Waves Breaking on the Shore by lavvyan
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: McKay/OMCs
Warnings: Rape
Summary: He didn't think he'd ever regret anything as much as those angry words. But McKay had been getting on his nerves all day, and right at that moment, he'd just wanted to be rid of him for a while. Well. Now he was.
AN: The rather sparse writing I used for this story is intentional.
Beta by Denis, broet_chan, and shepsangel.
Waves Breaking on the Shore
John took another swig of his beer and watched the waves roll over the sand on a world he had once called home. A dog was barking a little further up the beach; he could hear the faint sounds of traffic in the distance. The first stars were out above him, blinking down on the still sun-warm California sand.
He'd been here for a week, sitting on the beach all night, drinking his beer until he couldn't sit any longer. Then he'd lie on his back and stare at a sky that was no longer familiar, waiting for dawn, the sound of the waves and his own remembered voice echoing in his ears.
"Damn it, McKay, you knew they didn't want anyone to touch that statue! You insulted them, you take what they dish out!"
He didn't think he'd ever regret anything as much as those angry words. But McKay had been getting on his nerves all day, and right at that moment, he just wanted to be rid of him for a while. Well. Now he was.
In all honesty, he'd thought McKay would be scolded for a few hours, get a verbal slap on the hand. The Benari had introduced themselves as friendly pacifists, and true, the only threatening thing about them had been their tendency to talk until your ears bled. Nice people; people to be trusted, not someone to strip a visitor naked and tie him over a large log on the shore for what amounted to a fairly small transgression.
Not someone to have that same visitor raped by nine men before they let him go.
John had started when they'd brought McKay out naked, his anger over a blown trade agreement evaporating at the sight of those broad shoulders hunched over in frightened defeat. Ronon had tensed and reached for his gun, but suddenly there'd been men behind them, pressing sharp knives against their backs, calm voices advising them to sit and observe the punishment for defiling the God's Holy Image. Rodney had looked up at the small tumult, his eyes wide and afraid, and John had desperately tried to find something reassuring to say, to tell him everything would be all right.
He'd come up empty. After a moment, Rodney had looked away.
Then Rodney had been tied to that damn log, all the time babbling, imploring the Benari not to do this, but the first young man had approached him from behind, lining up and pushing into his body without any preparation at all. Rodney had given a pained cry, then he'd been silent apart from the occasional soft grunt, his pride all he had left.
John could remember the blood running down Rodney's thighs, soaking the sand around his knees. He could remember the feel of the knife against his spine, Ronon's stony silence, Teyla's murmured prayers to the ancestors, her voice cracking every time Rodney made another small noise of pain. His own "God, Rodney," when the young man pulled out of his friend, soft and spent, and another immediately took his place.
And over it all, the sound of waves breaking on the shore.
By the fourth man, Rodney had been begging them to stop, offering anything, everything, if they just let him go home. By the sixth, he'd started to cry.
By the eighth, he'd been silent, his body hanging limp over the log, no longer showing any reaction to what was being done to him. Teyla had been quietly crying, then.
After the ninth guy had been done, the team had been allowed to leave after smiling Benari had taken their weapons. John had thought Rodney had passed out, but he'd been awake, his eyes blank and clouded when they'd untied him, wrapping him into the soft blankets the Benari had given them. He'd stumbled between them back to the Gate, unblinking, flinching at every touch. Unresponsive, even when he'd been back in the infirmary. Gently cleaned up and put into hospital scrubs, he'd just sat there, showing no sign of intelligence behind his dull eyes.
"What happened?" Elizabeth had wanted to know.
"I screwed up," John had answered shortly, watching Rodney stare at nothing. Ronon and Teyla hadn't disagreed, and John had fled the infirmary, unable to cope with that empty gaze.
He'd handed in his resignation two days later when it had become clear that Rodney wouldn't miraculously bounce back, well aware that he was running away. Not paying any attention to Elizabeth's assurances that it wasn't his fault; she hadn't been there, and he knew better. He hadn't said goodbye to anyone, and he hadn't looked back when he left through the Gate.
There hadn't been anyone to look back to. There never would be again.
John stared across the ocean, the sound of the waves making him sick, and emptied his beer.
And reached for the next bottle.
~~~
End.