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dimity_blueSeason 2 epilogue for the episode "Trinity".
Title: Dealing With Doranda
Author: Arnie
Genre: gen, smarm
Rating: PG
Length: 3,392 words
It wasn't, John thought later, that he'd intended to ignore Rodney. Rather, that things had got busy, and, well, when he came to think of it, Rodney had been avoiding him. John had thought Rodney was just keeping his head down, letting what happened with Doranda blow over. Just getting on with his work and, for once, not making a fuss of things.
Later, when everything had been cleared up, John realised that he should have known better.
So far as he was aware, it started when two marines, Roberts and Masterson, came to see him to complain about their quarters. Roberts' quarters had a problem with the shower, while Masterson's had trouble with the lights.
John shrugged. "Contact Doctor McKay and put in a request to have them fixed." There wasn't a day went by when some system or other wasn't acting temperamentally. Fortunately, it was usually a minor blip that either McKay or 'one of that team of morons the SGC didn't want' (as McKay endearingly called them) could quickly fix.
He looked up from his paperwork when he realised that Roberts and Masterson were still standing there.
"Well?"
"We've uh..." Roberts paused, then hurried on, "already asked the geeks to fix them and nothing's been done."
John raised an eyebrow. "Try to avoid calling them geeks when you ask them then."
Roberts looked at Masterson, who looked back at him, then they saluted and left.
Frowning, John made a mental note to check that the new marines were aware that being polite to the 'geeks' was common sense. After all, you don't piss off the people who control your environment. At least, not unless you're stupid.
~'~
It wasn't until the next day that John realised his mental notepad had failed him. Roberts and Masterson were back again.
"Did you ask politely?"
"Yes, sir," they chorused.
Okay, next question. "Who did you ask?"
"Doctor Kavanagh, sir," Roberts answered.
John sighed. If there was one way to guarantee the work would be done later, rather than sooner, that was it. "I'll mention it to Doctor McKay."
"Thank you, sir!" again, they chorused, saluted and left. Every step in unison.
Shaking his head, John abandoned his mental notepad and went to find Rodney. Not surprisingly, he was in the lab. "Can I have a word?"
The surprise that had first appeared in Rodney's eyes disappeared as his face flushed, giving him a faintly guilty look.
Looking around, John realised the entire lab was watching and listening, so he tilted his head towards the doorway.
For a brief moment, it looked like Rodney would refuse, then he sighed, handed a piece of equipment to Radek and followed John out.
"I've just had Roberts and Masterson in my office -" John began, as the door slid shut.
"I don't believe -" Rodney bit off the word and folded his arms, then he flinched and unfolded his arms, letting them dangle by his sides. "So?"
"They're having problems with their quarters," John continued, wondering what was up with Rodney's arms.
He looked up as Rodney tucked his hands into his pockets. "What kind of problems?"
Even more confused, John explained. "Roberts has a problem with his shower." Well, 'problem' was an understatement. According to him, he turned it on, got warm water in three second bursts for approximately a minute, followed by ice cold water in a steady stream for a minute. Then the cycle repeated itself. "And the lights in Masterson's quarters are malfunctioning." They were turning themselves on and off randomly, except when he got into bed and tried to turn them off - then they went off, and five minutes later practically blinded him by flashing on and off at the brightest setting. If John didn't know better, he'd swear they were possessed.
The penny dropped, and he narrowed his eyes as he gazed at McKay. "What's going on?"
He got a shrug in return. "I'll have Radek look into it." Rodney turned to go back into the lab, but John grabbed his arm, then hurriedly let go as Rodney flinched again and pulled away.
"What's wrong with your arm?"
"Nothing." As the door remained stubbornly shut, Rodney sighed, then turned and looked at John. "Very funny, Colonel. Care to open the door so I can get back to work?"
"No, I think I'd rather look at your arm." John's gut was telling him he was on the right track - though he had no idea what he was trailing.
Rodney blinked at him, then tucked his hands back into his pockets. "My arm...?" The word trailed off, as if Rodney were the one who was confused. "There's nothing to see."
"Then you won't mind showing me." As Rodney stepped back, John grabbed his hand and pushed his sleeve up a few inches, then stared at the mottled bruising that started just an inch above his wrist. "What the hell?"
Pulling his arm free, Rodney tugged the sleeve down again, and glared at John. "Don't pretend like you care. Have you finished? I've got work to do."
"No, I haven't finished!" Since grabbing Rodney's arm was out of the question, John seized the front of his jacket instead, and headed off down the corridor, hauling Rodney along behind him and tuning out the expected protests and complaints until they reached the infirmary.
"I don't need to see Carson!"
"I think he needs to see you," John retorted.
"I do?" Carson got up as they came in. "Rodney, Colonel. What can I do for you?"
Pushing Rodney forward, John stood in the doorway. "Examine him."
Carson frowned at him over Rodney's shoulder. "And what exactly would I be looking for?"
"Nothing!" Rodney snapped. He took a step towards the door, then stopped when John raised his eyebrows, making it clear he would not be getting out of the way. His face flushed again, and he looked at John, an appeal in his eyes. "Just...leave it, okay? I dealt with it!"
More pennies dropped, and John really didn't like the clinking sound they made. "Are you saying Roberts and Masterson did that?"
"Did what?"
They both ignored Carson.
"It's been dealt with!" Rodney insisted.
"Like hell it has!" Grabbing the edge of Rodney's sleeve, John dragged him over to the private examination cubicle and shoved him at the bed. "Out there or in here - get your jacket off."
"Would anyone like to explain what's going on?" Carson asked, nevertheless following them over and drawing the curtains.
As Rodney folded his arms again, the determined set of his jaw showing that he was not going to flinch this time, John replied, "Rodney has some injuries to show you. And me."
"Rodney?"
Carson moved forward but Rodney backed off, his hip banging into the edge of the gurney. John was relieved to see that didn't seem to hurt. Angry as he was, his stomach was churning with his suspicions and the knowledge of what two well-trained marines - marines he'd trained - could do to a body.
"This is ridiculous!" Typically, Rodney's next defence was indignation. "I've been dragged away from my work - my important work, which, by the way, Colonel, involves fixing those systems that your men are complaining -"
John practically leapt forward, shoving his face into Rodney's. "If they've been beating you, McKay, they are not my men!"
"Beating -" Carson pushed John to one side. "Rodney, lad, get your jacket off, for all our sakes."
Rodney looked from Carson to John, then seemed to accept that he wasn't getting out of there without taking off his jacket. His gaze fell, and the flush on his face deepened, but he slowly began to undo the zipper.
John had to stop himself from pushing Rodney's hand away and just doing it himself. Like the slow picking off of a band aid, the zipper slid down, when John really would have preferred to just rip the damned thing off and get the pain over and done with. Finally, the jacket was open, and Rodney slid the sleeve off one arm, then the other.
"Oh, dear God." Carson stepped forward, taking Rodney's arms to turn them back and forth, showing more of the bruising as he turned them.
The mottled bruise that John had already seen part of was the worst, but there were plenty of other bruises to be seen. Including a complete set of fingerprints in Rodney's left bicep.
"Who the hell did this?"
"Are there any more?" John had to know the worst before he decided what to do.
Rodney shook his head, speech apparently having abandoned him now that the truth was supposedly out.
Carson glanced at him, then moved back in. "Arms up, Rodney."
Once the t-shirt was out of the way, John sighed. Only a couple of bruises dotted Rodney's torso, showing that Roberts and Masterson had confined their 'attentions' to Rodney's arms.
"I'll take some x-rays, just to be sure."
As Carson disappeared through the curtains, John stepped closer, dropping his voice. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He got an eye roll for that, Rodney's crooked mouth becoming more slanted as he firmly kept it shut.
"Why didn't you tell me?" John repeated, though he suspected he knew the answer.
There was a sigh, then Rodney muttered, "I didn't think you'd care."
John swallowed down the lump in his throat, part fury, part disappointment. Did Rodney really think their friendship was that badly damaged? "I care." He caught the surprise in the glance Rodney threw him, and forced down the twinge of guilt and shame. Doranda had been Rodney's fault, but afterwards? The silence between them? John knew he had to take his share of the blame for that. Ignoring it for now, he ploughed on, "Just...it was Roberts and Masterson, wasn't it?"
Rodney nodded, his gaze fixed on the floor.
"Did they say why?" John's eyes slid over the multiple bruises again as Rodney remained silent. There was no way that was a one off. Some of the bruises had faded a little, but they were all, so far as he could tell, still visible. None of them looked older than a week or so... John's gaze jerked up to stare in Rodney's face. "Doranda."
Typically, Rodney's face had closed down; there was no emotion leaking through.
John shut his eyes for a moment, wishing that he could shut out all the emotions that were threatening him. How the hell had he missed this situation brewing up? Just because he'd been pissed at Rodney - and John had been, he admitted that - it didn't mean it was 'okay' for anyone to bully him. For God's sake, they were supposed to be adults, professionals! And how many more marines had the idea that this kind of thing was acceptable?
Well, not here. Not while Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard was in charge.
Opening his eyes, John glared at Rodney. "Even if you honestly felt you couldn't come to me as a friend," John ignored his voice choking up as that thought cut deep, "you should have come to me as your team leader or as the military commander of Atlantis." It was his responsibility. And he'd failed. Grabbing Rodney's chin, John forced him to look at him. "You understand me? This ever happens again," and it better hadn't or John would rain down hellfire upon whoever did it, "you come to me."
Rodney shook his head, jerking his chin free. "I dealt wi-"
"You shouldn't have had to deal with it. I will deal with it."
Leaving Rodney to Carson's care, John stalked out. First, find Ronon. Then, teach those sons of bitches exactly how wrong they were.
~'~
Ronon listened as Sheppard ranted. Every now and then, he looked up from his dinner and nodded as well. He was surprised at the variety of curse words Sheppard knew, and made a note to ask McKay what some of them meant later.
Sheppard finished talking, and Ronon nodded again, then wiped his mouth and said, "I'll meet you there."
As Sheppard left, Ronon stuffed the last of his bread into his mouth, got up and made his way to the infirmary. Sheppard had decreed no permanent damage was to be done to the two men, but Ronon wanted to see how much damage had been done to their team-mate before he agreed to that one. McKay was no fighter; he was a scholar, and, though he knew it would surprise McKay to hear it, Ronon had a high respect for scholars.
It was, perhaps, not that surprising that McKay had sought neither help nor protection from Ronon. He knew he was new to the team, and McKay might not be aware that he could depend on all his team-mates. But he had not asked Sheppard for help either.
Ronon shook his head. He had Sheppard's word for it that being a member of the team meant having people to rely on, and Sheppard's fury at McKay's failure to depend on them bore that out. All Ronon could think was that McKay believed his recent mistakes meant that he had no back up; that he was as alone as Ronon had been while on the run from the Wraith. And that was something Ronon would not wish on anyone.
He could hear the doctor talking to McKay as he entered the medical area, but the scolding ceased as Ronon pulled back the curtain to stare at McKay.
Ronon ignored the indignant squawk, and the outraged, "This isn't a peepshow!" as McKay clutched a pillow to his naked chest. Instead, he catalogued the bruises that stood out vividly on McKay's pale arms. McKay huffed and sighed as Ronon walked around him and back, but kept silent, even when Ronon put his hands on the gurney either side of McKay's knees and leaned down to look him in the face.
"If you couldn't go to Sheppard, you should have come to me." He waited until McKay's surprised gaze met his, then gave him a nod and straightened. It was too late now, but perhaps McKay would remember it if the situation arose again.
As he headed towards the door, he heard the doctor's voice.
"There, yer daft bugger. And if you couldn't go to them, you should have come to me!"
~'~
John bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for Ronon to arrive. Masterson and Roberts were looking vaguely uneasy, as if suspecting that this wasn't going to be a demonstration of stick-fighting as much as a 'kick our asses for bullying McKay'.
Rodney had taken care of it his own way, but John knew that thick-skulled marines sometimes needed their lessons reinforcing.
The door opened and Ronon came in, Teyla on his heels and a pissed off look on her face.
With a grin, John thought of siccing Teyla on the pair if they didn't show some repentance soon. However, from the looks on their faces, they'd started to realise they weren't flavour of the week with McKay's team-mates.
Ronon grabbed two sticks and handed one to John, a quiet, "Sure about the no permanent damage?" reaching his ears.
John's grin widened. "If they recover too fast, we can let Teyla have them."
There was an amused grunt. "You'll have to bury them after."
"Roberts, Masterson." John beckoned them forward. As they stepped onto the mat, their fists clenching on the sticks they were holding, John raised his voice, glancing around at the assembled marines and civilians who'd decided to watch the 'exhibition'. "When we visit other worlds, we have to depend on our team-mates for protection." He stepped off to the side a little to give Ronon room to work, Roberts following him. "Just because some of us aren't soldiers, doesn't mean we can't expect our team-mates to defend us." He slapped his stick against Roberts', the noise ringing out loudly in the quiet gym. "No matter where we are."
From the way Roberts' face paled, he'd got the point.
John grinned again. "Give it your best shot, Sergeant."
Roberts' gaze flickered up and down, going from John's face to the stick in his hands. John waited. He heard the solid clack of Ronon and Masterson's sticks engaging just a few seconds before Roberts finally lunged.
Jerking back, John easily knocked the stick to one side, keeping a smile on his face as he did so. His opponents seemed to find it off-putting if John spent most of the fight smirking at them.
Roberts thrust forward again, and John repeated his move, this time following it up with a smack to Roberts' face to teach him that trying the same manoeuvre twice in a row was stupid.
As Roberts jerked back, one hand letting go of the stick and going up to his face, John took the opportunity to sweep his feet out from under him with his stick.
"Don't let yourself get distracted, Roberts. If I were a Wraith you'd be dead now."
The soldier scrambled to his feet, dull resentment in his eyes.
"Ready to try that again?" John asked. He heard a thud and glanced over at Masterson, then stared. Looking at Ronon, he added, "That was fast."
Ronon shrugged, staring down at Masterson's unconscious body. "I thought he'd get out of the way better."
"Oh, well. Maybe next time." John turned back to Roberts. "Ready to go?"
Masterson's sudden, and easy, defeat at Ronon's hands seemed to have taken the heart out of Roberts. Or maybe, John reflected, it was the sight of two of Masterson's teeth left on the mat after he'd been removed to the infirmary. In any case, Roberts was soon vanquished, though John was pretty sure he'd cracked one of his opponent's ribs. Either that or Roberts was faking it to escape. If he was, his fellow soldiers would soon find out.
In any case, John wouldn't be surprised to find an application to transfer back to Earth on his desk the next day. Maybe even two applications.
Assuming Masterson was coherent enough to make the request by then.
In a spirit of graciousness, John even accompanied Roberts to the infirmary, though really he was only going that way to see if Carson had finished with Rodney yet.
He had, though Carson seemed less than happy to exchange Rodney for Roberts, merely bidding him to take a seat and wait while he looked at Masterson.
~'~
Released from the infirmary, Rodney snuck a glance at John's face. He was looking remarkably pleased with himself.
"How are your arms?"
"Fine." Rodney took a breath, then tried to explain. "You didn't need to step in. I was dealing -"
"Dealing with it. I know." John's hand on his shoulder pulled Rodney to a stop. "I told you: you shouldn't have had to deal with it."
Rodney rolled his eyes. He'd already had that conversation with John, with Carson and with Ronon.
"And though you've heard the last of it from me," John continued, a smile on his face, "you still have to face Teyla."
"Uh...." Oh God. Rodney liked Teyla, he really did. But he also had a healthy respect for the fact that she could kick his ass. Much like his other two team-mates.
As if he'd picked up on that thought, John continued, "We're your team-mates, Rodney. You have a problem, you come to us. Now, come on. I think the mess hall's got that chocolate cake in again."
Giving in, Rodney allowed himself to be steered towards the mess hall. While it was kind of humiliating his team-mates thought he couldn't look after himself, it was also kind of nice that they were willing to look out for him. Kind of like a family would. Well, some families. Or so Rodney had heard.
"Listen, about Doranda -"
John cut him off. "It's over and done with. You screwed up, you realise that, we move on."
Nodding, Rodney gulped down the lump in his throat. Was it really that easy?
"Oh, and about the systems in Roberts and Masterson's quarters."
Rodney sighed. "I'll fix them."
"Yeah. Tomorrow will be fine."
John's hand pushed him into the mess hall, and Rodney could see his other team-mates waiting for him.
"Or maybe," John said from behind him, "the day after."
The End
13th August 2008
Title: Dealing With Doranda
Author: Arnie
Genre: gen, smarm
Rating: PG
Length: 3,392 words
It wasn't, John thought later, that he'd intended to ignore Rodney. Rather, that things had got busy, and, well, when he came to think of it, Rodney had been avoiding him. John had thought Rodney was just keeping his head down, letting what happened with Doranda blow over. Just getting on with his work and, for once, not making a fuss of things.
Later, when everything had been cleared up, John realised that he should have known better.
So far as he was aware, it started when two marines, Roberts and Masterson, came to see him to complain about their quarters. Roberts' quarters had a problem with the shower, while Masterson's had trouble with the lights.
John shrugged. "Contact Doctor McKay and put in a request to have them fixed." There wasn't a day went by when some system or other wasn't acting temperamentally. Fortunately, it was usually a minor blip that either McKay or 'one of that team of morons the SGC didn't want' (as McKay endearingly called them) could quickly fix.
He looked up from his paperwork when he realised that Roberts and Masterson were still standing there.
"Well?"
"We've uh..." Roberts paused, then hurried on, "already asked the geeks to fix them and nothing's been done."
John raised an eyebrow. "Try to avoid calling them geeks when you ask them then."
Roberts looked at Masterson, who looked back at him, then they saluted and left.
Frowning, John made a mental note to check that the new marines were aware that being polite to the 'geeks' was common sense. After all, you don't piss off the people who control your environment. At least, not unless you're stupid.
~'~
It wasn't until the next day that John realised his mental notepad had failed him. Roberts and Masterson were back again.
"Did you ask politely?"
"Yes, sir," they chorused.
Okay, next question. "Who did you ask?"
"Doctor Kavanagh, sir," Roberts answered.
John sighed. If there was one way to guarantee the work would be done later, rather than sooner, that was it. "I'll mention it to Doctor McKay."
"Thank you, sir!" again, they chorused, saluted and left. Every step in unison.
Shaking his head, John abandoned his mental notepad and went to find Rodney. Not surprisingly, he was in the lab. "Can I have a word?"
The surprise that had first appeared in Rodney's eyes disappeared as his face flushed, giving him a faintly guilty look.
Looking around, John realised the entire lab was watching and listening, so he tilted his head towards the doorway.
For a brief moment, it looked like Rodney would refuse, then he sighed, handed a piece of equipment to Radek and followed John out.
"I've just had Roberts and Masterson in my office -" John began, as the door slid shut.
"I don't believe -" Rodney bit off the word and folded his arms, then he flinched and unfolded his arms, letting them dangle by his sides. "So?"
"They're having problems with their quarters," John continued, wondering what was up with Rodney's arms.
He looked up as Rodney tucked his hands into his pockets. "What kind of problems?"
Even more confused, John explained. "Roberts has a problem with his shower." Well, 'problem' was an understatement. According to him, he turned it on, got warm water in three second bursts for approximately a minute, followed by ice cold water in a steady stream for a minute. Then the cycle repeated itself. "And the lights in Masterson's quarters are malfunctioning." They were turning themselves on and off randomly, except when he got into bed and tried to turn them off - then they went off, and five minutes later practically blinded him by flashing on and off at the brightest setting. If John didn't know better, he'd swear they were possessed.
The penny dropped, and he narrowed his eyes as he gazed at McKay. "What's going on?"
He got a shrug in return. "I'll have Radek look into it." Rodney turned to go back into the lab, but John grabbed his arm, then hurriedly let go as Rodney flinched again and pulled away.
"What's wrong with your arm?"
"Nothing." As the door remained stubbornly shut, Rodney sighed, then turned and looked at John. "Very funny, Colonel. Care to open the door so I can get back to work?"
"No, I think I'd rather look at your arm." John's gut was telling him he was on the right track - though he had no idea what he was trailing.
Rodney blinked at him, then tucked his hands back into his pockets. "My arm...?" The word trailed off, as if Rodney were the one who was confused. "There's nothing to see."
"Then you won't mind showing me." As Rodney stepped back, John grabbed his hand and pushed his sleeve up a few inches, then stared at the mottled bruising that started just an inch above his wrist. "What the hell?"
Pulling his arm free, Rodney tugged the sleeve down again, and glared at John. "Don't pretend like you care. Have you finished? I've got work to do."
"No, I haven't finished!" Since grabbing Rodney's arm was out of the question, John seized the front of his jacket instead, and headed off down the corridor, hauling Rodney along behind him and tuning out the expected protests and complaints until they reached the infirmary.
"I don't need to see Carson!"
"I think he needs to see you," John retorted.
"I do?" Carson got up as they came in. "Rodney, Colonel. What can I do for you?"
Pushing Rodney forward, John stood in the doorway. "Examine him."
Carson frowned at him over Rodney's shoulder. "And what exactly would I be looking for?"
"Nothing!" Rodney snapped. He took a step towards the door, then stopped when John raised his eyebrows, making it clear he would not be getting out of the way. His face flushed again, and he looked at John, an appeal in his eyes. "Just...leave it, okay? I dealt with it!"
More pennies dropped, and John really didn't like the clinking sound they made. "Are you saying Roberts and Masterson did that?"
"Did what?"
They both ignored Carson.
"It's been dealt with!" Rodney insisted.
"Like hell it has!" Grabbing the edge of Rodney's sleeve, John dragged him over to the private examination cubicle and shoved him at the bed. "Out there or in here - get your jacket off."
"Would anyone like to explain what's going on?" Carson asked, nevertheless following them over and drawing the curtains.
As Rodney folded his arms again, the determined set of his jaw showing that he was not going to flinch this time, John replied, "Rodney has some injuries to show you. And me."
"Rodney?"
Carson moved forward but Rodney backed off, his hip banging into the edge of the gurney. John was relieved to see that didn't seem to hurt. Angry as he was, his stomach was churning with his suspicions and the knowledge of what two well-trained marines - marines he'd trained - could do to a body.
"This is ridiculous!" Typically, Rodney's next defence was indignation. "I've been dragged away from my work - my important work, which, by the way, Colonel, involves fixing those systems that your men are complaining -"
John practically leapt forward, shoving his face into Rodney's. "If they've been beating you, McKay, they are not my men!"
"Beating -" Carson pushed John to one side. "Rodney, lad, get your jacket off, for all our sakes."
Rodney looked from Carson to John, then seemed to accept that he wasn't getting out of there without taking off his jacket. His gaze fell, and the flush on his face deepened, but he slowly began to undo the zipper.
John had to stop himself from pushing Rodney's hand away and just doing it himself. Like the slow picking off of a band aid, the zipper slid down, when John really would have preferred to just rip the damned thing off and get the pain over and done with. Finally, the jacket was open, and Rodney slid the sleeve off one arm, then the other.
"Oh, dear God." Carson stepped forward, taking Rodney's arms to turn them back and forth, showing more of the bruising as he turned them.
The mottled bruise that John had already seen part of was the worst, but there were plenty of other bruises to be seen. Including a complete set of fingerprints in Rodney's left bicep.
"Who the hell did this?"
"Are there any more?" John had to know the worst before he decided what to do.
Rodney shook his head, speech apparently having abandoned him now that the truth was supposedly out.
Carson glanced at him, then moved back in. "Arms up, Rodney."
Once the t-shirt was out of the way, John sighed. Only a couple of bruises dotted Rodney's torso, showing that Roberts and Masterson had confined their 'attentions' to Rodney's arms.
"I'll take some x-rays, just to be sure."
As Carson disappeared through the curtains, John stepped closer, dropping his voice. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He got an eye roll for that, Rodney's crooked mouth becoming more slanted as he firmly kept it shut.
"Why didn't you tell me?" John repeated, though he suspected he knew the answer.
There was a sigh, then Rodney muttered, "I didn't think you'd care."
John swallowed down the lump in his throat, part fury, part disappointment. Did Rodney really think their friendship was that badly damaged? "I care." He caught the surprise in the glance Rodney threw him, and forced down the twinge of guilt and shame. Doranda had been Rodney's fault, but afterwards? The silence between them? John knew he had to take his share of the blame for that. Ignoring it for now, he ploughed on, "Just...it was Roberts and Masterson, wasn't it?"
Rodney nodded, his gaze fixed on the floor.
"Did they say why?" John's eyes slid over the multiple bruises again as Rodney remained silent. There was no way that was a one off. Some of the bruises had faded a little, but they were all, so far as he could tell, still visible. None of them looked older than a week or so... John's gaze jerked up to stare in Rodney's face. "Doranda."
Typically, Rodney's face had closed down; there was no emotion leaking through.
John shut his eyes for a moment, wishing that he could shut out all the emotions that were threatening him. How the hell had he missed this situation brewing up? Just because he'd been pissed at Rodney - and John had been, he admitted that - it didn't mean it was 'okay' for anyone to bully him. For God's sake, they were supposed to be adults, professionals! And how many more marines had the idea that this kind of thing was acceptable?
Well, not here. Not while Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard was in charge.
Opening his eyes, John glared at Rodney. "Even if you honestly felt you couldn't come to me as a friend," John ignored his voice choking up as that thought cut deep, "you should have come to me as your team leader or as the military commander of Atlantis." It was his responsibility. And he'd failed. Grabbing Rodney's chin, John forced him to look at him. "You understand me? This ever happens again," and it better hadn't or John would rain down hellfire upon whoever did it, "you come to me."
Rodney shook his head, jerking his chin free. "I dealt wi-"
"You shouldn't have had to deal with it. I will deal with it."
Leaving Rodney to Carson's care, John stalked out. First, find Ronon. Then, teach those sons of bitches exactly how wrong they were.
~'~
Ronon listened as Sheppard ranted. Every now and then, he looked up from his dinner and nodded as well. He was surprised at the variety of curse words Sheppard knew, and made a note to ask McKay what some of them meant later.
Sheppard finished talking, and Ronon nodded again, then wiped his mouth and said, "I'll meet you there."
As Sheppard left, Ronon stuffed the last of his bread into his mouth, got up and made his way to the infirmary. Sheppard had decreed no permanent damage was to be done to the two men, but Ronon wanted to see how much damage had been done to their team-mate before he agreed to that one. McKay was no fighter; he was a scholar, and, though he knew it would surprise McKay to hear it, Ronon had a high respect for scholars.
It was, perhaps, not that surprising that McKay had sought neither help nor protection from Ronon. He knew he was new to the team, and McKay might not be aware that he could depend on all his team-mates. But he had not asked Sheppard for help either.
Ronon shook his head. He had Sheppard's word for it that being a member of the team meant having people to rely on, and Sheppard's fury at McKay's failure to depend on them bore that out. All Ronon could think was that McKay believed his recent mistakes meant that he had no back up; that he was as alone as Ronon had been while on the run from the Wraith. And that was something Ronon would not wish on anyone.
He could hear the doctor talking to McKay as he entered the medical area, but the scolding ceased as Ronon pulled back the curtain to stare at McKay.
Ronon ignored the indignant squawk, and the outraged, "This isn't a peepshow!" as McKay clutched a pillow to his naked chest. Instead, he catalogued the bruises that stood out vividly on McKay's pale arms. McKay huffed and sighed as Ronon walked around him and back, but kept silent, even when Ronon put his hands on the gurney either side of McKay's knees and leaned down to look him in the face.
"If you couldn't go to Sheppard, you should have come to me." He waited until McKay's surprised gaze met his, then gave him a nod and straightened. It was too late now, but perhaps McKay would remember it if the situation arose again.
As he headed towards the door, he heard the doctor's voice.
"There, yer daft bugger. And if you couldn't go to them, you should have come to me!"
~'~
John bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for Ronon to arrive. Masterson and Roberts were looking vaguely uneasy, as if suspecting that this wasn't going to be a demonstration of stick-fighting as much as a 'kick our asses for bullying McKay'.
Rodney had taken care of it his own way, but John knew that thick-skulled marines sometimes needed their lessons reinforcing.
The door opened and Ronon came in, Teyla on his heels and a pissed off look on her face.
With a grin, John thought of siccing Teyla on the pair if they didn't show some repentance soon. However, from the looks on their faces, they'd started to realise they weren't flavour of the week with McKay's team-mates.
Ronon grabbed two sticks and handed one to John, a quiet, "Sure about the no permanent damage?" reaching his ears.
John's grin widened. "If they recover too fast, we can let Teyla have them."
There was an amused grunt. "You'll have to bury them after."
"Roberts, Masterson." John beckoned them forward. As they stepped onto the mat, their fists clenching on the sticks they were holding, John raised his voice, glancing around at the assembled marines and civilians who'd decided to watch the 'exhibition'. "When we visit other worlds, we have to depend on our team-mates for protection." He stepped off to the side a little to give Ronon room to work, Roberts following him. "Just because some of us aren't soldiers, doesn't mean we can't expect our team-mates to defend us." He slapped his stick against Roberts', the noise ringing out loudly in the quiet gym. "No matter where we are."
From the way Roberts' face paled, he'd got the point.
John grinned again. "Give it your best shot, Sergeant."
Roberts' gaze flickered up and down, going from John's face to the stick in his hands. John waited. He heard the solid clack of Ronon and Masterson's sticks engaging just a few seconds before Roberts finally lunged.
Jerking back, John easily knocked the stick to one side, keeping a smile on his face as he did so. His opponents seemed to find it off-putting if John spent most of the fight smirking at them.
Roberts thrust forward again, and John repeated his move, this time following it up with a smack to Roberts' face to teach him that trying the same manoeuvre twice in a row was stupid.
As Roberts jerked back, one hand letting go of the stick and going up to his face, John took the opportunity to sweep his feet out from under him with his stick.
"Don't let yourself get distracted, Roberts. If I were a Wraith you'd be dead now."
The soldier scrambled to his feet, dull resentment in his eyes.
"Ready to try that again?" John asked. He heard a thud and glanced over at Masterson, then stared. Looking at Ronon, he added, "That was fast."
Ronon shrugged, staring down at Masterson's unconscious body. "I thought he'd get out of the way better."
"Oh, well. Maybe next time." John turned back to Roberts. "Ready to go?"
Masterson's sudden, and easy, defeat at Ronon's hands seemed to have taken the heart out of Roberts. Or maybe, John reflected, it was the sight of two of Masterson's teeth left on the mat after he'd been removed to the infirmary. In any case, Roberts was soon vanquished, though John was pretty sure he'd cracked one of his opponent's ribs. Either that or Roberts was faking it to escape. If he was, his fellow soldiers would soon find out.
In any case, John wouldn't be surprised to find an application to transfer back to Earth on his desk the next day. Maybe even two applications.
Assuming Masterson was coherent enough to make the request by then.
In a spirit of graciousness, John even accompanied Roberts to the infirmary, though really he was only going that way to see if Carson had finished with Rodney yet.
He had, though Carson seemed less than happy to exchange Rodney for Roberts, merely bidding him to take a seat and wait while he looked at Masterson.
~'~
Released from the infirmary, Rodney snuck a glance at John's face. He was looking remarkably pleased with himself.
"How are your arms?"
"Fine." Rodney took a breath, then tried to explain. "You didn't need to step in. I was dealing -"
"Dealing with it. I know." John's hand on his shoulder pulled Rodney to a stop. "I told you: you shouldn't have had to deal with it."
Rodney rolled his eyes. He'd already had that conversation with John, with Carson and with Ronon.
"And though you've heard the last of it from me," John continued, a smile on his face, "you still have to face Teyla."
"Uh...." Oh God. Rodney liked Teyla, he really did. But he also had a healthy respect for the fact that she could kick his ass. Much like his other two team-mates.
As if he'd picked up on that thought, John continued, "We're your team-mates, Rodney. You have a problem, you come to us. Now, come on. I think the mess hall's got that chocolate cake in again."
Giving in, Rodney allowed himself to be steered towards the mess hall. While it was kind of humiliating his team-mates thought he couldn't look after himself, it was also kind of nice that they were willing to look out for him. Kind of like a family would. Well, some families. Or so Rodney had heard.
"Listen, about Doranda -"
John cut him off. "It's over and done with. You screwed up, you realise that, we move on."
Nodding, Rodney gulped down the lump in his throat. Was it really that easy?
"Oh, and about the systems in Roberts and Masterson's quarters."
Rodney sighed. "I'll fix them."
"Yeah. Tomorrow will be fine."
John's hand pushed him into the mess hall, and Rodney could see his other team-mates waiting for him.
"Or maybe," John said from behind him, "the day after."
The End
13th August 2008