After You've Gone, Part II
Part 1
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Part 2:
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August 31st, 1942 4:04 am
The moment he was awake, Rodney could hear the sirens and the plane engines, the shouting and the general mess that was outside. It was still night, something was wrong.
Radek was still shaking him. “RODNEY!”
“What, what’s going on?” he said, jumping off his bed and putting his shoes on by pure instinct.
“It’s the Germans,” said Radek, already heading outside. “They managed to get around the radar. They need us on the radio, it’s not working properly.”
Rodney finished putting on shoes and pants and headed outside. The sky was alight with spotlights, the pilots who had been asleep running into the fighters; the ones on standby were already up in the air.
John whizzed past him. He turned to see who he had almost thrown to the ground, his face relaxing only a bit when he saw it was Rodney. “Rodney, you-” he spotted something behind Rodney. “LORNE?” he yelled.
Lorne came up behind Rodney, still getting his flight gear on. “Ready, sir!”
“Sheppard, w-” said Rodney, but John interrupted.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, giving Rodney’s shoulder a squeeze.
“Sheppard!” called Rodney, but he was off. He saw him and Lorne get into fighters and not their bomber, and made a mental note to ask him if he had been reassigned. A fighter flew above him and Rodney swore. “Dammit,” he said, running to the control room.
They stuck him right in front of the radio as soon as he arrived to Control, O’Neill standing over him and checking his progress; Radek was behind it tampering with things while Rodney calibrated.
The Germans were dropping bombs - everyone could hear and feel them, but none had struck the base yet.
At long last, Rodney and Zelenka had the radio working, the radio operator pushing them out of the way. They got out of the way as radar and radio operator started spotting enemy aircraft and coming in contact with their own men up in the air.
There were two enemy bombers and two fighters in the air; they had five fighters up in the air.
Reports started coming soon: John and one Cameron Mitchell took the fighters down. The German bombers retreated, but not before Mitchell and John could ‘put more holes in it than a colander’ as reported later by Cam Mitchell with a smug smile.
But John’s plane, though still showing in the radar, wasn’t making contact yet. The signal was noisy and undistinguishable, which prompted O’Neill to bark at someone to clean the signal up.
The other fighters started landing; Mitchell was still up in the air trying to spot John.
“Engine one’s dead,” came John’s voice suddenly, semi garbled and faint through the radio, and that was all that came through. Zelenka checked the radio again, Rodney checked the radar, but everything was working fine - the problem had to be with John’s fighter.
The control room was crowded, technicians, doctors and lieutenants going around trying to find a way to see what had happened to Sheppard. Rodney moved out of the way, a bit numb, a bit nauseous. John could have been shot down, or both his engines may have failed and he could’ve crashed or -
Rodney started snapping his fingers - Radek, well known in McKay habits by then, stood up from behind the radio and looked at him. “Rodney?”
Rodney looked at O’Neill. “If he’s been hit, and one of the engines has stopped working, he’s going to need to land.”
O’Neill waved a hand. “He’s got a whole runway outside; I’m assuming he knows that.”
“What if he’s too damaged to get here? If his radio isn’t working properly or not at all he might be out there, injured and with no way-”
“I get it, I get it,” interrupted O’Neill. “Alert the men who landed and base security, start canvassing the area,” he said to Rodney and two other lieutenants.
But by the time Rodney and the lieutenants got outside, a couple of the guards from base security had already spotted someone approaching the base on (a rather unsteady) foot - John, Rodney breathed relieved. A jeep was sent out to bring him home
Before Rodney even had time to talk to John, he and Mitchell were sent off to where John had ‘parked’ the plane, gave it a look, see if it was salvageable - half buried in the ground, it was a miracle John hadn’t died.
The rest of the night and early minutes of morning slipped away from Rodney quickly as he concentrated on wondering if salvaging the plane was even possible.
+
6:02 am
Cam Mitchell caught John later on at the infirmary, at the end of Sick Hall.
Dr. Keller was getting shards of the plane’s glass out of John’s hands and forehead; Carson was bandaging one of Lorne’s wrists, another medic was fixing Lt. Cadman’s ankle.
“Everyone fine here?” asked Cam in general when he entered, making everyone in the room frown at him. “Just sayin’.”
He walked to John’s bed, who kept wincing every time Keller dug on his forehead with tweezers. “Well, you look comfortable,” said Cam.
“Yeah, I could fall asleep right here - Ow!”
Keller stopped for a moment and looked at John. “I could go away and leave the glass stuck under your skin.”
John put his hands meekly at his sides and tried to look innocent. “No, that’s okay.”
Keller went back to work as Cam perched up on John’s bed. “You know, I could swear last time I saw you, you had a fighter all around you.”
John shrugged. “Couldn’t find a good parking spot close by,” he said.
Cam nodded. “I saw it. Made McKay groan like a kid who received clothes for Christmas.”
John laughed at this, which made Keller almost stab him in the eye with the tweezers. “Sorry,” he said. “Still, I can’t take credit for it, you know.”
Cam nodded. “Yeah, I saw one of the fighters do a number on you.”
“The bomber all but finished me off.”
Cam’s eyes lit up a bit. “By then you were too busy with your radio to see the fighter you took take a dive and not come up.”
John smirked. “Took any pictures?”
Cam waved a hand. “Next time.”
Keller sighed at the American Testosterone Show and moved to the glass on John’s hands.
O’Neill came up behind them, and everyone with a military rank in the room snapped to attention. “Sir,” nodded John and Cam.
O’Neill braced himself at the end of John’s bed. “What happened up there?” he asked with the same tone he’d have asked about the weather.
“A fighter all but killed my radio, and then Mitchell took it out while I took out the fighter pestering him. Then one of the bombers took a shot at me just before,” he thought for a second and then looked at Cam “he took it out.”
Cam shook his head. “I didn’t, it retreated.”
John shrugged. “Well you did a nice number on it anyway. The thing was, my radio was busted, I could barely hear anything, and then one of the engines stopped.”
“Sounds like a good start to your morning,” said O’Neill.
John frowned. “Morning, sir?” O’Neill pointed to the doors of the room, where a peak of the outside could be seen - in between the rough landing and the time it was taking Keller to get all the shards of glass out of him, the sun had risen. “Oh.”
“Take the day off” he said to John. “I don’t think we’re going to be hit any more, not during the daylight on a clear day, anyway”.
“Thank you, sir,” nodded Sheppard.
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September 1st, 1942 4:31 pm
Radek kept stealing little glances at him. He couldn’t help it - it was so odd to see Rodney like this, his head in one of his hands, the other one crunching sheets of paper or pummeling the typewriter’s keys into certain death.
Radek and Rodney were working on different desks, on different projects, but it was a show of how much Rodney’s silent mood was affecting everyone that most of their colleagues had chosen to go work in the hangars and the ones that couldn’t, chose to work as far from Rodney as possible.
“This is impossible!” barked Rodney at one point.
Radek frowned, calmly left his things on his desk and turned to him. “Are you ill?”
Rodney raised his head. “What?”
“You’re a self-proclaimed genius,” said Radek, getting up. “I’ve never heard you say anything is impossible.”
Rodney sighed. “I’m writing a letter to my sister.”
Radek nodded, taking a look at the floor in the vicinity of Rodney. It looked like a small bomb had gone off. “I guess that explains the small mountain of paper at your feet - you do know there’s the need to ration everything, right?”
“I’ll reuse it all later,” he said, while Radek bent over to take a look at a dozen different letters with several variations of ‘Dear Jeannie’ written on them.
He stood up and sat in a vacant chair in front of Rodney. “Rodney, if you don’t want to write her, then don’t.”
“I have to,” he said, and then lowered his voice a bit. “She wrote me a few days ago. Her husband’s off fighting somewhere, our parents aren’t helping much. She’s alone with a two-year-old and not much else beyond that. And she’s my sister, how can I not write her?”
“Then why does it seem to be talking you longer to write a letter than to repair one of Sheppard’s planes?”
“I haven’t talked to her in two years, she will know I’m doing it out of pity - I’m not good at this.” It was a show of what this was costing Rodney that he didn’t even try his hand at sarcasm. Radek frowned at this, deciding to leave all levity behind.
And then it hit him. “Two years?!”
“She got married, moved out of the country,” he said, waving his hands about; Radek moved a mug and two glasses out of the way of Rodney’s hands. “She forfeited what could’ve been a brilliant career in physics…”
“And that’s why you never talked to her for two years? You didn’t talk to her because she chose married life?”
“Well, she didn’t contact me either.”
Radek sighed. “Rodney, you-”
“That’s not the point now, anyway.”
“Fine,” he said, leaning in to see what Rodney had written on the page that was in the typewriter. So far it had the date and a ‘Dear Jeannie’. “Maybe you could start by telling her about the base.”
“It’ll get cut out.”
“Well, don’t mention location or work - talk about us, complain about the idiots you work with, tell her about J- about your friends,” he said, stopping himself in time. The other dozen people in the Lab looked like they were concentrated working, but that didn’t mean their ears didn’t function properly. “It’ll all seem easier once you’re already writing.”
“Know of a good start? ‘Wish you were here’ sounds trite and - well, untrue. I don’t want her here.”
“Just start writing. It’s as simple as that.”
Rodney sighed, glared at Radek and took another look at the typewriter. Forgoing it for the pen, he started writing.
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7:01 pm
John’s day off had been a bit odd.
Normally he’d have asked for permission and gone flying; maybe he’d have gone into town; he’d have sought Rodney out and pester him until his boredom was history.
But his hand hurt whenever he grabbed anything forcefully, the idea of going to town had bored him, and Rodney had been avoiding him all day.
Avoiding him wasn’t the proper word, maybe. Rodney had been busy, very busy to even have a conversation, it seemed.
At long last he found him in his Lab. He’d retreated to a small office they had in the back for when someone needed privacy and silence in any project they were working on, but really only ever used by Rodney.
Rodney hadn’t locked the door, but he had taped a wrinkled paper to it that read“GO AWAY, GENIUS AT WORK”.
John shook his head and pushed the door open. Rodney was sitting behind the desk, a typewriter in front of him.
John walked to him, Rodney so concentrated in properly folding a letter he never heard him or saw him until John leant against the desk.
Rodney jumped a mile in the air. “What-!” he said, clutching the sides of the desk, relaxing when he saw it was just John. “If you were any more silent you’d be a cat, you know that?”
John meowed. Rodney rolled his eyes. “What’s that?” John asked.
Rodney placed the letter in the envelope. “Letter to my sister.”
“You write?”
“Yes,” said Rodney, a bit affronted. And then added, “and she wrote first, I had to reply.”
“Fair enough,” said John, taking a look at the address on the envelope and memorizing it - you never knew when or why things might come handy. “Any news on my fighter?”
Rodney leant back in his chair. “Hardly yours anymore - as they say, it’s in the hands of the Lord now.”
John frowned. “That bad?”
“It might be headed for the scrap heap.” Rodney grabbed his chin and feigned being in deep thought. “Might also be your best work to date.”
“Well, I do take pride in my work,” said John, standing up and letting Rodney pass as he stood up, typewriter in hand, heading for a small side table on one corner of the room. “Hey. I, uh - I haven’t seen you in what, two days?”
“Yes, well, I’ve been busy,” said Rodney, not looking at John, taking special care in not dropping the typewriter on his feet.
“I’ve been busy not dying. Heard of-“
“I’ve got your fighter in the scrap heap,” he said, cutting John off. “Of course I heard what happened. I was in the control room.”
“Rodney.”
Rodney left the typewriter over the table and turned round, looking at John. “I’m glad you didn’t die. You could’ve very well been shot down by the one who damaged your radio or died in the crash and for a moment I thought you had. I- I’m glad you’re alright,” he said, in one breath and with no stops, eyes never leaving John’s.
John, a bit short for words, nodded his head. “Thank you,” was all he could say.
Rodney opened the door of the room, heading into the main work area. “And the whole ‘busy not dying’ thing? Hardly. You got what, glass shards in your hand?”
John pointed at his head. “And forehead. They hurt.”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “You looked like a pimply teenager,” he said, opening the door to the outside and turning into the hangar’s general direction. “And since you’ve got that Major High Threshold of Pain reputation to uphold, you shouldn’t even be mentioning that.”
“You brought it up,” said John, walking besides him at ease now, hands in pockets.
“You should’ve dismissed it.”
“And if it were you, you would have been complaining like a sawed-off limb.”
“Nice graphic way of putting it. And I wouldn’t.” he added in a softer voice.
John grinned. “Sure, Rodney. Whatever.”
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September 18th, 1942
That was when the seemingly short peace they had had, ended.
A week later, they lost another plane somewhere over German territory. Two good men died there, rookies, but good men. A third man managed to escape capture but was injured beyond any hope of him walking ever again and was shipped back home.
They lost Reynolds’ crew the following week.
Cameron Mitchell and John had been in the control room at the time, both listening on the progress of the two fighters and the bomber that were up in the air
By the time trouble arose and John and Cameron stood up to head for the fighters, it was all over.
Their fighters hit the enemy craft, but by then it was too late. Reynolds’ bomber was making a dive to the ground with no stopping it.
“Do we have the exact location?” asked O’Neill quietly.
“Yes sir,” said the radio operator. “One of the fighters just transmitted it.”
O’Neill signaled a lieutenant to come to him. “Get to the site, take whoever you -”
“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” said the young lieutenant “there’s not going to be anything left.”
O’Neill’s face grew hard. “That’s an order, lieutenant.”
The lieutenant snapped his heels and saluted. “Yes, sir!”
Cameron and John looked at each other for no more than a second, but that was enough to know the other one was thinking the exact same thing. “Lieutenant, wait,” said John, going to stand in front of O’Neill.
“Major?” said O’Neill.
“We’ll go, sir” said Cameron.
John nodded. “We’ll make sure to properly check the site, in and out.”
O’Neill nodded. He looked back at the lieutenant, who now looked very sorry he had ever spoken. “Belay my last order. Dismissed.” O’Neill waited till the lieutenant had left before facing John and Cameron again. “Go, take whatever and whoever you need.”
In less than thirty minutes, Cameron and John had gathered three jeeps, Lorne, T, Rodney, Dr. Keller and a couple of Lieutenants.
Cameron and John had a brief discussion about how to handle Carson - Laura Cadman had been part of Reynolds’s crew. Mid-discussion, Carson arrived with a field med kit and stated, in terms that warranted no discussion, that he was going with them. Soon enough, they were making their way to the crash site.
It wasn’t the worst crash they’d ever seen and it probably wouldn’t be the last or the worst, but the experience was heightened by the fact that they had known these people very closely; they’d been colleagues and friends.
The plane had fallen right at the edge of a small lake, its tail broken off and one of its wings lying on the ground a considerable distance from the fuselage, glass smashed and engine smoking.
They put out any fires that had started and proceeded to search for their people. The only survivor had been Lt. Johnson, who was in such a bad shape Keller didn’t have to talk to say what she thought of Johnson’s immediate future.
Carson went numb and irresponsive when Laura Cadman’s body was found, bloody and broken, inside the tail yet still somehow beautiful in death. Her blonde hair was covered in dust, ash and blood and Carson couldn’t stop staring at her.
Sergeant Bates’ family wouldn’t be as ‘lucky’ as Cadman’s family would be - his body had been partly burned and crashed. No open casket for him.
Everyone on site took a small moment of silence for the dead before a jeep with the bodies went back to base; the atmosphere around them heavy and humid, yet somehow chilly at the same time.
After this was finished came the arduous task of getting out of the plane anything that might still be of use or that shouldn’t fall in enemy hands, which pretty much included anything they could detach.
It was a relatively easy task, but tiresome, and it took them most of the day.
At one moment, Rodney was working on the cockpit while John and Mitchell where at the back of the fuselage - or at least where the plane had once joined with the tail, though that was no more.
There was a loud sound behind Rodney, of something falling to the ground, and he turned around to find a series of life vests and clipboards on the ground, John getting out of the plane and Mitchell and T looking at each other with a half frown, half sigh.
Rodney gave John a moment and then stood up, going after him. Mitchell nodded at him almost imperceptibly.
John was simply standing at the edge of the lake, arms crossed, quite a way from the plane. He didn’t seem to be doing anything else. Maybe some thinking. Rodney wasn’t really sure.
The truth was Rodney had always kind of sucked at this. He had always let mum or Jeannie do the talking when someone in the family died. When they weren’t around he had altogether avoided these situations.
But John was his friend, as unlikely as that had seemed at the beginning. Rodney hadn’t known Reynolds and his crew very much but John had - he’d slept in the same barracks with these people, fought with them, ate and laughed with them, it was reasonable that their death would affect him more. Leaving the man alone just didn’t seem right after such a day.
“Hey,” he said when he approached him, not wanting to startle John. Still, he had the funny feeling that anyone could have approached him from behind him with a knife and John wouldn’t even had flinched except to take him out.
“Hey,” John said. “Sorry about that. It’s been a bad day,” he said, only now looking at him.
“Yeah, I know,” Rodney nodded, feeling awkward about just standing there doing nothing but talking. “And you know - you’re free to have a moment to yourself at any time you want. The three of us can handle things, we’re not going to hold it over you or anything.”
John nodded. “I know. Mitchell had his ‘moment’ while you were in the tail.” Cam had almost broken down and punched John and T in the process, but it was always and permanently called ‘a moment’.
There was a small pause where John said nothing and Rodney didn’t know what to say. In the end, he opted for sincerity.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” he said.
John gave him a sideways look, arms still crossed as if to protect or defy something. “Ever been at a crash before, Rodney?”
“Car crash, when I was ten.” Rodney remembered well, he had needed stitches and painkillers.
John smiled. “That doesn’t count.”
Rodney grinned a bit, glad that for that small moment he had made John smile. “I know.”
John sighed. “We got Cadman and Reynolds’ bodies. And part of Bates’… We sent Johnson back to the base infirmary in a jeep but he’s not going to live the night. The rest…” he didn’t finish. Rodney was smart enough to know what had happened to the rest.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wanting to touch John, to hug him or pat him in the back or something.
“They were good people, Rodney. This was a milk run, I-”
“They knew what was at stake,” said Rodney, and John’s eyes were suddenly on him. “They knew why we’re here; they were ready to die for that. We all are - however much we don’t want to.”
John cocked his head to the side ever so slightly. . “You know that’s a contradiction, right?”
“Is it? I mean, if something,” he swallowed, “if something happened to you tomorrow, you did not sign up for this thinking it’d be a walk in the park. You knew what was waiting here for you and you came here anyway.”
John nodded. “I know.”
“That doesn’t mean you want to die right now.” And then he added, “I certainly hope not, or I’m going to have to lock you somewhere.”
John smiled widely. “No,” he said, shaking his head.
“Well, good then,” he said, and walked besides John as they made their way back. “I’m sorry about them.” Rodney said softly.
“How’s Carson?” asked John.
“Keller sedated him. He said he’s fine but she wants to talk O’Neill into giving him some days off till he has a chance to finally have a breakdown.”
“Maybe the guy just needs to work.”
Rodney nodded. “I told her that. She’ll talk to him in the morning. John?”
John stopped walking and turned to him. Rodney had never called him by his first name before.
“This may sound insensitive and maybe overly maudlin but-”
“Rodney, what?” asked John.
“I’m glad it wasn’t you,” said Rodney in one breath and very quickly before he thought better of it. “I mean, I’m sad about Reynolds and his people. I really -” he stole a glance at the crashed bomber. “I really am. I didn’t treat them much but they looked like good people. Anyway - I’m also really glad it wasn’t you.”
John nodded and grinned a tight smile, a bit overwhelmed and out of words. He made a weird sort of half-hug that ended with them walking back to the plane like that, with John’s arm over Rodney’s shoulder and with Rodney actually glad he’d gotten off the plane and had gone after him.
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October 10th, 1942
The fallout of the death of Reynolds’ crew had a dual nature.
On the one hand it dampened everybody’s moods a bit, to lose good people - it always did, no matter if the dead had just arrived to base or had been there for months. Losing someone was never easy but the families of Reynolds’ crew would have the privilege many, many others wouldn’t - to know what happened to their loved ones, to have their bodies to bury and try to attain a closure that was nowhere in sight.
On the other hand, losing Reynolds’ crew heightened everyone’s feelings - they fought stronger, enjoyed their leisure moments more intensely, laughed harder. It’d been a small wake up call, the kind that quietly whispered ‘that could’ve been us’.
September went on and ended with no more casualties - on their side. By the time October 10th rolled in, moods were up and work was straining - Rodney’s birthday was a brief but welcome pause in the everyday activity.
Rodney’s original idea had been a small gathering (Alright, Rodney’s first original idea had been to work, but John and Radek wouldn’t have any of it). He’d thought of something akin to Ronon’s birthday, a small number of them at a pub and not much else.
But then came the news - an English private organization was bringing a show to entertain the folks in town and, most importantly, to entertain the ones fighting and far away from home. And it was going to happen on the night of Rodney’s birthday.
All of a sudden, Rodney’s birthday gathering consisted of John, Mitchell and their respective crews, as well as two other crews and part of the people who worked with Rodney and Radek. Anyone who didn’t know Rodney would think him very popular and friendly, or at least that’s what Zelenka kept mentioning.
Rodney scowled at him and went on working.
By the time Saturday night arrived, everybody who’d be going to the show was wound up as if it was their birthday that night. But the excitement was understandable. The organization - which Rodney couldn’t be bothered to retain the name of and Radek didn’t even try to change this - had been offered a small manor on the outskirts of town to organize their show. They had brought in a comedian, two singers and several dancers and entertainers, all of which were bound to keep everybody busy most of the night.
Besides, there were stations specially set up to write letters home, which they would deliver at the organization’s own cost. There was a small game room set up and a food court, some dishes of it the likes most people hadn’t seen in months.
The manor had a lobby that was probably half the base’s size, which served well for the stage and the dance floor. In the room to the right they’d set up the food court, in the one on the left of the former lobby, they’d set up some tables for the families that brought in the children; there were chairs and floor space beyond the dance floor for those who simply wanted to linger near the show. Behind the stage was a room that used to be the sitting room, and now acted as game room and Letter Writing Corner.
Everybody went on to eat first - some of the lieutenants and sergeants wanted to pay for their meals, but nobody would let them. The rest had been in this type of shindig before to know they’d never make someone from any sort of national or allied armed forces pay for their meal, and didn’t even try, they simply thanked.
Rodney breathed relieved when the shortness of space for such a large group made them part ways; this was where the ones who had come for Rodney’s birthday and the ones that had come for the show separated, leaving Rodney’s company actually there for him.
Rodney’s birthday gathering ended up with part of John and Cam’s crew and some of his own department, Zelenka and John ever present at his side. Rodney wasn’t truly accustomed to large gatherings in his honor - back before the war, his parents would visit and some of his colleagues would congratulate him, maybe go out to the nearest pub for a drink, but the party had never before exceeded the amount of five, and even then it was probably because he’d been their boss.
But these were people who had actually coaxed him into going out with them, to celebrate his birthday - John’s eyes had threatened the kicked-puppy look when Rodney kept refusing.
They found a spot with a large table that still had a view of the dance floor - the acoustics of the manor made the sound of the stage carry to every single nook and cranny of the place, so that wasn’t a problem.
They got their food - and that in itself was heavenly. There were jam and cheese sandwiches, tomatoes, peas, rice, a sizeable amount of red meat - there was even chocolate and biscuits, which Britain had started rationing the past July.
The people around them were mostly families with their kids, and some started engaging some of them in conversation, asking everything they could and that had not been deemed as security risk or downright classified.
John and Cam and their crews started regaling the curious with tales of missions gone good, missions that were old and didn’t need any great detail - Rodney wouldn’t have been surprised if John and Mitchell had talked about which specific missions to talk about, maybe even invent a detail or two in case enemy ears were listening.
Trouble started when the blonde appeared.
She initially attracted Rodney’s attention because, for the briefest of moments, she’d looked like Laura Cadman, and he’d been about to comment to Dr. Jackson, sitting next to him, how the hallucinations had already started.
But the blonde wasn’t Cadman, which had Rodney both relieved and disappointed at the same time. She was a bit shorter and thinner and her eyes were a bit more dead that Cadman’s had been. She was also making a beeline for John. She grabbed a chair from a semi-empty table and set it right besides John’s, talking to him from the get-go.
John was a bit reticent at first - he had pointed out to the large gathering, even tried to engage T in conversation - but then the blonde kept talking and showing much too cleavage to be someone decent, and slowly John started turning towards her, until at one point they both stood up and disappeared into the dance floor.
It slowly started souring Rodney’s mood, the fact that John had taken off without even a word. He didn’t pout or leave food in his plate - pouting would be non-manly and much too obvious, and leaving food in his plate would’ve been idiotic - but his conversation started dwindling, slowly decaying and eventually disappearing.
Zelenka, thankfully, had either not noticed or had chosen to say nothing. It was probably the second one: the man was a pest in how he noticed everything, but sometimes he had his moments of tact.
The dessert arrived late, but it arrived. Zelenka and Jackson brought Rodney cake, a real cake. Rodney had no idea how they had accomplished a cake just big enough for all these people, since every single item needed for it was rationed. The cake was on the small side but looked appetizing nonetheless and Rodney thanked them both earnestly, his pride not letting his sour mood at John’s attitude show.
Besides, these people were going out of their way for a birthday. True, the Organization had done half of it, but it had still required some form of preparation.
In lieu of a candle, Cam held a lit match over the cake. Rodney glared at him and refused to be ridiculed in front of everybody he knew and didn’t know. Lorne and Ronon started talking how ‘it’s a tradition’ and how ‘no birthday is complete without blowing the candles out’. This had Rodney one-forth more convinced than before until Chuck, the manipulative bastard, said that refusing to blow your own candle could attract all kinds of bad luck - and Rodney didn’t want to attract bad luck to a table full of people who went into fighters and bombers every day, didn’t he?
Rodney blew out his ‘candle’ with all the strength he could muster, counted three wishes with his fingers (no would’ve believed him otherwise) and complained that so many years of study had led to finger-counting.
But everybody was laughing and happy and utterly adoring the fact that they were eating real cake, so Rodney kept on complaining and joking and smiling so everybody would feel normal and relaxed.
The night went on and John didn’t come back. Lorne and T excused themselves to go to the corner that had been set up for writing letters home; Cam and Daniel started having trouble pretending they didn’t have a liking on one of the dancers and kept drooling from afar until Rodney tossed them both napkins and said they actually could leave the table and go look pathetic somewhere else. Cam and Daniel looked relieved, thanked him and wished him happy birthday.
Rodney left for the base a few minutes later.
+
1:21 am
John saw him go by pure chance - someone moved, and someone else bent over and suddenly he had a clear view of the door for the outside, where Rodney was heading.
He took a look at their table, and was surprised to see many people had left. He spotted Zelenka, talking animatedly with Ronon, Simpson and Chuck. Radek stood up and intercepted him before John could even arrive at the table.
“Hey, I just saw Rodney,” said John, pointing a thumb in the general direction of the door.
“He’s going back to the base.”
John frowned. “Already? But we haven’t even brought the cake out.”
Zelenka crossed his arms. “Yes we did. We finished eating, it was time for it. We tried locating you but the kitchen staff had to close at some point, we couldn’t wait for you to deign us with your presence.”
John looked to the table, at a clock on a wall, back at the dance floor and then back at Zelenka. “Shit, Radek.”
“Where were you? This was Rodney’s birthday, a birthday he spends with people who, oddly enough for him, care about him and you go off somewhere else?” He hadn’t taken his eyes of John’s ever since he had started talking. It was a bit disturbing.
John looked at his watch and sighed. “I didn’t know it was that late.”
“This wasn’t about you having a good time,” he said as he waved a hand towards the dance floor, “this was about Rodney, about getting it into his head that people here care about him and about what happens to him.”
“Radek -”
Zelenka shook his head. “You’ll forgive me the tantrum, John but I am enraged for my friend, and if roles were reversed you would be doing the same.”
John nodded. “I’m sorry, I - I guess I lost track of time.”
Zelenka frowned. “Why are you making your excuses to me? I’m not the birthday boy.”
“Good point,” he conceded.
“And from a logical point of view, he’s going back to the base on his own on a night with no moon, it’s not safe. You could at least make sure he ends up his birthday on his bed, not a ditch by the side of the road.”
John frowned, and Zelenka stared at him for the longest minute. The ends of his mouth lifted up almost imperceptibly.
John turned round and headed outside.
+
The night was warm, way too warm for October, so much that Rodney took off the light coat he’d had on all night. He’d kept it on all night mostly because you never knew who might snitch it off the back of your chair, but now - now he was tired, and hot, and angry and the light cotton coat felt like a fur coat on him.
The street he was walking along was deserted, with barely any road light to light his way - which wasn’t a good thing considering he had a thick forest to his right and a ditch to his left.
He started hearing steps behind him, what sounded like someone in a hurry, and Rodney turned around in time to see John jogging up to catch up with him. “You walk faster than I gave you credit for,” he said, catching his breath.
“Hey, nice to know you’re still alive,” he said, hands disturbingly quiet. “How’s your night been?”
“I’m sorry,” said John, face contrite, Zelenka’s voice still ringing in his head.
Rodney waved a hand and went on walking. “Oh, save your apologies. You’re a free man, you’re free to do who - whatever you want.”
John walked besides him. “You’re my friend, and it’s your birthday. I shouldn’t have been going around like -”
Rodney didn’t let him finish. “If I want to hear what Zelenka has to say on the matter, I’ll ask him in the morning. You needn’t say it to me now.”
“Fine.” He stepped in front of Rodney, hands on his shoulders and looked directly at him. “Rodney, I was an idiot and I lost track of time, I missed your celebration, and your cake and I’m sorry. This should’ve been for you.”
Rodney nodded and side-stepped him. “Fine.”
“Rodney?”
“Apology accepted. Go back to the show, I’m off to bed anyway.”
John grabbed one of his shoulders. “Hey, I-”
“I am tired,” he said, enunciating clearly so John wouldn’t miss a syllable. “It’s past one. I’ve got to be up in four hours, five at best. Go back to the show, we’re all right.”
John suddenly felt like stomping his foot on the ground like a petulant child, but managed to contain himself. “Rodney!”
Rodney turned to him. “What do you want me to say?”
“What you think.”
Rodney shook his head. “You don’t want that.”
“Rodney.” John didn’t say anything else, and neither did Rodney. They looked at each other for a few more seconds.
Then Rodney sighed and walked to John.
“You know what’s worst of all this?” he said as he shortened the distance between them. “That I’m disappointed. I was used to people wishing me happy birthday and saying ‘we ought to do something’ and then forgetting all about it. I was their boss, and they were suck ups, and I’d gotten used to the ‘happy birthday’ that meant they were trying to be nice to me so maybe I wouldn’t fire their asses. It was alright for them to forget, because they never pretended to be anything else. You were my friend; you coaxed me into coming here and left the table with a blonde 30 minutes after we arrived. The fact that I’m disappointed makes me feel like an idiot, and that’s not a feeling I like very much.”
He turned around to leave, decided on not listening to anything else John had to say, ready to ignore him if necessary.
But John grabbed one of Rodney’s arms and sort of pulled him towards him and suddenly there was kissing going on. Rodney’s brain could barely process the fact that this was John kissing him, let alone the fact that he should, you know, kiss back or something.
It was a really nice kiss and Rodney’s brain sort of stopped functioning after this thought. John seemed to envelop him, to kiss him and be everywhere at once in a manner that Rodney had read about, but never felt.
But instead of reciprocating, Rodney pulled back, pulled his arm out of John’s grip and looked at him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m an idiot,” said John simply, with a big goofy grin.
Rodney nodded. “Yes, we established that long ago, that does not answer my question.”
John chuckled and thought for a bit. “I… I guess I don’t want to be an idiot anymore.”
It disarmed Rodney completely. He’d been expecting sarcasm, wit, a bad joke or maybe not much talking at all, but instead… “Oh,” he managed to get out. “Oddly enough that feels like an answer.”
John took Rodney’s arm again, taking his hand and feeling the skin, memorizing it. Rodney didn’t pull back. “It’s the best I can do right now,” he said, his voice softening as he shortened the distance Rodney had put between them. “When I regain my verbal skills I might do better.”
“The blonde girl?”
John looked to the floor and Rodney, ever the scientist, resolved to not make unfounded assumptions. “Oh, she felt like taking… the next step,” said John, and if the low light let them see the slight blush that crept into John’s cheeks, neither mentioned it. “But then she mentioned her dad had fought in the Great War, and she’s a flying aficionado - that’s when I left with her - and we started talking and we never… took the next step.”
Rodney nodded. “That makes me feel a lot better,” he said, and before bringing them together again he brought John near the line of trees, out of the middle of the road and out of sight.
Kissing John was a bit awkward at first - with girls Rodney had it easy: one hand on the waist, the other on the back of the head to guide her head the way noses wouldn’t bump - but this was entirely different in more than one way.
Noses bumped, and teeth scraped once, and hands needed a few seconds to finally find a suitable place that wouldn’t hurt anyone. John was also taller, just a bit.
But his smile was better than any he’d ever seen or felt before. He kissed differently, too, but the good kind. He kissed Rodney like he was saying goodbye and hello at the same time; like a languid ‘good morning’ kiss and a hurried ‘see you later’ kisses all rolled into one.
It made Rodney’s head spin.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” John mumbled in between kisses as Rodney made his way down John’s neck.
“I know,” he said, accidentally biting John’s neck a bit. John brought Rodney even closer together, pushing him against a tree. It seemed he’d located one of John’s soft spots, he thought as he smiled into another bite. “You realize this is trouble,” said Rodney. “At its best.”
“Can’t deny that it’s fun, though,” said John with a smile, gasping and grinding their groins together as Rodney bit his neck again. Rodney mirrored John’s smile and it felt so good and so contagious he felt he could never stop smiling.
+++
Continued in Part 3
+++
Part 2:
+++
+++
August 31st, 1942 4:04 am
The moment he was awake, Rodney could hear the sirens and the plane engines, the shouting and the general mess that was outside. It was still night, something was wrong.
Radek was still shaking him. “RODNEY!”
“What, what’s going on?” he said, jumping off his bed and putting his shoes on by pure instinct.
“It’s the Germans,” said Radek, already heading outside. “They managed to get around the radar. They need us on the radio, it’s not working properly.”
Rodney finished putting on shoes and pants and headed outside. The sky was alight with spotlights, the pilots who had been asleep running into the fighters; the ones on standby were already up in the air.
John whizzed past him. He turned to see who he had almost thrown to the ground, his face relaxing only a bit when he saw it was Rodney. “Rodney, you-” he spotted something behind Rodney. “LORNE?” he yelled.
Lorne came up behind Rodney, still getting his flight gear on. “Ready, sir!”
“Sheppard, w-” said Rodney, but John interrupted.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, giving Rodney’s shoulder a squeeze.
“Sheppard!” called Rodney, but he was off. He saw him and Lorne get into fighters and not their bomber, and made a mental note to ask him if he had been reassigned. A fighter flew above him and Rodney swore. “Dammit,” he said, running to the control room.
They stuck him right in front of the radio as soon as he arrived to Control, O’Neill standing over him and checking his progress; Radek was behind it tampering with things while Rodney calibrated.
The Germans were dropping bombs - everyone could hear and feel them, but none had struck the base yet.
At long last, Rodney and Zelenka had the radio working, the radio operator pushing them out of the way. They got out of the way as radar and radio operator started spotting enemy aircraft and coming in contact with their own men up in the air.
There were two enemy bombers and two fighters in the air; they had five fighters up in the air.
Reports started coming soon: John and one Cameron Mitchell took the fighters down. The German bombers retreated, but not before Mitchell and John could ‘put more holes in it than a colander’ as reported later by Cam Mitchell with a smug smile.
But John’s plane, though still showing in the radar, wasn’t making contact yet. The signal was noisy and undistinguishable, which prompted O’Neill to bark at someone to clean the signal up.
The other fighters started landing; Mitchell was still up in the air trying to spot John.
“Engine one’s dead,” came John’s voice suddenly, semi garbled and faint through the radio, and that was all that came through. Zelenka checked the radio again, Rodney checked the radar, but everything was working fine - the problem had to be with John’s fighter.
The control room was crowded, technicians, doctors and lieutenants going around trying to find a way to see what had happened to Sheppard. Rodney moved out of the way, a bit numb, a bit nauseous. John could have been shot down, or both his engines may have failed and he could’ve crashed or -
Rodney started snapping his fingers - Radek, well known in McKay habits by then, stood up from behind the radio and looked at him. “Rodney?”
Rodney looked at O’Neill. “If he’s been hit, and one of the engines has stopped working, he’s going to need to land.”
O’Neill waved a hand. “He’s got a whole runway outside; I’m assuming he knows that.”
“What if he’s too damaged to get here? If his radio isn’t working properly or not at all he might be out there, injured and with no way-”
“I get it, I get it,” interrupted O’Neill. “Alert the men who landed and base security, start canvassing the area,” he said to Rodney and two other lieutenants.
But by the time Rodney and the lieutenants got outside, a couple of the guards from base security had already spotted someone approaching the base on (a rather unsteady) foot - John, Rodney breathed relieved. A jeep was sent out to bring him home
Before Rodney even had time to talk to John, he and Mitchell were sent off to where John had ‘parked’ the plane, gave it a look, see if it was salvageable - half buried in the ground, it was a miracle John hadn’t died.
The rest of the night and early minutes of morning slipped away from Rodney quickly as he concentrated on wondering if salvaging the plane was even possible.
+
6:02 am
Cam Mitchell caught John later on at the infirmary, at the end of Sick Hall.
Dr. Keller was getting shards of the plane’s glass out of John’s hands and forehead; Carson was bandaging one of Lorne’s wrists, another medic was fixing Lt. Cadman’s ankle.
“Everyone fine here?” asked Cam in general when he entered, making everyone in the room frown at him. “Just sayin’.”
He walked to John’s bed, who kept wincing every time Keller dug on his forehead with tweezers. “Well, you look comfortable,” said Cam.
“Yeah, I could fall asleep right here - Ow!”
Keller stopped for a moment and looked at John. “I could go away and leave the glass stuck under your skin.”
John put his hands meekly at his sides and tried to look innocent. “No, that’s okay.”
Keller went back to work as Cam perched up on John’s bed. “You know, I could swear last time I saw you, you had a fighter all around you.”
John shrugged. “Couldn’t find a good parking spot close by,” he said.
Cam nodded. “I saw it. Made McKay groan like a kid who received clothes for Christmas.”
John laughed at this, which made Keller almost stab him in the eye with the tweezers. “Sorry,” he said. “Still, I can’t take credit for it, you know.”
Cam nodded. “Yeah, I saw one of the fighters do a number on you.”
“The bomber all but finished me off.”
Cam’s eyes lit up a bit. “By then you were too busy with your radio to see the fighter you took take a dive and not come up.”
John smirked. “Took any pictures?”
Cam waved a hand. “Next time.”
Keller sighed at the American Testosterone Show and moved to the glass on John’s hands.
O’Neill came up behind them, and everyone with a military rank in the room snapped to attention. “Sir,” nodded John and Cam.
O’Neill braced himself at the end of John’s bed. “What happened up there?” he asked with the same tone he’d have asked about the weather.
“A fighter all but killed my radio, and then Mitchell took it out while I took out the fighter pestering him. Then one of the bombers took a shot at me just before,” he thought for a second and then looked at Cam “he took it out.”
Cam shook his head. “I didn’t, it retreated.”
John shrugged. “Well you did a nice number on it anyway. The thing was, my radio was busted, I could barely hear anything, and then one of the engines stopped.”
“Sounds like a good start to your morning,” said O’Neill.
John frowned. “Morning, sir?” O’Neill pointed to the doors of the room, where a peak of the outside could be seen - in between the rough landing and the time it was taking Keller to get all the shards of glass out of him, the sun had risen. “Oh.”
“Take the day off” he said to John. “I don’t think we’re going to be hit any more, not during the daylight on a clear day, anyway”.
“Thank you, sir,” nodded Sheppard.
+++
September 1st, 1942 4:31 pm
Radek kept stealing little glances at him. He couldn’t help it - it was so odd to see Rodney like this, his head in one of his hands, the other one crunching sheets of paper or pummeling the typewriter’s keys into certain death.
Radek and Rodney were working on different desks, on different projects, but it was a show of how much Rodney’s silent mood was affecting everyone that most of their colleagues had chosen to go work in the hangars and the ones that couldn’t, chose to work as far from Rodney as possible.
“This is impossible!” barked Rodney at one point.
Radek frowned, calmly left his things on his desk and turned to him. “Are you ill?”
Rodney raised his head. “What?”
“You’re a self-proclaimed genius,” said Radek, getting up. “I’ve never heard you say anything is impossible.”
Rodney sighed. “I’m writing a letter to my sister.”
Radek nodded, taking a look at the floor in the vicinity of Rodney. It looked like a small bomb had gone off. “I guess that explains the small mountain of paper at your feet - you do know there’s the need to ration everything, right?”
“I’ll reuse it all later,” he said, while Radek bent over to take a look at a dozen different letters with several variations of ‘Dear Jeannie’ written on them.
He stood up and sat in a vacant chair in front of Rodney. “Rodney, if you don’t want to write her, then don’t.”
“I have to,” he said, and then lowered his voice a bit. “She wrote me a few days ago. Her husband’s off fighting somewhere, our parents aren’t helping much. She’s alone with a two-year-old and not much else beyond that. And she’s my sister, how can I not write her?”
“Then why does it seem to be talking you longer to write a letter than to repair one of Sheppard’s planes?”
“I haven’t talked to her in two years, she will know I’m doing it out of pity - I’m not good at this.” It was a show of what this was costing Rodney that he didn’t even try his hand at sarcasm. Radek frowned at this, deciding to leave all levity behind.
And then it hit him. “Two years?!”
“She got married, moved out of the country,” he said, waving his hands about; Radek moved a mug and two glasses out of the way of Rodney’s hands. “She forfeited what could’ve been a brilliant career in physics…”
“And that’s why you never talked to her for two years? You didn’t talk to her because she chose married life?”
“Well, she didn’t contact me either.”
Radek sighed. “Rodney, you-”
“That’s not the point now, anyway.”
“Fine,” he said, leaning in to see what Rodney had written on the page that was in the typewriter. So far it had the date and a ‘Dear Jeannie’. “Maybe you could start by telling her about the base.”
“It’ll get cut out.”
“Well, don’t mention location or work - talk about us, complain about the idiots you work with, tell her about J- about your friends,” he said, stopping himself in time. The other dozen people in the Lab looked like they were concentrated working, but that didn’t mean their ears didn’t function properly. “It’ll all seem easier once you’re already writing.”
“Know of a good start? ‘Wish you were here’ sounds trite and - well, untrue. I don’t want her here.”
“Just start writing. It’s as simple as that.”
Rodney sighed, glared at Radek and took another look at the typewriter. Forgoing it for the pen, he started writing.
+
7:01 pm
John’s day off had been a bit odd.
Normally he’d have asked for permission and gone flying; maybe he’d have gone into town; he’d have sought Rodney out and pester him until his boredom was history.
But his hand hurt whenever he grabbed anything forcefully, the idea of going to town had bored him, and Rodney had been avoiding him all day.
Avoiding him wasn’t the proper word, maybe. Rodney had been busy, very busy to even have a conversation, it seemed.
At long last he found him in his Lab. He’d retreated to a small office they had in the back for when someone needed privacy and silence in any project they were working on, but really only ever used by Rodney.
Rodney hadn’t locked the door, but he had taped a wrinkled paper to it that read“GO AWAY, GENIUS AT WORK”.
John shook his head and pushed the door open. Rodney was sitting behind the desk, a typewriter in front of him.
John walked to him, Rodney so concentrated in properly folding a letter he never heard him or saw him until John leant against the desk.
Rodney jumped a mile in the air. “What-!” he said, clutching the sides of the desk, relaxing when he saw it was just John. “If you were any more silent you’d be a cat, you know that?”
John meowed. Rodney rolled his eyes. “What’s that?” John asked.
Rodney placed the letter in the envelope. “Letter to my sister.”
“You write?”
“Yes,” said Rodney, a bit affronted. And then added, “and she wrote first, I had to reply.”
“Fair enough,” said John, taking a look at the address on the envelope and memorizing it - you never knew when or why things might come handy. “Any news on my fighter?”
Rodney leant back in his chair. “Hardly yours anymore - as they say, it’s in the hands of the Lord now.”
John frowned. “That bad?”
“It might be headed for the scrap heap.” Rodney grabbed his chin and feigned being in deep thought. “Might also be your best work to date.”
“Well, I do take pride in my work,” said John, standing up and letting Rodney pass as he stood up, typewriter in hand, heading for a small side table on one corner of the room. “Hey. I, uh - I haven’t seen you in what, two days?”
“Yes, well, I’ve been busy,” said Rodney, not looking at John, taking special care in not dropping the typewriter on his feet.
“I’ve been busy not dying. Heard of-“
“I’ve got your fighter in the scrap heap,” he said, cutting John off. “Of course I heard what happened. I was in the control room.”
“Rodney.”
Rodney left the typewriter over the table and turned round, looking at John. “I’m glad you didn’t die. You could’ve very well been shot down by the one who damaged your radio or died in the crash and for a moment I thought you had. I- I’m glad you’re alright,” he said, in one breath and with no stops, eyes never leaving John’s.
John, a bit short for words, nodded his head. “Thank you,” was all he could say.
Rodney opened the door of the room, heading into the main work area. “And the whole ‘busy not dying’ thing? Hardly. You got what, glass shards in your hand?”
John pointed at his head. “And forehead. They hurt.”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “You looked like a pimply teenager,” he said, opening the door to the outside and turning into the hangar’s general direction. “And since you’ve got that Major High Threshold of Pain reputation to uphold, you shouldn’t even be mentioning that.”
“You brought it up,” said John, walking besides him at ease now, hands in pockets.
“You should’ve dismissed it.”
“And if it were you, you would have been complaining like a sawed-off limb.”
“Nice graphic way of putting it. And I wouldn’t.” he added in a softer voice.
John grinned. “Sure, Rodney. Whatever.”
+++
September 18th, 1942
That was when the seemingly short peace they had had, ended.
A week later, they lost another plane somewhere over German territory. Two good men died there, rookies, but good men. A third man managed to escape capture but was injured beyond any hope of him walking ever again and was shipped back home.
They lost Reynolds’ crew the following week.
Cameron Mitchell and John had been in the control room at the time, both listening on the progress of the two fighters and the bomber that were up in the air
By the time trouble arose and John and Cameron stood up to head for the fighters, it was all over.
Their fighters hit the enemy craft, but by then it was too late. Reynolds’ bomber was making a dive to the ground with no stopping it.
“Do we have the exact location?” asked O’Neill quietly.
“Yes sir,” said the radio operator. “One of the fighters just transmitted it.”
O’Neill signaled a lieutenant to come to him. “Get to the site, take whoever you -”
“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” said the young lieutenant “there’s not going to be anything left.”
O’Neill’s face grew hard. “That’s an order, lieutenant.”
The lieutenant snapped his heels and saluted. “Yes, sir!”
Cameron and John looked at each other for no more than a second, but that was enough to know the other one was thinking the exact same thing. “Lieutenant, wait,” said John, going to stand in front of O’Neill.
“Major?” said O’Neill.
“We’ll go, sir” said Cameron.
John nodded. “We’ll make sure to properly check the site, in and out.”
O’Neill nodded. He looked back at the lieutenant, who now looked very sorry he had ever spoken. “Belay my last order. Dismissed.” O’Neill waited till the lieutenant had left before facing John and Cameron again. “Go, take whatever and whoever you need.”
In less than thirty minutes, Cameron and John had gathered three jeeps, Lorne, T, Rodney, Dr. Keller and a couple of Lieutenants.
Cameron and John had a brief discussion about how to handle Carson - Laura Cadman had been part of Reynolds’s crew. Mid-discussion, Carson arrived with a field med kit and stated, in terms that warranted no discussion, that he was going with them. Soon enough, they were making their way to the crash site.
It wasn’t the worst crash they’d ever seen and it probably wouldn’t be the last or the worst, but the experience was heightened by the fact that they had known these people very closely; they’d been colleagues and friends.
The plane had fallen right at the edge of a small lake, its tail broken off and one of its wings lying on the ground a considerable distance from the fuselage, glass smashed and engine smoking.
They put out any fires that had started and proceeded to search for their people. The only survivor had been Lt. Johnson, who was in such a bad shape Keller didn’t have to talk to say what she thought of Johnson’s immediate future.
Carson went numb and irresponsive when Laura Cadman’s body was found, bloody and broken, inside the tail yet still somehow beautiful in death. Her blonde hair was covered in dust, ash and blood and Carson couldn’t stop staring at her.
Sergeant Bates’ family wouldn’t be as ‘lucky’ as Cadman’s family would be - his body had been partly burned and crashed. No open casket for him.
Everyone on site took a small moment of silence for the dead before a jeep with the bodies went back to base; the atmosphere around them heavy and humid, yet somehow chilly at the same time.
After this was finished came the arduous task of getting out of the plane anything that might still be of use or that shouldn’t fall in enemy hands, which pretty much included anything they could detach.
It was a relatively easy task, but tiresome, and it took them most of the day.
At one moment, Rodney was working on the cockpit while John and Mitchell where at the back of the fuselage - or at least where the plane had once joined with the tail, though that was no more.
There was a loud sound behind Rodney, of something falling to the ground, and he turned around to find a series of life vests and clipboards on the ground, John getting out of the plane and Mitchell and T looking at each other with a half frown, half sigh.
Rodney gave John a moment and then stood up, going after him. Mitchell nodded at him almost imperceptibly.
John was simply standing at the edge of the lake, arms crossed, quite a way from the plane. He didn’t seem to be doing anything else. Maybe some thinking. Rodney wasn’t really sure.
The truth was Rodney had always kind of sucked at this. He had always let mum or Jeannie do the talking when someone in the family died. When they weren’t around he had altogether avoided these situations.
But John was his friend, as unlikely as that had seemed at the beginning. Rodney hadn’t known Reynolds and his crew very much but John had - he’d slept in the same barracks with these people, fought with them, ate and laughed with them, it was reasonable that their death would affect him more. Leaving the man alone just didn’t seem right after such a day.
“Hey,” he said when he approached him, not wanting to startle John. Still, he had the funny feeling that anyone could have approached him from behind him with a knife and John wouldn’t even had flinched except to take him out.
“Hey,” John said. “Sorry about that. It’s been a bad day,” he said, only now looking at him.
“Yeah, I know,” Rodney nodded, feeling awkward about just standing there doing nothing but talking. “And you know - you’re free to have a moment to yourself at any time you want. The three of us can handle things, we’re not going to hold it over you or anything.”
John nodded. “I know. Mitchell had his ‘moment’ while you were in the tail.” Cam had almost broken down and punched John and T in the process, but it was always and permanently called ‘a moment’.
There was a small pause where John said nothing and Rodney didn’t know what to say. In the end, he opted for sincerity.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” he said.
John gave him a sideways look, arms still crossed as if to protect or defy something. “Ever been at a crash before, Rodney?”
“Car crash, when I was ten.” Rodney remembered well, he had needed stitches and painkillers.
John smiled. “That doesn’t count.”
Rodney grinned a bit, glad that for that small moment he had made John smile. “I know.”
John sighed. “We got Cadman and Reynolds’ bodies. And part of Bates’… We sent Johnson back to the base infirmary in a jeep but he’s not going to live the night. The rest…” he didn’t finish. Rodney was smart enough to know what had happened to the rest.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wanting to touch John, to hug him or pat him in the back or something.
“They were good people, Rodney. This was a milk run, I-”
“They knew what was at stake,” said Rodney, and John’s eyes were suddenly on him. “They knew why we’re here; they were ready to die for that. We all are - however much we don’t want to.”
John cocked his head to the side ever so slightly. . “You know that’s a contradiction, right?”
“Is it? I mean, if something,” he swallowed, “if something happened to you tomorrow, you did not sign up for this thinking it’d be a walk in the park. You knew what was waiting here for you and you came here anyway.”
John nodded. “I know.”
“That doesn’t mean you want to die right now.” And then he added, “I certainly hope not, or I’m going to have to lock you somewhere.”
John smiled widely. “No,” he said, shaking his head.
“Well, good then,” he said, and walked besides John as they made their way back. “I’m sorry about them.” Rodney said softly.
“How’s Carson?” asked John.
“Keller sedated him. He said he’s fine but she wants to talk O’Neill into giving him some days off till he has a chance to finally have a breakdown.”
“Maybe the guy just needs to work.”
Rodney nodded. “I told her that. She’ll talk to him in the morning. John?”
John stopped walking and turned to him. Rodney had never called him by his first name before.
“This may sound insensitive and maybe overly maudlin but-”
“Rodney, what?” asked John.
“I’m glad it wasn’t you,” said Rodney in one breath and very quickly before he thought better of it. “I mean, I’m sad about Reynolds and his people. I really -” he stole a glance at the crashed bomber. “I really am. I didn’t treat them much but they looked like good people. Anyway - I’m also really glad it wasn’t you.”
John nodded and grinned a tight smile, a bit overwhelmed and out of words. He made a weird sort of half-hug that ended with them walking back to the plane like that, with John’s arm over Rodney’s shoulder and with Rodney actually glad he’d gotten off the plane and had gone after him.
+++
October 10th, 1942
The fallout of the death of Reynolds’ crew had a dual nature.
On the one hand it dampened everybody’s moods a bit, to lose good people - it always did, no matter if the dead had just arrived to base or had been there for months. Losing someone was never easy but the families of Reynolds’ crew would have the privilege many, many others wouldn’t - to know what happened to their loved ones, to have their bodies to bury and try to attain a closure that was nowhere in sight.
On the other hand, losing Reynolds’ crew heightened everyone’s feelings - they fought stronger, enjoyed their leisure moments more intensely, laughed harder. It’d been a small wake up call, the kind that quietly whispered ‘that could’ve been us’.
September went on and ended with no more casualties - on their side. By the time October 10th rolled in, moods were up and work was straining - Rodney’s birthday was a brief but welcome pause in the everyday activity.
Rodney’s original idea had been a small gathering (Alright, Rodney’s first original idea had been to work, but John and Radek wouldn’t have any of it). He’d thought of something akin to Ronon’s birthday, a small number of them at a pub and not much else.
But then came the news - an English private organization was bringing a show to entertain the folks in town and, most importantly, to entertain the ones fighting and far away from home. And it was going to happen on the night of Rodney’s birthday.
All of a sudden, Rodney’s birthday gathering consisted of John, Mitchell and their respective crews, as well as two other crews and part of the people who worked with Rodney and Radek. Anyone who didn’t know Rodney would think him very popular and friendly, or at least that’s what Zelenka kept mentioning.
Rodney scowled at him and went on working.
By the time Saturday night arrived, everybody who’d be going to the show was wound up as if it was their birthday that night. But the excitement was understandable. The organization - which Rodney couldn’t be bothered to retain the name of and Radek didn’t even try to change this - had been offered a small manor on the outskirts of town to organize their show. They had brought in a comedian, two singers and several dancers and entertainers, all of which were bound to keep everybody busy most of the night.
Besides, there were stations specially set up to write letters home, which they would deliver at the organization’s own cost. There was a small game room set up and a food court, some dishes of it the likes most people hadn’t seen in months.
The manor had a lobby that was probably half the base’s size, which served well for the stage and the dance floor. In the room to the right they’d set up the food court, in the one on the left of the former lobby, they’d set up some tables for the families that brought in the children; there were chairs and floor space beyond the dance floor for those who simply wanted to linger near the show. Behind the stage was a room that used to be the sitting room, and now acted as game room and Letter Writing Corner.
Everybody went on to eat first - some of the lieutenants and sergeants wanted to pay for their meals, but nobody would let them. The rest had been in this type of shindig before to know they’d never make someone from any sort of national or allied armed forces pay for their meal, and didn’t even try, they simply thanked.
Rodney breathed relieved when the shortness of space for such a large group made them part ways; this was where the ones who had come for Rodney’s birthday and the ones that had come for the show separated, leaving Rodney’s company actually there for him.
Rodney’s birthday gathering ended up with part of John and Cam’s crew and some of his own department, Zelenka and John ever present at his side. Rodney wasn’t truly accustomed to large gatherings in his honor - back before the war, his parents would visit and some of his colleagues would congratulate him, maybe go out to the nearest pub for a drink, but the party had never before exceeded the amount of five, and even then it was probably because he’d been their boss.
But these were people who had actually coaxed him into going out with them, to celebrate his birthday - John’s eyes had threatened the kicked-puppy look when Rodney kept refusing.
They found a spot with a large table that still had a view of the dance floor - the acoustics of the manor made the sound of the stage carry to every single nook and cranny of the place, so that wasn’t a problem.
They got their food - and that in itself was heavenly. There were jam and cheese sandwiches, tomatoes, peas, rice, a sizeable amount of red meat - there was even chocolate and biscuits, which Britain had started rationing the past July.
The people around them were mostly families with their kids, and some started engaging some of them in conversation, asking everything they could and that had not been deemed as security risk or downright classified.
John and Cam and their crews started regaling the curious with tales of missions gone good, missions that were old and didn’t need any great detail - Rodney wouldn’t have been surprised if John and Mitchell had talked about which specific missions to talk about, maybe even invent a detail or two in case enemy ears were listening.
Trouble started when the blonde appeared.
She initially attracted Rodney’s attention because, for the briefest of moments, she’d looked like Laura Cadman, and he’d been about to comment to Dr. Jackson, sitting next to him, how the hallucinations had already started.
But the blonde wasn’t Cadman, which had Rodney both relieved and disappointed at the same time. She was a bit shorter and thinner and her eyes were a bit more dead that Cadman’s had been. She was also making a beeline for John. She grabbed a chair from a semi-empty table and set it right besides John’s, talking to him from the get-go.
John was a bit reticent at first - he had pointed out to the large gathering, even tried to engage T in conversation - but then the blonde kept talking and showing much too cleavage to be someone decent, and slowly John started turning towards her, until at one point they both stood up and disappeared into the dance floor.
It slowly started souring Rodney’s mood, the fact that John had taken off without even a word. He didn’t pout or leave food in his plate - pouting would be non-manly and much too obvious, and leaving food in his plate would’ve been idiotic - but his conversation started dwindling, slowly decaying and eventually disappearing.
Zelenka, thankfully, had either not noticed or had chosen to say nothing. It was probably the second one: the man was a pest in how he noticed everything, but sometimes he had his moments of tact.
The dessert arrived late, but it arrived. Zelenka and Jackson brought Rodney cake, a real cake. Rodney had no idea how they had accomplished a cake just big enough for all these people, since every single item needed for it was rationed. The cake was on the small side but looked appetizing nonetheless and Rodney thanked them both earnestly, his pride not letting his sour mood at John’s attitude show.
Besides, these people were going out of their way for a birthday. True, the Organization had done half of it, but it had still required some form of preparation.
In lieu of a candle, Cam held a lit match over the cake. Rodney glared at him and refused to be ridiculed in front of everybody he knew and didn’t know. Lorne and Ronon started talking how ‘it’s a tradition’ and how ‘no birthday is complete without blowing the candles out’. This had Rodney one-forth more convinced than before until Chuck, the manipulative bastard, said that refusing to blow your own candle could attract all kinds of bad luck - and Rodney didn’t want to attract bad luck to a table full of people who went into fighters and bombers every day, didn’t he?
Rodney blew out his ‘candle’ with all the strength he could muster, counted three wishes with his fingers (no would’ve believed him otherwise) and complained that so many years of study had led to finger-counting.
But everybody was laughing and happy and utterly adoring the fact that they were eating real cake, so Rodney kept on complaining and joking and smiling so everybody would feel normal and relaxed.
The night went on and John didn’t come back. Lorne and T excused themselves to go to the corner that had been set up for writing letters home; Cam and Daniel started having trouble pretending they didn’t have a liking on one of the dancers and kept drooling from afar until Rodney tossed them both napkins and said they actually could leave the table and go look pathetic somewhere else. Cam and Daniel looked relieved, thanked him and wished him happy birthday.
Rodney left for the base a few minutes later.
+
1:21 am
John saw him go by pure chance - someone moved, and someone else bent over and suddenly he had a clear view of the door for the outside, where Rodney was heading.
He took a look at their table, and was surprised to see many people had left. He spotted Zelenka, talking animatedly with Ronon, Simpson and Chuck. Radek stood up and intercepted him before John could even arrive at the table.
“Hey, I just saw Rodney,” said John, pointing a thumb in the general direction of the door.
“He’s going back to the base.”
John frowned. “Already? But we haven’t even brought the cake out.”
Zelenka crossed his arms. “Yes we did. We finished eating, it was time for it. We tried locating you but the kitchen staff had to close at some point, we couldn’t wait for you to deign us with your presence.”
John looked to the table, at a clock on a wall, back at the dance floor and then back at Zelenka. “Shit, Radek.”
“Where were you? This was Rodney’s birthday, a birthday he spends with people who, oddly enough for him, care about him and you go off somewhere else?” He hadn’t taken his eyes of John’s ever since he had started talking. It was a bit disturbing.
John looked at his watch and sighed. “I didn’t know it was that late.”
“This wasn’t about you having a good time,” he said as he waved a hand towards the dance floor, “this was about Rodney, about getting it into his head that people here care about him and about what happens to him.”
“Radek -”
Zelenka shook his head. “You’ll forgive me the tantrum, John but I am enraged for my friend, and if roles were reversed you would be doing the same.”
John nodded. “I’m sorry, I - I guess I lost track of time.”
Zelenka frowned. “Why are you making your excuses to me? I’m not the birthday boy.”
“Good point,” he conceded.
“And from a logical point of view, he’s going back to the base on his own on a night with no moon, it’s not safe. You could at least make sure he ends up his birthday on his bed, not a ditch by the side of the road.”
John frowned, and Zelenka stared at him for the longest minute. The ends of his mouth lifted up almost imperceptibly.
John turned round and headed outside.
+
The night was warm, way too warm for October, so much that Rodney took off the light coat he’d had on all night. He’d kept it on all night mostly because you never knew who might snitch it off the back of your chair, but now - now he was tired, and hot, and angry and the light cotton coat felt like a fur coat on him.
The street he was walking along was deserted, with barely any road light to light his way - which wasn’t a good thing considering he had a thick forest to his right and a ditch to his left.
He started hearing steps behind him, what sounded like someone in a hurry, and Rodney turned around in time to see John jogging up to catch up with him. “You walk faster than I gave you credit for,” he said, catching his breath.
“Hey, nice to know you’re still alive,” he said, hands disturbingly quiet. “How’s your night been?”
“I’m sorry,” said John, face contrite, Zelenka’s voice still ringing in his head.
Rodney waved a hand and went on walking. “Oh, save your apologies. You’re a free man, you’re free to do who - whatever you want.”
John walked besides him. “You’re my friend, and it’s your birthday. I shouldn’t have been going around like -”
Rodney didn’t let him finish. “If I want to hear what Zelenka has to say on the matter, I’ll ask him in the morning. You needn’t say it to me now.”
“Fine.” He stepped in front of Rodney, hands on his shoulders and looked directly at him. “Rodney, I was an idiot and I lost track of time, I missed your celebration, and your cake and I’m sorry. This should’ve been for you.”
Rodney nodded and side-stepped him. “Fine.”
“Rodney?”
“Apology accepted. Go back to the show, I’m off to bed anyway.”
John grabbed one of his shoulders. “Hey, I-”
“I am tired,” he said, enunciating clearly so John wouldn’t miss a syllable. “It’s past one. I’ve got to be up in four hours, five at best. Go back to the show, we’re all right.”
John suddenly felt like stomping his foot on the ground like a petulant child, but managed to contain himself. “Rodney!”
Rodney turned to him. “What do you want me to say?”
“What you think.”
Rodney shook his head. “You don’t want that.”
“Rodney.” John didn’t say anything else, and neither did Rodney. They looked at each other for a few more seconds.
Then Rodney sighed and walked to John.
“You know what’s worst of all this?” he said as he shortened the distance between them. “That I’m disappointed. I was used to people wishing me happy birthday and saying ‘we ought to do something’ and then forgetting all about it. I was their boss, and they were suck ups, and I’d gotten used to the ‘happy birthday’ that meant they were trying to be nice to me so maybe I wouldn’t fire their asses. It was alright for them to forget, because they never pretended to be anything else. You were my friend; you coaxed me into coming here and left the table with a blonde 30 minutes after we arrived. The fact that I’m disappointed makes me feel like an idiot, and that’s not a feeling I like very much.”
He turned around to leave, decided on not listening to anything else John had to say, ready to ignore him if necessary.
But John grabbed one of Rodney’s arms and sort of pulled him towards him and suddenly there was kissing going on. Rodney’s brain could barely process the fact that this was John kissing him, let alone the fact that he should, you know, kiss back or something.
It was a really nice kiss and Rodney’s brain sort of stopped functioning after this thought. John seemed to envelop him, to kiss him and be everywhere at once in a manner that Rodney had read about, but never felt.
But instead of reciprocating, Rodney pulled back, pulled his arm out of John’s grip and looked at him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m an idiot,” said John simply, with a big goofy grin.
Rodney nodded. “Yes, we established that long ago, that does not answer my question.”
John chuckled and thought for a bit. “I… I guess I don’t want to be an idiot anymore.”
It disarmed Rodney completely. He’d been expecting sarcasm, wit, a bad joke or maybe not much talking at all, but instead… “Oh,” he managed to get out. “Oddly enough that feels like an answer.”
John took Rodney’s arm again, taking his hand and feeling the skin, memorizing it. Rodney didn’t pull back. “It’s the best I can do right now,” he said, his voice softening as he shortened the distance Rodney had put between them. “When I regain my verbal skills I might do better.”
“The blonde girl?”
John looked to the floor and Rodney, ever the scientist, resolved to not make unfounded assumptions. “Oh, she felt like taking… the next step,” said John, and if the low light let them see the slight blush that crept into John’s cheeks, neither mentioned it. “But then she mentioned her dad had fought in the Great War, and she’s a flying aficionado - that’s when I left with her - and we started talking and we never… took the next step.”
Rodney nodded. “That makes me feel a lot better,” he said, and before bringing them together again he brought John near the line of trees, out of the middle of the road and out of sight.
Kissing John was a bit awkward at first - with girls Rodney had it easy: one hand on the waist, the other on the back of the head to guide her head the way noses wouldn’t bump - but this was entirely different in more than one way.
Noses bumped, and teeth scraped once, and hands needed a few seconds to finally find a suitable place that wouldn’t hurt anyone. John was also taller, just a bit.
But his smile was better than any he’d ever seen or felt before. He kissed differently, too, but the good kind. He kissed Rodney like he was saying goodbye and hello at the same time; like a languid ‘good morning’ kiss and a hurried ‘see you later’ kisses all rolled into one.
It made Rodney’s head spin.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” John mumbled in between kisses as Rodney made his way down John’s neck.
“I know,” he said, accidentally biting John’s neck a bit. John brought Rodney even closer together, pushing him against a tree. It seemed he’d located one of John’s soft spots, he thought as he smiled into another bite. “You realize this is trouble,” said Rodney. “At its best.”
“Can’t deny that it’s fun, though,” said John with a smile, gasping and grinding their groins together as Rodney bit his neck again. Rodney mirrored John’s smile and it felt so good and so contagious he felt he could never stop smiling.
+++
Continued in Part 3