Earthside challenge: That Friend of Mine (R)
Challenge: Earthside
Title: That Friend of Mine
Spoilers: None
Rating: R (mostly for one teensy bit)
Warning: At end of story.
Author: Brighid
Summary: Going home again.
That Friend of Mine
by Brighid
)0(
John packed his bag the night before, so now all he has to do is sit there and listen to Rodney talk.
It's the fifth morning in a row, something he'd never ever dared before now. But now ...
John scrubs his fingers through his hair, lets his hand drift down to touch his hip, to trace the curve of his thigh where it joined the body, and his cock stirs at the little ghosts of sensation.
He doesn't touch his cock. He doesn't let it be anything more than a small ache.
There is a litany of complaints against those who have not done their jobs, will not do their jobs, who try to do their jobs and screw them up horribly.
And then there is Kavanagh.
"He's going to try to get his name on that paper," Rodney says, voice bitter and angry and high. "Why the hell does he have to be so good at what he does? Then he wouldn't have to be here." He takes a deep breath, and then switches tracks so quickly it makes John a little dizzy. "You'll like Jeannie, I think. She's ... well, she's a bit like me, really, only better socialized."
John snorts.
"Really. You'll like her. I promise." Rodney's voice is suddenly very earnest, and oddly uncertain. John sits up, pulls the sheet off.
"I'm sure I will," he says. He touches Rodney's face, then goes into the shower. The sound of Rodney's voice is a constant murmur beneath the water, oddly soothing. John rests his forehead against the cool, glassy wall, breathes deeply through his nose. He swallows hard against a throat gone thick with love and longing.
He stands beneath the spray until the last possible moment, and then goes and gets ready for their trip back to Earth.
)0(
They stay at the Best Western Airport Inn their second night in Colorado Springs, their first night off base. They've got an early Air Canada flight out to Toronto tomorrow. John orders pizza for dinner, and uses the bottled water he bought to brush his teeth with, since the sink is edged in brown stains, and the smell from the pool is sort of ... off.
Rodney is pacing soundlessly, wordlessly when John steps out of the bathroom. He sits down on the bed and waits.
"I can't believe I'm going home again," Rodney says. "I didn't expect ... this. I mean, yeah, but in a really distant, this can't possibly be happening way." He looks right at John. "I couldn't wait to leave. My dad's still alive; he's got kids who are old enough to be grandchildren and a wife younger than either Jeannie or I. The last time I was back in London, where I grew up? It was to say good-bye to my mother. She was dying of liver cancer. I stuck around long enough to help mum and Jeannie settle everything. She died while I was flying back to Siberia. I got the message when I landed." He makes a choked noise, drags his hand over his eyes. "And I was so goddamned relieved that it was over, that I never had to go back there." He pauses, breathes deeply. "That would be irony, I suppose. I should have paid more attention in English. Apparently Mrs. Morrel was on to something."'
John laughed, got up, set the alarm on the laptop. "Well, buddy. You won't be going alone, right?"
"I won't be going alone," Rodney says.
John turns down the lights, stretches out on the bed and watches streetlights on the ceiling until he finally falls asleep.
)0(
They get into Toronto late, and it takes a while to clear customs and find a cab to their hotel.
Once the door is closed and John's shucked down to sleep in his skin, Rodney says, "God. I love you, you know that? Right? I mean, I've never said it, but you know, right?" His voice cracks and he starts talking about a million miles a minute but it's all broken, it's coming apart and then back together in strange and unfamiliar ways. John can't make much sense of it other than that "I love you" is there in every word, and even when Rodney, for once, runs out of words completely. John finally, finally lets himself touch, lets himself feel.
After, spent and sweating, he sits up and shuts off the laptop on the bedside table.
)0(
The house is nice, with a fence and a garden and kids toys on the lawn. John shuts the rental car door quietly and walks up the driveway and along the path to the front door, ready to knock, but she's already there, it's already open.
"So you're John," she says, hands on hips, just like Rodney, and her chin is Rodney's chin and her mouth is not slanted but somehow her half-smile is just the same. "It's good to meet you, finally, although ..." she pauses, bites her lip, breathes deeply. He notices there are circles under her eyes. He finds it hard to even look at her.
He hands her the padded box he's carried since Atlantis, and then pulls a disc out of his coat pocket. "He left messages for ... Christ, for everyone. He apparently wanted the last word." He follows her into the house, and is glad that she doesn't offer idle small talk while she makes them both coffee and then sits down to open the box.
The urn is Athosian pottery, pale cream. Teyla herself painted the equations on it, as written down for her by Radek. They are stylized enough to be obscure, but they are there all the same. Jeannie traces it. "Is this his?" she asks, and John remembers that Rodney had said she was probably even smarter than he himself was.
"It's the McKay theory," John says.
She touches the disk, holds it up so it reflects light into her eyes. "Does this help at all?" she asks finally.
John wraps his hands around the wide, ceramic mug she's given him, but he can't get his hands to warm up. He looks out the kitchen window. "Not a damn bit," he says, his voice raspy, his throat thick with love and longing.
)0(
Brighid 2006
Warning Below:
Major character is dead, but this story is after the fact.
Notes: 1.) This is loosely connected to another fanfic from the "Abandoment" flashfic challenge, called "Prodigal".
2.) The title comes from the poem "In Memoriam A.H.H." by Tennyson, specifically from this verse:
Whereof the man, that with me trod
This planet, was a noble type
Appearing ere the times were ripe,
That friend of mine who lives in God,
Title: That Friend of Mine
Spoilers: None
Rating: R (mostly for one teensy bit)
Warning: At end of story.
Author: Brighid
Summary: Going home again.
That Friend of Mine
by Brighid
)0(
John packed his bag the night before, so now all he has to do is sit there and listen to Rodney talk.
It's the fifth morning in a row, something he'd never ever dared before now. But now ...
John scrubs his fingers through his hair, lets his hand drift down to touch his hip, to trace the curve of his thigh where it joined the body, and his cock stirs at the little ghosts of sensation.
He doesn't touch his cock. He doesn't let it be anything more than a small ache.
There is a litany of complaints against those who have not done their jobs, will not do their jobs, who try to do their jobs and screw them up horribly.
And then there is Kavanagh.
"He's going to try to get his name on that paper," Rodney says, voice bitter and angry and high. "Why the hell does he have to be so good at what he does? Then he wouldn't have to be here." He takes a deep breath, and then switches tracks so quickly it makes John a little dizzy. "You'll like Jeannie, I think. She's ... well, she's a bit like me, really, only better socialized."
John snorts.
"Really. You'll like her. I promise." Rodney's voice is suddenly very earnest, and oddly uncertain. John sits up, pulls the sheet off.
"I'm sure I will," he says. He touches Rodney's face, then goes into the shower. The sound of Rodney's voice is a constant murmur beneath the water, oddly soothing. John rests his forehead against the cool, glassy wall, breathes deeply through his nose. He swallows hard against a throat gone thick with love and longing.
He stands beneath the spray until the last possible moment, and then goes and gets ready for their trip back to Earth.
)0(
They stay at the Best Western Airport Inn their second night in Colorado Springs, their first night off base. They've got an early Air Canada flight out to Toronto tomorrow. John orders pizza for dinner, and uses the bottled water he bought to brush his teeth with, since the sink is edged in brown stains, and the smell from the pool is sort of ... off.
Rodney is pacing soundlessly, wordlessly when John steps out of the bathroom. He sits down on the bed and waits.
"I can't believe I'm going home again," Rodney says. "I didn't expect ... this. I mean, yeah, but in a really distant, this can't possibly be happening way." He looks right at John. "I couldn't wait to leave. My dad's still alive; he's got kids who are old enough to be grandchildren and a wife younger than either Jeannie or I. The last time I was back in London, where I grew up? It was to say good-bye to my mother. She was dying of liver cancer. I stuck around long enough to help mum and Jeannie settle everything. She died while I was flying back to Siberia. I got the message when I landed." He makes a choked noise, drags his hand over his eyes. "And I was so goddamned relieved that it was over, that I never had to go back there." He pauses, breathes deeply. "That would be irony, I suppose. I should have paid more attention in English. Apparently Mrs. Morrel was on to something."'
John laughed, got up, set the alarm on the laptop. "Well, buddy. You won't be going alone, right?"
"I won't be going alone," Rodney says.
John turns down the lights, stretches out on the bed and watches streetlights on the ceiling until he finally falls asleep.
)0(
They get into Toronto late, and it takes a while to clear customs and find a cab to their hotel.
Once the door is closed and John's shucked down to sleep in his skin, Rodney says, "God. I love you, you know that? Right? I mean, I've never said it, but you know, right?" His voice cracks and he starts talking about a million miles a minute but it's all broken, it's coming apart and then back together in strange and unfamiliar ways. John can't make much sense of it other than that "I love you" is there in every word, and even when Rodney, for once, runs out of words completely. John finally, finally lets himself touch, lets himself feel.
After, spent and sweating, he sits up and shuts off the laptop on the bedside table.
)0(
The house is nice, with a fence and a garden and kids toys on the lawn. John shuts the rental car door quietly and walks up the driveway and along the path to the front door, ready to knock, but she's already there, it's already open.
"So you're John," she says, hands on hips, just like Rodney, and her chin is Rodney's chin and her mouth is not slanted but somehow her half-smile is just the same. "It's good to meet you, finally, although ..." she pauses, bites her lip, breathes deeply. He notices there are circles under her eyes. He finds it hard to even look at her.
He hands her the padded box he's carried since Atlantis, and then pulls a disc out of his coat pocket. "He left messages for ... Christ, for everyone. He apparently wanted the last word." He follows her into the house, and is glad that she doesn't offer idle small talk while she makes them both coffee and then sits down to open the box.
The urn is Athosian pottery, pale cream. Teyla herself painted the equations on it, as written down for her by Radek. They are stylized enough to be obscure, but they are there all the same. Jeannie traces it. "Is this his?" she asks, and John remembers that Rodney had said she was probably even smarter than he himself was.
"It's the McKay theory," John says.
She touches the disk, holds it up so it reflects light into her eyes. "Does this help at all?" she asks finally.
John wraps his hands around the wide, ceramic mug she's given him, but he can't get his hands to warm up. He looks out the kitchen window. "Not a damn bit," he says, his voice raspy, his throat thick with love and longing.
)0(
Brighid 2006
Warning Below:
Major character is dead, but this story is after the fact.
Notes: 1.) This is loosely connected to another fanfic from the "Abandoment" flashfic challenge, called "Prodigal".
2.) The title comes from the poem "In Memoriam A.H.H." by Tennyson, specifically from this verse:
Whereof the man, that with me trod
This planet, was a noble type
Appearing ere the times were ripe,
That friend of mine who lives in God,