Dec 25, 2007 19:21
The next time hope started to slip out of his grasp and Elizabeth noticed, she put her hands flat on her desk and stood up with an exasperated sigh.
“Rodney, come here.”
“Huh?” Interrupted in his tired monologue of all the things that were dooming them this time, he watched as Weir pulled something out of a drawer and started towards the door. When he didn’t follow, she let out another breath and grabbed his wrist; startled, McKay allowed her to drag him out of the Control Room and down the stairs, into one of the supply closets.
Even as unintelligible protests and questions tumbled from his lips, she waved the door shut and pointed him towards a box full of Ace bandages.
“Sit.”
“What?”
“Sit, and don’t argue. Close your eyes.”
Dumbfounded, and wondering exactly what she was thinking, he did. If Elizabeth had finally snapped, it wasn’t going to be blamed on him- was it?
The closet lights winked off and he listened to her moving through the darkness, clothing rustling as she knelt somewhere in front of him. Suddenly the scent of sulphur and matches surrounded him, and a faint glow seeped through his eyelids.
“Open them.”
He did, and stared at the candle she had placed between them. It was an ordinary enough candle, nothing you wouldn’t be able to find in a home goods store; tiny, white, one of the tealights people put in holders for decorative purposes.
“Do you see how small this candle is?” Elizabeth asked, the question, from her tone, rhetorical. “But look at how much light it sheds.”
McKay blinked, glanced around him. For such a little flame, it was illuminating a good deal of the cramped closet, enough so that he could read the labels on some of the closer gauze and alcohol packets.
“This is like hope, Rodney.” Her soft voice drew his gaze back to her face. “Even if there are a thousand unlit candles, one can make all the difference. All it takes is the one.” She didn’t look away from him as she lifted the candle and held it out, placing it in his hand. “Keep your hope, always.”
Feeling the minute weight of the flickering candle in his palm, the brush of her slender fingertips across his calloused skin, he swallowed. Elizabeth held the connection a moment longer and then, as if sensing that he understood, rose to turn the lights back on.
“Let’s go before they start to gossip in earnest.” A wry grin on her face, she waved the door open and stepped out.
Rodney stared at the candle and, just before a drop of hot wax could fall onto his hand, pinched out the flame. Then he too rose and left, quietly tucking it into his pocket once it had cooled.
Now McKay looked back and knew that because of those simple words, he had survived. Through the sheer terror and chilling cruelty and utter despair of the following months, and then years, he had trapped hope somewhere inside of him and refused to let it go. Yes, he had bitched and moaned and thought we’re going to die, but never had he completely resigned himself (or John or his team or the city) to darkness.
Remembering how many eyes were on him, he coughed and motioned for the technician in the Control Room- Chuck, he recalled after a moment, his name is Chuck- to turn the lights off. As the Gate Room slowly slid into shadows, he took a breath and leaned forward to strike a match.
With steady hands, Rodney lit the candle in front of the Gate.
As it sparked, and then eagerly began to burn, he looked at the faces arrayed on the steps, the floor around him, and felt the presence of the Stargate at his back.
“This candle is like hope…”
author: soapbox_solo38,
challenge: darkness,
amnesty 2007