holding him there while he bit a line of kisses across his chest, leaving red marks in his wake.

 

"Ssh…" Carson whispered. "Don't wake Rodney. He was stressed out last night and I want him to get his rest."

 

"Did you try the time-honoured Rodney McKay method of stress relief?" John asked, with a wicked grin, as he pressed Carson into the wall, tangling his hand in the other man's hair.

 

"Yes, I tried – he won't let me touch him."

 

John banged Carson's head back against the wall with a thud that made Rodney wince. "Damn it…he should talk to someone. Heightmeyer…"

 

"He hasn't asked to see her and he doesn't have to if he doesn't want to. Besides, she has a list of patients as long as your arm and demons of her own she's struggling with," Carson panted, squirming in John's fierce grasp. John didn't say anything, but he looked angry. He pulled Carson towards him by his hair, and devoured his mouth roughly, his hands moving furiously beneath Carson's robe.

 

"I want you," John said fiercely when he released Carson. "Now."

 

"Fine – just keep it quiet so Rodney can sleep," Carson whispered. John let go of Carson's hair and strode over to the nightstand to retrieve some lubricant. Rodney closed his eyes, not wanting John to see that he was witnessing this, but John was preoccupied elsewhere. Rodney opened his eyes again and saw Carson swiftly stripping off his boxer shorts and bath robe, and then John was on him once more. He grabbed Carson bodily and turned him around and then shoved him against the wall, face-first this time. Carson fell against it with a clunk, and then John pounced on him, kicking his legs open and pushing him up against the wall. Carson rested his head on his hands and John slicked lube over his fingers and slid them fast into the doctor's ass. Carson gave a little cry and his head jerked back and now Rodney found that he was fully awake, transfixed by the scene that was playing out in front of him.

 

John finger-fucked Carson for a few minutes, and then withdrew and slicked his hard cock with the lube before grabbing Carson's hips with his hands and sliding home with a force that was one shade short of brutal. He slid one of his arms around Carson's body to keep him upright and then proceeded to pound into him, back and forth, fast and hard. Rodney could feel the angry urgency that was radiating off the colonel and he had the distinct impression that this wasn't about sex – this was something else, and he was surprised Carson had agreed to it. It was clearly consensual, but Rodney knew that Carson didn't particularly like rough sex. Rodney, on the other hand, loved it, and he and John had frequently had quick, rough, down-and-dirty fucks that they both enjoyed, and afterwards they'd grinned at each other wildly, exhilarated, like they'd just shared a secret joke. Carson preferred slower, more sensual love-making though, and Rodney wondered why the hell he was agreeing to this. Perhaps he was enjoying it because his cock was hard, and John was stroking it in time to his savage thrusts, but Carson's eyes were wide open, staring at the wall with a blank, resigned look on his face. John's thrusting became more urgent, and he came with a muffled cry, burying his face in Carson's neck to stifle the sound. His panting breath had a ragged, sobbing quality to it, and it was only then that Rodney realized that there were wet tears falling unchecked down John's cheeks. John came to a halt, still buried deep inside Carson's body, the tears still falling, silent and unnoticed, and John continued stroking Carson's cock until Carson came too, and then they both stood there, panting, the urgency over. John withdrew from Carson's body with a soft thwumping sound, swiping an arm over his wet face to remove all trace of the tears as he drew away. He stroked Carson's hair and kissed Carson's cheek, softly, gently, in stark contrast to the way he'd just made love to him, and then turned on his heel and left.

 

Only once he'd gone did Carson move. He backed away from the wall and Rodney noticed that he was shaking. He retrieved his bathrobe and put it back on, then sat down gingerly on the chair and wrapped his arms around his body, staring into the distance while he struggled to regain his composure.

 

Rodney didn't know what to do. He wasn't even entirely sure what he'd just witnessed. A part of him was jealous and a part of him was even turned on, mentally if not physically. He had loved it on the many occasions when John had pushed him against a wall, or back onto a table, and made fast and furious love to him, but this hadn't exactly been like that. Part of him wanted to experience that again, but his body was resolutely uninterested, and, apart from anything else, he was too scared of the John he'd just witnessed to want him playing rough with him in his current state of mind. He felt too fragile, and his body felt too raw for Rodney to want to expose it to that kind of extreme sexual thrill. He watched as Carson got up and left the room, and a few seconds later he heard the sound of the shower running next door and Rodney closed his eyes again, wondering how the hell this was all going to end.

 

 

~*~

 

 

They were all so busy that they barely saw each other for the next couple of days, and then John left to go back to Karkara and Rodney hoped that he'd at least get a chance to speak to Carson now that they were alone together but Carson seemed busier than ever. He'd got his infirmary up and running again, and, even though he wasn't a psychologist, he was doing his best to help Heightmeyer deal with her massive workload and as a result he was getting in late every night and he left early each morning. Not that that mattered because Rodney was busy himself; they were all working on an inventory of what had gone missing, and the Science team had the most equipment so Rodney was kept busy with that, in addition to overseeing the clear-up and trying to figure out why the Karkarans had left the city.

 

"Maybe they never intended to stay," Radek said when they were alone in their lab, trying to fix the general Atlantis maintenance logs so they could at least see what systems the Karkarans had accessed while they'd been here in case that gave them some clue.

 

"Well then why did they?" Rodney asked. "Why didn't they just leave once they'd got a new supply of slaves and plundered the place? Caldwell says they were still here four months' ago, so they stayed for six – why leave after six?"

 

"Maybe that's just what they do," Radek shrugged. "Maybe they only ever stay anywhere for six months."

 

"Oh for god's sake, that doesn't explain why…" Rodney paused and caught himself, feeling guilty as he saw Radek's eyes widen in response to his irascible mood. Every time he wanted to snap, which was his usual working style, Radek's eyes would gaze up at him, like a rabbit caught in a trap, and Rodney would see that skinny, sick man from back at the plantation, and hear those wrenching sobs and then he'd be back out by the well again and that was the last place he wanted to be. "No. Of course, maybe they do only stay in one place for six months," Rodney said in a soothing, conciliatory tone, trying to keep calm. "But that doesn't explain why they trashed the place when they left. Why not sell this stuff? Not on Karkara, obviously, because technology isn't allowed there, but I'm sure there are plenty of other people who'd be interested in it – the Genii for example."

 

"Well, they're bandits," Radek shrugged. "Maybe that's just what bandits do."

 

"Well maybe it is," Rodney said, smiling through gritted teeth, trying to keep a grip on his temper. "But we need a better explanation for why they left the city because until we know why they left, we can't be sure they won't come back and somehow I don't think the explanation 'maybe that's just what bandits do' will satisfy Colonel Sheppard."

 

"No," Radek agreed. "What did you tell him, Rodney?" he asked. Rodney felt himself go cold. Surely Radek wasn't asking him about what he thought he was asking him about? They'd neither of them mentioned the plantation and Rodney didn't want to start talking about it now.

 

"What do you mean?" he asked, as kindly as he could, struggling to keep a grip on his emotions. Damn but he didn't want to think about the rapes, and it was so hard to avoid thinking about them when Radek was standing right here and Radek had witnessed every single one of them.

 

"I mean about what happened to you back there," Radek said, in a frightened whisper. "What did you tell Colonel Sheppard because when he came to rescue me I almost didn't recognize him. I thought maybe you'd asked him to kill the people who hurt you, because he wouldn't stop until they were all dead and he was like a crazy beast. I would never have thought Colonel Sheppard could be like that. I was scared that if I got in his way he'd put his sword through me too."

 

"I didn't tell him anything," Rodney said, desperately not wanting to have this conversation. "I didn't tell him to kill anyone."

 

"Only…Ronon had me on the horse and we could have got away without a fight…but the Colonel wouldn't leave it. He went after all the overseers. He wanted them all dead," Radek muttered.

 

"He told me…" Rodney frowned. "He told me that his team made too much noise in the rescue, and that brought the overseers down to investigate and then he had to kill them to make sure they didn't alert the guards at the big house."

 

"Ah. Well. I was very ill and it was dark. Maybe I misunderstood what happened," Radek muttered unhappily.

 

"What do you think happened?" asked Rodney, unsure whether he wanted to know the answer to that question.

 

"No, no – maybe it was that way. I just remember how he seemed possessed and hunted those men down to kill them. He was like some kind of one man killing machine with that sword, covered in blood…I was afraid of him. To tell the truth…I still am."

 

"Yeah. Me too," Rodney muttered. "Look, Radek, we don't need to talk about this. We should get on with figuring out why the Karkarans left Atlantis."

 

"You don't like looking at me," Radek said sadly. "You don't like working with me. When you look at me your eyes pass over me as if you don't want to see me clearly."

 

"Don't be absurd!" Rodney snapped, and then, with a huge effort, he tried to adopt his soothing voice once more. "I'm just tired. I'm not, you know, doing that thing with the eyes that you said."

 

"And you keep being nice to me. You keep talking to me in that stupid voice like I'm a child."

 

"Trust me, this is not the voice I use for children," Rodney said. "And what's wrong with being nice to you?"

 

"You aren't behaving like you any more!" Radek protested, his face going red and upset. "You, Dr Mckay, you are not nice! You have never been nice! You snap at me and call me names – that is Dr Rodney McKay. He isn't nice!"

 

"Oh thank you very much!"

 

"I don't want you being nice! I want you to be how you were before! I don't want you to look at me with those eyes and speak to me with that voice!" Radek was genuinely upset, and his hands were scrunched into fists at his side. "I was there too! They hurt me too! Just because I saw them hurt you doesn't mean you should treat me like this. You will drive me away with all this 'yes, Radek, you're probably right, Radek' stuff and that stupid voice and I don't want to be driven away! You have to work with me and I have to work with you and I want things back to how they were before!"

 

He looked as if he was about to burst into tears and before Rodney could make a reply he turned around and ran out of the lab.

 

"We all want that, Radek," Rodney muttered to the empty room.

 

He felt utterly drained by the argument and sat down with a heavy thump on the nearest chair and buried his head in his arms on the table. Atlantis hummed around him, serene as ever, but he felt as if he was barely holding himself together. It was like he was being dragged underwater and only his head was above the surface and he was struggling to breathe, and then he felt himself crying, big, shattering sobs that he couldn't hold back. He'd cried before, back on Karkara, but those had been tears of sheer physical release at being safe and being held in his lovers' arms once more. Now he cried for what had happened to him. Not to Radek, or to John, or to Elizabeth, or anyone else but purely and selfishly for what had happened to him. He cried because he was a proud man who had been stripped naked and sold, and he cried because he'd been whipped and beaten and hurt, and he cried because he'd been thrown over the wall of a well and raped, not once, but several times, sometimes two or three times in succession as if he was a piece of meat, and each time afterwards he hadn't allowed himself the luxury of falling apart. He'd had to be the strong one, for Radek's sake as well as his own, so he'd just got up and grabbed Radek and gone to do a full day's work in the fields as if his body wasn't sore and aching from the abuse and his dignity shattered into too many shards for him to ever gather it together again. He could remember the smell of blood and semen as it dried on his body and how he'd had to live with that smell all day under the baking hot sun because he couldn't wash it off until the evening. He could remember how it hurt to pour the cold water from the well over his torn body, and how he couldn't give into despair, not even when they broke his fingers one by one, or strung him up and whipped him until the blood ran down his back, because if he gave in then he'd give up and he couldn't give up while he was holding onto the hope that Carson and John were still alive. But now it was all over, now they were all safe…now it was harder to keep going. Now he wanted to collapse and give in to all those emotions he'd only just been keeping at bay for these past few weeks, and he hit his fists on the lab table, over and over again, ignoring the raw pain in his hands, wanting it to hurt as much as he hurt inside.

 

Then the frenzy was over, and he just sat there, crying, for very long time. Nobody disturbed him – he wasn't sure whether anyone came to the door of the lab and saw him, but nobody came in and he was grateful for that. He sat there, quietly sobbing for a very long time. Finally, the sobs subsided through sheer exhaustion because god knows the misery was still there, seemingly inexhaustible, but he just didn't have the energy to cry any more. Then he just sat there, staring into space, because there was nothing left to feel. An hour passed, maybe two, and then he heard a voice on his radio. Elizabeth. Asking him to go to her office. That was fine. He could do that. Rodney slid off the chair and walked unsteadily towards the door. He didn't care that his face had to be blotchy and his eyes red raw, or that his hands were bruised and cut in places. He just walked through the hallways, in a dream. People passed him by, and some looked at him and some looked away but nobody said anything.

 

He found Elizabeth sitting in her office and he went in, closed the door behind him, and sat down. He could see his reflection in the glass window in her office; he looked dishevelled and it was totally impossible for anyone not to know that he'd just spent the past several hours crying. Elizabeth gazed at him steadily for a moment and then smiled. She didn't mention how he looked, she just treated him like normal, for which he was profoundly grateful.

 

"I was wondering how that inventory was coming along, Rodney," she asked him in a soft, warm voice.

 

"Ah, the inventory. Yes." Rodney gazed at a spot somewhere over her left shoulder for a long moment.

 

"Do you have any idea when it'll be done?" she prompted gently. He dragged his gaze back to her and frowned, trying to concentrate on the question.

 

"I don't know. Sometime soon I think. We…that is, Radek and I…we hit a hitch with the maintenance logs and that's distracted me. I'm sorry if it's taking too long. It's…I'm feeling sort of…slow," he finished.

 

"Well, that's okay," she said kindly. "I think we're all feeling a little…slow…these days."

 

"Good. Okay." Rodney nodded. "Did you hear anything from Colonel Sheppard?" he asked her. Her lips gave that little quirk they always did when he called John 'Colonel Sheppard' so formally. She knew about the unusual living arrangement he had with John and Carson, although she'd never asked any of them about it directly. The entire base knew, but as far as Rodney was aware nobody had a problem with it - although he guessed that some of them had a hard time actually believing it. At first he'd hidden the relationship, finding it awkward, and they'd all been very careful to keep things strictly professional during their working lives. Carson though, was constitutionally incapable of living a lie, and when they were off duty he made his feelings towards his lovers very clear with little touches and the occasional kiss, which Rodney had at first found intensely embarrassing. He had no idea why now, looking back. So many so much more embarrassing things had happened to him on Karkara that the small matter of an affectionate kiss on the hair or cheek between lovers hardly seemed worth the paroxysms of embarrassment he'd initially suffered, early on in their relationship.

 

"As a matter of fact I did," Elizabeth told him. "We heard from the Daedalus a couple of hours ago. They're on their way home – and Colonel Sheppard is safe. Apparently they have some interesting news to share with us – but we have to wait until they get back to hear it."

 

"Good." Rodney nodded. "Interesting news? Well that's very…interesting." He gazed blankly at Elizabeth again and she got up, limped over to him, put her hand very gently on his shoulder, and squeezed.

 

"Stay for coffee," she said softly. "I don't want you to go back to work just yet."

 

He nodded, and she poured some coffee for them both and handed him a cup. "When the inventory is done I'm going to ask everyone for a report," she said softly. "People can tell me as much or as little as they want about their time on Karkara, but we do need some records, even if it's just the basics. I very much doubt we'll have any recourse to justice from the Karkaran government, but I want to investigate the possibility all the same."

 

"Of course." Rodney nodded. He sipped on the coffee and felt it warming him which was a good thing because he thought there was the vaguest possibility that he might faint.

 

"Have you eaten today?" Elizabeth asked him. Rodney tried to remember but found he had no idea which was very possibly the first time in his life that had been the case.

 

"I don't believe so," he frowned.

 

"Then let's walk down to the mess hall in a minute," she said. "You have hypoglycaemia remember, and you're looking a little pale."

 

His pallor was by no means the worst thing about his appearance, Rodney thought to himself, glancing at his reflection in her window again, but he realized that she was worried about him, and she was being nice and she was trying to take care of him without drawing attention to his suffering, and he was very grateful that she was so understanding.

 

"I am feeling hungry," he lied.

 

"Good. We need to feed you up," she said with a smile. "I could stand to gain a few pounds myself and that's probably the first time you've ever heard a woman say that!"

 

He managed to smile at her, and the kind, sensitive human contact slowly began to warm him and the numbness dropped away and with it came back the misery but when he looked into Elizabeth's eyes he saw that she understood in a way that Carson didn't, and John didn't, because their misery was of a different kind, and he knew then exactly what had been done to her and he knew she knew exactly what had been done to him and while they might never talk about it to each other, that didn't mean they didn't understand.

 

"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing a hand over his red-rimmed eyes. "I know I look a mess."

 

"It's okay." She smiled again. "We all have our bad days."

 

"It's just…stuff," he said.

 

"Yes. Just stuff." She nodded, and he felt better than he had for several days. It was as if he'd started to feel human again. Not everybody was like the Karkarans. These people, his people, the Atlanteans, didn't view him as a piece of meat, as something to be sold and beaten and hurt. They hadn't stolen his pride and dignity and robbed him of his humanity, but they could give him those things back, if he let them; and Elizabeth, with her quiet sensitivity was trying to do just that.

 

"When we've eaten perhaps you should find Doctor Beckett and get him to look at your hands," Elizabeth suggested kindly, patting his bruised and scratched hands, and Rodney felt slightly ashamed of himself for creating more work for the already over-worked doctor but at least it would give him a chance to see Carson again and he realised he'd missed his lover and desperately wanted to talk to him. Maybe it was time to tackle the silence that had grown between them.

 

Both the tears and Elizabeth's kindness seemed to work some magic on him, and after they'd eaten together in the mess hall he went to find Carson, as she'd suggested. The doctor was bouncing around his infirmary, looking both cheerful and energetic, much to Rodney's surprise.

 

"Och, Rodney, what have you done to yourself?" he exclaimed, sitting Rodney down on the side of a bed and examining his hands.

 

"I just had…a bad moment. Carson…I really want to talk to you," he said urgently.

 

"I need to check those fingers – make sure you didn't break them all over again," Carson said with a bright smile.

 

"Okay, but can we talk later, Carson. I really want to…"

 

"Just some bruising and a few scratches. You'll be fine," Carson announced, finishing examining Rodney's hands in lightning quick time, and turning to grab some gel which he smoothed onto Rodney's hands.

 

"Carson – when will you be back this evening?" Rodney asked impatiently. It seemed to him like Carson had been waiting for weeks for him to talk and now he was finally ready to do so, the doctor was brushing him off.

 

"Late, Rodney. There's a pile of things to do around here. We still aren't properly cleaned up and I need to finish going through our medicine inventory - we'll need to get new supplies from Earth before too long because the Karkarans destroyed or stole so many of our stocks. Well there you go, Rodney. You'll do fine now." Carson finished with Rodney's hands, patted him absently, then got up and bounded over to the other side of the infirmary to check on one of his other patients. He barely seemed to notice that Rodney was there so Rodney got up and left.

 

Rodney went back to their quarters and paused for a moment in the bedroom doorway, a little flash of memory washing over him. These rooms had other, happier, memories associated with them than just the night they'd been abducted; for instance there had been the night they first made love…Rodney leaned against the door, a slight smile hovering on his lips. Carson had invited him and John to his quarters for a meal. They'd eaten together before, so Rodney hadn't thought anything of it, although he did remember thinking that Carson seemed nervous, and the meal had been extremely delicious, as if Carson had made a special effort in preparing it. Carson also pulled out all the stops with the wine, which was in short supply on the base, so Rodney remembered being pleased and surprised that Carson had somehow managed to filch a couple of fairly good bottles from somewhere. They ate in a relaxed mood, laughing and joking, and Rodney had felt happier than he'd ever felt in his life. He'd acknowledged to himself, in his most private moments, and often when his hand was wrapped around his own cock, that he was in love with both these men, but he would never, in a million years, have said anything to them. He'd have settled for either of them, had never expected to have both of them…in fact sometimes he still couldn't believe that he *did* have them both. After the meal Carson had told them he had something to show them, and they had all got up and followed him to the bedroom.

 

"Hey, how come you get to have a room with a separate bedroom?" Rodney complained.

 

"These quarters are near the infirmary," Carson replied with a shrug. "You lads all wanted quarters near the control room so I helped myself to these as they were going spare."

 

He opened the door to the bedroom and John, who was a little way ahead of Rodney, laughed out loud.

 

"Damnit Carson, where the hell did you get that fuckoff great bed?" he asked, with a crooked little grin. Rodney craned his neck to see over their shoulders and caught sight of the enormous bed that filled a large part of the room. Carson flushed and mumbled something – to this day Rodney still wasn't sure where he'd got the bed from.

 

"What on earth do you need such an enormous bed for anyway, Carson?" Rodney asked, in a somewhat cross tone.

 

"Well…" Carson put a hand on each of their shoulders. "I was kind of hoping that you'd both share it with me."

 

Rodney stared at Carson, utterly aghast and completely speechless, but John merely let out a roar of laughter. "Carson Beckett, you sly old dog," he said, sliding an arm around Carson's waist. "Well, it seems a shame to let a good bed like that go to waste, wouldn't you say, Rodney?"

 

"What? No! I mean yes! I don't know what I mean. What are you both talking about?" Rodney stammered, knowing he had flushed as red as a tomato.

 

"I was hoping you'd want to, Rodney," Carson said with an agonised look. "You're always flirting with John, and, well…you and I spend a lot of time together so you can hardly be unaware of my feelings for you…"

 

"What? Flirting with John? When?" Rodney asked, bemused. "And yes I'm unaware! What feelings? Why…what…when did…?"

 

"Rodney, it's a simple question – yes or no?" John said, cutting to the chase as usual. He leaned across Carson and ran a gentle hand down the side of Rodney's cheek and Rodney felt a shiver of sheer sexual attraction run through him. "I think that's a yes," John said to Carson.

 

"Both of us, Rodney?" Carson asked anxiously. "Or is it just John that you want?"

 

"I…I…I…" Rodney gazed from one to the other, still completely befuddled.

 

"Just kiss him, Carson," John urged. "You'll soon find out. Otherwise we could be here all night and seeing this bed has made me damn horny."

 

So Carson turned to him, put a hand around the back of his head, pulled him close and kissed him. Rodney was aware of John, standing behind Carson, his hands fondling Carson's butt and he was aware of Carson's soft lips against his own, and then he was melting into Carson's embrace, melting into both Carson and John, and he felt as if he'd lost the power of coherent speech.

 

When Carson released him, the first thing Rodney saw was John grinning away behind the doctor.

 

"I think that's settled then," John said, grabbing both their hands and leading them towards the bed. Rodney went willingly, but he still felt like he was existing in some kind of weird alternate reality as John stripped off his shirt as if he was a child and then leaned in for a kiss of his own, a deep, devouring, utterly sexual kiss that made Rodney blush all the way up to the roots of his hair. Carson wrapped his arms around him from behind and undid his pants, and then suddenly he was naked and the two of them were now kissing over his shoulder and he could feel two hard erections digging into him, one from behind and one in front, and he was so excited he thought he might come there and then. Luckily he hadn't disgraced himself; he had the feeling they were both more experienced than him though, as they pushed him down on the bed and silenced any more blithering on his part with their tongues and hands.

 

Rodney felt lost in a wonderland of beautiful, naked bodies. John's chest was hairy and sexy, and Rodney ran his fingers over it like a starved man at a feast. He'd broken off from that only to run a hand over Carson's thick, hard cock, noticing that John was longer and cut, while Carson was thicker and uncut, and he loved the contrast, loved both their cocks immediately. Then John was taking Rodney's cock in his hand and that finished off any further coherent thought for awhile. He was vaguely aware of being pressed between two hard, handsome bodies, of being held in muscular arms and of having his cock sucked by warm, insistent lips. The next thing he remembered, John was holding him down, kissing him deeply on the lips while Carson licked his neck and kissed his throat…and then a lubed finger suddenly pressed against his anus and he bucked up in surprise.

 

"Hey…you can trust us," John whispered, kissing his hair, his hand firmly stroking Rodney's cock. "You do trust us, don't you, Rodney?"

 

'With my life', his brain said, but no words came out of his mouth; he just opened his legs wider, allowing John to lift his ass up to meet Carson's questing fingers, desperately wanting to feel Carson's thick, hard cock move inside him, and he'd been rewarded a few minutes later when Carson had slipped on a condom and finally slid into his body. He'd come with Carson inside him while John jerked him off and kissed him, and then John had been inside Carson while Carson sucked Rodney and then…Rodney lost track of all the tongues and fingers and hard, pulsing cocks but he did know they made love for a very long time and only stopped when they were completely and utterly sated. He'd never had so many erections in one night and he remembered them all lying in a sweaty, exhausted heap on the bed, John behind him, his arms wrapped loosely around Rodney's waist, Carson in front of him, his blue eyes gazing fondly at him, and Rodney had flung an arm over Carson's thigh and that was pretty much the way they'd slept almost every night they'd spent together since.

 

Rodney savoured the memory of that first night, mentally reclaiming the bedroom back from the night the Karkarans had taken them; their first love-making was a better memory to dwell on. He removed his uniform and hung it up, then took a long shower and fell into bed. It had been an exhausting day and he felt wiped out and yet curiously optimistic at the same time, considering the circumstances. Somehow the argument with Radek and the long sobbing session had been cathartic. Like Radek, he wanted things back the way they were too, and now he saw that if he didn't make an effort to make that happen then it wouldn't happen and that was too terrible a thought to contemplate. So he just had to be brave and somehow work through this mess, however painful it might be. In fact Rodney suspected that it had to be painful – he doubted this was a situation you could skirt around. You had to just walk right through it, even if it felt treading on broken glass every step of the way. The alternative simply wasn't worth thinking about though. He was aware of Atlantis, pulsing around him the way she always did and he allowed himself to relax for the first time since returning home. And this was home after all! He wasn't back on that plantation on Karkara; he was here, with the people he loved, and that was something that was worth feeling happy about. He felt almost as if the city was his cradle and she was surrounding him, rocking him gently, trying to take care of him, and he fell into a deep, refreshing sleep.

 

He woke in the early hours with a vague, nagging sense of unease in his stomach. Something wasn't right…Carson still hadn't returned, and Rodney had a sudden fuzzy image of the doctor sitting in his infirmary holding a syringe. He wasn't sure where it had come from but the image galvanised him into action, and he jumped out of bed, pulled on his bathrobe, and ran out of the door. The infirmary door was closed when he got there and he opened it silently and slipped inside. Carson was sitting on one of the beds, and, just like in his image, he was holding a syringe, filling it from a little vial, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow. Rodney shut the door loudly and Carson jumped and turned.

 

"Oh, Rodney! You startled me," he said.

 

"Yeah. I bet I did," Rodney growled. "What's the matter, Carson – did I disturb your quality time with the happy drugs?"

 

"What?" Carson stared at him. "This isn't…" he gestured towards the syringe. "It's just a wee stimulant, Rodney, to keep me awake."

 

"It's an upper," Rodney snapped, knowing he was right. "That's how you've been keeping going and being so bloody cheerful these past few days. It's a damn sight more than just something to keep you awake."

 

"It's…it's only for a short time. While things are so difficult," Carson said, dropping all pretence.

 

"It won't solve anything and none of our problems will go away – you'll just feel like you can fly until you come down with a crashing great bump after each hit," Rodney told him in an angry voice. "Come on, Carson – you know that. You're the damn doctor here. If I was taking that stuff you'd be locking me in a room and making me go cold turkey."

 

Carson spread his hands helplessly. "Everyone is hurting so much, Rodney, and there's so little of me to go around," he whispered. "I can't help everyone. I thought everything would be better once we got home, but if anything it's worse. Atlantis is a city full of shadows and ghosts. We're all wraiths now, Rodney, just a different kind of wraith. We've had the life sucked out of us; we're just pretending to go on as usual but we're all just drifting along, locked in our own little bubbles of pain."

 

"You can't mend everyone, Carson. That's not your job," Rodney told him, coming to stand in front of him. He swiped the syringe out of Carson's hand and threw it angrily into the nearby waste basket.

 

"Well, it is kind of in the job description, Rodney," Carson told him apologetically.

 

"No it isn't. Not what you've been doing. You're feeling so guilty because you weren't beaten, or raped, or humiliated, or otherwise hurt back on Karkara that somehow you feel you have to make it up to everyone who was," Rodney told him firmly. "Well you can't, Carson. You just can't. People are feeling lousy, yes, but they'll just have to work through that for themselves! You can't wave a magic wand and make it all go away, no matter how many drugs you take and how brilliant a doctor you are."

 

Now, suddenly, Rodney understood why Carson had those bruises on his body.

 

"I saw you and John the other morning," he said. "Against the wall." Realisation flooded into Carson's eyes and he flushed slightly. Rodney wondered how long this had been going on – it clearly dated back to well before they'd left Karkara. "I wondered why you let him do that to you when you and I both know that you don't like rough sex. I thought he was using you and he was – but you were using him every bit as much."

 

"He's angry and he's hurting. He needs the release and you can't give it to him right now," Carson said defensively.

 

"And you just want to be there for everyone to help make yourself feel less guilty about not having suffered as much as we did," Rodney told him brutally. "Well it doesn't help, Carson. It just makes you feel worse to the point where you need the happy drugs to keep going. What the hell point is there to that? Don't you understand that we'd be lost without you? We need you to be you, not some junkie martyr who thinks he can take all our pain on himself!"

 

Carson looked down, away from Rodney's searching gaze, his cheeks flushed with shame. Rodney stepped between his legs where they were hanging down over the side of the bed, and pulled Carson's head towards his own, so their foreheads were resting against each other.

 

"I need you, Carson. Don't do this again," Rodney said fiercely, stroking Carson's hair. "Promise me you won't take the drugs again."

 

"I…I promise, Rodney," Carson muttered, his hands coming to rest on Rodney's hips.

 

"Good." Rodney leaned in for a kiss; he captured Carson's mouth with his own and explored it softly, gently, sensuously. Carson sighed and leaned into him and they nestled against each other for a long time, kissing slowly. "I wanted to speak to you earlier," Rodney said when the kiss came to an end. "I need you to make love to me, Carson. I need to feel you inside me again. I need to feel like I used to feel. I can't be a hostage to what happened to me for the rest of my life."

 

"Are you sure?" Carson's hands stroked his butt affectionately, sending a shockwave of desire to Rodney's groin.

 

"Yes. I'm very sure," Rodney replied, his breath catching in his throat as his cock started to stir for the first time in nearly a year. "Come to bed." He took Carson's hand and pulled him off the infirmary bed, and they walked out into the hallway, still holding hands, and didn't part until they got to their bedroom. Then Rodney pulled Carson close and kissed him again. Carson was shaking slightly, whether from the after-effects of the drugs, or from emotion, Rodney couldn't tell, but he wrapped his arms around Rodney and returned the kiss eagerly. They moved apart only so that Rodney could divest himself of his bathrobe and retrieve some lubricant from the nightstand, and then he lay down on the bed, waiting while Carson quickly got undressed. Carson sat down on the bed beside him, leaned over Rodney and kissed him again, deeply and slowly. Rodney moaned and ran his hands over Carson's solid back, enjoying the feel of that familiar skin under his fingertips. They kissed for a long time, pausing only to take in air and then going back for more, enjoying the sensuous pleasure that they hadn't experienced for so long. Carson drew back and put gentle fingers on Rodney's body, stroking him as if he was a cat. Rodney sighed – he loved being stroked and both his lovers knew exactly how to turn him on. Carson teased his nipples into little points with his fingers, and then his hand dipped lower, stroking a line down to Rodney's groin. Rodney gasped as Carson's fingers ghosted gently over his cock and trailed over his balls. He was relieved to find that he was now rock hard and Carson looked pretty pleased about it too because he lowered his head, took Rodney's cock in his mouth and sucked. Carson was very good at giving head – Rodney had forgotten just how good - and his lover's talented mouth soon had him gasping with pleasure. It was so good that Rodney nearly allowed it to go on too long, but eventually he pushed Carson away.

 

"I want to come with you inside me," he told the doctor. Carson blinked.

 

"Are you sure, Rodney? I could just suck you off…" he said uncertainly.

 

"No. I want you in me," Rodney said impatiently. This had to happen at some point, and besides, he was longing to feel Carson moving inside his body again. It had been so long. Too long. Rodney liked to bottom almost exclusively, and as John pretty much exclusively topped and Carson happily switched, they'd always been well matched, whether all making love together or in various combinations of two. Now Rodney was longing to become intimately acquainted with Carson's meaty cock again. "Not from behind though," Rodney said, because he was worried that might freak him out. "I want to be able to see you when you make love to me. I need to know it's you."

 

"All right. I'll go slow. Just tell me if you feel any discomfort," Carson said, stroking his hair and gazing deep into his eyes. Rodney nodded, and caught Carson's lips with his own for another searching kiss. "I love you, Rodney," Carson whispered when they finally parted. His lips nuzzled the side of Rodney's neck and he sucked his way down to Rodney's chest, murmuring as he went, his voice full of love and erotic promise. "You're so hard…so sexy…" Carson said, his finger sliding into Rodney's anus. Rodney loved being talked to like this during sex as much as he loved being stroked and petted, and he sighed and opened up to Carson. "I want you, Rodney," Carson whispered, sliding a second finger into Rodney's ass. "I want to feel you, warm and tight around my cock, Rodney…"

 

"Call me dautie," Rodney said suddenly. Carson glanced up at him in surprise. "I like the way your voice sounds when you call me that," Rodney explained, with a shy grin.

 

"Dautie," Carson said immediately in a deep Scottish lilt, smiling up at him. "My dautie, my darling one…open up for me, dautie…let me inside…" His fingers were firm, sliding into Rodney with rhythmic thrusts that made Rodney pant with desire and long for more. Now he knew he'd been stupid to worry about Carson examining him back on Karkara. This man here, plunging his fingers into Rodney's body so erotically, was his lover not his doctor, and this was being done entirely for pleasure; it was nothing like a clinical examination. Rodney opened up even more, moaning ecstatically, but Carson continued finger-fucking him for a long time, until finally Rodney nudged him with his foot.

 

"If you don't get that big, hard cock of yours inside me sometime soon, Carson, then there's no way in hell I can hold on," he said impatiently. Carson gazed at him.

 

"Are you sure you're ready?" he asked.

 

"I'm practically bouncing off the ceiling!" Rodney protested. "If you don't do me within the next 2 minutes I'll very likely expire."

 

"Aye, dautie…very likely," Carson said, with a slight roll of his eyes. "Okay. Just let me know if you change your mind."

 

Rodney very much doubted that would be the case. He lifted his hips and placed his legs on Carson's shoulders and Carson positioned himself between his legs and parted Rodney's buttocks with his hands. They'd made a group decision, awhile ago, to dispense with condoms, as they'd all been tested before they came to Atlantis as a prerequisite for being on the team and none of them had any inclination to take other lovers. Carson nudged his cock into Rodney's anus, and Rodney relaxed, any last fears he'd had melting away. This was nothing like being thrown down and brutally raped and it didn't bring back any memories of the rapes either. Instead it just brought back memories of the many times Carson had done this to him before and how much he loved it and how very much he'd missed it. Carson slid in all the way and Rodney squealed loudly, loving the sensation. This was Carson after all, Carson who he loved and trusted. Carson paused, his body leaning over Rodney's, his face just above Rodney's face.

 

"Is this good, dautie?" he asked softly.

 

"Oh god yes," Rodney whimpered, raising his face for a kiss, with which he was duly obliged. Carson stayed there for a long time, his cock embedded to the hilt within Rodney's body, his mouth pressed to Rodney's mouth, their tongues sliding ecstatically against each other, and then, finally, he drew back, slid out, and slid straight back in again. Rodney threw his head back, feeling the sweat drip down the side of his face. Oh god this was good! Carson started to go faster now, still keeping an even, steady pace, nothing too fast, nothing to spook Rodney or cause him pain, and Rodney reached down and wrapped a hand around his own cock and slid it up and down in time to Carson's slow, measured thrusts. He looked up into Carson's eyes as he made love to him, and Carson was whispering, "Dautie…my dautie…come for me, dautie," over and over again, and then Rodney was coming and Carson stayed in him a little longer, until he came too, and then he carefully withdrew and threw himself down beside Rodney and took him in his arms so that they were lying there, face to face.

 

"I will tell you about it, one day," Rodney said softly, resting his hand on Carson's thigh and nuzzling the other man's neck. "When I'm ready. I will tell you."

 

"Aye, Rodney, I know. Take your time, dautie," Carson whispered, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Rodney's back. "Take your time."

 

~*~

 

John returned a couple of days later and the senior staff all assembled in the control room to hear the 'interesting news' they'd been promised. Rodney was relieved to see that John was at least back in uniform, although the long Karkaran braid remained and the scar made him look as fierce as ever.

 

"I'm satisfied that we've brought back all of our people who are still alive," John told the assembled room. "The rest are dead." His jaw clamped down into a hard line, and Rodney could see that every muscle in his body was clenched and his heart sank. He had hoped that now that John had done all he could for the remaining Atlanteans that he'd put Karkara behind him and become the old, relaxed, fun-loving, teasing John that Rodney missed so much, but that didn't look likely. Rodney sighed and gazed down at his own hands where they rested on the table.

 

"Some died as a result of the privations of their captivity," John continued. "And the rest were fed to the Wraith."

 

"What?" Elizabeth gasped, and Rodney jerked his head up to look at John in shock.

 

"The Wraith?" Rodney repeated blankly. "But we didn't see any signs of the Wraith on Karkara."

 

"Nope. That's because the Karkarans struck a deal with the Wraith, a very long time ago," John told them. "They would provide a steady supply of food for the Wraith, by way of people they stole from other planets, and in return the Wraith would leave the Karkarans alone. There was a Wraith zone to the west of Shalla, close to the gate, where the Karkarans left their little offerings."

 

"How very organised of them," Rodney muttered bitterly. John nodded his head in Rodney's direction and made a little face.

 

"Yeah. Very organised. The Karkarans always make sure their Wraith fodder are plentiful and tethered close to the gate for whenever the Wraith want a little snack, so it's nice and easy for the Wraith – no need to go hunting, everything just laid right out in front of them like a feast. Karkara is on the way to one of the big Wraith feeding grounds – it's kind of like a wayfaring station between hyperdrive jumps - so this agreement worked out well for the Wraith."

 

"Kind of like stopping for fast food," Rodney said.

 

"Exactly," John nodded. "The agreement went further than that though. The Wraith were concerned that if they allowed the Karkaran population to grow unchecked that eventually the Karkarans might develop enough to make weapons that they could use against them. So a condition of this whole agreement was that…"

 

"The Karkarans weren't allowed any technology," Rodney finished for him. "Well that's all starting to make an ugly kind of sense. The Karkarans presumably agreed to this?"

 

"Oh yeah." John nodded. "They thought it was a pretty good deal actually. They got to exist without fear of the Wraith, and all they had to do was agree to live in the middle ages."

 

"My owner didn't seem to know anything about this deal," Carson ventured uncertainly.

 

"Most ordinary Karkarans don't. They don't see the Wraith – their government takes care of their deal with the Wraith, and it was struck such a long time ago that most of the people on Karkara have forgotten that the Wraith even exist," John shrugged.

 

"Although, really, knowing what a touchy feely kind of people they are, I can't somehow see them having any problem with this deal," Rodney said.

 

"Exactly. And when the Karkarans first made this deal they used to send bandits out through the gate just to get victims to feed the Wraith…but in time, they got so good at abducting people that they had far more than they needed…and that's when their thriving slave trade sprang up," John said, in a cold, hard voice. "The bandits mostly live offworld – they get paid well and there isn't any sanction against them using technology offworld – so that's how they were able to develop the device that got them past our gate's shield. In fact, they're such magpies that they probably stole it from some of their other victims."

 

"Did any of our people get fed to the Wraith?" Carson asked quietly. John's jaw tightened again.

 

"Yeah. A small tithe went to the Wraith from every slave shipment. I've got a list of those we think perished out there in the Wraith zone."

 

"What did you do, John?" Elizabeth asked. "I'm sure, knowing you, that you didn't leave the situation there."

 

"No." John inclined his head and his Karkaran braid whipped angrily against the side of his face. "With Commander Caldwell's help, we destroyed their gate…but not before we took ourselves a prisoner." There was a grim smile on his lips that Rodney found alarming. "We've brought back a wraith – and a completely intact Wraith dart. It's on the Daedalus – I'm going to arrange to have it transported straight into your lab, McKay." John nodded in Rodney's direction.

 

"A completely whole Wraith dart?" Rodney asked, excited. They'd had bits of a dart before, but never a whole, working ship and there was no end of information they could glean from it. He turned to Radek who was grinning back at him, just as excited.

 

"We need to study their propulsion systems and method of transportation first," Radek said.

 

"No, no, no!" Rodney snapped, getting to his feet, noticing that Radek had a pleased smile on his face at being treated to such a familiar irascible outburst. "We need to get our hands on their database first. That'll tell us everything about them. There might even be some medical data there that Beckett can use to understand their physiology better – that might give us some clue as to what can kill them…" Rodney and Radek left the room, still discussing the find in animated voices. It felt good, Rodney thought to himself, to be talking to Radek again and bouncing ideas off each other like in the old days. It was never going to be exactly the same as before but at least there were periods of time when he could relate to Radek as a trusted colleague and not the distraught man who'd cried beside him out by the well. Rodney had noticed that Radek was spending a lot of time with Katie Brown, and he was glad about that. While he didn't think there was anything romantic going on between them – for now at least – he was pleased that they had formed a friendship and were able to help each other.

 

At the back of his mind Rodney knew he was throwing himself into this new research partly to avoid dealing with the whole John issue, and he also knew that at some point they'd have to deal with it or it'd blow up in their faces like a grenade, but for now he pushed the problem away and concentrated on his work instead. He didn't see much of the colonel during their working lives because John seemed to spend most of his time with their wraith prisoner. Rodney still shared a bed with John, with Carson in the middle as Rodney's safety buffer, but John's angry, restless presence was like coarse cloth rubbing away at a raw wound as far as Rodney was concerned and he couldn't handle it. Rodney felt as if he'd been healing before John had returned, but then John came back and suddenly everything felt tight and tense again. Rodney couldn't even relax enough to make love to Carson when John wasn't there; he felt too uptight. He avoided the Colonel whenever possible, making excuses not to be in the same room as him and hastily returning to work whenever he found himself alone with John in their quarters when Carson wasn't there, even if it was the middle of the night.

 

This sensation came to a head a few nights after John returned, when Rodney dreamed he was back at the well. He was lying over that rough stone wall, and his thighs hurt from where the gritty surface was scraping them, and behind him someone was laying savage fingers on his ass, prising him apart…and, as he looked down into the water below, he saw a face gazing back up at him. He barely recognised the face – it was thin and pale and had unkempt, long hair and a straggly, untidy beard, but there was something about the eyes that Rodney thought he should find familiar. They were blue, and they were beseeching him, and as he watched the man's mouth opened and he started to talk. At first his voice sounded as if it was coming from underwater, but then the words became clearer.

 

"Why did you leave me here?" it whispered to him. "Why did you leave me behind? They hurt me every day…and you just left me here to suffer," the voice murmured sadly. Rodney could hear someone sobbing, and the sound of the loud, anguished tears grated on his nerves. "Shut up, Radek," he muttered in his sleep. "If you could just damn well SHUT UP, RADEK!" A feeling of such overwhelming despair and misery swept through Rodney that he screamed out loud - and woke to find himself sitting up in bed, panting for air, howling uncontrollably. That was when he realised that the person crying hadn't been Radek but himself.

 

"Rodney…it's okay, dautie. You're safe," Carson said, sitting up beside him and wrapping an arm around Rodney's shoulders. "Come on…wake up for me…" Rodney came to, shivering violently and realised his body was soaked in sweat. "All right, Rodney. Let's get you towelled down or you'll catch your death of cold," Carson said, helping him out of the bed. John got up and turned on the light and Rodney caught that familiar, savage expression in his eyes as Carson walked him into the other room and got him a towel. He was too upset to go back to bed and they all sat around the table, sipping tea, while Rodney tried to calm down.

 

"What was the nightmare about, Rodney?" Carson asked gently, resting his hand on Rodney's. "Do you want to tell us?"

 

"I was at the bottom of a well…or at least…it wasn't me now – it was the man I was back at the plantation," Rodney said, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes. "He wanted to know why I'd left him there. I was looking down at him…the way I used to look down at my reflection when…" He sighed and looked up, glancing from Carson to John. "The overseers used to rape me over the wall of the well," he said quietly. "All I could see while they were raping me was my own reflection gazing back at me from the water at the bottom of the well, watching me being raped. That's what I saw in my nightmare."

 

John got up, his fists clenching and unclenching in response to what Rodney had told him and Rodney sighed. How could he ever tell them about what had happened to him with any degree of honesty if it always set John off like this?

 

"You mentioned Radek," John said. "You were screaming at him to shut up."

 

"Yes." Rodney bit on his lip. "Radek was there when they raped me. He used to lie beside the well screaming his head off. I think it turned one of the overseers on."

 

"Fuck." John slammed his hand against the wall. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he screamed. Then he disappeared back to the bedroom, got dressed, and strode back out into the living room again, making for the door.

 

"Where are you going, John?" Carson asked.

 

"I need to go and interrogate my prisoner," John said, with a grim, mirthless smile. He slammed his hand against the door to leave, but it wouldn't open. "What the hell is wrong with the damn door?" John asked. "McKay?"

 

Rodney sighed and got up, gathering his bathrobe tightly around his body. "Maybe you jammed the door mechanism when you thumped it like that," he snapped at John. He examined the door but there didn't appear to be anything wrong with it. He touched it and it opened easily. John brushed past him and literally ran off down the hallway. Rodney turned back to Carson.

 

"So much for telling you what happened," he said wearily. "You know, I'm not sure all this psychobabble about getting things off your chest is such a good idea, Carson. I mean, it's all very well talking about it but what if it just makes things worse? And I bet there's nothing in the textbooks about handling someone who doesn't want to hear the truth, even if you want to tell it."

 

"Give him time, Rodney," Carson said gently. "You were very brave tonight, but John loves you and he can't bear hearing about how you were hurt, especially as he blames himself. I think his feelings just get out of control."

 

"So he goes running off to take it all out on his wraith punchbag," Rodney muttered. "You know, I never thought I'd actually ever feel sorry for a wraith."

 

"Aye." Carson shook his head sadly.

 

"I just woke up with the strangest sensation that I'd left a part of myself behind, back on that plantation," Rodney told Carson, sitting back down at the table with a weary sigh. "Have I lost myself, Carson? Am I still back out there? Will I always be back out there?"

 

"No, dautie," Carson said, putting an arm around him and drawing him close. "No. You've been doing so well. You're like the old Rodney. You've even put on a few pounds and you're starting to look and sound much like your old self. I don't think you can ever escape what happened to you, and you certainly can't forget…but you've been learning how to live with it and learning very well. I think the nightmare was just because you're feeling unsettled since…" He broke off with a wince.

 

"Since John returned. Yes. I know." Rodney nodded. "What are we going to do about him, Carson?" he asked despairingly.

 

"I don't know." Carson shook his head. "I really don't know."

 

They went back to bed, and Rodney laid a tired head on Carson's shoulder but he didn't dare sleep for the rest of the night in case the nightmare returned, so they just lay there, holding each other, until morning came.

 

~*~

 

 

Rodney was busy working on the wraith dart a few days later when he felt a strange sensation at the back of his mind. He brushed it away, but it remained there, nagging at him, until he took a step back from the dart and tried to figure out what the problem was. Something wasn't right. In fact…something was badly, urgently wrong. Rodney had a sudden image of Elizabeth, standing on the Eastern pier…and he dropped his tools and ran for the door, leaving a surprised Radek behind. He ran all the way to the Eastern pier and when he got there he found Elizabeth standing by the balustrade, gazing sightlessly at the water far below, swaying towards it as if she wanted to throw herself over the parapet and jump right in. Rodney came to a fast halt, not wanting to surprise her into doing something stupid. At the moment she didn't even seem to know he was there; she was just gazing at the water as if it was calling to her. Rodney took a step back and spoke quietly and urgently into his radio.

 

"Colonel Caldwell? This is Dr McKay. I need you to get a fix on the lifesign right at the end of the Eastern pier and prepare to beam her up on my command. This is urgent!"

 

"I hear you, Dr McKay. Anything I can help you with?" Caldwell asked.

 

"It's Elizabeth. Just be on standby for a quick pickup," Rodney said and then he severed the link and stepped out onto the pier.

 

"Elizabeth," he said in a soft, soothing voice. She took no notice of him, as if she hadn't heard him. "It's a nice day for a walk," he told her, taking a careful step forward.

 

"The water looks good," she told him dreamily. "I was thinking of going for a swim."

 

"That's a good idea," he agreed, taking another cautious step forward. "Why don't we go together? I could get the puddle jumper…we could go to a beach. We wouldn't want to swim in the water here because it's too deep and cold."

 

Her face swivelled around sharply and he saw the bitter pain in her eyes as they flashed at him and now he knew Carson and John had been feeling for all these weeks – so useless and at sea, not knowing how best to help.

 

"Don't come any nearer, Rodney," she told him, and her voice cracked as she spoke.

 

"I won't." He stopped where he was and held up his hands. He knew it was very important that people listened to you, and that they did what you said, and that they didn't touch you unless you knew they were going to and you allowed them. When you'd lost control of what happened to your own body and then regained it again, small things like that made a big difference.

 

"I want to do this, Rodney," she told him calmly. "I've been thinking about it for awhile. It makes sense. It'll be quick and then it'll all be over. I'm not really much to use to anyone like this so it'd be easier if I just left."

 

"You were of use to me the other day," Rodney told her carefully. "When I'd been crying. You were very kind to me. Do you remember what you said? You said we all have bad days. This is one of your bad days, Elizabeth, but it'll pass. Tomorrow could be a good day but if you do this then you'll never find out. Don't do this, Elizabeth."

 

"I really want to, Rodney," she told him, her face crumpling. Her hands were gripping the balustrade railing so tightly that her knuckles were white.

 

"I know and I understand. You know I really do understand don't you?" he said, taking another step towards her, so close that they were almost touching. She gazed at him again, something about his tone of voice connecting with her, and the dreamy look faded a little as she focussed on his eyes.

 

"Yes. I do know that, Rodney. Poor Rodney." He took another step towards her, and put one of his hands over one of hers. "What did they do to us, Rodney?" she asked him, in a tone of such hopeless despair that he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her and keep her safe. Was this how John felt, he wondered? That urge to protect made even worse by the terrible burden of guilt that John had taken on himself. No wonder he was stomping around like a rampaging bull right now.

 

"They hurt us, Elizabeth," he told her, acknowledging her pain because he knew she needed that, because he had needed it too. "But we're stronger than that. They didn't manage to break us, because we're here, now. We got away from them, and we survived, and that's made us strong. We are strong, Elizabeth, and we will get even stronger." He reached out an arm, very slowly so she could see it coming, and then wrapped it around her cold, frail shoulders. "Come on. Come inside with me," he urged her, wishing she'd release her tight grip on the rail. "We can talk about this."

 

"Are you sure?" she said, her teeth chattering in the cool breeze. "Are you sure it wouldn't be better if…" She gazed longingly over the rail at the dark water below.

 

"No. I'm sure. Trust me," he told her, holding her in his arms now, trying to warm her. Her fingers opened, one by one, and she loosened her grip on the rail and allowed him to lead her back into the city. Much to his surprise, Rodney found Colonel Caldwell waiting for them just inside.

 

"Well done, Dr McKay. You did a good job out there. I can take this from here," Caldwell said, reaching out a hand towards Elizabeth. She took the hand blindly, as if still lost in a dream.

 

"I don't think that's wise," Rodney hissed. "I think she needs to see Doctor Heightmeyer or Doctor Beckett."

 

"And I said that I'll take care of it," Caldwell told him, in a deceptively mild tone so as not to spook Elizabeth, but Rodney saw the determined look in the other man's eyes and had to admit defeat.

 

"All right, but take good care of her," he said as he gently passed Elizabeth over to the Colonel.

 

That little exchange bothered him all afternoon, so a few hours later he took a break from his work on the wraith dart and went to the Daedalus which was parked on the Western pier.

 

"How's Elizabeth?" he demanded as soon as he'd been shown into Caldwell's private cabin.

 

"She's fine. She's back in her room. Doctor Beckett gave her something to help her sleep," Caldwell told him. "I was watching you out there, Dr McKay – you did an excellent job. Thank you for helping her."

 

"She's my friend. Of course I helped her," Rodney bristled. "Look, I don't know what game you're playing here, Colonel. She's been through a lot but she'll get better. Don't mistake what you saw today for weakness. She's always been here for us and she always will be – the last thing she needs is to be replaced as our leader."

 

"I agree," Caldwell told him easily. "Your concern for her does you credit, Dr McKay but you're misunderstanding me."

 

"Am I?" Rodney narrowed his eyes and gazed at the other man searchingly.

 

"Yes," Caldwell told him firmly but calmly. "When I got your message earlier I gave instructions to my crew about the transport and then beamed straight down myself, because this was Elizabeth you were talking about and I wanted to make sure she was safe."

 

"Oh." Rodney rocked back on his heels and surveyed the other man thoughtfully, realisation flooding in. "I see," he said at last. "Or…at least I think I do. I thought you and she didn't get along? You were always sniping at each other."

 

"The way you and Colonel Sheppard are always sniping at each other?" Caldwell shot back. Rodney flushed. "Yes, Elizabeth and I have had our differences but she's a fine woman and I admire and respect her greatly."

 

"Okay," Rodney said uncertainly. "But look, she's in a vulnerable place right now. She's hardly ready to…" he waved his hand around, unsure how to finish that sentence.

 

"It's okay, Dr McKay. I know that. I won't take advantage of her," Caldwell told him, and his eyes flashed in annoyance, as if insulted Rodney would even suggest such a thing. "I did read the reports," he added. "I know what happened to you all on Karkara."

 

"Well…there were a lot of things that weren't in those reports," Rodney told him grimly, because he knew the report he'd written was factual to the point of banality, and he'd only given the most basic summary of his time on Karkara.

 

"I know that too," Caldwell told him softly. Rodney's head jerked up and he found himself flushing again under the Colonel's strangely kind gaze. "I saw you when we first beamed you up, Dr McKay," Caldwell told him gently. "You know, when I was 18 years old I was part of a team that rescued some prisoners from a Viet Cong jail and I'll never forget them - they had the same look in their eyes that you've got and that Elizabeth has too. I have a pretty good idea what happened to you both, and you have my word that I will be a friend to Elizabeth, and nothing more, until such time as she wants or asks for anything else."

 

"Oh. Right. Good." Rodney ducked his head and gazed at his shoes, unsure how he felt about his eyes giving away his most painful secret to this stern, imposing man.

 

"I wouldn't dream of asking for Elizabeth to be removed from her post," the Colonel continued. "I've watched her and she inspires the utmost respect and loyalty from those in her command – and that, to me, is the sign of an outstanding leader. You don't need to worry about her, Dr McKay. You'd do better to worry about someone closer to home."

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rodney flared, glancing up again to meet the other man's steady, brown-eyed gaze.

 

"I mean that I know about the unusual living arrangement you have with Colonel Sheppard and he's the one on the edge right now. You'd do better to turn your attention to dealing with him. I've just spent several days with the man and he's a danger to himself and to others."

 

"That's not fair! He protected us all on Karkara and saved dozens of lives!" Rodney protested.

 

"I'm sure he did, but right now he's out of control, and quite frankly I question his judgement at the moment. If you don't take care of it, then I promise you that I can and will relieve him of his command," Caldwell rapped out. Rodney stared at him, aghast. He knew that being relieved of his command would kill John, but at the same time Rodney couldn't deny the little voice of reason in his own brain which agreed with Caldwell's decision. John was dangerous – they were all feeling it right now.

 

"I'll do my best," he said, in a resigned voice. "Although frankly I think you over-estimate my abilities in this area."

 

"I just saw you talk Elizabeth down from that pier so I've got tremendous respect for your abilities right now," Caldwell told him with a smile. That compliment warmed Rodney a little and he left the cabin to return to his lab, wondering how the hell he was going to tackle John.

 

He'd only been back at his lab for a few minutes when he got a call from John.

 

"McKay – what's wrong with the damn lights down here?"

 

"It's the first I've heard of it – what's the problem?" Rodney asked.

 

"I'm trying to interrogate the prisoner and the lights keep flickering on and off."

 

"Haven't you interrogated him enough?" Rodney snapped.

 

"Just get the hell down here and fix it!" John growled, cutting the link. Rodney sighed, and grabbed his tool kit and went down to the room where John was keeping the prisoner. He pushed open the door and stood there, blinking in surprise. The walls of the room were pulsing, not with the usual warm shade of Atlantean red, but with stripes of ugly, dark, charcoal black, and the lighting was dim and flickering, as John had said.

 

John was standing to one side, his knuckles bruised, his hair still tied in that tight Karkaran braid. The prisoner was sitting in the pen where they kept all their Wraith prisoners. He looked pretty much like any other Wraith – white face, long white hair, bad teeth, stylish leather coat.

 

"They must spend a fortune on tailors," Rodney remarked to nobody in particular. "Although clearly they spend nothing at all on dental hygiene."

 

John gazed at him blankly.

 

"Just making conversation." Rodney pulled a face. The prisoner was being guarded by several marines with guns – John clearly wasn't taking any chances. "So, what's this one's name?" Rodney asked as he went over to the lighting control panel.

 

"What?" John snapped.

 

"You always give all your pet wraiths a name. Steve, Bob…" Rodney shrugged. "What's this one called?"

 

"He doesn't have a name," John replied tersely. "Can you fix the damn lights or not?"

 

Rodney put his instruments down. "Don't talk to me like that, Colonel. I'm not your prisoner," he said, glancing over at the wraith. The creature gave him a cool, utterly evil smile and licked his lips as if in anticipation of a meal. Rodney shivered. "Are you sure that pen is safe?" he muttered.

 

"It's fine. Now, Dr McKay, could you please fix the lights," John said, through gritted teeth, the effort to be polite clearly killing him.

 

Rodney thought about it for a moment and an idea suddenly occurred to him. "I think I know why the Karkarans left Atlantis," he said suddenly, as it all clicked into place.

 

"What? Why?" John asked eagerly, coming close.

 

"It's the city. The city drove them out," Rodney said, thinking on his feet, his brain racing several steps ahead.

 

"The city isn't sentient. It can't drive people out," John said dismissively.

 

"No, it isn't sentient – but it does have all kinds of powers that we haven't figured out yet. It can detect airborn viruses and lock people out of rooms, and it responds to certain people with the ancient gene and not to others. There's every evidence that Atlantis is more than just a collection of buildings – albeit a rather beautiful collection of buildings," Rodney mused.

 

"McKay!" John snapped, bringing him back to his argument.

 

"What? Oh yes…I've been having these strange experiences ever since I got back," Rodney told him, speaking very fast. "I felt like the city was holding me, taking care of me somehow, and that's what helped me in the beginning. Then I had this mental flash of Carson when he was in trouble, and today I saw Elizabeth when she needed help…and I'm pretty sure she had a similar mental flash about me a little while back, when I was in a bad way and she called me to her office. I think the city is telling us things. It's like…it's like it's trying to heal us. I bet if you ask the others some of them will tell you the same thing. It isn't much, just little flashes…"

 

"The city isn't telepathic," John said, shaking his head.

 

"Maybe not. Maybe not as we would understand the word at least…but she is in tune with us," Rodney said slowly. "And I think…I think she likes us."

 

"Even if this was true – what the hell does it have to do with the Karkarans leaving?" John demanded.

 

"Well, that's just it. I don't think Atlantis liked the Karkarans. In fact, I'm pretty sure she hated them. So she stopped responding to them. Lights went out, doors closed…they must have been pretty angry – we all know the Karkarans don't like not getting their own way – that's why they trashed the place. They couldn't make the city work so they trashed it!" Rodney clicked his fingers excitedly. "Then eventually they gave up. They stole what they wanted to sell, and they upped and left."

 

"I don't know," John said uncertainly.

 

"It's the only thing that makes any sense!" Rodney exclaimed. "And no, I don't think it's a telepathic thing – it's more of a mechanical thing, just mechanics that we don't fully understand yet. The Ancients knew they were leaving Atlantis, for god knows how long, and they didn't want it falling into enemy hands. They designed this as a defence mechanism – probably initially against the Wraith, but also against any other hostile invader. The city already had the protection of needing someone with the Ancient gene to operate it properly, and the Karkarans clearly didn't possess that, but the place still worked, in a rudimentary way, even without that, so they were able to live here. In time though, Atlantis figured out that she really didn't like these people very much, so she just stopped working for them altogether."

 

"It's possible," John said slowly. "But if that's the case why is she still on the blink now that we've returned?" He gestured to the dimly lit room.

 

"Ah well, that's easy." Rodney snapped his tool case shut and turned to John. "Right now, Atlantis doesn't like you very much either, Colonel."

 

"What?" John growled.

 

"I know – it's hard to believe isn't it? This city always worshipped you and opened up all her doors for you wherever you walked, practically serenaded you with music wherever you went, but right now, she thinks you really suck," Rodney told him with a grim smile.

 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" John demanded.

 

"It means that if you don't deal with that little anger problem of yours, then this city is going to stop working for you. No lights, no opening doors, no trips in the puddle jumper…she's going to drive you out, John," Rodney told him insistently. "The city must have powerful emotional receptor sensors somewhere – she knows who she likes and who she doesn't, and even despite the fact that this is a wraith…" Rodney nodded his head at the creature in the cage. "I don't think she approves of how you're treating him."

 

"I'm interrogating him!" John growled. "It's necessary!"

 

"Is it? Then why didn't you give him a name, like all the other Wraith you've held captive here?" Rodney demanded. "I'll tell you why – because you're not really interested in learning anything from this one. You just want to keep him here so you can beat up on him whenever your emotions get the better of you. You want revenge, John. You want to hurt the people who hurt you and the people you love - but you can't because they aren't here right now, so you'll settle for whoever you *can* get your hands on and this Wraith will do because he was one of those who fed off our people on Karkara, and because god knows the Wraith are evil, life-sucking bastards and you don't have to feel bad about venting all your anger and misery on them."

 

John was standing there, looking as if he'd just been slapped across the face, his eyebrows drawn into an ugly frown over his forehead, his scar standing out livid in his flesh.

 

"Do you know what? I think we should give this wraith a name," Rodney said, going over to the cage. "I've got a good name for him – how about Dorian? Did you ever hear the legend of Dorian Grey, John? Dorian Grey kept a magical picture of himself in his attic, and Dorian didn't age but the picture did – the picture showed up every disgusting, evil thing that Dorian did. This Wraith is our picture in the attic. He's where you come to vent all your anger and pain. He's our little corner of Atlantis where we keep the thing that reminds us of our suffering back on Karkara and that's why this room is shot through with that angry black colour and that's why the lights aren't working properly and it'll only get worse unless you make it stop. It has to stop. You have to kill him, John. You can't keep him here and just torment him like this. It's destroying you."

 

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, McKay, but we're not killing him," John said. "We need him. There are still things I need to know."

 

"And has kicking him around this pen actually helped you learn anything useful?" Rodney enquired with a raised eyebrow. John clenched his fists. "No. I didn't think so. You don't want him to tell you anything – you just want to hurt him. And luckily for you, because of his remarkable ability to repair his body you can just keep coming back for more, over and over again. Well, it has to end, John. Right here. Right now."

 

Rodney didn't even know what he was doing as he stepped forward, pulled the gun out of John's thigh holster, and stepped towards the pen.

 

"Rodney? What the hell are you doing?" John shouted, but it was too late, Rodney was moving too fast. He disabled the force-field around the pen and jumped inside, gun raised, and then suddenly he realised what an incredibly stupid thing he'd just done because the wraith was running towards him, hand outstretched, reaching for his chest, and Rodney raised the gun, then fumbled with it, and managed to let off a couple of shots which didn't slow the wraith down at all if they even went near him, and now it was upon him, knocking the gun out of his hand with one swipe of his hand, fingertips reaching for Rodney's chest and then he was falling…

 

"Rodney! No! Let him go, you fucking bastard!" Rodney heard a blood-curdling shout and he saw John leap over him, grab the Wraith by the throat, and pull it bodily away from him.

 

"Get away from him! Get your fucking fingers off him!" John was screaming, as he took hold of the wraith and buried his fist in its face. "You don't fucking touch him! He's mine! He's mine, he's mine, he's mine…" He said it over and over again, as he threw punch after furious punch at the wraith - and despite its superior strength the creature stood no chance under the onslaught. John was possessed, manic, a whirlwind of frenzied fury, completely unreachable.

 

Rodney lay there, watching in horror as John completely destroyed the wraith, hitting it time and time again until it was lying dead in his grasp - and still John's fist didn't slow and he continued to punch it, his body heaving as he sobbed his mantra over and over again. Finally he came to a halt and slid slowly sideways, wraith blood splattered all over his fists. Only then did Rodney feel it was safe to go near him.

 

"It's all right," he said softly, crouching down beside him and putting out a tentative hand to touch him. John gave a choking sob and buried his face in his hands. He looked so completely desolate that Rodney reached out and put his arms around him, stroking him gently, as if he was a child. "I think he got the message that I'm, you know, yours," Rodney said, managing to coax a ghost of a grin from John.

 

"He tried to kill you," John muttered, as if that explained everything.

 

"Yes I know, but you were able to protect me," Rodney said, because he sensed this was extremely important to the other man. "You saved me, John, and I'm safe. He didn't hurt me." He rocked John against his body, trying to calm him. "I'm fine. He didn't hurt me. You protected me," he said, over and over again. After a long time, the other man's tremours subsided, and it was only then that Rodney looked up to see the shocked faces of the marines in the room. "It's okay," he told them. "I'm going to take Colonel Sheppard back to his quarters. You guys should clean up the room and get rid of the body."

 

He helped John to his feet, put his arm around him, and helped him walk along the hallway back to their quarters. He sat him down at the table and went to get some water to wash the wraith blood from him and bathe his cut and bleeding knuckles.

 

"I won't be any use at this," Rodney warned as he brought the water over. "We should probably call Carson. I'm a really crap nurse."

 

"You're a really crap shot as well," John said, and he sounded like the old John, who used to tease him all the time and that made Rodney smile. "Honestly, what is it with you and guns?" John said tiredly. "How many times do I have to show you how to tell one end of a gun from the other?"

 

"Poor John," Rodney grinned. "Assigned to look after a whole city full of geeks."

 

"Yeah, but you're my geeks," John said affectionately. "And I've become used to all the reams of technobabble and scientific weirdness that goes on around here. I like my geeks."

 

"Clearly – enough to take two of them to bed," Rodney replied, wiping some of the blood off John's hand. John gave a little smile.

 

"Yeah," he replied. "Just can't get enough of all the boffin talk, even in the bedroom. Seriously though, Rodney – what the hell possessed you to walk into that pen? I mean, you know what the Wraith can do and you know how quickly they can do it."

 

"I know," Rodney sighed. "I guess I wasn't really thinking straight. I just wanted you to see – to make you understand what was happening."

 

"I understood," John said quietly. "So, the city hates me huh?"

 

"Well…I'm sure she's capricious enough to easily change her mind if you're nice to her," Rodney reassured him.

 

"And you?" John caught his hand in his where he was trying to wash his knuckles. "Do you hate me, Rodney?"

 

"No! Why would you even think that?" Rodney demanded.

 

"You don't want me to touch you, you won't let me make love to you, you avoid me, you won't talk to me, you flinch when I come near you, you won't even sleep next to me…" John listed his reasons and Rodney had to admit he had a point.

 

"I've been scared of you," he explained and then almost wished he hadn't said that when he saw the devastated look on the other man's face. "You've been so angry…and I couldn't handle that after Karkara. There were too many people who were angry with me back there. Always shouting at me and hitting me and hurting me. I just wanted some peace and quiet."

 

"I'm sorry. I never meant to scare you," John said softly and Rodney knew that he meant it. "I just didn't know how to be close to you. You stopped joking around with me."

 

"You started calling me 'McKay' the whole time, even when we were alone," Rodney pointed out. "I never knew what kind of a mood you were in. It's hard to joke with someone when you don't know where you stand with them."

 

"Rodney…I just need you to know…" John held his hand tight and gazed at him with those big hazel eyes of his, sincerity radiating from every muscle in his body. "I am so sorry. I know I let you down – I let everyone down but you most of all. I should have planned for something like what happened. I should have been able to defend you all better. You're not soldiers – protecting you was my job and I screwed up, big time."

 

"No, you didn't, John," Rodney sighed. "You couldn't possibly have foreseen this. You've been a brilliant military commander of Atlantis and you've done a superb job. You've saved my life on more occasions than I count, not least about half an hour ago. I'm not the one who doesn't forgive you – you are."

 

John sighed and leaned back in his chair, nodding thoughtfully. "Well, I guess I can give that a try," he said.

 

"Good." Rodney nodded firmly. "As for the sex thing…John, you have to stop the rough sex games with Carson. It's not really his thing. Oh he didn't say anything – I saw the two of you before you went back to Karkara."

 

"Did I hurt him? I didn't mean to," John said, an agonised expression on his face. "It's just that with you…"

 

"I know, but then I like it when we do the whole rough sex thing," Rodney told him quickly. "Carson really doesn't."

 

"Oh god." John buried his face in his hands. "I guess I don't even need the Karkarans to screw up my geeks when I'm doing such a good job of it myself," he muttered.

 

"You didn't screw us up," Rodney chided. "We were all just freaked out and not acting like ourselves. As for the sex – I'll have rough sex with you any time you like – in fact I'll have any kind of sex with you any time you like - but I won't have angry sex, John, so if you're still angry then forget it."

 

"I'm feeling better from talking to you," John said quietly. "It's not easy hearing some of what you have to say and I can't promise I'm not still…a tiny bit wound up inside…" he inclined his head to Rodney with one of his ironic grins, "but I guess I'm feeling a bit more in control of myself."

 

"Good…because we could, you know, clear the table and get down and dirty…if you're in the mood?" Rodney offered with a grin. He wasn't sure whether this was a good idea or not, but John was looking as sexy as hell right now, with his long hair looking adorably awry where some of it had escaped from the braid in his scuffle with the wraith, and with his black shirt torn open at the neck to reveal an attractive portion of chest. Also, he felt they needed to somehow cement this emotional catharsis and find a way back to themselves, while exorcising some old demons along the way.

 

"Ah, I bet you say that to all the guys who save you from certain death," John teased.

 

"Yeah. I'm easy – what can I say?" Rodney grinned. He got up and perched on the table in front of John, put his hands on either side of his lover's face and pulled him close, then leaned forward and kissed him hard on the lips. John came eagerly, willingly, his hands reaching for Rodney's hips. Rodney twined his hand roughly in John's hair as he kissed him, releasing the rest of the braid so that the long hair hung free around the colonel's shoulders. John tried to push him back, but Rodney held him tightly by the hair, keeping him in place, and the colonel moaned and came back at him, fiercely, like a starving man needing sustenance, sucking down hard on Rodney's lips. It had been so long since they'd kissed like this, and they were both famished for more, and couldn't get enough of each other.

 

Then paused only for air, then went back in for another hungry kiss. John moaned and bucked against Rodney's body out of sheer sexual need, his hands sliding around Rodney's back, holding him tight. Rodney kept control of the kiss, going hard, keeping John captive with the hand he had wrapped in his hair. When finally he released the colonel, John was looking up at him with sex-glazed eyes. "You go get the lube," Rodney said. "I'll clear the table."

 

"Fuck the table," John said, in a low, husky growl, and he got up and cleared it with one sweep of his arm. The bowl of water and various half-empty coffee cups fell onto the floor with a clatter. "Clear enough for you?" John asked.

 

"Well, lacking a certain finesse but it got the job done," Rodney hummed happily, swiftly divesting himself of his shirt and turning his attention to unbuckling his belt with hasty fingers. John disappeared to get the lube and was back within 5 seconds to find Rodney just finishing with his belt.

 

"What's the holdup?" John demanded, and then he grabbed Rodney's pants and ripped them from him bodily, along with his boxers.

 

"Again with the finesse!" Rodney complained, but he wasn't complaining a second later when John got hold of him and threw him back onto the table. Rodney's cock was rock hard by this point, and he was excited by the expression of total sexual abandon in John's eyes. This wasn't angry sex – it was hot sex! John released his own hard cock from his pants and then pushed Rodney back down on the table, grabbed Rodney's arms, and thumped them down over Rodney's head, holding Rodney as his captive on the table. Rodney gazed up at him, seriously turned on. John lowered his head down to his captive's lips and kissed Rodney hungrily and Rodney pushed up against him with his face, unable to move his arms, needing to taste his lover. He could feel John's hard cock pressing against his ass and genitals and he wanted him inside him. He wrapped his legs around John's body and pulled him closer, and John kept Rodney in place with one hand, reached his other hand down between them and caught hold of Rodney's cock with a hard, powerful hand that made Rodney cry out loud in pure ecstasy. John grinned, an evil, dirty grin, and kissed him again with such force that it sent Rodney's cock into a paroxysm of need. John continued to slide his rough hand up and down the sensitive shaft until Rodney was screaming with need and then John removed his hand, slicked his fingers with some lube, and slid one deep into Rodney's body before going in for another sexy kiss. Rodney moaned, feeling John's hard fingers inside his body, and smelling the scent of John's arousal.

 

"Get in me now!" Rodney panted. John raised an eyebrow.

 

"When I'm ready," he said maddeningly.

 

"Oh god – what is it with you and Carson and the making me beg for it thing?" Rodney moaned, seriously frustrated.

 

"We just like those little mewling sounds you make when you can't hold on any more. No fun if we can't tease you just a bit until you make 'em," John grinned, a lecherous, utterly evil smile, and his fingers picked up pace in Rodney's body making Rodney whimper with need. "Yup…that's the sound," John said, removing his fingers and replacing them immediately with his hard cock. He took hold of Rodney's hips and slid in hard, right up to the hilt, and Rodney cried out and bucked up against him, his legs wrapped around John's back. "Feel's good, huh?" John said, pausing and gazing down at Rodney.

 

"Oh for god's sake, what do you want – a round of applause? Just thrust," Rodney commanded.

 

"Oh yeah…very good…" John gave another evil smile and slid out slowly and then back in again just as slowly. "Mewl for me, Rodney." He ran his hands over Rodney's body and snagged a nipple hard between his fingers. Rodney cried out and twisted upwards and John moved his face down and replaced his fingers with his mouth, sucking down viciously on Rodney's nipples, his mouth roving from one to the other. God but Rodney had forgotten how good this kind of sex could be! He met John's roughness with his own, giving as good as he got, sliding his hands under John's shirt and scraping his fingernails down John's back. John laughed at him, and went back for another deep kiss, and then he started moving inside Rodney, pounding into him. Rodney had been afraid that John might go too easy on him and the last thing he wanted was to feel like he was some fragile piece of china that the other man was afraid of breaking, but there was no question of that happening, and John picked up the pace, thrusting powerfully into Rodney's waiting, willing, utterly receptive body. Rodney loved the heat of it, and the raw sensation, and most of all he loved that this was John doing this to him; John grinning that wild, sexual grin above him, John alternately kissing and tormenting him with his fingers, tongue and teeth, John who he loved and who loved him in return…and John was hitting his prostate with every deep, unerring thrust and Rodney lost the capacity for coherent thought. Next thing he knew there was a bright light and a sensation of the most intense pleasure…and then John was lying on his body, his head resting on Rodney's chest, his softening cock still inside him, and there seemed to be a significant amount of come on Rodney's stomach so he knew that his orgasm had been very, very good and his entire body felt utterly and completely well fucked.

 

"Okay?" John said, moving his face and capturing Rodney's mouth in a kiss – and this kiss was soft, gentle and utterly loving, now that the sexual urgency was over.

 

"Mmmm," Rodney murmured.

 

"God I missed that," John sighed. "You always come back at me and throw me everything you've got and it's such a turn on."

 

It was, Rodney thought vaguely, a bit like the sexual equivalent of their verbal sparring. The back and forth, the snark, the amused eye contact, and the daring each other on. He sighed and ran his hands tenderly over John's back. "Me too," he murmured. "Nobody knows how to do a good down and dirty fuck like you."

 

They lay there for a moment and then Rodney felt like he was getting a crick in his leg and he pushed John away and they both stood up and surveyed the mess in the room. There was coffee all over the floor, one of the cups that had been on the table was smashed into smithereens, Rodney's torn clothes were liberally scattered just about everywhere, and there was an upturned bowl full of water leaking towards the bedroom.

 

"Carson is so gonna kill us," John muttered with a hangdog look in Rodney's direction.

 

"Well, he'll kill you because you got into a fight," Rodney said, glancing at John's torn knuckles. "And after he's killed you he'll probably just take pity on me so I'll be fine," he grinned, looking kind of smug.

 

"Well, I'll just tell him that you started the fight and then he'll kill you and fuss over me and bandage my hand," John replied, pulling one of his faces at Rodney.

 

"Well, I'll…"

 

"Who am I supposed to be killing?" Carson stood in the doorway and surveyed the scene in front of him, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

"Him," Rodney and John both said in unison, pointing at each other.

 

"Well I would, but the two of you are both looking so happy that I can't bring myself to kill either one of you," Carson said. "Although you might like to put some clothes on, Rodney, and I take it you have another injury for me to treat, John?"

 

John waved his bruised and cut hand in the air apologetically and Carson sighed. "What on earth is with you two and these endless hand injuries?" he muttered to himself, but he was grinning all the same. Rodney disappeared into the bedroom to get dressed and then returned to the living room to find Carson bandaging John's hand. Rodney went to sit down and Carson shot him a severe look.

 

"You – clean up," he ordered.

 

"But…" Rodney began.

 

"It's your mess," Carson told him sternly. Rodney sighed and did as he was told. Clearly the kid-glove treatment he'd been receiving from Carson was now well and truly over, and in all honesty, he was kind of pleased about that. This felt much more like old times.

 

"Hey, Rodney – bring some scissors over," John asked. "When Carson's done with my hand then maybe he can cut my hair?" He glanced at Carson with a raised eyebrow. Carson gave another of those utterly blissful little grins.

 

"I'd love to," he said.

 

"I'll be sorry to see it go," Rodney said, bringing the scissors over to the table and pausing to run his hand through the long, dark hair in question. "It was kind of nice to be able to grab it and hold you in place."

 

"Well you'll still be able to grab it, only this time it will be shorter," John told him patiently. "That way you won't have an unfair advantage over me next time I'm trying to nail you to the table."

 

Rodney grinned and cuffed John's head affectionately and then returned to his chores. When he'd finished clearing up, he sat and watched while Carson cut John's hair and then, in honour of what Rodney called John's return to the civilised part of the Pegasus galaxy, Carson decided that a group meal was required and sent Rodney off to scrounge some wine from somewhere and John off to the mess hall to get some food for them to cook.

 

It felt like old times as they sat around the table, eating and talking. Rodney wasn't naïve enough to think that all their problems were solved, or to imagine that his own issues had gone away, but he did think that the worst of it was over and the healing had well and truly begun. They told Carson about what had happened with the Wraith, and Rodney's theory about the city turning on John.

 

"I had no idea you were so possessive," Rodney said, as he recounted how John had killed the creature single-handedly while all the time screaming that Rodney was his.

 

"I am." John shrugged. "Always have been."

 

"But you've always been the fun, laid-back guy," Rodney said, bemused. "To be honest, I thought this…us...the three of us, was just something you were doing to pass the time out here. I didn't think you were actually…I don't know…really emotionally involved."

 

"Well, you're wrong." John shook his head. "I'll admit…" he paused and then continued "Okay…I don't like people knowing what I'm feeling so I hide it. I was always pretty damn good at hiding it too until we were shipped off to Karkara – and suddenly I didn't seem to have any control over my emotions any more. When I saw you in that slave cage, Rodney, it was all I could do not to rip that slaver's head off and carry you away. You have no idea how excruciating it was to actually have to count out money to buy you."

 

"I noticed you didn't haggle," Rodney murmured.

 

"Half a zenari - you were a bargain! They had no idea how much I'd have paid to get you back," John replied. "Then I had to show you to Carson so he could see which medicine to give you which meant I couldn't get you covered up immediately and everyone could see you and that made me really angry."

 

"I thought he was just checking out his wares," Rodney said. "And I was worried because he seemed distinctly unimpressed.

 

"Just really upset to see the condition you were in," Carson said softly. "I was so afraid we wouldn't even get you home. When you ran forward and tried to grab me I was worried I'd have to hit you if there'd been any witnesses. I'm just glad there weren't because I honestly don't think I could have done that." Carson put a gentle hand over Rodney's where it was lying on the table.

 

"And you were shaking on the horse on the ride back," John recalled. "I just wished we could have gone faster and I wished I could have told you who we were, but you were so out of it that I knew it would only confuse you and god knows what your reaction would have been. I couldn't risk saying anything while we were still out in a public place. We'd had a problem with that before, when we were rescuing Dr Biro, so after that I was really careful."

 

"Well you got me, and we're back here, and it's fine," Rodney said, gazing at them happily. "Look, seeing as we're all being honest with each other, I'd like to hear more about those missing months when we were apart, if you can bear to tell me, either of you?" He glanced from one to the other of them. "And when you're done…there's some stuff of my own I'd like to share. Would that be okay, John?" he asked the other man. "I don't want to upset you…I just feel there are things I want you both to know."

 

"That would be fine, Rodney," John replied. "I might not find it easy, but I can handle it."

 

They talked long into the night, sharing experiences and admitting to emotions that they'd never dared express to each other before. Rodney wasn't sure why they had always been so afraid of saying out loud the simple truth that they loved each other, but somehow, after Karkara, it was a much easier thing to say. Rodney finally told them the full details about what had happened to him on Karkara, starting with the kitchens and then moving onto the plantation, and Carson sat there quietly, holding his hand throughout, while John rested a hand on the back of his neck and stroked his hair softly, although Rodney could feel that sometimes John's hand was shaking. He shared it all, because he needed to. He told them about the rapes, about how often they had happened and how helpless he had felt at being unable to stop them. He told them about stealing food for Radek and about having his fingers broken, and he even shared with them his darkest moment, when he was hanging from the tree being whipped, and overhead the two moons shone down on him and how he thought he'd never see either of his lovers again and wished he'd told them how he much he loved them. Afterwards they all sat back and Carson poured them another glass of wine each and they gazed at each other, emotionally exhausted but yet somehow closer than they'd ever been. Rodney gently fondled Carson's wrist, tracing the number that was tattooed there.

 

"I've done some experiments to see if we could remove them. It'd take a few sessions and would still leave some faded remnants so it might not be worthwhile," Carson murmured.

 

"I don't mind it. I don't exactly want to be reminded of my time on Karkara but I can live with it. It's sort of…a badge of honour," Rodney mused, thinking how crazy that sounded when he remembered how much fuss he'd made when they first etched the number on his skin. "If you were going to do anything like this then I think John should be first in line to get that scar removed."

 

"The scar is fine," John said flatly.

 

"Yeah. Right," Rodney snorted. "It must impair your vision at least a bit, John," he added. "I know why you want to keep it and that's all very noble and so forth, but it's really not necessary."

 

"It's fine," John repeated.

 

"Seriously – you can't see as well out of that eye can you?" Rodney pressed.

 

"No, but I can live with it," John replied.

 

"Because I have to live with the scars on my back? That just makes no sense," Rodney said with a shake of his head. "My scars don't stop me doing anything – they're just there. You guys probably see them more than I do."

 

"I thought you liked the scar. I thought you said it made me looked depraved," John reminded him with a sly wink.

 

"You can look perfectly depraved with or without it," Rodney replied. "You certainly behave depraved at times and I really doubt the scar will change that," he finished with a lascivious smile.

 

"Will you at least consider letting me clean it up one day?" Carson asked.

 

"One day. Maybe," John agreed. "Now, I'd like to change the subject. As we've been talking about some stuff we've never talked about before, I think I should tell you that I'm kind of a jealous person. I can feel myself getting pissy if you stand too close to Colonel Caldwell, Rodney, and Carson – sometimes I've even been jealous of your patients when you're touching them."

 

Carson laughed and Rodney screwed up his face as if seriously considering the question. "Colonel Caldwell? Well, he IS a fine looking man," he mused, and then he grinned when he saw the scowl on John's face.

 

"And talking of Carson and the infirmary – can I just say as well that I get really horny when you wear that white coat and have the stethoscope hanging around your neck?" John admitted, looking a little shame-faced.

 

"Ah, a medical fantasy!" Rodney slapped his hand enthusiastically on the table, much to Carson's chagrin. "Well, you do look very sexy in your white coat, Carson," he grinned. "Mainly I just like it when you fuss over me," he sighed.

 

"That would explain why you sometimes make up wee complaints just so I'll check you over," Carson said.

 

"Ah, and I thought I'd fooled you into thinking that was just rampant hypochondria," Rodney laughed, "and not my insatiable desire to have you fussing over me."

 

"You're both hopeless," Carson said sternly, although Rodney could see by the way he was grinning that he was secretly flattered. "Now, speaking of fantasies…there's a big bed waiting for us in there." He nodded in the direction of the bedroom. "Unless you two wore yourselves out earlier?" he added.

 

"Oh, I think there's still some life in me," John grinned, "and we all know Rodney can get ramrod hard with just one touch."

 

"That's not true!" Rodney protested but John caught his mouth with his own and slipped his hand down to Rodney's pants and Rodney's cock immediately hardened under his fingers. "I rest my case," John said when he drew away. He laughingly pulled Rodney into his arms and they followed Carson into the bedroom.

 

They took their time undressing each other, pausing for a kiss or touch here or there. John divested Carson of his shirt, while Rodney undid John's belt, kissing his back as he worked. Then Carson removed Rodney's pants and John removed Carson's pants and Rodney wasn't entirely sure who removed John's pants but somehow, a little while later, they fell on the bed naked, and Carson got a couple of tubes of lube out and tossed them onto the bed. Rodney asked them if they could start off with one of his favourite positions and they laughingly agreed, and Rodney got onto his hands and knees. He had been wondering how he'd feel about being taken from behind after what happened at the well, but he wanted to try it all the same, and he told them his fears and they nodded, understanding, and agreed to take it slow.

 

Then John knelt behind him, and instead of sliding his lubed fingers into Rodney's ass, as Rodney had been expecting, he slipped his warm tongue there instead. Rodney sighed in pleasure and Carson took his head between his hands and kissed him, lazily and sensuously, while John worked behind him, his quick tongue arousing Rodney to dizzying heights of ecstasy.

 

Eventually John drew away, and stroked Rodney's scarred back with gentle, tender fingers, kissing his way along the scars, acknowledging them. Carson disappeared underneath him and lapped gently at his nipples, pausing every now and then to move his face up to meet Rodney's and kiss his lips, slowly and lovingly.

 

Only when Rodney was mewling like a kitten, utterly aroused by all the attention, did John slide his lubed fingers into Rodney's ass, lazily kissing his naked back as he worked until Rodney felt he was ready. Then Carson took up position in front of Rodney, feeding his thick, hard cock into Rodney's mouth. Rodney sucked down hard, loving the feel of that powerful, solid flesh sliding between his lips. Once they were in position, John took hold of Rodney's buttocks and slowly, infinitely slowly, slid his hard penis into Rodney's ass. Once he'd pushed all the way in, John reached down and took Rodney's cock in his hand and then they were all moving together in a graceful dance of sexual pleasure. Rodney sucked Carson rhythmically in time to John's long, deep strokes inside his anus, and it felt so good, just like it always used to feel – better, because this time it meant so much more.

 

John's hand slid back and forth along Rodney's cock and Carson's hard shaft filled his mouth for what felt like eternity, and he loved the myriad sensations he was experiencing; the warm skin of Carson's cock stretched tight over the powerful hardness, the sheer thrill of having John's long length sliding all the way into him and then all the way back out, over and over again. Then John was stroking his back and whispering something to him about how good his ass felt wrapped around his cock, and Carson was stroking his hair and calling him 'dautie' and then they were all coming, Carson in his mouth and John deep within his body and he was coming in John's hand and Rodney felt utterly and completely lost in their love.

 

They made love gently, slowly, sensuously for a very long time, just like the first time they'd made love, and in some ways Rodney thought it was a bit like a first time, because it had been so long and so many things had happened to them since they'd last made love together like this and also because now they had no secrets and they'd all been honest about their feelings for each other. While Rodney wasn't about to thank the Karkarans for that, he was grudgingly aware that the experience had ultimately brought him and his two lovers closer together.

 

When they were finally sated, a very long time later, they all sank down on the bed to sleep. Rodney reclaimed the centre position while John settled down behind him with his chest pressed against Rodney's back and Carson nestled in front of them both, his blue eyes gazing at Rodney lovingly. Rodney rested his hand on Carson's thigh and gazed back at him, enjoying the warmth and security of having John's hands wrapped around his waist, holding him tight. It had been a long journey, back from the well where he'd lost a part of himself, but now, here in his lovers' arms, he finally felt whole again.

 

 

 

The End