We'll Always Have Sateda (SGA)
I've been told I shouldn't make excuses for my writing. Or explain myself. Well, today I shall break both rules.
I was reading some of tardis80's really old entries, because she draws some really ridiculously adorable (yes, you heard me) SGA comics and doodles. (See my icon.) Some of them have stories behind them. One such had Rodney playing piano on a stage with John at a nearby table, watching, and - well, maybe I should just link you to it.
But this inspired me to write the end of that fic. Now, keep in mind, I've never seen Casablanca. I know. I do know. I have no right to be writing this at all, what the hell am I doing calling myself a storyteller, get the hell up and haul your ass down to the local video store, Iambic, on the double! My excuse is that I am not a romantic, not now and not ever, regardless of the fic I write. So obviously I don't do romance movies. But I will see it. Eventually. The point is - I wrote this based on tardis80's summary and my very limited knowledge of the film. Except that I changed things. A lot of things.
It might also interest you to note that before I wrote this, I illustrated it. There are two pages of delightfully woeful Johns and Rodneys and even Teyla. (No Ronon. I still can't draw him well at all.) And, um. It's not my usual sort of thing. Maybe because it's really just an ending, no story attached. Maybe because this fandom makes even me crave happy endings. I'm not sure.
Well, that was a long and possibly pointless ramble right there. Enjoy the fic, if I haven't scared you off.
Title: We'll Always Have Sateda
Fandom: SGA
Wordcount: 877
Summary: "Rodney, if you do not get on that puddlejumper, you will regret it. Perhaps not today, and perhaps not tomorrow. But someday you will, and for the rest of your life."
--
It's raining, and raining hard. Drops pound upon the glass of the 'jumper's windshield and run down the sides in rivulets. The cement outside reflects the sky and 'jumper, and John is tempted to make the excuse that the slick surface will impede proper takeoff. But he knows better than that. Likewise, the rain and wind will not do much but keep him on his toes a little. And so the excuse of bad weather cannot save him from the decision he doesn't want to make.
He knows he should just go, that Rodney isn't going to show up. But somehow he can't do it. He'll lift his hand to the controls, only to drop it miserably back into his lap. Rodney isn't coming. But he can't get rid of that little hope that maybe something changed, something went right.
John also knows that he'll be waiting here all day if it comes to that. The old adage leave no man behind never really left his system, although he can't claim that's the whole of it (Just like he can't pretend the weather's keeping him down, or that there will be better business elsewhere once Rodney leaves town). He's not really leaving Rodney to some terrible fate, no matter how terrible it feels on John's end.
(And that's not fair, that Rodney can make a choice and subject John to far more consequences than he's ready to face. Just like it's not fair that they're in this situation at all, that things didn't work out before.)
But then there's the memory of waiting until he could afford to wait no more, and taking off into the black, leaving besieged Sateda behind and Rodney in it. For years, he'd assumed the worst. Finding him again - finding Rodney whole and content, no longer needing their old codependency - had been like a slap in the face in the face of John's old, familiar grief. Their reunion had been rude and loud and unhappy and yet -
And yet.
John shakes his head abruptly, and stiffens his spine. If he's going to go, he has to do it now, before he can talk himself out of his plans. One last time, he reaches for the controls, feels the machinery hum slowly to life beneath his hovering hand.
And that's when he hears the shouts behind him.
His heart takes a tremendous leap in his chest, and he bites his tongue, disgusted with himself for such a cliché sort of reaction. It might not be Rodney, he tries to tell himself. It could be anyone. Anyone with reason to shout for a jumper pilot to wait, wait a moment, John. In Rodney's voice.
In that moment, John abandoned all pretense of composure, of determination, and scrambled out the side emergency hatch and onto the slippery wing, almost skidding and falling off. He climbed off and raised a hand to brace himself against the wet metal siding of the 'jumper, less to maintain an image of cool and more to keep himself from falling down completely. Rodney ran from across the takeoff area, hair mussed, black coat flapping like a flag at his sides, small briefcase in one hand. In that moment, he looked as if he hadn't aged a day since their last night in Sateda. John found himself smiling, broader than he had smiled in a long time.
He manages to compose himself some by the time Rodney slowed to a halt in front of him, chest heaving with the strain of however far or fast he had been running. For a moment neither of them say anything, as John's pulse starts racing all over again. Then they both speak at once.
"I thought you'd have left already," Rodney says.
"I thought you weren't gonna come," John admits. Then they stare at each other, speechless again.
"I couldn't," John finally replies.
"I had to," Rodney whispers.
John wants to say something smooth, like I wouldn't leave you behind, ever, or even no, duh. But words fail him all over again, and so he just grabs Rodney around the waist and behind the head, and kisses him with all the weight and desperation of every time he was sure, so sure, that all hope was lost for them.
"So you're coming? With me?" John asks when they pull apart again, having worked out what to say somewhere around the part when Rodney tangled cold hands in his hair and kissed back. The words sound a little less sure, a little more scared once spoken, but John has a feeling no one will really mind too much.
"No, I just ran all the way out here because I wanted the exercise," Rodney retorts, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I'm coming with you." Then he looks down, briefly just as uncertain as John's question were. "Te - someone told me I'd end up regretting it forever if I didn't, and - I realised she was right."
John swallows, finding a weight in his throat that simply won't dislodge itself. After a moment's struggle, he finds his voice again, and relaxes his hand where it clutched the fabric of Rodney's coat so tightly. "Then let's go," he says, and opens the back of the jumper, leads Rodney finally inside.
I was reading some of tardis80's really old entries, because she draws some really ridiculously adorable (yes, you heard me) SGA comics and doodles. (See my icon.) Some of them have stories behind them. One such had Rodney playing piano on a stage with John at a nearby table, watching, and - well, maybe I should just link you to it.
But this inspired me to write the end of that fic. Now, keep in mind, I've never seen Casablanca. I know. I do know. I have no right to be writing this at all, what the hell am I doing calling myself a storyteller, get the hell up and haul your ass down to the local video store, Iambic, on the double! My excuse is that I am not a romantic, not now and not ever, regardless of the fic I write. So obviously I don't do romance movies. But I will see it. Eventually. The point is - I wrote this based on tardis80's summary and my very limited knowledge of the film. Except that I changed things. A lot of things.
It might also interest you to note that before I wrote this, I illustrated it. There are two pages of delightfully woeful Johns and Rodneys and even Teyla. (No Ronon. I still can't draw him well at all.) And, um. It's not my usual sort of thing. Maybe because it's really just an ending, no story attached. Maybe because this fandom makes even me crave happy endings. I'm not sure.
Well, that was a long and possibly pointless ramble right there. Enjoy the fic, if I haven't scared you off.
Title: We'll Always Have Sateda
Fandom: SGA
Wordcount: 877
Summary: "Rodney, if you do not get on that puddlejumper, you will regret it. Perhaps not today, and perhaps not tomorrow. But someday you will, and for the rest of your life."
--
It's raining, and raining hard. Drops pound upon the glass of the 'jumper's windshield and run down the sides in rivulets. The cement outside reflects the sky and 'jumper, and John is tempted to make the excuse that the slick surface will impede proper takeoff. But he knows better than that. Likewise, the rain and wind will not do much but keep him on his toes a little. And so the excuse of bad weather cannot save him from the decision he doesn't want to make.
He knows he should just go, that Rodney isn't going to show up. But somehow he can't do it. He'll lift his hand to the controls, only to drop it miserably back into his lap. Rodney isn't coming. But he can't get rid of that little hope that maybe something changed, something went right.
John also knows that he'll be waiting here all day if it comes to that. The old adage leave no man behind never really left his system, although he can't claim that's the whole of it (Just like he can't pretend the weather's keeping him down, or that there will be better business elsewhere once Rodney leaves town). He's not really leaving Rodney to some terrible fate, no matter how terrible it feels on John's end.
(And that's not fair, that Rodney can make a choice and subject John to far more consequences than he's ready to face. Just like it's not fair that they're in this situation at all, that things didn't work out before.)
But then there's the memory of waiting until he could afford to wait no more, and taking off into the black, leaving besieged Sateda behind and Rodney in it. For years, he'd assumed the worst. Finding him again - finding Rodney whole and content, no longer needing their old codependency - had been like a slap in the face in the face of John's old, familiar grief. Their reunion had been rude and loud and unhappy and yet -
And yet.
John shakes his head abruptly, and stiffens his spine. If he's going to go, he has to do it now, before he can talk himself out of his plans. One last time, he reaches for the controls, feels the machinery hum slowly to life beneath his hovering hand.
And that's when he hears the shouts behind him.
His heart takes a tremendous leap in his chest, and he bites his tongue, disgusted with himself for such a cliché sort of reaction. It might not be Rodney, he tries to tell himself. It could be anyone. Anyone with reason to shout for a jumper pilot to wait, wait a moment, John. In Rodney's voice.
In that moment, John abandoned all pretense of composure, of determination, and scrambled out the side emergency hatch and onto the slippery wing, almost skidding and falling off. He climbed off and raised a hand to brace himself against the wet metal siding of the 'jumper, less to maintain an image of cool and more to keep himself from falling down completely. Rodney ran from across the takeoff area, hair mussed, black coat flapping like a flag at his sides, small briefcase in one hand. In that moment, he looked as if he hadn't aged a day since their last night in Sateda. John found himself smiling, broader than he had smiled in a long time.
He manages to compose himself some by the time Rodney slowed to a halt in front of him, chest heaving with the strain of however far or fast he had been running. For a moment neither of them say anything, as John's pulse starts racing all over again. Then they both speak at once.
"I thought you'd have left already," Rodney says.
"I thought you weren't gonna come," John admits. Then they stare at each other, speechless again.
"I couldn't," John finally replies.
"I had to," Rodney whispers.
John wants to say something smooth, like I wouldn't leave you behind, ever, or even no, duh. But words fail him all over again, and so he just grabs Rodney around the waist and behind the head, and kisses him with all the weight and desperation of every time he was sure, so sure, that all hope was lost for them.
"So you're coming? With me?" John asks when they pull apart again, having worked out what to say somewhere around the part when Rodney tangled cold hands in his hair and kissed back. The words sound a little less sure, a little more scared once spoken, but John has a feeling no one will really mind too much.
"No, I just ran all the way out here because I wanted the exercise," Rodney retorts, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I'm coming with you." Then he looks down, briefly just as uncertain as John's question were. "Te - someone told me I'd end up regretting it forever if I didn't, and - I realised she was right."
John swallows, finding a weight in his throat that simply won't dislodge itself. After a moment's struggle, he finds his voice again, and relaxes his hand where it clutched the fabric of Rodney's coat so tightly. "Then let's go," he says, and opens the back of the jumper, leads Rodney finally inside.