Work Text:
By the time they finally got around to making the trip to the East Coast, to visit Hawk and Meg and the baby, it was spring and Rodney was the one freaking out.
They had meant to go earlier, but first Rodney had come down with the flu and had spent two weeks coughing and sneezing, completely convinced that he was dying. After he'd got better, John had torn a ligament in his knee while playing basketball with the kids at the youth centre, which sucked big time; he had spent far too much time in hospital after the helicopter crash and the prospect of even more physical therapy had been enough to make him want to hit something.
The surgery itself had been a simple outpatient procedure and John went home the same day, accompanied by the hated crutches and an itching knee immobiliser. The only upside of the situation was that he had Rodney waiting on him hand and foot, providing food, drinks and, on a few memorable occasions, blowjobs.
So when they were finally at Sacramento International Airport, John was left trying to balance bags, crutches and Rodney's take-out coffee while Rodney was on the phone to Laura for the third time since they had left for the airport, giving her last minute instructions to remember not to feed Newton milk or she would have to clean up cat-vomit from all over the apartment.
John was less nervous and more angry because he had chickened out yet again and had not been able make himself tell Hawk over the phone that Rodney was not just his friend but also his lover. He was a bit surprised because Rodney had not made a big deal of it. "Tell them or don't tell them," he'd said while they were packing their things (or rather, while Rodney was packing their things, because John was milking his injured knee for all it was worth and had made himself comfortable on the couch to watch Rodney run around like a headless chicken). "I really don't care, as long as they're not planning to beat me to death with baseball bats and by the way, is this shirt too dressy?"
John wasn't afraid to let Hawk and Megan know. They were good people and John trusted Hawk with his life. What made him a little edgy was the fact that as soon as the cat was out of the bag, the word would spread. There were others in his circle of acquaintances who would probably not be too keen on hearing the news that old Shep was now batting for the other team.
It was ridiculously early in the morning and John couldn't stop yawning. Getting through security had been something of a nightmare. Rodney's abrasive personality mixed badly with authority figures and the both of them had almost been subjected to full body-searches before John could produce all the necessary documentation to proved that yes, Rodney was allergic to pretty much everything and yes, he really needed to carry his epi-pen on board the plane and yes, John's leg was held together by metal and no, he did not have any kind of weapon stuck up any orifice.
And now Rodney was freaking out, over cat sitting of all things. Five thirty in the damn morning, and Rodney was freaking out. If there was someone who had a reason for freaking out, it was John. It was all kinds of unfair.
He dropped the bags on the floor, leaned the crutches against the wall and hobbled close enough to deposit the coffee into Rodney's wildly gesturing hand. "Rodney, this is the third time you've woken Laura and Carson up this morning. You will never find another person crazy enough to work for you, so will you leave her alone and let them sleep?"
Rodney protested wildly. "But I have to... What if he gets ill! The new veterinarian is a horrible woman who probably skins cats in secret and turns them into fur coats and Newton has a very sensitive stomach and Laura needs to know this!"
John sighed. He had personally witnessed Newton eating everything from French fries to the potted plants on Rodney's windowsills without getting ill. His stomach was more iron-cast than John's and John had eaten grubs.
"She knows, Rodney. She's going to do a better job of looking after him than we do." John snagged the phone out of Rodney's hand and spoke into it. "Go back to sleep, Laura, we'll be fine and the cat will be fine. See you Monday."
Laura muttered something unintelligible on the other end of the line and hung up, and John did the same on their end, ignoring Rodney's red-faced sputtering.
"Drink your coffee," he said and patted Rodney's shoulder. Rodney opened and closed his mouth like a fish and then shut up and did what he was told.
John watched his throat move as he swallowed and thought about earlier that morning when the shrill sound of the alarm clock had forced them awake. John had been plastered against Rodney's back with his face tucked into Rodney's neck, and right now he would have given his good leg to be back there and not have to worry about flights and friends and life-altering revelations.
Rodney had sprung for first class tickets for which John was tremendously grateful. He was going to be uncomfortable enough with the crutches and the knee-brace and was glad for the extra leg room. "I could get used to this," he told Rodney as he stretched out in his seat with a glass of juice provided by a nice flight attendant.
But Rodney was getting more and more pale, and by the time the plane was taxiing from the terminal to the runway, he was clenching his armrests so tight that his knuckles were white and John was worried that he was going to have a panic attack. Which was stupid because Rodney was flying more often than John did these days.
Then he remembered that Rodney had been like this for days. He had just finished a short story for a journal and John had put it down to the usual pre-deadline jitters, but now he realised that Rodney had to be more terrified of meeting Hawk and Megan than John was of introducing him.
He put the glass down and turned to Rodney. "Hey, listen. It's no big deal, okay? If it seems like it's gonna be a problem, I just won't tell them. We're a couple of guys going on a trip to visit friends. People do that all the time."
Rodney was breathing a little fast and his face had taken on the red hue that made John fear for his blood pressure. "A friend who happens to be in the military and might possibly want to castrate me for molesting his old war-buddy and it's not too late to get off the plane, is it?"
The last was said so loudly that a concerned flight attendant showed up and carefully asked if everything was all right.
"We're fine," John said with a smile and put his hand on Rodney's thigh. "He's just a little anxious about flying, that's all."
"I am not anxious about flying," Rodney protested and John recognised all the signs of a full-blown rant coming on. "I'm anxious about..."
The flight attendant seemed to be a nice person and John didn't think she deserved a cranky Rodney McKay at six o'clock in the morning, so he leaned over into Rodney's seat, grabbed his face and kissed him. Rodney made a choked little noise but then he returned the kiss. John tasted coffee on his lips and was suddenly overwhelmed by the realisation that he could do this, here in front of everyone. Something achy and warm flared up in his stomach and he never wanted to let this go, ever, not for anything in the world.
* * *
Four hours and 34 minutes on a plane that John wasn't flying himself was not even fun in first class. Rodney had one more minor freak-out just after takeoff and John had to physically restrain him to keep him from calling Laura again.
He tried to sleep without success, throwing jealous glances at Rodney who, after calming down a bit, had sacked out in his seat and was snoring with his mouth open. John watched the clouds and tried to ignore the way his guts seemed to have transformed into an anthill. Hawk and Megan were good people. He had nothing to worry about.
They had a brief layover in Atlanta, where Rodney found fault with everything from the masses of people ("Cattle, I tell you. Cattle!") to the selection of food and beverages offered. ("I want coffee." "There's a Starbucks over there." "I said coffee, not Starbucks. I'm a responsible consumer and I refuse to support any company built on the idea of world-domination.")
From Atlanta to Fayetteville they had to fly coach and it didn't take long for John to get bored. Rodney was engrossed in a physics journal and talked more to the article he was reading than to John. "What? That's just stupid! There is no possible way for that to... unless maybe... wait, I can use this! Hey, do you think I could write science fiction?"
John watched Rodney's lips as he spoke, the little hint of pink tongue, and Rodney's fingers tapping a pencil against the page and wondered if they were too old to try out for the Mile High Club.
Hawk was waiting for them at the terminal. John spotted him from far away; it wasn't much of a challenge to find the guy who was a head taller than everyone else, and waved. At John's side, Rodney whispered, "If it seems like I'm about to say something stupid, just stop me, okay? Hit me, stomp my foot, anything. I swear there will be no retribution, just don't let me make an ass of myself."
"Relax, Rodney, everything's gonna be fine," John reassured him, admittedly more to calm himself than Rodney.
Hawk caught sight of John and made his way through the flurry of passengers meeting up with their loved ones. "Hey, Shep! What's with the crutches? I thought you were done with this shit?"
"Yeah," John ducked his head and laughed a little. "I ran into a basketball court that didn't agree."
Hawk grinned at him, and the next moment John found himself ensconced in a bear-hug. The nervousness was firmly tucked away out of sight because this was Hawk, rock-steady Hawk, who had saved his life, and whose life he had saved in return and John didn't know what he'd do if he lost this friendship.
He pulled away and motioned to Rodney, who was looking pale and a little nauseous, holding his laptop case in front of him like a shield.
"Hawk, this is Rodney McKay. Don't worry; his bark is worse than his bite. Rodney, meet Rudy Hawkins."
Hawk reached out his hand and Rodney took it, very carefully, like he was afraid Hawk would bite him. "Mr. McKay, I've heard a lot about you. Just call me Hawk or Rudy, everyone does," Hawk said with a smile.
Rodney shook his hand and stuttered, "Thank you, me too. I mean, I've heard a lot about you from John. Very pleased to meet you, and Rodney, that's my name, I mean, call me Rodney."
So, Rodney was obviously still nervous. If he hadn't looked so miserable, John would almost have thought it was funny to see him so flustered and unsure of himself. But this was like watching a particularly horrible train wreck, and he had promised Rodney, so he stepped in.
"Well, that's the introductions care of." He turned to Hawk. "Didn't you say something about feeding us before? I'm starving."
"Sure!" Hawk grabbed John's bag and offered to take Rodney's laptop, but Rodney held on to it like he didn't know how to let go. Hawk led the way through the airport and to the parking lot, where he had to remove a child seat from the passenger side of his car and a heap of junk from the back seat to make room for them. Rodney quickly slunk into the back, apparently trying to turn himself invisible. He hadn't said a word during the walk to the car, and for Rodney, that was something of an anomaly
John clambered into the passenger seat and soon fell into the familiar old rhythm he'd always had with Hawk. John talked about the youth centre and had to tell the story of his basketball accident in detail. Hawk couldn't shut up about his little daughter, how she was smiling all the time now and had to be the smartest kid ever born.
John thought Rodney would comment on that, but there was not one sound from the backseat.
* * *
Hawk and Megan lived in a small two story house, which had three sides painted in white and one in a shabby yellow.
"We've been meaning to fix that," Hawk said apologetically as they pulled into the driveway. "But there hasn't been much time lately, what with the baby and everything."
John studied the house. "I could come back a little later in the spring, help you guys out," he offered, half expecting Rodney to come up with some statistics about the risks of climbing ladders, but it never came. Rodney hadn't opened his mouth since the airport and left all the talking up to John and Hawk. John found it deeply unsettling. A quiet Rodney was just unnatural.
As Hawk went around the car to get their bags out of the trunk. John turned around in his seat to look at Rodney. "What's wrong with you?" he asked.
"Nothing," came Rodney's tight-lipped answer. "I'm fine."
"Bull," John shot back. "You're not talking."
"I'm trying to do my best not to embarrass you."
John sighed. It was hard to believe that a man like Rodney could be so lacking in confidence beneath his brash surface. This was the Rodney who had no idea how to get along with people. And all this because he wanted John's friends to like him. "Rodney, you won't embarrass me. They're nice people. Just be yourself."
"In case you hadn't noticed, I don't usually make a good first impression. The first thing you said to me was 'you're kind of a jerk', remember?"
"Well, you are. Give me a hand out."
Rodney got out of the car, helped John out of his seat and handed him the crutches while Hawk carried their bags inside. Rodney refused to meet Hawk's eyes, and seemed determined to make himself invisible. John hoped he wouldn't keep this up the whole weekend. If that were the case, things would get really awkward really fast.
Hawk and Megan's hall was small and very homey, with a full length mirror on the wall and a small carpet on the floor. You could barely turn around for all the coats and shoes and assorted clutter. Neither Hawk nor Megan had ever been very organised. On the inside of the front door someone had tacked up a large shiny poster of an A-10 Thunderbolt II. Yeah, this was Hawk's home all right.
Megan stood in the doorway to the living room, a yellow bundle of blankets in her arms. "Hi guys," she greeted them with a wide smile. "Did you have a good trip?" Then she caught sight of John's crutches. "What did you do to yourself this time?" she asked, and John had to re-tell the whole story about the accident.
When he was finished, Hawk kissed Megan's cheek and took the baby from her. "Anna, this is John," Hawk said, holding the little girl up for John to see. "Don't listen to a thing he tells you."
The baby had Megan's hair, a thick black tuft of it, and dark brown eyes. John reached out his hand to touch her cheek, amazed at how soft her skin was. He wanted to ask Megan if he could hold her, but didn't trust himself to be able to balance both baby and crutches. Anna blinked at him, looking very solemn. "Hi Anna," John said. "Did your mommy and daddy get you a skateboard yet?"
"No, they didn't," Megan said with emphasis. "And if Uncle John gives her one, we will have a little bonfire in the garden."
"Every kid should have a skateboard," John stated. "And maybe a surfboard. But that'll probably have to wait until she's a little older."
Hawk handed the baby back to Megan and bent down to get John and Rodney's bags. The hall was small enough as it was without the extra clutter. Rodney peeked over John's shoulder at the little girl, and Megan looked up at him.
"Hello, you must be John's friend. I'm Megan."
"Rodney," Rodney answered, still staring at the baby.
Megan noticed and smiled warmly. "Do you want to hold her?"
Rodney took a very quick step back, holding his hands up. "No! No, no no, I mean it's not that I don't want to because she's beautiful and tiny and you should be very very proud of her, but I'm not good with kids. Seriously, she'll scream the house down as soon as I touch her and..."
"Don't be silly," Megan said and put the baby in Rodney's arms.
He went silent, just like that. Anna looked at him with huge brown eyes, and then smiled. Rodney's eyes widened. "Oh," he breathed, and then he smiled back at her. "Hello there."
John watched and once again felt that warm ache deep inside. He knew that he'd probably given everything away the moment Rodney had taken the kid because it had to be clear on his face just how much he loved the man who was standing there, in the middle of the hall, cradling a three-month-old baby with a look of wonder.
"You're a natural," Megan said. "Have you been around a lot of children?"
Rodney didn't seem to be able to take his eyes off Anna. "Not really, no," he answered. "My sister has a little daughter but we don't see each other much. She lives in Vancouver with her family."
"You don't have any of your own?"
"What?" Rodney's head darted up like it was the most unthinkable idea he'd ever heard. "No, no, I don't."
Anna chose that moment to hiccup and throw up a little on Rodney's shirt. "And now I remember why," he said with a grimace and handed her back to a laughing Megan.
John breathed out. The ice was finally broken. He made a silent vow to get Anna the best skateboard money could buy as soon as she was old enough to walk.
* * *
Rodney and Megan became firm friends as soon as Rodney discovered the piano in the living room. "Do you play?" he asked, pointing to the instrument with something like longing in his eye.
"Meg used to give private lessons," Hawk explained on his way to the kitchen, and John remembered how their small house on Nellis AFB had always been full of kids and music the first autumn after Hawk and Megan had got married.
"I teach a couple of high school music classes," Megan said, letting her fingers slide lovingly over the black and white keys. "But I've been thinking about starting up the private lessons again while I'm home with Anna. Children should grow up with music, don't you think?"
"I wanted to be a concert pianist," Rodney said, to John's surprise. That was news to him. Then again, he had never really talked about childhood dreams with Rodney. Family was something of a sore point for both of them, badly-healed wounds with ugly scars, and John had never felt confident enough to bring it up. He knew about Rodney's love for classical music though, and this new revelation made him regret that he'd never asked about it.
"Really? You'll have to play something for us after dinner," Megan said, but Rodney looked away.
"No, I...I gave it up. I haven't played in ages."
There was old pain in his voice, the kind that made John want to wrap his arms around Rodney and hold him tight, make him tell John everything, and then allow John to kiss the pain away and make it better. He couldn't do that now though, and it made him feel deficient, like something important was missing.
Then Hawk called from the kitchen that dinner was served, and Rodney was saved from having to explain why he had given up on his dream. John managed to give him a covert squeeze on the shoulder as they left the living room. It didn't feel like it was enough.
Rodney and Megan kept talking music over dinner, Beethoven and Mozart and a bunch of other composers John had never even heard of, while John and Hawk rolled their eyes at each other. Anna sat in a baby carrier on the chair beside Hawk, gurgling happily with a toothless grin. Hawk told John how he planned to fix up the small garden, maybe plant another apple tree. Meg's parents had a big orchard, he said, stroking her hand, and she had missed picking her own fruit. Hawk was an instructor for the A-10s now and knew he would be stationed at Pope for some time; that was why they had bought the house in Fayetteville.
Hawk and Megan were touching each other all the time, like they always had, fingers searching and finding each other across the table, a fleeting stroke over skin every time one of them rose from their chair to re-fill a dish. John was itching for the same, that natural unaffected familiarity they had with each other, the comfort he himself had together with Rodney when it was just the two of them alone. To be able to reach out his fingers and find Rodney's, to hold his hand, to rest his head on Rodney's shoulder. It was all new to John, something he was only now discovering. Looking back on his life Before Rodney, he'd been so starved of touch, of intimacy, that his skin sometimes felt dry like a desert, sucking up every drop of Rodney like desperately needed water.
He couldn't imagine what it would be like not to have that. Rodney was a constant in his life now, the thing he'd built everything else around.
But Before Rodney, one of his constants had been Hawk. Even when they weren't stationed together, they had always stayed in contact. Hawk had been John's ally against his father. Hawk had always offered a place to crash when one of John's numerous relationships had ended. Hawk had been the one to listen to John's drunken ramblings after Mitch and Dex died. John's entire career in the Air Force had started and ended with Hawk, from their Academy days to the court martial and John's subsequent exile to Antarctica. A life without Hawk was as impossible as a life without Rodney.
John wasn't sure if Rodney knew this, or if he was just doing his best to make a good first impression for once. He only talked about his work when he was asked, listened attentively to Megan's stories about her students without the commentary John was met with when he told Rodney about some of the stunts his own kids had pulled. He was trying so hard to be polite and likeable that John almost wanted to stand up and ask right out where his Rodney was.
After they finished dinner, Megan said, "Just leave the dishes on the counter. The dishwasher broke again. We'll just rinse them out and Rudy can do them later."
"Really?" Rodney piped up. "I could take a look..."
The next moment, he had rolled his sleeves up and was elbow-deep in the guts of the dishwasher while Megan watched and explained in detail every strange noise it made. Rodney seemed to be enjoying himself so John took the offered beer from Hawk and followed him into the living room. The anthill was back in his belly, crawling and burning with anxiousness.
"McKay seems like a good guy," Hawk said, nodding towards the kitchen. "Smart."
"Smart? He's a freaking genius," John replied and sat down on the couch. "Just don't tell him I said so."
"He's kinda quiet though."
John almost laughed out loud. If there was one word to describe Rodney McKay, quiet wasn't it. "He was just so nervous about meeting you guys that he's trying to be on his best behaviour. Believe me, as soon as he's figured out you're not axe murderers, he'll be back to being the usual pain in the ass."
"Well, Meg likes him. If he can fix that dishwasher I think she'd be happy to replace me," Hawk said and laughed. Then he turned serious. "But I don't have to worry about that, do I?"
So, this was the moment of truth. John's mouth went dry and he had to take a gulp of beer to un-glue his tongue. He and Rodney had tried not to act so much like a couple, but Hawk had always been brighter than people gave him credit for. John wouldn't be surprised if he'd noticed it the moment he picked them up at the airport.
And why shouldn't he? When John was with Rodney it was like he had mine mine mine on repeat as an undercurrent somewhere in the back of his mind. Maybe it was clear to other people as well? In any case, it was obviously clear to Hawk, and John had to answer, had to tell the truth and live with whatever consequences it would have.
"No," he said, and then, because it felt like a statement that important ought to be longer than just one word. "No, you don't. We... we're together. That way."
John had to force himself to meet Hawk's eyes, trying to keep his gaze unabashed and steady. He had no reason to be ashamed of this, damnit. Rodney was the best thing that ever happened to him. If Hawk couldn't accept that...
"Yeah, that's what I thought." Hawk put the hand not holding the beer in his pocket. He looked like he didn't know what to say, how to continue the conversation. John didn't blame him. What did you say when you found out that a guy you had counted as a close friend for years, the guy you had shared showers and locker rooms with, was fucking another man? John didn't know how he would have reacted in Hawk's place.
"He's the first," he said quickly.
Hawk seemed to relax a little at that. "No shit," he said, and then, "How long have you two... you know?" He did a little gesture with the beer bottle that John translated to mean 'how long have you been boinking like bunnies?'
"A year or so. After I moved to Sacramento." That seemed important somehow. "We were friends first, and then he sort of jumped me. We were watching TV and before I knew it he was..."
Hawk waved furiously at John to stop talking. "Okay, I don't need to hear that!" he coughed, but there was amusement in his voice and not disgust. John felt some of the tension he'd walked around with all day drain out of his body and couldn't hold back a smile. He should've known better than to doubt Hawk.
"So... we're good?" He had to hear the words, had to know for sure.
Hawk grinned. "When have we ever not been?"
It was almost like an anticlimax, that it wasn't harder than that. Everything was fine between them, and John felt light-headed with relief. He knew he should probably go and talk to Rodney, tell him it was all clear, that they didn't have to pretend any longer, but then Hawk sat down in the couch, grabbed the remote and said, "Want to see what's on ESPN?"
And that was business as usual, a beer and a game, the same thing they had been doing together since long before there had been a wife and a gay lover fixing the dishwasher in the kitchen. It was a desperately needed normalcy, so John said, "Sure," and they spent the next two hours watching sports while darkness fell outside.
When the game was over, Hawk collected the bottles and John fought his way up from the couch. His knee was stiff after an entire day spent on a plane, and he was just beginning to think about how they were going to tackle the sleeping arrangements. Knowing John and Rodney shared a bed was one thing, having visible proof of it might be something completely different.
Rodney and Megan were sitting at the kitchen table finishing off the bottle of wine they'd had with dinner. Megan was giggling and Rodney's ears were bright red; he seemed to be a little tipsy. "We had to celebrate!" Megan exclaimed, pointing to the humming dishwasher. John had to smile - score one for the almighty McKay.
John sat down next to Rodney while Hawk rinsed the empty beer bottles, and Rodney leaned in and whispered, "Did you tell him? Because it's possible that I might have let something slip to Megan, but to my defence I must say that she's sneaky and evil and possibly in league with my sister, but if you didn't tell him maybe we can convince her to shut up about it..."
Across the table, Megan was giggling even more. "I'm open to bribes," she said. "Foot massage is preferred, but chocolate works too."
"I told him," John said, almost laughing himself at Rodney's wide-eyed concern. "Everything's okay."
"Really? We're out?"
John nodded and finally dared to reach out for Rodney's hand, knit their fingers together and ground himself in the touch. This almost felt like the post-mission adrenaline crash, when nerves strained to the max were finally allowed to relax. He distantly heard Rodney's voice, "Oh, that's good, that's very very good, not that I was worried of course. I already assured Megan that I'm taking good care of you, though I would appreciate it if you could stop getting hurt all the time, but this is good, this is great, isn't it great, Megan?"
"It's wonderful," Megan agreed. "I'm so happy for you, John."
John glanced at Hawk over by the counter and was met by a smile, and suddenly it hit him – they were out and it was okay, and he got to keep both his lover and his friends. He felt shaky and a little lightheaded and tried to hide it by gripping Rodney's hand a little tighter so his fingers wouldn't start trembling.
"Well," Hawk said with a fond look at his wife. "It's getting late and if I know our daughter she'll be awake at dawn." He turned to John. "Do you guys want to share the guest room or..." he hesitated, seemingly unsure of what to say.
John was just about to answer that as far as he was concerned, he could sleep on the couch and let Rodney have the guest room, but Rodney was quicker and said, "Yes, thank you, that'll be perfect."
His decision was apparently not open for argument, so John just nodded again and said, "Yeah, that's fine."
Hawk carried their bags upstairs while Rodney helped John navigate the staircase, all of them trying to keep their voices down so they wouldn't wake Anna. Megan showed them the guest room, which was small but very nice, decorated in earth tones and with an en-suite bathroom. Then she and Hawk disappeared into their own bedroom.
Rodney sat down on the bed, bouncing up and down a couple of time before he found the mattress to his liking and went for his suitcase. "That went well," he said. "Don't you think it went well? And Megan is very nice, I think she and Jeannie would like each other. We should invite all of them to Sacramento some time..."
John wasn't really listening. He was busy trying to adjust to being out. Good god, this was it, this was the final goodbye to Major Sheppard and the Air Force. He was out, and the thought made his knees feel weak and he had to sit down on the edge of the bed.
Rodney was digging in his bag, mumbling something to himself. John felt dizzy and sick, he'd only had one beer but he still felt like he was going to puke. Suddenly he was shivering, shaking violently, and his teeth were chattering even though the room was warm.
Rodney didn't seem to notice. "I know I packed the toothbrushes, I just can't remember where I put them. Do you..." Then there was a concerned pause before Rodney's voice came back. "John? What is it, what's wrong?"
John tried to force the shaking to stop without success. Nothing was wrong, there was no reason for this, none at all, and yet his body felt completely out of control. "I don't know," he managed. "I don't know why I..."
And then Rodney was there, arms wrapped tight around John's trembling form. "How someone so smart can be so stupid I will never understand," he muttered, his hands stroking wide circles over John's back. "If you could only talk about things, if you could just tell me, but no, not you, not John Sheppard. You're always fine, even when you're not."
"I'm sorry," John mumbled into Rodney's shirt. He couldn't believe how screwed up he was. Rodney shouldn't have to deal with this, didn't deserve this.
"No, god no, don't be," Rodney pulled away a little so he could look John in the eye. John could barely meet his gaze, but forced himself to keep it steady. "I'm the one who should be sorry," Rodney said. "I made everything be about me as usual, when it was you... I'm so sorry, John. I guess I really am a jerk, but I can't help it, that's who I am and I can't just not be me."
"Don't want you any other way," John said, feeling a little better now, a little steadier, not like the earth would open up and swallow him. Rodney was an anchor, his heartbeat keeping John grounded.
Rodney looked at him for a long time, as if he was trying to see something in John that John wasn't even sure was there. "Let's get ready for bed," he said finally. "It's been a long day."
John could only agree to that. After he'd brushed his teeth and washed his face he felt ready to join the human race again, especially since he got to curl up next to Rodney instead of trying to get comfortable on a lonely couch.
"Talk to me," Rodney said when they were settled, buried underneath the covers together, smelling of toothpaste and soap. "I need to know what's going on in that head of yours."
John had no idea what to say, how to put his thoughts into words that Rodney could understand, but he knew he had to try. If there was one thing he had learnt from this relationship, it was that they had to work on it and work hard. That meant that Rodney had to put his work aside to spend time with John, and John had to talk when Rodney needed him to.
"It's like..." he started. "Like... I don't know. Like it's over for good now. The Air Force. I can never go back."
"What, were you planning to?" Rodney asked, his voice a little high. John thought he should just have shut up, but then Rodney said, "No, wait, I'm sorry, ignore that. Go on, you were saying?"
"It's stupid. But it's just... I've been in the military all my life, and now I'm not, and I'm not sure how to... do that."
Rodney was silent. John listened to his breathing in the darkness, wondering what he was thinking. Then Rodney said, "I thought that was good? The whole letting go of the past thing? Starting a new life?"
"Yeah," John said. "Yeah, I guess so."
So why did was he feeling like he was missing out on something? He had made an active decision to quit the Air Force. If he'd wanted, they would've let him stay. Not as a pilot, but there were plenty of other jobs. But he had chosen to leave and if he got another shot, he'd do the same thing again. So he should be happy, right?
It was too late and he was too tired for thoughts like this. He'd have to try to sort it out tomorrow. John buried his face in Rodney's neck and let the steady rhythm of Rodney's heartbeat lull him to sleep.
* * *
John woke slowly, still floating on the remains of a dream. He didn't remember much of it, only bronze and turquoise and the salt smell of the ocean, but it must have been a nice one. He felt calm and rested, like he'd just had the first good night's sleep in ages.
He sighed and stretched out underneath the covers. The sound of waves turned into the sound of a running shower. Sunlight was tickling his nose and John turned over, burying his face in the pillow. It took him a moment to wake up fully, to remember Hawk and Megan, to remember Rodney and being out. It was a bit too much to deal with first thing in the morning, so he closed his eyes again and dozed until he heard the door to the bathroom opening and smelled hot water and soap and Rodney.
"John? Are you awake?"
John turned over again, blinking his eyes open. Rodney had a towel wrapped around his hips, he was pink and clean and his damp hair was sticking out in every direction. There was a lot of naked skin and John wanted to reach out and touch every inch of it.
"Mhmm," he murmured. "Time 's it?" It felt like a good idea to get Rodney to climb back into bed and sleep some more, curled around his body.
"Just after eight. The baby woke up a couple of hours ago." Rodney rummaged around in his suitcase, found a pair of clean boxers and sat down on the bed to pull them on. "I'm surprised she didn't wake you. You slept like the dead."
"Huh." John sat up against the headboard, rubbing his eyes. It was a little surprising, actually. He was usually a light sleeper. Back home, the sound of Newton moving around the apartment could be enough to wake him. "I guess I did."
"Well, it seems like you needed it. Are you feeling better today? You look better. You're not still freaking out, are you?"
"Wasn't freaking out," John mumbled, and then, at Rodney's raised eyebrows, "Okay, maybe I was freaking out a little."
"Want to talk about it?" Rodney asked, standing up and dropping the towel on the floor. "And if you do, can it wait until I've had coffee? I tell you, I can feel the caffeine withdrawal setting in and it's not going to be pretty."
John considered it and came to the conclusion that it was still too early for heart-to-hearts. No one should be forced to talk about their feelings before breakfast. "Yeah, okay," he said, sliding out of bed. "Later. I hope you saved me some hot water. And stop leaving your towels on the floor, it drives me crazy"
"Neat freak," Rodney muttered, but bent down to retrieve the towel.
When John came out of the shower, Rodney had dressed and was sitting on the bed checking his e-mail. John put his clothes on and quietly cursed the knee-brace while he tried to get his newly-awakened brain around the fact that he was out. My best friend knows I'm gay, he thought, trying it out in his head. My best friend knows I'm gay and I've spent the night in his guestroom together with my boyfriend. It felt okay, like he could get used to it, get it to fit with the rest of his life.
He managed to get down the stairs on his own, a little victory in its own right, and entered the kitchen where sunlight was streaming through the windows, reflecting off the yellow lacquered cupboards. Hawk and Megan were sitting at the kitchen table, both looking like they had been up for a while. Hawk was reading the paper, Megan was gurgling something in baby-speak to Anna. It was the perfect picture of domesticity and John was struck by a sudden jolt of jealousy until he felt Rodney's hand in the small of his back and leaned into the warmth of the touch.
Megan looked up as they entered the kitchen. "Good morning! Did you sleep well?"
John smiled and said, "Sure, thanks", while Rodney's response was, "Please tell me there's coffee?"
"Don't be an ass, Rodney", John said, but it came out sounding like an endearment and a feeling of rightness welled up inside him. This was his Rodney, the one he knew, and not the overly polite stranger from yesterday.
Megan just laughed and poured Rodney a mug, which he quickly inhaled and then asked for a refill. John accepted a cup of coffee of his own, some eggs and toast and, at Rodney's insistence, declined the orange juice ("Drink that poison and I swear I will make you brush your teeth with chlorine."). He stole the sports section of the paper from Hawk and leaned back in his chair, chewing on his toast. Rodney's hand was resting possessively on his knee under the table and John felt pretty good about it all.
Too good, an evil little voice in the back of his head whispered. Too good to be true.
John turned a page and told the voice to shut up.
* * *
The thing was, John reflected a little later, he never expected good things to happen to him. Things like Rodney, things like Sacramento and the new life he had begun to create for himself there. He wasn't a pessimist; he'd always considered the world a pretty cool place to live in, and he found his joy in the small things. Flying, ferris wheels, a cold beer on a warm day, that first gentle stretch when Rodney's fingers breached his body. But experience had taught him that whenever something went right with his life, it was only a matter of time before it turned around and went to shit again. He'd learned to roll with the punches and come out standing. He'd just never considered the possibility that he would one day find someone who wanted to stand beside him.
That sort of thing didn't happen to John Sheppard and somehow he kept expecting the other shoe to drop.
Hawk and Megan suggested a trip to the Airborne and Special Operations Museum and it felt like a nice way to spend a Saturday, strolling (or in John's case, hopping) around and looking at the exhibitions. Hawk had always had a special interest for military history and kept spouting trivia while Megan jokingly rolled her eyes. She was pushing Anna in a stroller and Hawk walked beside her, his arm draped around her waist.
"They look happy, don't you think?" Rodney said softly to John as the two of them had sat down so that John could get off his leg for a while. He sounded like it was something completely unexpected, and John wanted to go back in time and punch Rodney's parents in the face, and then his own father too, for good measure.
The truth was, Hawk and Megan were one of the reasons for why John had not given up on relationships altogether. Their marriage seemed perfect, and even though John knew they'd had their fair share of bumps on the road, they had not allowed anything to split them up. It was what John had always stupidly dreamed about but never really allowed himself to hope for. Now, with Rodney, it was hovering just within reach. If he only could keep from screwing up.
Hawk was completely mesmerised by the museum's pride and joy - a completely restored WACO CG-4A glider. "Half the soldiers of an airborne division arrived at the battlefield in one of these beauties," he told John. "They haven't been used since the early fifties. Imagine flying something like this, Shep!"
John admired the fragile construction of plywood, cloth and steel tubing and for a fleeting moment he couldn't help wishing he could've been one of those pilots, to have been part of that. Rodney, however, had gone very pale at the sight and looked slightly ill.
"You okay?" John asked him, instinctively thinking back, counting the time that had passed since Rodney last ate (thirty minutes, a chocolate bar, so it wasn't his blood sugar).
Rodney waved him away. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Just having flashbacks to that time when you nearly died and it took two weeks for me to find out."
Suddenly the glider was less fascinating. John grabbed Rodney's hand and held on, gripping it hard. He wanted to say something, but his throat was closing up and no words came out. Their palms pressed together had to be enough, John thought, willing Rodney to understand, to accept that for this, there could be no words, no explanations.
When they reached the Vietnam exhibit, John was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. To begin with, he was still holding Rodney's hand, clumsily balancing on one crutch with the other held awkwardly under his arm. People were paying a little too much attention to them and it made the spot between John's shoulder blades itch, like he had a target painted on his back. Walking through the room, John soon found that the exhibit included a Huey, the pilot visible behind the controls and the door gunner at the ready.
John hadn't flown Hueys often, but the sight of the helicopter hit him like a punch to the gut. He felt ill, and Rodney had grown even more pale. The exhibit included an audio track with sounds of battle, and there was suddenly very little air in the room. He felt dizzy, only Rodney's presence keeping him grounded, and John realised that he needed to get out of here, now, or he was going to do something embarrassing and humiliating like fainting in front of Hawk and Megan and all the visitors.
"Do you guys mind if I go ahead?" he asked, doing his best to keep his voice steady. He gestured at his leg, for once extremely grateful to be a pathetic cripple. "Getting kinda tired here."
Hawk stopped in the middle of a sentence, cutting off his lecture about pilots in Vietnam (over two thousand Huey pilots had been killed). His expression changed from excited to sheepish, as if he'd suddenly realised that even if this was history, it still affected the modern world.
"Sure," he said, "Do you, uh, want to go back home?"
John shook his head. "No, it's all right. You guys go ahead and enjoy yourselves. I'll just find somewhere to sit down." He turned to Rodney. "Do you want to..." he asked, cutting off the question. Part of him wanted Rodney to come with him and the other part just wanted to be alone, to run and hide and find somewhere he could have his little panic attack in peace.
Rodney looked at him, and then at the exhibit. He was still very pale, but there was a strange look in his eyes, the same look he got when he was engrossed in research for one of his novels. "I... I think I want to see the rest of this. Well, not really, but I think I have to. Unless you want me to...?"
"No, I'm fine. I'll wait in the lobby."
John let go of Rodney's hand, a bit relieved but still mostly freaked out of his mind. He got the other crutch in place and hobbled out of the exhibit as fast as he could.
The lobby was light and airy compared to the exhibit area. John zoned in on a bench and sat down. For a moment he was afraid he was going to be sick, felt the bitter bile rise in his throat, but the feeling passed. He let the crutches fall to the floor and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and just breathing deeply, in and out.
Shit. This was embarrassing. John preferred to have his panic attacks in private, not out in the open where everyone could watch.
As if on cue, a museum employee turned up by John's side, a concerned expression all over her face. Or maybe she was just afraid he'd puke on the floor. "Are you all right, sir? Can I get you anything? A glass of water maybe?"
"No, thanks," John waved her away. "I'm fine. Just resting."
The 'I'm fine' line was beginning to get old, John thought. Anyone could see that he was absolutely not fine. But, well, to admit that... It wasn't something John was prepared to do. He was getting there, slowly, but he wasn't quite ready to be this vulnerable among strangers.
It seemed like he managed to convince the employee though, because she left, after picking John's crutches up off the floor and leaning them against the wall beside him; so that no one would trip over them, she said.
Finally alone, John was beginning to feel a little better. The sounds and sights of the exhibitions were slowly fading, morphing from horrifying memories of war into set-ups and mannequin dolls telling a story. His pulse was slowing, his breathing was normal again, his leg ached, the knee-brace itched, he was back to status quo
It took maybe half an hour before John spotted Rodney, Hawk and Megan with the stroller. Rodney and Megan were talking quietly about something, and Rodney only interrupted the conversation to throw John a raised eyebrow, silently asking if he was all right.
John answered with a smile and a thumbs up and Rodney, satisfied, turned his attention back to Megan. It was Hawk who came over, looking a little embarrassed and maybe a tiny bit worried.
"Hey, you all right?"
John ducked his head, shying away from Hawks piercing gaze. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little... you know."
Hawk nodded. "Things coming back to you? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought you guys here. Kinda fucked up way to spend a Saturday when you think about it."
"Nah," John shook his head. "It's a great place. They've put a lot of work into it. It's me that's fucked up." He didn't want to meet Hawks eyes, but forced himself to. This was part of him, this brokenness, and if Hawk could accept Rodney, then he should be able to accept a little bit of PSTD. Hell, Hawk had been there himself, if anyone would understand, it was him.
Hawk didn't say anything, just squeezed John's shoulder with a large warm hand, and that was better than words. Words wouldn't help with this, and Hawk, bless him, knew that. What he said instead was, "Wanna check out the gift shop? They've got some cool stuff."
John nodded, gathered up his crutches and followed Hawk towards the gift shop. Rodney turned up by his side, a warm, comforting presence, not saying anything, just being there.
* * *
They had lunch at a café in town and spent the afternoon exploring Fayetteville. Megan suggested a visit to Cape Fear Botanical Garden, which John thought was a brilliant idea. He wasn't a big fan of gardening and between him and Rodney they barely managed to keep Rodney's beloved cactus alive, but he was sure that looking at pretty flowers would chase away the last remnants of blood and smoke from his mind.
It was still a little too early in the spring for most flowers, but it was still a pleasant way to spend an afternoon. Hawk and Megan took Anna for a walk along the paths while John found a bench by a pond where he could sit and let the calm atmosphere wash over him. Rodney joined him, sitting down close enough for their elbows to touch, and John was acutely aware of his presence; Rodney's skin through his shirtsleeve, his scent.
They didn't talk. John knew that, sooner or later, they would have to. The visit to the museum had brought things out in the open that John had preferred to keep hidden, and that Rodney had also been more than happy to ignore. Rodney had always hated John's military past and made no secret of it. John himself had tried to make it a non-issue. It was a choice he'd made long ago and, in the end, he'd stuck to it. The only thing he'd been really interested in was the flying. The rest of it - the fire and the destruction, the tombstones engraved with names of men and women torn away from life far before their time – was all a necessary evil, the price he had to pay for open blue skies.
Now he'd lost the sky but still had the nightmares. It didn't seem fair.
* * *
"Weird day, don't you think?" Rodney mumbled into John's neck as they settled into bed that evening. Dinner had been a quiet affair, since they all had been tired, and they had gone to bed early. John squirmed around, trying to find a comfortable position and then he felt Rodney's fingers skimming his side, sliding in underneath his t-shirt and coming to rest on his stomach.
"It got better," John answered, already half asleep. He pressed against Rodney, revelling in the feeling of his warm body. Then Rodney's hand was moving down, fingers trailing towards the edge of John's boxers. His dick stirred, suddenly very interested. However, Hawk and Megan were sleeping a few doors away and it didn't matter how accepting they were of his new lifestyle, he was not having sex in their guestroom. "No," he said, moving Rodney's hand away.
"What, why?" Rodney sounded completely baffled and more than a little hurt.
"I'm not doing it here," John said firmly. "Wait until we get home."
"But...but," Rodney whined. "That's not until tomorrow!"
"I think you can hold out for one more day, Rodney," John shot back, grinning into the dimness of the room. "Patience is a virtue, or so I've heard."
"Well, dying from blue balls is not," Rodney grumbled, but grudgingly moved his hand back to its original position.
John relaxed into the mattress, enveloped in Rodney's embrace, and tried to wind his brain down enough to fall asleep. So much had happened during the day, and John felt like he hadn't quite had the time to catch up on it all. He half expected to lie awake half the night, or at least have some pretty spectacular nightmares, but he was asleep before he knew it.
As it turned out, it was not John's turn for nightmares that night. Just after midnight, he was dragged from sleep by Rodney tossing and turning beside him. John was just about to kick him in the shin, roll over and go back to sleep, when he noticed how Rodney was breathing in sharp, strangled sobs, and when he sat up he was alarmed by the look of panic on Rodney's sleeping face. John hesitantly poked him a little, groggily wondering if you were supposed to startle people with nightmare's awake, or if that was people who were sleepwalking, but when he didn't get a reaction, he shook Rodney a little harder.
"Hey, Rodney, wake up. You're dreaming, buddy."
Rodney flinched away from the touch, and then suddenly his eyes opened and he stared into the darkness, breathing hard. "Crap," he muttered, dragging a hand over his face.
"You okay?" John asked carefully. He was so very bad at this. Usually it was the other way around, with Rodney soothing his nightmares away.
Rodney didn't answer. Instead, he slid out of bed and staggered into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. John stayed between the sheets for a moment, listening anxiously for the sound of Rodney being sick, but all he heard was running water. When he had waited for five minutes and the door didn't open, John slowly made his way out of bed and limped over the floor to lean against the doorjamb. He knocked lightly on the door. "Rodney? You all right?"
There was a noncommittal sound from within, and John wasn't going to be satisfied with it. "You're kinda freaking me out here, buddy," he continued. "Wanna come out and talk about it?"
It wasn't that he particularly wanted to talk. John had a pretty good idea about what had set Rodney off. But talking about things was the way Rodney dealt, and if it was going to make him feel better, John was prepared to babble all night.
A few moments later, the door unlocked and Rodney showed up, his face damp and his sweaty hair curling a little against his neck. "Well," he muttered with a scowl. "That was absolutely no fun at all."
"Bad dream?" John asked, raising an eyebrow. Stupid question, he knew, but he had to start somewhere.
"You could say that," Rodney muttered, padding over to the window. He leaned back, putting both hands on the windowsill behind him. "I think I'm having your nightmares, only I wasn't actually there so my subconscious is substituting your scary things for mine and my subconscious is seriously messed up. There were enormous bees dropping exploding lemons on people. " He made an embarrassed little pause. "And then I was eaten by a whale."
John knew he was an asshole, but he couldn't help it. He started to laugh, a deep braying laugh that took his breath away and made his stomach ache.
"Stop it, it's not funny!" Rodney hissed, red in the face. "And you'll wake the baby!"
"Sorry," John gasped, struggling for breath, and wiping the tears from his eyes. "I know it's not... I just... jeez McKay, leave it to you to de-traumatise shit."
"Yes, because death by anaphylaxis is not traumatic at all," Rodney grumbled, turning his back to the room. John felt bad - he really was an asshole and laughing at your boyfriend's nightmares wasn't exactly the most compassionate thing you could do. He limped up to Rodney, wrapped his arms around his chest and belly and rested his chin on Rodney's shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "Really, I am." Rodney was slowly relaxing into his embrace, leaning back a little. "This thing with the Air Force really bothers you, huh?"
"Do you really want to talk about this now?" Rodney asked, suddenly sounding very tired. "I mean, not that I'm not grateful you've decided to forego the whole 'suffering in silence until you can't take it anymore' thing but I would've thought..." he made an abortive little motion with his hand.
"No, I want to know." John looked out through the window, at the moonlight painting the garden in a pale silvery hue. Megan's apple tree was casting long shadows over the grass. "I don't think about it a lot. It's part of who I am and I can't change the past. Just never realised how bad you felt about it."
Rodney huffed. "Please, I'm insanely in love with you, of course I feel bad about it. I can't even begin to understand what you've been through and I hate the thought of those things happening to you. So yes, it bothers me."
John wanted to protest, to tell Rodney that it hadn't been things happening to him as much as it had been him happening to other people, but the moment didn't feel right. He pressed his lips against Rodney's temple instead. "Let's go back to bed and try to get some more sleep," he said. "I think I've done enough sharing for one night."
Rodney snorted. "Statistically speaking, you've done enough sharing for a year." He pressed back a little more against John, wriggling his hips. "Know what would make me feel better?"
"No, Rodney."
"Come on, everyone knows that sex is an excellent cure for nightmares."
"No."
"All right, all right. But I warn you, at this rate we won't even make it home, I'll ravish you on the plane."
John briefly considered giving in, longing for the feeling of Rodney's body sliding against his, of them getting lost in each other for a little while. Then reality returned as he thought about embarrassing stains on the sheets and the fact that Rodney might be a lot of things in bed, but quiet was not one of them.
However, falling back asleep with Rodney's arm slung around his waist wasn't a terrible substitute and the nightmares didn't return.
* * *
When John woke up the next morning, Rodney was still asleep and snoring, his mouth slack against the pillow. Waking him up felt like a cruel thing to do, so John slid out as bed as quietly as he could and carefully padded over to the bathroom to take care of business.
It was much later than he'd thought. The garden that had been bathed in moonlight the night before was now bright with sunshine, and it was a testament to Rodney's exhaustion that the scent of brewing coffee had failed to wake him up.
John debated for a while whether he should wake Rodney or let him sleep, and then decided on the latter. He got dressed and went downstairs, thinking about the night's events. He had told Rodney that he didn't think a lot about the Air Force, and that was true. In a way, it was like he'd tried to cut himself off completely from that life after his move to Sacramento. He'd thrown himself headfirst into his friendship and, later, his relationship with Rodney, spent so much energy on creating a new life for himself that he'd completely ignored his old.
Maybe it had been intentional, he thought. The military lifestyle didn't really match the new one he had chosen for himself. Even though the Air Force had been his home for over twenty years, there had always been something there that kept him from relaxing completely, from melding into that existence like it was where he truly belonged. Maybe it had been that part of himself that he hadn't even known existed before he met Rodney, the part he had kept so deeply hidden that he'd even failed to realise it was there himself.
John had joined for the flying. Nothing else had mattered. Now, without his wings, he'd found other facets of John Sheppard, things that had never really been allowed out in the daylight before.
But it didn't change the fact that he'd been happy with his life in the Air Force, such as it had been. It had taught him things about himself and about other people that he would never had learned otherwise, had allowed him a glimpse of the innermost parts of the human soul that only ever came out when you challenged death on a daily basis. He'd made friends, good friends, men he could rely on, whether it was to watch his back in battle or offer up a couch to sleep on after a few too many.
When he had left the Air Force behind, he had also left those friends. Hawk hadn't said anything, but John knew that he was a little hurt that John hadn't kept in touch after his discharge. The first time they'd seen each other after the accident had been at Pete Garfield's funeral the year before, and then John had been far too occupied missing Rodney and trying to blend in and pretend he didn't have a boyfriend waiting for him back home to really have time to catch up.
Hawk had had to figure it out for himself. The one person before Rodney that John had been able to tell anything, and John had kept him in the dark about such a huge thing. It made him feel ashamed of himself and, at the same, time scared. What if he'd told before? What if not only Hawk had found out, but Sokolski and the rest of the guys? On the other hand, what kind of person couldn't be out to his closest friends?
There had to be a way to fit it all together, John mused. To merge his old life with his new, take the best of both worlds and turn them into a good life, a life he could be comfortable in. The big question was just how to do it.
Megan was alone in the kitchen when John had slowly made his way down the stairs. She was simultaneously reading the paper and scribbling on a shopping list, and the cup of coffee beside her looked like it had gone cold a long time ago. She looked up and smiled when John entered. "Hey there, sleepyhead," she teased.
John scratched his neck and made a beeline for the coffee pot. "Yeah, I guess we overslept," he said. "Sorry. I'll wake Rodney in a minute but I don't dare unless I have coffee to offer."
"Oversleeping is what Sundays are for," Megan stated. "Anyway, Rudy had to go out to Pope for a few hours to get some stuff, and I need to get some shopping done or there'll be no lunch. Would you mind keeping an eye on Anna for a little while? She's napping right now and she should stay asleep until I'm back."
"Oh," John stopped dead in his tracks, halfway to the counter. "Um, sure. If you're, um, sure. I mean, I'm not, we're not exactly... it's not like we babysit a lot."
Another one of Megan's pearls of laughter filled the kitchen. "Rubbish, you'll do just fine. She's not a fussy baby. There's a bottle of milk in the fridge if she wakes up hungry, and I'm sure between the two of you, you can figure out how to change a diaper. But like I said, she'll probably sleep until I'm back."
"Well, I guess." Diaper changes wasn't a factor that had been a part of John's life so far and he wasn't looking forward to the prospect. "If you're really sure."
"I am," Megan assured him, and John caved. After all Hawk and Megan had done for him, an hour or so of babysitting wouldn't even begin to pay them back. The thought of being responsible for their child for an ever so short time, however, made him nervous. So far he and Anna had gotten along just fine – like Megan had said, Anna was not a fussy baby. From what John had seen, she smiled almost non stop. Even though she wasn't old enough to be her own person just yet, John was looking forward to see the little girl she would grow up to be, could almost imagine a dark-haired whirlwind, a mix of Hawk's quiet, steady self-confidence and Megan's sunny, energetic attitude. He would have to check up on child-sized skateboards as soon as he got back home...
John poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table opposite Megan. She passed him the newspaper and offered breakfast, but he didn't really feel hungry and politely declined.
From the look of the news, it looked like the world was still standing. John had just started to plan the logistics of negotiating the stairs with a pair of crutches and a coffee mug for Rodney when the boyfriend in question turned up in the kitchen, sleep-rumpled and grumpy.
"I woke up and you were gone," Rodney muttered, wrapping his arms around John's shoulders from behind and rubbing his nose against the top of John's head. "Mmmm. John-hair. Is there coffee?"
John felt himself blush from the toes up as a smiling Megan went to pour Rodney a mug. "Um, not alone here, buddy," he hissed.
Rodney murmured something inaudible and squeezed John a little harder, then let go and sat down on a chair, yawning loudly. There were pillow creases on his face, his hair stood up in funny little spikes, and he looked utterly adorable, not that John would ever voice such thoughts out loud.
"Here you go," Megan said, putting the coffee down in front of Rodney. He grasped the mug with both hands, gazing dreamily at the fragrant beverage. Then Megan leaned over the table for her shopping list. "I'll just go out for a bit then. You have my number if anything should happen, right? Thanks again, John!"
With that, she was gone, and John had a brief moment of panic, half convinced that Anna would wake up the next second, screaming her lungs out. When he was done with his moment, Rodney had inhaled his coffee and stalked over to the counter for a refill. He looked a little more awake and aware now. "What was that about?" he asked, motioning with his head towards the front door through which Megan had disappeared.
"We're babysitting," John told him, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
Rodney blinked. "She left us alone with the kid? What is she, crazy?"
"Apparently she trusts us," John replied dryly.
Rodney helped himself to a second cup of coffee while he seemed to ponder the information. Then he shrugged. "Ah, well. We shouldn't be able to corrupt her within the foreseeable future, I suppose. And if she does end up hopelessly damaged as a result, I blame you."
"Me?" John sputtered. "Kids love me!"
"Correction - kids love watching you doing insanely reckless things like trying to get yourself killed on that skateboard ramp thingy you have at the centre, and by 'kids' I mean 'twelve-year-old boys with a deathwish'. And don't tell me you're not freaking out, because I know you."
"Maybe a little," John admitted, and got a wry smile from Rodney in return.
Rodney proceeded to shamelessly ransack the cupboards for something edible while John finished the newspaper. He passed it over to Rodney and went to rinse his cup and make an honest effort of clearing the dishwasher, even though most of the clean dishes ended up on the counter for Megan to put back where she wanted them. John had learned the hard way not to mess with her cupboards.
After he'd finished his breakfast, Rodney went to check his e-mail and grab a shower. John wandered aimlessly around the house in the meantime, just breathing in the calm atmosphere, the deep seated feeling of home that impregnated every piece of plank and every nail in the house. John fondly remembered Hawk and Megan carrying that feeling around with them, present everywhere they put down their roots for a little while. He quietly snuck into the nursery to check up on Anna, who slept through his visit without a peep, even though he might have spent a little longer than necessary leaning over her crib, listening to her breathing, stroking a careful finger over her cheek to feel the soft, soft skin there.
Eventually, he sprawled on the couch downstairs and grabbed a magazine from the table, something bright and glossy which seemed to be mostly about shoes. He flipped through the pages without even trying to feign interest and waited for Rodney to be finished with his shower. They still had stuff to talk about from the day and night before, and John half suspected that one of the reasons Hawk and Megan had vacated their home this morning was to give John and Rodney space to do just that.
He must have dozed off for a moment, because the music woke him up. John blinked at the ceiling and hoisted himself up to peer over the back of the couch, trying to discern where it was coming from.
Rodney sat in front of the piano, his broad shoulders hunched over the keyboard while his fingers moved effortlessly over the keys, a little uncertain at first, but every note rang clear and true. It was the first time John had ever heard him play and he was struck by how similar it was to Rodney writing. The same pose, the same elegant motion of his hands, the same beautiful results. John was the first one to admit that he had absolutely no ear for music - he liked Johnny Cash and country, and some classic rock from time to time. He played the guitar badly and his singing was even worse. Music, for John, had never been more than a soundtrack, something to accompany life and give it that little extra touch that it sometimes needed.
For Rodney, however, it was different. Just like writing was never just about the words or physics never just about the formulae, music was something he lived. John had often seen him sit back in a chair, listening to a record with a peaceful and sometimes slightly regretful expression on his face. Those times, it always seemed like he just shut the rest of the world out, like the only things existing were Rodney and the music.
This was one of those times. Rodney's eyes were closed and he was breathing in time with the music, like his body was one with the instrument. He might not even have noticed that John was awake, and John wasn't about to announce it, not until Rodney had finished the piece and slumped slightly over the piano as if exhausted.
"That was..." John started, but couldn't figure out how to continue. There were just no words.
Rodney grunted, his fingers moving over the black and white keys again, just improvising now. "Flat," he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Technical. No passion, no feeling. Pretty much everything Kavanagh says about my writing."
John carefully rolled off the sofa and got to his feet to sit down beside Rodney on the edge of the piano stool. "Kavanagh is a jealous ass," he said, fully aware of how much Rodney always let that particular critic's reviews get to him.
Rodney ignored the remark. "I took lessons, you know," he explained. "I wanted to be a concert pianist. But my teacher was..." Rodney's fingers struck a particularly violent chord. "She explained to me why I'd never make it. So I gave it up." The pain was so visible in his voice that John just wanted to hold him tight and soothe it away.
"How old were you?" he asked instead.
"Nine."
"Nine? And she told you that you'd never be a professional in those words?" John spat, suddenly furious. He could see things a little clearer now, could understand Rodney's constant need for recognition, the way he was always the first to praise his own achievements. Those traits must be the leftovers from a child who had been told one time too many that he was not good enough.
Rodney just shrugged and kept playing. "She was right. She told my father the same thing and we decided that I should concentrate on science instead, so that's what I did."
"But you couldn't give it up," John said softly, leaning against his side. "Not completely, or you'd never have started writing."
Rodney chuckled darkly. "Well, dad... he lived long enough to see Entangled Particles published. I don't think I've ever seen him so disappointed. Not exactly Nobel prize material, you see. That was all that ever mattered to him, that we'd be famous, Jeannie and I. He stopped talking to her for a long time after she got married and put her career aside." Suddenly, Rodney's fingers stilled on the keys and he sat quiet, chewing on his lower lip. "I hadn't thought about it until this weekend. I was so determined to put it all behind me when he passed away. It was difficult enough to change careers in the middle of life, I didn't have the energy to deal with the memory of all his demands as well. Jeannie had it easier, she was always a lot tougher than I was. She didn't care what he thought. And I think..." there was a long pause. "I think he always liked her better. I'm not... I was never..." Rodney quieted again, swallowing the end of the sentence, but John could hear the unspoken words. I was never a likeable person.
John wanted to protest, to tell Rodney that it didn't matter that he could be bad-tempered and impatient, that he was single-mindedly obsessed with the things that were important to him, that there were moments when he was an overbearing arrogant jerk, he was still perfect just the way he was. He didn't say that though. What Rodney needed right now was not to have his faults pointed out to him.
"They were wrong," he said instead. "Both your teacher and your dad. That was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."
"Well." The corner of Rodney's mouth quirked upwards, just the slightest hint of an earnest smile. "There might be a certain degree of bias involved in that statement."
"There might," John agreed, asking himself why he couldn't just come out and say it. I love you, dumbass. I want to hunt down every single person who ever hurt you and do violent things to them. He should be able to tell Rodney these things outside of bed, but it was like every time he tried, his tongue became glued to his mouth. Instead, he leaned his head against Rodney's shoulder and reached out to take his hand and knit their fingers together. Rodney needed words like he needed breathing, had to hear them or see them to believe in them, but he'd gotten quite good at reading between the lines. Sometimes, things were clear without having to say them.
Rodney understood. He knew where John was, because he was in the same place himself, struggling to piece together his life and history, his thoughts and feelings and experiences, into the person he tried to be. And maybe they weren't the only ones. Maybe they shared the road with billions of shadowy figures, every single one of them trying to take the different stages of their lives so far and transform them into one journey. It was an oddly comforting thought, not being alone.
"I get it, you know," Rodney said, somewhat redundantly, since John had already figured it out for himself.
John gripped his hand a little harder, twisted around on the stool so that they were face to face, and let their lips brush together. "Yeah," he breathed. "Me too."
Rodney smiled, slipped an arm around John's waist and deepened the kiss. If Megan hadn't chosen just that moment to come back from her grocery run, John's resolve to wait until they got home would've flown right out the window.
* * *
"So," Hawk said, sitting down in a chair on the deck and taking a sip of his beer. Lunch was over, Megan was tidying up in the kitchen and Rodney had went to pack his and John's bags. In John's opinion, it was a rather transparent conspiracy to give him and Hawk a moment to themselves, but he wasn't complaining. "How do you want to tackle the rest of this?"
John thought about it and got to the conclusion that he didn't know, so he just answered with a grunt. So far he'd just been focusing on getting through this weekend. He hadn't given the future much attention. Just thinking about the fact that coming out to Hawk meant that he'd sooner or later have to come out to the rest of his old friends as well had made him nervous, so he'd just tried not to think about it too much.
"Chad will be pissed," Hawk noted.
"Yep," John agreed. "Question is what he'll be the most pissed about." Chad Sokolski was one of those people who were very hard to figure out. John was pretty sure there were more to him than the macho posturing and all the women, but he had never been able to decide if those condescending comments about 'fags' were something Chad really thought, or if he just believed it was expected of him.
"Never know with him," Hawk said, echoing John's thoughts. "But I figure if he really has a problem with it, he'll eventually put it aside 'cause it's you. Might sock you one first though."
"Yeah," John smiled. Chad had a tendency to let his fists speak for him. In his opinion, second thoughts were something that happened to other people.
"You haven't decided then?" Hawk asked, turning to face John.
John shook his head. "No, I haven't. Hell, I was half afraid you'd freak out."
Hawk waved dismissively with his beer bottle. "Nah. Nothing to freak out about. I always thought it had to be something like this."
"Well." John was quiet for a while, contemplating his own beer. "I still should've told you. I'm sorry."
"McKay suits you," Hawk said, looking at the apple tree instead of John now. "You're more relaxed with him. Happier. I haven't seen that smile reach your eyes since Afghanistan. It does now. And if he's the one who's put it back on your face, well, then you have nothing to apologise for."
John didn't know what to say. He'd always known that Hawk cared but well, they were guys, and guys didn't talk about things like this. John definitely didn't. That was the thing about Hawk, however. He knew how to say the things that needed to be said, and how to accept John's own lack of words. "Thanks," he said softly, figuring the least he could do was to try. "It means a lot to me."
The next moment John found himself enveloped in another Hawkish bear hug, the kind where there was no shame and no awkwardness afterwards, and he had to struggle hard to keep the tears from his eyes.
* * *
Rodney was a lot more talkative during the drive back to the air port than he'd been when Hawk had picked them up. This time, it was John and Hawk's turn to sit quiet in the front, but the silence felt comfortable, and Rodney and Megan's chatter in the back seat didn't leave much room for additional words.
John hadn't been able to come to a decision about telling Chad and the rest of his old friends, but he figured everything would work out in the end. He'd just begun to piece his life back together into something whole, and he didn't want to make a rushed job of it. Maybe in a couple of months he'd feel more secure, maybe in time for the summer, for which Rodney and Megan were already making plans.
They checked their luggage and headed for the gate, promising Hawk and Megan that they'd stay in touch, something John privately vowed to do even if it killed him. Rodney needed coffee, the strap of John's backpack broke, and Anna decided it would be a good time to start wailing after having spent the entire weekend being happy. They were running late, everything was hectic and chaotic and Rodney became more and more sarcastic, but John just went through it all with a smile and a strange sense of peace until they were through the gate. It had been a great weekend, but he couldn't wait to get back to Sacramento.
Megan waved until she couldn't see them any longer. Then she took Hawk's hand and they walked away together, pushing Anna's stroller. John watched their retreating backs until they were gone. He felt Rodney's fingers knit together with his own, Rodney's palm warm against his, Rodney's very presence, solid and safe, holding him up through everything, walking beside him every step of the way. He turned to Rodney, smiled and said, "Let's go home."
- fin -