Atlantis Fic - Tag for "Progeny"
Aug. 12th, 2006 01:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
artyartieHoly Hannah, I actually followed the whim of a plot bunny! But with Progeny, how could you not?
This is an episode tag, basically trying to figure out what happened to Rodney when the Replicators were poking around in his head. Rated PG-13 for mild torture and temporary character death.
The holding cells are identical to their own, sparse and elegant, the forcefields enclosing them barely visible. The pseudo-Ancients are silent, their strength and menace evident from the angry bruise on Ronon’s cheek and how Teyla is cradling her right arm. Sheppard and Weir are also silent, but Rodney can see something shining in their dark eyes. Anger, determination. The beginning of a plan to get them out and get them home.
One by one they’re herded into the largest cell, but before Rodney is made to join them, the force field shimmers into life before him and the grip on his arms is amplified with an almost inhuman strength. He hears his own protests, his wit and sarcasm immediately jumping to the fore in the face of blind, sheer panic. He hears the others, shouting his name over and over, hears the matching but well-hidden panic in Sheppard’s voice. It’s a strange comfort.
****
Rodney knows this room has no counterpart in his city. It’s not dark and dank but instead has a harsh brightness, the lights overhead searing past his closed eyelids. It even smells sanitary and sterile.
They’re very good at cleaning up every trace of his blood when they’re done.
There could be a million reasons why he’s shivering. The icy air against his bare skin, brushing against bruises, burns and cuts carved with delicate precision. His low blood sugar, in whatever blood was left to him. Shock would be an obvious explanation. But Rodney knows why he’s shivering, why he feels no relief when each session of new, agonizing torture is done.
He can already hear them behind the door.
Rodney has lost count of how many times he’s heard the door open. He’s stopped wanting to keep track, because if he breaks, he doesn’t want to put a quantitative value on his failure. This time the only thing that escapes his lips will be his broken screams.
The door opens with a insidious hiss. Rodney clenches his eyes further shut as the lights overhead flared. Something razor-sharp grazed his thigh and Rodney bit his tongue, his chest hitching with every breath.
There are four lights, there are four lights, oh John, you’d get that, wouldn’t you, oh God, oh God, there are four lights!
****
Rodney can hear them behind the door again, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he hears the hiss and clatter of footsteps. But the lights dim, and the hand on his arm is soft, comforting, the voice that speaks filled with a quiet but deadly anger.
McKay, what did they do to you?
Rodney dares to open his eyes, and John Sheppard’s face comes reluctantly into focus. Rodney tries to manage a smile, and when he speaks, his voice is raspy and harsh from screaming.
Four lights. I said there were-
Sheppard crumples to the ground before he can finish, an energy beam ripping into him from behind. Rodney finds he can still scream, but this is full of an almost murderous rage. The pseudo-Ancient watches Sheppard fall with a cool gaze, then levels his weapon at Rodney.
You are no longer of use to us.
There is a last blast of light before Rodney’s consciousness is seared from the world.
This is an episode tag, basically trying to figure out what happened to Rodney when the Replicators were poking around in his head. Rated PG-13 for mild torture and temporary character death.
The holding cells are identical to their own, sparse and elegant, the forcefields enclosing them barely visible. The pseudo-Ancients are silent, their strength and menace evident from the angry bruise on Ronon’s cheek and how Teyla is cradling her right arm. Sheppard and Weir are also silent, but Rodney can see something shining in their dark eyes. Anger, determination. The beginning of a plan to get them out and get them home.
One by one they’re herded into the largest cell, but before Rodney is made to join them, the force field shimmers into life before him and the grip on his arms is amplified with an almost inhuman strength. He hears his own protests, his wit and sarcasm immediately jumping to the fore in the face of blind, sheer panic. He hears the others, shouting his name over and over, hears the matching but well-hidden panic in Sheppard’s voice. It’s a strange comfort.
****
Rodney knows this room has no counterpart in his city. It’s not dark and dank but instead has a harsh brightness, the lights overhead searing past his closed eyelids. It even smells sanitary and sterile.
They’re very good at cleaning up every trace of his blood when they’re done.
There could be a million reasons why he’s shivering. The icy air against his bare skin, brushing against bruises, burns and cuts carved with delicate precision. His low blood sugar, in whatever blood was left to him. Shock would be an obvious explanation. But Rodney knows why he’s shivering, why he feels no relief when each session of new, agonizing torture is done.
He can already hear them behind the door.
Rodney has lost count of how many times he’s heard the door open. He’s stopped wanting to keep track, because if he breaks, he doesn’t want to put a quantitative value on his failure. This time the only thing that escapes his lips will be his broken screams.
The door opens with a insidious hiss. Rodney clenches his eyes further shut as the lights overhead flared. Something razor-sharp grazed his thigh and Rodney bit his tongue, his chest hitching with every breath.
There are four lights, there are four lights, oh John, you’d get that, wouldn’t you, oh God, oh God, there are four lights!
****
Rodney can hear them behind the door again, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he hears the hiss and clatter of footsteps. But the lights dim, and the hand on his arm is soft, comforting, the voice that speaks filled with a quiet but deadly anger.
McKay, what did they do to you?
Rodney dares to open his eyes, and John Sheppard’s face comes reluctantly into focus. Rodney tries to manage a smile, and when he speaks, his voice is raspy and harsh from screaming.
Four lights. I said there were-
Sheppard crumples to the ground before he can finish, an energy beam ripping into him from behind. Rodney finds he can still scream, but this is full of an almost murderous rage. The pseudo-Ancient watches Sheppard fall with a cool gaze, then levels his weapon at Rodney.
You are no longer of use to us.
There is a last blast of light before Rodney’s consciousness is seared from the world.
