Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Category/Rated: Slash, PG
Year/Length: 2008/ ~707 words
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, only having fun.
Prompt: totally unabashed h/c in the Branding verse
Series: Branding 'Verse
John's sure that the medical staff has to be really sick of staring down the barrel of Ronon's blaster, but he can't bring himself to feel bad about it. They should really expect it, as far as John's concerned. Ronon isn't going to calm down until they know Rodney is alright, and he's ran out of people to kill to burn off some of that anxiety.
The poor nurse that had been coming to check on Rodney makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and John reaches out, touching Ronon's arm. For a long moment Ronon doesn't show any sign of backing down. Then he blows out a hard breath, lowering his blaster though he doesn't make a move to holster it.
Every move the nurse makes after that is slow and careful. She adjusts one of the I.V.s feeding into Rodney's arm, and makes a notation on the clipboard by the foot of Rodney's bed before fleeing. John watches her go, and then lets some of the tension ease out of his shoulders. He might not be grabbing for his gun every time someone comes into the room, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to be.
They've dealt with so much shit over the years, so many people trying to kill them for reasons too many and varied to count. That doesn't make it easier to deal with, especially not when it's a reason as shitty as this.
The people that took Rodney from them hadn't wanted him for his big brain, or for his worth to Atlantis, or for any of the usual reasons. They hadn't even known who Rodney was. Hell, they hadn't even known who the Lanteans were, until John and Ronon had come for Rodney like God's own judgment.
John hates slave traders. He fully intends to make it his personal mission to completely fucking destroy the entire network in the Pegasus galaxy after this. That people think they can sell other people, that some motherfuckers sold Rodney to the highest bidder, because he's fair skinned, because he's blue eyed, is just not acceptable.
John and Ronon completely destroyed the market, but they'd been too late to stop the auction that Rodney had been bid on and bought it. It hadn't taken very long at all for them to get the name of the bastard that bought him though, not after Ronon got his knives out and started to work.
After that it had been easy to get Rodney back, but somehow they'd still taken too long. Way too long. John balls his hands up into fists, his knuckles aching from the faces he'd busted. They'd left a trail of blood and bodies behind them, but it wasn't good enough, not even close to good enough.
Because Rodney is still and silent in the infirmary bed, a tube up his nose and I.V.s in his wrist. His face is the only part of him that isn't black and blue with bruises, though his bottom lip is torn, and John isn't even sure what would cause something like that. He figures it more than likely has something to do with the identical wound in the lobe of Rodney's left ear.
The deaths that John and Ronon handed out to the people in the lush, decadent house where they'd found Rodney had been far too good. If John could go back and do it all over he would have made sure the fuckers suffered. They'd still be suffering. John isn't sure that he'd ever allow them to stop.
On the other side of Rodney's bed, Ronon leans over, brushing Rodney's hair back from his face and then straightening the blankets. A week. They'd lost Rodney for a week, and this is what happened. It doesn't seem possible.
Then Ronon is jerking, gun swinging up to point at Jennifer Keller, who looks sad and tired. John tightens his hold on Rodney's hand, and prays for this to be over as Keller explains Rodney's condition. He's sure he imagines Rodney squeezing back, right up to Ronon making a rough sound and bending again, stroking his thumb across Rodney's cheek.
Rodney cracks his eyes open, and squeezes John's hand again, and that's enough.
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