Common Ground
Rodney woke. He blinked into the darkness, dream rapidly receding into fragmented images -- long white hair and horribly distorted faces, pain-filled screams and unnaturally aged corpses disintegrating under his hand -- a hand, John's hand, thrusting into his chest, sucking the life out of him, except he was somehow John, and John was both screaming and exulting, gleefully sucking life from himself --
Reaching for his clothes, he dressed without turning on the light, and left.
~~~ John woke. He looked up at Rodney's face, floating pale above him in the darkened room, unnaturally still and weary, aged by the weight of the last day, the last few years, of lives lost and yet to be lost. John imagined reaching out, pulling Rodney down and close, pressing lips to the base of neck, the hollow beneath the throat, pressing in new life as the Wraith had done for him -- but of course, he couldn't, it didn't work like that --
Still, he reached for Rodney, and Rodney came, settling into his arms with a strangled gasp, and the warm slide of skin over skin, lips over lips, the dark intimate taste of Rodney's mouth on his tongue -- this had to be enough, sucking off skin and salt and tears, thrusting in and holding on tight, holding close as two people in separate bodies could ever be --
It wasn't enough; it was all they had.
~~~ Rodney woke. He blinked at the unfamiliar weight draped over him, the twinge in his back, the sore burn in a place he'd rather not think about; breathed the dull heavy ache of his heart, suffocating and crushing, but no longer stabbing; frowned at John's hair tickling his nose, mussed even more than usual --
And wondered exactly how rumpled it could get.
McKay and Mrs. Miller
Rod
If he didn't make it -- over there, in his universe, nobody would know.
They'd think he was alive and well, here in this universe; they wouldn't know, would have no way of knowing --
The all-out gamble to get back home, to them. Risk all to gain all or lose all. Home. Or lost forever between two universes, no one knowing his fate.
Roll the dice, or stay safe among known strangers, a lifetime of exile in an universe that would never be home.
What would he have chosen?
The ZPM sits dark, offering no answer.
~~~ Meredith
A name said in a hundred derisive taunting tones, while he bit his lips and clenched his fists, determined not to cry; a hated epithet he wished quashed out of his memory, as he had expunged it from official records the first chance he had. A name he never dreamed he would wish to hear, ever again.
But in John's voice, it is smooth and lilting, in John's eyes, there's warmth and laughter, beneath the quirk of his lips and tilt of his head, an easy acceptance that makes him want to hear it, just one more time, again.
Meredith.
Phantoms
The only jello in the mess hall were yellow.
Like sunshine, lemon, the sands of Afghanistan.
John took a bowl of rice pudding to the infirmary.
And told Rodney they were out of jello.
The Return, Part 1
"...will see to it personally that your career in the military is..."
John slapped his hand down on the switch, cutting off Landry's tirade. Well. Talk about deja vu. Some things never changed.
If only O'Neill had been back on earth -- and no, he didn't really know O'Neill that well. But the man who'd called him an idiot for not wanting to go through the Stargate would know -- surely he would understand --
At the very least, he wouldn't wave pointless threats to his career in his face.
With one last look at the determined faces around him, he nudged the jumper forward into the gate.
Bastard better be worth this.
The Return, Part 2
Jack finds them, Sheppard in the chair, McKay draped over the back, whispering intently at the city schematics above. Sheppard's gaze when he looks up is calm and even, while McKay shifts nervously, not quite meeting his eyes.
"So." Jack stares pointedly at the hovering blueprint. "I fire you, what happens?"
McKay stands pale but defiant, Sheppard's voice ice smooth. "Well, sir. We'd rather you didn't."
Beneath the ghostly image of the ancient, treacherous city, Jack negotiates a truce and alliance only the three of them would ever know.
Echoes
Some days, he just wanted to dig Rodney's parents out of their graves and strangle them. Like just now, with Rodney looking like a kicked puppy as he stammered that "Sam" was a boy's name too. What were they thinking, naming their son "Meredith"? And there was most surely a long and convoluted story behind this whole making a pet out of the not-whale thing, in which the parents featured largely, in a very not good way.
But then, the name was so *Rodney*, odd and haughty and stand-offish, forever marking him out from the herd, the name that made him who he is, the name he called when he knew Rodney couldn't hear.
Meredith.
Irresponsible
In the end, John found Rodney at the grounding station, staring out at the ocean. He was starting to wonder when Rodney would notice him when Rodney spoke, eyes fixed on the distant sea.
"I stepped in front of Elizabeth, you know."
"Yeah." John leaned on the rail, brushing Rodney's shoulder. "I know."
"I talked Kolya out of killing her. Of killing us both."
"I know."
"And today..." Rodney's knuckles clenched white on the rail. "I wish you hadn't killed him," he whispered. "I wish he were still alive."
John frowned. Had he heard that right?
"I wish," Rodney continued, voice so low John had to strain to hear, "we could feed him to the Wraith, slowly, one year at a time. That he had a family we could kill in front of his eyes, one by one. That he had friends who..." Rodney's voice cracked. "who...."
John grabbed Rodney tight, and held on.
Tao of Rodney
Meditation
The worst part was, he couldn't block out John. Worry, anxiety, fear, longing, anger, sorrow, regret, despair, and underlying it all...
Damn it, he knew John loved him. He didn't need to feel it pressing into his skull with such tangible force it hurt, didn't need to see that the sky in John's mind was the color of his own eyes, that the Ferris wheel was cool but he was cooler because he knew what turned the wheel.
How was he supposed to let that go?
Blue sky, he told himself, and the sky was the color of John's eyes.
~~~ Eulogy
Rodney McKay was... unique.
Arrogant, opinionated, self-centered, overbearing, egomaniac, insensitive... A total bastard, to whom we all looked to for answers, first, middle and last. And he always, always delivered. His dedication, commitment and perseverance in face of all odds have saved us all, time and time again. Yes, he had his failures, which were... spectacular. But they pale in comparison to the countless times he got it right, pulled the rabbit out of the hat at the last minute, bitching and complaining all the way, yes, but he never, ever hesitated to put his life on the line when the chips were down.
Thing is, he asked me to make up something nice to say for his eulogy. An ego the size of a galaxy, yet he wanted to be remembered for something... nice.
McKay wasn't nice. He was the most difficult person we've been cursed... and blessed... to work with. But I wouldn't want him to be nice. I liked him exactly the way he was. He didn't need to be nice to be McKay, didn't need to be nice to be... loved. The most brilliant mind in the galaxy, and somehow, he hadn't figured it out. We loved him. We adored him. We took him for granted. Why is that? What would it have taken to let him know?
I love you. I will love you to my very last breath. You once asked me to read your eulogy, and in case I'm not around to deliver it in person, here it is.
The Game
The tenth time John checkmated him out of nowhere, Rodney finally conceded that John's long fingers sliding down the smooth wood of the chess pieces could perhaps possibly be just a tad distracting, but he resolutely refused to admit that John's hair, or that odd little tilt of his neck, or the way his face scrunched and his tongue flicked against his lips as he perused the board were mesmerizing, or that the warmth of John's gaze on the nape of his neck sent shivers down his back as he set up the game for yet one more round.
~~~ As Rodney sets up the board yet again, head bowed in concentration as he rapidly but precisely positions the pieces, John traces his path through Rodney's meticulous defenses and piercing attacks, biding his time for that single lapse of concentration that inevitably comes, carrying him that single step closer into Rodney. And Rodney's no fool, eventually he'll catch on. Until then John will watch Rodney, as he slowly but surely figures his way past John's line of defense, for the moment Rodney corners his heart he will checkmate his soul.
The Ark
They step out of the event horizon to a blue sky and a circle of solemnly expectant faces gathered to greet the saviors of their civilization, and John drags up a polite smile to paste over the tightening of his gut while Teyla deflects their gratitude with queries after the resettlement, but Rodney snorts and scoffs that John just couldn't resist the fastest ride of his life, and walks off in deep conversation with their scientist about the power requirements of long-term pattern storage, leaving John standing in the gaggle of children begging for the story of his fiery descent.
Sunday
Ronon leaves them at the SGC, disappearing back through the wormhole with a firm parting grasp of his shoulder, Zelenka following with a hesitant wave. But John stays with him all the way, through the interminable flight to Scotland, the gut-wrenching walk to Mrs. Beckett's front door, the shattering moment when she looks into their faces and sees all she needs to know.
The days pass in a blur of places and faces they should have seen with Carson, of people gifting them pieces of Carson they never knew, eyes seeking answers they cannot return.
And through it all, John stays.
In his dream...
the sky is a pale orange he's never seen on Atlantis,
and Rodney looks lost and small alone on the pier.In his dream
Carson speaks empty words of consolation to Rodney,
and Rodney calls Carson the closest thing he'd ever had to a best friend.
In his dream
his heart aches and screams at Rodney that he has a best friend...
and he wakes to an echoing emptiness
heavy with loss of something he cannot recall
Nearly three years ago, Carson and I were among the first expedition team who stepped through the gate to Atlantis, not knowing what we would find here, not knowing whether we would ever find our way back home, but united in our conviction that the chance for new knowledge, for the expansion of our horizons, the hope for a secure future for earth and for her allies, were well worth the risk and the sacrifice.
And indeed, we have found wonders, and we have found horrors, both beyond our wildest dreams. And in the process, many have paid the ultimate sacrifice, and now so has Carson, and the rest of those lost in the tragic events of this week. But every one of us knew and accepted these risks when we stepped through the gate, or aboard the Daedalus. I know that Carson would have stepped through the gate three years ago, even knowing this is how it will end. The knowledge he gained, the advancements he achieved, and most importantly, all the lives he saved by being here -- they were worth this, to him. And to me. And I say with confidence, to all of you, for you would not be here otherwise. And it falls to us who remain, to honor the memory of those gone, to carry on their work, their spirit, their dedication to the pursuit of knowledge, their commitment to the safety of this expedition, to the betterment of life for the people of both our galaxies.
I shall miss you, my friend. You always had a smile for me, you always had time for me, you were always the last to take offense and first to forgive. I'm sorry I didn't always have the same for you.
Rest well, my friend. Until we meet again.
Submersion/Vengeance
The past is always with us, the future always lies in wait.
First Strike
And so the city floats, pale in space, destination unknown.