Speechless
{ PG | John/Rodney }
*
His blood pounded in his ears, louder than the screams coming through the radio. John wasn’t sure he could keep up this brutal pace much longer, but he would push his body until it couldn’t run any further.
The rumbling beneath his feet had never really stopped, and every once in a while it made him stumble and lose his pace, but his desperation would right him and he would press onward.
By the time he heard Cadman’s frantic voice it had been nearly 10 minutes - 8 minutes too long for Rodney to go without air.
John didn’t ask any questions, he just dove in beside Ronon and Teyla and the others, pulling away charred pieces of metal and brushing away sparking wires. In the background, he heard Elizabeth asking questions and Beckett calling for more medical staff and Lorne barking out orders.
But John wasn’t listening to them. He was listening to his own heart beating in his ears.
–
He was trapped. Cool metal on all sides. Jagged cut on his arm, but it didn’t hurt, he couldn’t feel it. Breathing was troublesome, support beam lying across his chest. He couldn’t afford to waste the air anyway, so perhaps it was a blessing.
His ears were still reeling from the explosion. There might have been screams, but he never knew them.
Rodney’s hand reached out, tested his small corner, felt it press back.
Something was buzzing in his ear, crackling, and it took him long minutes to realize his comm was still active. He couldn’t make out the words.
Heat spread through his chest and he became light-headed, but Rodney focussed on staying awake, on breathing.
They would find him.
It was only a matter of time.
–
When they breached the walls of Rodney’s make-shift prison, he wasn’t breathing. When Ronon and John and a handful of marines had lifted the beam off of Rodney’s chest, the scientists and soldiers were shuffled out of the way as the medical team swooped down.
Carson said he had no pulse.
Electronic whine of paddles charging. Rodney’s body arching off the floor.
Nothing.
Everything faded away, the hushed murmurs, the harsh breathing, until all that was left was Rodney’s dead body and John’s blood pounding, beating away at his chest.
And then, a slow, weak heartbeat.
–
John paced the hall outside the infirmary until Rodney was out of surgery. He pulled a chair up next to his bed, ignoring Carson’s orders to go to his room and rest. He taught Teyla and Ronon how to play Crazy Eights over Rodney’s prone body. He slept slumped in his seat, hand wrapped loosely around Rodney’s wrist, feeling his pulse.
The first time Rodney gained consciousness, it was for a brief moment, long enough to meet John’s eyes and blink.
The second time, he was more active, and sent John’s game of solitaire sliding off the blanket. Rodney flailed and thrashed before Carson gave him a sedative. John’s hand squeezed Rodney’s, and Rodney slowly squeezed back.
The third time Rodney woke, John was ready. He held the cup of water to his lips, told him he was healing nicely.
Rodney tried to speak, but he couldn’t draw enough air, his chest was too sore from the broken ribs. So they sat in silence until John offered to play cards with him. Rodney smiled, and John smiled back, and if their fingers brushed more than was necessary, and if John’s hand found itself frequently resting on Rodney’s thigh, it was just reassurance.
Because John didn’t need to feel their hearts beating anymore to know they were alive.