SGA-fic: Out
Title: Out
Author: Zinnith
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 909
Disclaimer: If I owned them I wouldn't have to live off my parents.
Notes: A little something for
saffie_lew's Coming out challenge. This will probably be Jossed into next week with Outcast, but what the hell...
Beta by the wonderful
the_cephalopod. Thank you!
Summary: “Hi, Dad. I… I thought I’d drop by to see you.”
My father’s face is stony and closed; unapproachable as always. Nothing much has changed over the years. I’m still met by a high grey wall that I can’t climb, no matter how hard I try. I was never able to scale it; not even in a chopper or a plane was I able to make it over, to stand face to face with the man, naked and honest. I've waited this long to have this conversation because, even if my father won’t listen, now at least I can speak freely.
“Hi, Dad. I… I thought I’d drop by to see you.” There’s no answer. I hadn’t expected one. “I just wanted you to know something. Maybe you always did and that’s why you… anyway.”
I look down at my hands, opening and closing around empty air. “I know things were hard for you after Mom died. You couldn’t even handle your own grief. You weren’t ready to take care of a kid. I didn’t understand back then - that you were angry at Mom for leaving. I always thought you blamed me for being the one who survived.” I sigh and then draw a deep breath. I’m not used to talking this much and my mouth feels dry. I’m waiting for that disapproving look, even though I know it won’t come this time.
“You did your best, Dad. Even though you often didn’t know how. No one can say you didn’t try. You just tried the wrong way and I wasn’t old enough, mature enough, to help you out or meet you half way. Hell, I don’t even know if I am today. But I've learnt a thing or two about myself, and I think we’re more alike than either of us ever wanted to admit.” A thin laugh escapes me. I remember all the arguments, all the broken dishes, the time I punched a hole in the kitchen wall. “Too damn stubborn, both of us. You wanted another life for me. But you just wanted me to be happy; I can see that now.”
He’s still silent. In a way, I wish I could’ve told him all of this years ago, just so I could see his reaction. It’s too late now. Now I’ll never know what he really thinks; what he really feels.
“I’m with someone now - that’s what I wanted to tell you. I know how much you liked Nancy and I’m sorry I couldn’t work things out with her, but I'm guessing that you knew that all along. I just wasn’t meant for that life. I was never happy with her. Could never have been happy with her.”
That was his one big sorrow, after Mom. That was when we stopped talking. Well, not really, because we’d never been talking to each other - it was always just one of us ranting at the other , both of us refusing to listen. But after the divorce we broke off contact entirely. I think Dad was hoping for grandkids; that his own family could somehow be resurrected through me.
“I’m happy now,” I tell him. “I hope you can accept that. I think you'd like him if you were ever to meet him. He’s not so different from you, you know. Stubborn. Convinced he’s always right. He’s got that same prickly shell to keep from having to show people how much he really cares. And he loves me. Really loves me. He doesn’t just think I’m cool, or good-looking, or any of that. He loves me for being me. I think he’s the first one to ever…”
I have to stop then, rub the moisture away from my eyes. It’s cold out today, windy. That’s why I’m tearing up.
“Anyway.” I pause. I think I’ve told him everything. At least everything I can think of for now. There’s not enough time in the world to tell him everything I want to say. “I guess that’s it. I love him too, Dad. This guy is the best thing that's ever happened to me and I’m grateful for every day I get to spend with him. The place we live in… it can be sort of dangerous sometimes. It’s amazing most of the time - we get to see and do things you could only dream of. But sometimes bad things happens, and when they do… he’s there, right in the middle of it. Whining and complaining about everything he can think of, but he’s there to back me up, and we get through it together.” I chuckle to myself, remembering all the close calls we’ve had over the years.
“That’s what I wanted to tell you. I’m happy. I hope you would’ve been happy for me too, if you were still here. I love you. I know you loved me too.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I reach out my hand and caress my father’s tombstone. We didn’t bring any flowers, it’s too cold outside for them to have lasted anyway. The only thing I leave behind as a testament to this visit is two sets of footprints in the frosty grass.
“Done?” Rodney asks quietly from beside me.
I nod, reach out for him and find his hand, his palm warm against mine. “Let’s go home,” I say.
He gives the stone a last look, mouths something I can’t quite catch, and then we turn and leave the graveyard together, heading home.
Author: Zinnith
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 909
Disclaimer: If I owned them I wouldn't have to live off my parents.
Notes: A little something for
saffie_lew's Coming out challenge. This will probably be Jossed into next week with Outcast, but what the hell...
Beta by the wonderful
the_cephalopod. Thank you!
Summary: “Hi, Dad. I… I thought I’d drop by to see you.”
My father’s face is stony and closed; unapproachable as always. Nothing much has changed over the years. I’m still met by a high grey wall that I can’t climb, no matter how hard I try. I was never able to scale it; not even in a chopper or a plane was I able to make it over, to stand face to face with the man, naked and honest. I've waited this long to have this conversation because, even if my father won’t listen, now at least I can speak freely.
“Hi, Dad. I… I thought I’d drop by to see you.” There’s no answer. I hadn’t expected one. “I just wanted you to know something. Maybe you always did and that’s why you… anyway.”
I look down at my hands, opening and closing around empty air. “I know things were hard for you after Mom died. You couldn’t even handle your own grief. You weren’t ready to take care of a kid. I didn’t understand back then - that you were angry at Mom for leaving. I always thought you blamed me for being the one who survived.” I sigh and then draw a deep breath. I’m not used to talking this much and my mouth feels dry. I’m waiting for that disapproving look, even though I know it won’t come this time.
“You did your best, Dad. Even though you often didn’t know how. No one can say you didn’t try. You just tried the wrong way and I wasn’t old enough, mature enough, to help you out or meet you half way. Hell, I don’t even know if I am today. But I've learnt a thing or two about myself, and I think we’re more alike than either of us ever wanted to admit.” A thin laugh escapes me. I remember all the arguments, all the broken dishes, the time I punched a hole in the kitchen wall. “Too damn stubborn, both of us. You wanted another life for me. But you just wanted me to be happy; I can see that now.”
He’s still silent. In a way, I wish I could’ve told him all of this years ago, just so I could see his reaction. It’s too late now. Now I’ll never know what he really thinks; what he really feels.
“I’m with someone now - that’s what I wanted to tell you. I know how much you liked Nancy and I’m sorry I couldn’t work things out with her, but I'm guessing that you knew that all along. I just wasn’t meant for that life. I was never happy with her. Could never have been happy with her.”
That was his one big sorrow, after Mom. That was when we stopped talking. Well, not really, because we’d never been talking to each other - it was always just one of us ranting at the other , both of us refusing to listen. But after the divorce we broke off contact entirely. I think Dad was hoping for grandkids; that his own family could somehow be resurrected through me.
“I’m happy now,” I tell him. “I hope you can accept that. I think you'd like him if you were ever to meet him. He’s not so different from you, you know. Stubborn. Convinced he’s always right. He’s got that same prickly shell to keep from having to show people how much he really cares. And he loves me. Really loves me. He doesn’t just think I’m cool, or good-looking, or any of that. He loves me for being me. I think he’s the first one to ever…”
I have to stop then, rub the moisture away from my eyes. It’s cold out today, windy. That’s why I’m tearing up.
“Anyway.” I pause. I think I’ve told him everything. At least everything I can think of for now. There’s not enough time in the world to tell him everything I want to say. “I guess that’s it. I love him too, Dad. This guy is the best thing that's ever happened to me and I’m grateful for every day I get to spend with him. The place we live in… it can be sort of dangerous sometimes. It’s amazing most of the time - we get to see and do things you could only dream of. But sometimes bad things happens, and when they do… he’s there, right in the middle of it. Whining and complaining about everything he can think of, but he’s there to back me up, and we get through it together.” I chuckle to myself, remembering all the close calls we’ve had over the years.
“That’s what I wanted to tell you. I’m happy. I hope you would’ve been happy for me too, if you were still here. I love you. I know you loved me too.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I reach out my hand and caress my father’s tombstone. We didn’t bring any flowers, it’s too cold outside for them to have lasted anyway. The only thing I leave behind as a testament to this visit is two sets of footprints in the frosty grass.
“Done?” Rodney asks quietly from beside me.
I nod, reach out for him and find his hand, his palm warm against mine. “Let’s go home,” I say.
He gives the stone a last look, mouths something I can’t quite catch, and then we turn and leave the graveyard together, heading home.