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New SGA story, and I'm all excited, although it's not the story I was supposed to be writing for the challenge. Whoops.
Title: Knock
Author: Ceitie
Rating: PG
Category: Gen
Character: Rodney, Ronon
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Up to and including Allies
Word Count: 1,301
Disclaimer: Neither they nor their universe belong to me, more's the shame. Please don't sue me.
Ronon's prayer is a mangled version of a Buddhist prayer by Namo Amida Buddha that I found on this website here.
Author's note: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
of_evangeline for the awesome beta job! *does a little happy dance* It's so much shinier now!
Summary: “Do you pray to any gods, McKay?”
After the Wraith had left, striding off into twisting darkness of the corridor, silence fell. Rodney closed his eyes and fought down the scream that was rising into his throat. He tried to control his breathing, to picture open fields, to use some of Teyla’s meditation techniques that she was always oh-so-serenely forcing upon them, anything. Anything at all.
It didn’t work. Horror and something like madness was building in him, so black and awful and worse than any of the physical sensations caused by the chill of the hive ship or the numb burning of the cocoon. Rodney opened his eyes but the darkness stayed, a pit opening up in front of him and he was staring into its depths, leaning over the edge.
Ronon’s voice pulled him back.
“McKay.”
The pit was gone and Rodney sucked in a huge gasp of air, breath gone short and choppy with relief and the not-unfamiliar sense of being saved at the very last moment. Which was irrational and idiotic, because they hadn’t been saved from anything, had they?
“McKay,” Ronon said again. Rodney turned his head towards Ronon, but couldn’t really get a good look at him with both the cocoon and part of corridor in his way.
“What?” he asked, and was dimly impressed by the fact that his voice didn’t crack.
Ronon was silent for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Do you pray to any gods, McKay?”
Rodney’s mouth dropped open, and then he closed it so sharply his teeth clicked together. It would probably be almost relaxing to explain in excruciating detail the many ways in which religion was nothing but a placebo for people who refused to deal with hard reality or an excuse for power-hungry sadists to cause death and destruction in the name of imaginary parental figures in the sky. And that was all without even bringing the Goa’uld and their megalomanias into it.
But right at this moment, unable to feel much of his body from the neck down and in a hive ship on its way to Earth because of his own stupid, stupid actions, Rodney just wasn’t in the mood. So all he said was, “No. I don’t – I don’t believe in God. Or gods.”
There was a noise like a sigh from Ronon’s direction, and Rodney craned his neck, trying to see Ronon’s face. He could see his profile, slightly turned away, looking down the corridor into the shadows.
“I do,” Ronon said, so quietly that Rodney stilled and strained to listen. “I used to pray to them all the time. But I stopped, maybe four years ago. Couldn’t really see the point anymore. The Wraith never stopped coming.”
There was silence again, after that. Rodney’s nose itched and he could still feel the unvoiced scream tightening his chest; it was probably the only reason he started talking instead, as a way to forestall that shriek from crawling back up his throat again.
“My grandmother on my mother’s side was Catholic, French-Canadian, you know? She, uh, she used to try to teach prayers to me and my sister, grumbling about how our parents were raising us as heathens. When she started getting old, she’d ramble on about sin all the time and how we were all going to hell.” Rodney heard himself beginning to babble and for once managed to close his mouth before too much damage was done. There was a reason why he disliked sharing family stories. However, Ronon’s only response was,
“Catholic?”
Rodney shook his head. “It’s a religion, pretty strict, it’s – why are we even talking about this right now?”
“I figured if your gods still listened when you talked to them, we could use the help,” Ronon said flatly, as though this was perfectly sensible idea that he shouldn’t have had to spell out to Rodney.
Rodney tried to ignore the hysterical edge to his snort of laughter. “Well, I can’t argue with you there. We could definitely use someone’s help.” He stifled the next chuckle because it was only about a millisecond away from coming out as a sob.
“Yeah. We could,” said Ronon. If it had been anyone but Ronon, Rodney would have said he sounded thoughtful.
Then Ronon said, “Tell me one of your grandmother’s prayers, and I’ll petition your gods for help, and you can petition mine. Maybe they’ll listen better that way.” So obviously thinking was out of the question.
“No,” Rodney said. “No, because that’s not only a total waste of time, it doesn’t even make any sense.”
Ronon’s head moved in what might have been a shoulderless shrug, and his hair fell in front of his face. “Can’t hurt.”
Rodney let his breath hiss out between his teeth in a sigh, and looked around at the nightmare place in which they were trapped. What the hell. It wasn’t like at this point anything could actually get worse.
“Fine.”
There was something very surreal about trying to dredge up vague memories of his grandmother’s prayers, most of which had been spoken in French, in order to repeat them to a giant dreadlocked alien with which he was sharing an unwanted berth on a spaceship, a galaxy away from home. Although if the Wraith had been telling the truth, that part would soon no longer be an issue. Rodney shuddered and his voice broke on the words, ‘at the hour of our death’.
Ronon didn’t comment, only repeated the entire prayer out loud, trying to mimic the same cadences Rodney had rattled off automatically. Although he wasn’t speaking loudly, the words seemed to echo through the corridor rather than being muted like most of the other noises. Rodney shrugged with his head and twitched his nose. This was all just a distraction anyway, a way to keep them sane a few minutes longer. The numbness was easing its way into his face.
Rodney said, “Alright, now you tell me yours,” with a roll of his eyes and waited impatiently when Ronon didn’t say anything for a minute. He was reaching the end of his admittedly short rope as Ronon began to speak.
“Shining Ones, I take refuge in you, ocean of oneness, eternal life and light.” Ronon paused, and Rodney was just opening his mouth to ask if that was it when Ronon took a deep breath and continued, his deep voice stronger and clearer than Rodney had ever heard it.
“I entrust to you my whole heart and mind, I dedicate myself to the service of all beings. May your teachings guide me throughout the days, and bring me solace throughout the longest nights.”
Ronon finished with two soft clicks of his tongue which Rodney figured could be his version of ‘Amen’ or simply an effort to relieve a dry mouth.
Rodney cleared his throat, tight from the acrid air, and repeated the words with only a little prompting from Ronon. He didn’t add the tongue clicks, but Ronon didn’t mention it so perhaps it had been the air after all.
When the corridor was once again silent, Rodney closed his eyes. The numbness was encroaching on his mind as well as his face, and he was very nearly relieved. He heard Ronon’s soft rasp as if in a dream, the warm hazy kind that he slipped in and out of on the few mornings that he allowed himself to sleep in a bit.
“Guess it didn’t work then, McKay.”
It was utterly wrong for Ronon to sound that young and disappointed. Rodney was on the point of making a wild stab at being comforting, of all things, when the thick blanket of unfeeling that had been easing over him tightened suddenly and he passed out.
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was John Sheppard’s face.
"And I say to you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and the door shall be opened to you." Luke 11:10
Cross-posted to my LJ.
Title: Knock
Author: Ceitie
Rating: PG
Category: Gen
Character: Rodney, Ronon
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Up to and including Allies
Word Count: 1,301
Disclaimer: Neither they nor their universe belong to me, more's the shame. Please don't sue me.
Ronon's prayer is a mangled version of a Buddhist prayer by Namo Amida Buddha that I found on this website here.
Author's note: Thanks to
of_evangeline for the awesome beta job! *does a little happy dance* It's so much shinier now!Summary: “Do you pray to any gods, McKay?”
After the Wraith had left, striding off into twisting darkness of the corridor, silence fell. Rodney closed his eyes and fought down the scream that was rising into his throat. He tried to control his breathing, to picture open fields, to use some of Teyla’s meditation techniques that she was always oh-so-serenely forcing upon them, anything. Anything at all.
It didn’t work. Horror and something like madness was building in him, so black and awful and worse than any of the physical sensations caused by the chill of the hive ship or the numb burning of the cocoon. Rodney opened his eyes but the darkness stayed, a pit opening up in front of him and he was staring into its depths, leaning over the edge.
Ronon’s voice pulled him back.
“McKay.”
The pit was gone and Rodney sucked in a huge gasp of air, breath gone short and choppy with relief and the not-unfamiliar sense of being saved at the very last moment. Which was irrational and idiotic, because they hadn’t been saved from anything, had they?
“McKay,” Ronon said again. Rodney turned his head towards Ronon, but couldn’t really get a good look at him with both the cocoon and part of corridor in his way.
“What?” he asked, and was dimly impressed by the fact that his voice didn’t crack.
Ronon was silent for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Do you pray to any gods, McKay?”
Rodney’s mouth dropped open, and then he closed it so sharply his teeth clicked together. It would probably be almost relaxing to explain in excruciating detail the many ways in which religion was nothing but a placebo for people who refused to deal with hard reality or an excuse for power-hungry sadists to cause death and destruction in the name of imaginary parental figures in the sky. And that was all without even bringing the Goa’uld and their megalomanias into it.
But right at this moment, unable to feel much of his body from the neck down and in a hive ship on its way to Earth because of his own stupid, stupid actions, Rodney just wasn’t in the mood. So all he said was, “No. I don’t – I don’t believe in God. Or gods.”
There was a noise like a sigh from Ronon’s direction, and Rodney craned his neck, trying to see Ronon’s face. He could see his profile, slightly turned away, looking down the corridor into the shadows.
“I do,” Ronon said, so quietly that Rodney stilled and strained to listen. “I used to pray to them all the time. But I stopped, maybe four years ago. Couldn’t really see the point anymore. The Wraith never stopped coming.”
There was silence again, after that. Rodney’s nose itched and he could still feel the unvoiced scream tightening his chest; it was probably the only reason he started talking instead, as a way to forestall that shriek from crawling back up his throat again.
“My grandmother on my mother’s side was Catholic, French-Canadian, you know? She, uh, she used to try to teach prayers to me and my sister, grumbling about how our parents were raising us as heathens. When she started getting old, she’d ramble on about sin all the time and how we were all going to hell.” Rodney heard himself beginning to babble and for once managed to close his mouth before too much damage was done. There was a reason why he disliked sharing family stories. However, Ronon’s only response was,
“Catholic?”
Rodney shook his head. “It’s a religion, pretty strict, it’s – why are we even talking about this right now?”
“I figured if your gods still listened when you talked to them, we could use the help,” Ronon said flatly, as though this was perfectly sensible idea that he shouldn’t have had to spell out to Rodney.
Rodney tried to ignore the hysterical edge to his snort of laughter. “Well, I can’t argue with you there. We could definitely use someone’s help.” He stifled the next chuckle because it was only about a millisecond away from coming out as a sob.
“Yeah. We could,” said Ronon. If it had been anyone but Ronon, Rodney would have said he sounded thoughtful.
Then Ronon said, “Tell me one of your grandmother’s prayers, and I’ll petition your gods for help, and you can petition mine. Maybe they’ll listen better that way.” So obviously thinking was out of the question.
“No,” Rodney said. “No, because that’s not only a total waste of time, it doesn’t even make any sense.”
Ronon’s head moved in what might have been a shoulderless shrug, and his hair fell in front of his face. “Can’t hurt.”
Rodney let his breath hiss out between his teeth in a sigh, and looked around at the nightmare place in which they were trapped. What the hell. It wasn’t like at this point anything could actually get worse.
“Fine.”
There was something very surreal about trying to dredge up vague memories of his grandmother’s prayers, most of which had been spoken in French, in order to repeat them to a giant dreadlocked alien with which he was sharing an unwanted berth on a spaceship, a galaxy away from home. Although if the Wraith had been telling the truth, that part would soon no longer be an issue. Rodney shuddered and his voice broke on the words, ‘at the hour of our death’.
Ronon didn’t comment, only repeated the entire prayer out loud, trying to mimic the same cadences Rodney had rattled off automatically. Although he wasn’t speaking loudly, the words seemed to echo through the corridor rather than being muted like most of the other noises. Rodney shrugged with his head and twitched his nose. This was all just a distraction anyway, a way to keep them sane a few minutes longer. The numbness was easing its way into his face.
Rodney said, “Alright, now you tell me yours,” with a roll of his eyes and waited impatiently when Ronon didn’t say anything for a minute. He was reaching the end of his admittedly short rope as Ronon began to speak.
“Shining Ones, I take refuge in you, ocean of oneness, eternal life and light.” Ronon paused, and Rodney was just opening his mouth to ask if that was it when Ronon took a deep breath and continued, his deep voice stronger and clearer than Rodney had ever heard it.
“I entrust to you my whole heart and mind, I dedicate myself to the service of all beings. May your teachings guide me throughout the days, and bring me solace throughout the longest nights.”
Ronon finished with two soft clicks of his tongue which Rodney figured could be his version of ‘Amen’ or simply an effort to relieve a dry mouth.
Rodney cleared his throat, tight from the acrid air, and repeated the words with only a little prompting from Ronon. He didn’t add the tongue clicks, but Ronon didn’t mention it so perhaps it had been the air after all.
When the corridor was once again silent, Rodney closed his eyes. The numbness was encroaching on his mind as well as his face, and he was very nearly relieved. He heard Ronon’s soft rasp as if in a dream, the warm hazy kind that he slipped in and out of on the few mornings that he allowed himself to sleep in a bit.
“Guess it didn’t work then, McKay.”
It was utterly wrong for Ronon to sound that young and disappointed. Rodney was on the point of making a wild stab at being comforting, of all things, when the thick blanket of unfeeling that had been easing over him tightened suddenly and he passed out.
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was John Sheppard’s face.
"And I say to you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and the door shall be opened to you." Luke 11:10
Cross-posted to my LJ.
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I don't know what it is about that line, but it strikes something in me. Lovely job, doll! ♥ {Where else did you post this?}
From:
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It's also posted at atlantisfic and it's on sga_newsletter.(I don't know how to do the little community link thing.)