Title: Mr. Run Away
Author: PsychoticScam
Rating: FRT
Summary: When he runs, he follows.
Disclaimer: I don't own, I rent. No sueing me.
Author's Note: Not only am I in a slump with my stories, I'm in an angst breakdown. This is honestly dedicated to my recent ex, who I hate at the moment, but sitll love. Can I borrow a sledge hammer, anyone? (laughs manicly before randomly writing unreadable words on the paper infront of her) Anyways, hope you enjoy.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to just be a normal day, no Wraith, no nothing. And he still wonders why it happened. Rodney is now fighting for his life, his breathing hitched and coming out in short, unsteady bursts that hints the sign of a ruptured lung. And he knows that since they are still far away from the StarGate, Earth would be no different. He comes when Rodney's uses those blue-as-sky eyes to beckon him. And like the wild, deprived puppy dog he is, he obeys. Rodney's hand clasps his, his voice fighting for air through his sobs, and whispering useless, incoherent words to him, and the look he gave him spoke the words that John knew he'd never bring himself to say out loud, like "I love you," and "I'm scared,". John did the best he could to answer back with his own gaze. "I love you too," and "I'm here,". He stays strong physically for Rodney, but mentally, he's going insane. His heart is racing, and his head is throbbing. Right now, he doesn't care that he's Lt. Colonel Sheppard. He only cares about Rodney. Rodney McKay, who's struggling his breath, who's holding his hand, and trying desperately trying not to show how scared he truly is.
"You'll be fine, You'll be fine," He attempts to soothe, and for a moment, he believes that everything will be.
The Waiting facility is just outside of the Surgery Containment Section, and John's doing everything he can to defend himself from the panic that's rising from the bottom of his gut. There's a sickly hot-cold sensation dashing laps up and down his spine, scorching a hot trail in a result of it's efforts. He runs a shaky hand through his no-longer-gelled-but-sweaty hair and his eyes keep darting up to see if the red light that indicates a Surgical Operation is under way have flickered off yet. To his unfortunate, it remains glowing like a raw itch. Truthfully, it felt like John was looking into the Devil's eyes. The Devil that would take his Rodney away.
The door creaks, and John head snaps up so fast, he can hear the popping of his bones. Carson's look is not of any need to be happy. If anything, it's worse than grim. The sympathetic look the Doctor gives him is more than enough. No words are spoken, but a silent nod gives John the permission he requires to see his Rodney.
He looks, and his breathing is still off, but not as it was before. If anything, it was only a harsh rasp that sounded like it tore up his throat. John swallowed his sobs, and took hold of Rodney's hand, still mesmerized at how well it molded into his.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry..." He whispers. Carson waits patiently for the time John needs to be with Rodney, before reluctantly releasing him and approaching the Doctor, who's usual cheerful face has not yet lightened.
"I'm afraid it doesn't look to good." His Scottish brogue brings no comfort this time. Not like in the past. As Carson goes over the details, John wonders how it could go this far. All because of him. All because he had the gene. The wall had collapsed, crushing them, and John slid away with a hairline fracture to the foot. Rodney? Rodney was suffering from a concussion, massive internal bleeding, and 2 broken ribs, one in which ruptured the lung as he guessed. He holds his hope, though.
Just as it seemed things were going to well, it took a turn for the worst. Rodney's kidney failed, and his stomach refused all offered to him. This time when Carson approached him, he knew why.
Rodney was dying.
It was because he did what he was told not to that he was dying. He looks at Rodney, sickened by how much weight his lover had lost, how haunted he looked, and the pain lines etching his features. He made a small noise that sounded like a whimper, and his hand reached out for his, as though he were blinded. He accepted the offer, bringing the hand up to his face, nuzzling it against his cheek, his hand never letting for of the gentle yet firm grip.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," was the mantra he never gave up on, no matter how many times Rodney said it wasn't his fault. Because for once, the genius was wrong. It was his fault. And Rodney insisted that in his last hours, he wants to remember. And so John lets him.
At 1:27AM, Rodney McKay had passed on. No suffering, no regrets. And watching him die, was John Sheppard.
Three years, he still carries that burden. Elizabeth has become concerned, and she doesn't know he's out here. Doesn't know he's out to see his death. Standing just before the Balcony's end, is John Sheppard. No, not John Sheppard. He died three years prior to now, when Rodney did. This is just an empty shell. He stepped up and held steady, his eyes never wavering and with a gentle push without a coax, he was free-falling, the ground becoming closer and closer with his descend. This was it. McKay was Mr. Run Away, and he was Mr. Follow.
End