Thanks go to Cassandra who did a marvelous job of betaing this into shape! Any remaining mistakes, shameless use of commas or weird styling is all my fault! Thank you!
Notes:Featuring McKay & Sheppard. Character death. No spoilers.
Always look on the bright side...
"Rodney?"
He hears a sniffle and steps further into the darkened room. The soft rustle of cloth greets him as he moves forward and faces the bed. A hand brushes over an eye; a hand that will never again move with fluidity and elegance.
He speaks softly as he watches the supine form pulling up the blankets. "Are you ok?"
"Yes." The reply is curt, dismissive.
John Sheppard sits in the chair that has been constantly occupied until Rodney's outburst earlier today. Carson had been keeping vigil, a quiet witness to the loss of a beautiful mind. There had been harsh and hurtful words from a voice that had lost its mesmerizing power.
John sits by Rodney's bed and waits. The silence is occupied by sniffles and difficult breathing, the sounds of blankets moving. A dry, painful cough is heard and gives John an excuse to interact with the bitter man.
"Water?" He receives an answering nod and moves to fetch the offered refreshment. He holds the glass and tries not to watch as Rodney's dry, cracked lips purse around the straw. He marvels; Rodney, no matter the circumstances, is still the smartest man he's ever met and it shows in his eyes. They shine with a brilliance that is unequalled.
John returns the glass to the nightstand. He is the first to be allowed back to this post since Carson was thrown out. He cannot help but be flattered that he is permitted to raise the lights and tend to Rodney.
"Do you need anything?"
"No." Rodney doesn't waste words anymore, it's difficult for him, his lung capacity has been diminished; he has been diminished. So much less than he used to be and to see it makes John ache. They call it "helping." It isn't. It's waiting. John Sheppard sits at the bedside of his thirty-something best friend, and watches as the man wastes away.
"What happened with Carson?" There is no time for games anymore, for handling Rodney, for drawn-out conversations that resemble guessing games. If John wants to know, he needs to ask now.
"Nothing."
"He seemed to think it was a big thing."
They speak without looking at one another. They do not want to see what is written on the other's face. John stares at the floor, his own hands, his shoes while Rodney keeps his eyes closed.
"Carson's a damn fool!" There is anger. Not for Carson, but for the entirety of the universe. The unfairness of it all.
"He's not."
Sigh. "He wouldn't stop…"
"Yeah, he's tenacious."
"I just can't…"
"I know."
"There's nothing here! They're agonisingly pre-technological!"
"McKay, be nice. They might have coffee."
"You think?"
"No."
Rodney glared at him and John smiled back. Rodney huffed and quickened his pace. John's smile widened into a grin as he met Ronon's amused look. They all picked up their pace.
"I didn't want him to handle me. He always talks to me like…like I'm going to break."
John leans forward, elbows resting on knees, chin in hand. "It's his training kicking in."
"I'm not an old man." Rodney's voice is small and frail, like an old man's would be.
"Sometimes it's hard to remember that."
"I don't want to be an old man! I'm thirty-seven years old! I'm not even past middle age! I have so much...so much left to do! A lot…I can still contribute…I didn't…" he trails off. Voicing regrets will only dispirit him further.
There is nothing John can say to soothe him. Rodney is an old man. He is dying from old age and there is absolutely nothing they can do but watch.
A sound comes from deep inside Rodney, half-laugh, half-sob. "Nothing I can do…no brilliant plan now. Just a body shutting down. My body shutting down…my mind…my ideas…God…John…I have everything I ever wanted and now…now…" Another of those painful sounds is muffled under a hand, the same hand that used to be agile and strong.
"Yeah." They're going to lose him. Anytime now, Carson says with his apologetic and haunted face. All they can do is sit by Rodney's bed and wait.
"I knew I was going to die here, I just didn't think it'd be in such a useless way."
"Doctor McKay?"
"Yes."
"I am Rodolph Olivan."
"Good for you."
"I think I might know what you are looking for. It is a glass-like object, in oranges, yellows and reds?"
Rodney's eyes brightened and he let his eyes focus on the older man standing beside him. "Yes! You've seen one?"
"There is a place that is rumoured to hold one. I could show you."
Rodney bit his lip. He looked for Ronon, but couldn't see him. The lure of the ZPM was stronger than his sense of self-preservation and won out. "Lead the way."
"Death's always useless."
"How profound, I'm impressed."
"Glad to hear I've finally managed to do the impossible."
"Not many people have." His tone is soft, confiding. This is Rodney McKay, being honest because he has nothing to lose. "Not many people have bothered."
John is saddened; the only reason he feels comfortable with the personal conversation is that he has nothing to lose, nothing to hide anymore. "They should've, you deserved it."
"You have."
"I didn't have the choice. You bludgeoned me with snark."
"I guess I did."
"That was fun."
They both laugh a little, because it was.
"Are you sure it's this way?"
"Yes, of course, I have lived here all my life."
Rodney followed the older man through the rocky alcove and found himself in a darkened cavern. It smelled of damp, and rot and…
"Misster Olivan! What a pleasure it is to see you. I believe this is yours."
A young girl was handed over by a being that occupied Rodney's nightmares, as well as the greater part of the Pegasus galaxy.
"I have brought you a replacement," Olivan said, pulling the child toward him.
"Yess."
Rodney's gulp echoed through the cavern and he reached for his radio. Too late. A bright blue beam hit him and he fell to the ground.
"I really don't want to die like this. It's so unfair!"
"Death's always unfair."
Rodney huffs a laugh. "Not so profound the second time around."
"No. I guess not."
They sit in silence for a long time, a very long time. "John?" Rodney's hand reaches out to him. "Did you lower the lights?"
John hangs his head and inhales sharply. "No." His voice is as quiet as Rodney's.
"I can't see." Rodney's hand is searching the empty air. "John. I can't see." His hand encounters warm flesh and squeezes.
"I'm here." John squeezes back. Anytime now, Carson says, now being the imperative word.
"Ok."
"What have you done with Doctor McKay?"
A combination of John's fierce glare, Teyla's battle-ready stance and Ronon's fondling of his knife convinced Mr. Olivan to confess.
"I have given him to the Wraith in exchange for my daughter!"
They left the man's house without destroying him, though it was difficult to ignore the beguiling song of vengeance. He had given Rodney to the Wraith and that was unforgivable. He hadn't thought of coming to them. One Wraith, they could've taken care of it in a day. They had done it before. If only they had known.
They still took care of it, after they had found Rodney.
"John?"
He whispers his answer, it seems appropriate. "Yeah?"
"This…sucks."
"Not so profound are you?"
"… m'right."
"Aren't you always?"
"Yes."
"That's what I like about you, you're modesty." He brings his chair closer to the bed and lays his free hand on his friend's knee.
"I wasn't...a very good…man…was I?" Rodney's breathe is coming in slower, shallower.
"You're just a little quirky." You were perfect, John wants to say, but it is such a massive lie, even Rodney wouldn't believe it. "I like you well enough." He favours the present tense; Rodney is not to be spoken of in the past, not yet.
"A ring'…endor…s'ment…if I…"
"Yeah, yeah, don't ruin it there, Rodney."
"Here! He's here!" John tore away the white webbing keeping Rodney captive. Wide blue eyes stared back at him with disbelief.
"John?"
"Hey, Rodney." He pulled Rodney away from the wall, held the frail body close to his. He felt the lack of extra padding, bones sticking into him like a knife-edge. Teyla and Ronon burst into the room and their steps faltered. He knew that what he saw on their faces was written on his. Horror, pity, hurt, anger and an overwhelming need to scream.
"Colonel, we must hurry! They will not be held back for long."
Ronon took a few steps, slipped an arm around McKay and gently settled the fragile form against his shoulder. Rodney did not speak, did not seem to comprehend what was happening.
They made it to the jumper without encountering any problematic situations and breathed a sigh of relief when they made it to the gate, their precious cargo settled on one of the bench seats, sleeping off the excitement.
"…scared…" Rodney's breathing is laboured; he really shouldn't talk.
John won't tell him to stop. He wants the last words, wants to hear Rodney's voice. "Don't be. You'll do fine. You can do anything."
"…don't…want…to."
"No, I suppose not, but it's never stopped you before. In fact, I've found that you do amazing things when you're reluctant."
A soft rustle of cloth is the only answer he receives. A weak nod.
"Can't you do anything?"
"I can only treat the symptoms. You know as well as I that there's no cure for it!"
John paced the floor of the briefing room. He finally stilled, his hands on his hips, and regarded Carson. "I know. Sorry."
"Not a problem, Colonel, we all feel the same." Carson had never felt so powerless.
"Should we not arrange for Rodney to have company, at all times?" Teyla offered something to occupy their minds, tear them away from obsessive contemplation of the effects of a Wraith feeding.
Elizabeth took charge, if only to feel that she was helping, doing something for Rodney…their Rodney.
"Hey, Rodney?" he whispers, his chin resting on their linked hands, on the bed.
"…ummmm…"
"Can I have your chocolate?" His voice breaks on the last syllable. He wants to joke, be silly, as if these are not the last minutes he will share with this man, but he can't. He receives a light finger tap in response. He imagines Rodney is denying his request.
"Hey, Rodney?" he whispers again, feeling his breath dance gently over his hand, wondering if the hand he holds feels it too.
"…umm…"
"I'll miss you." No jokes, no silliness, just the painful truth. "I don't want to. I'm not like you; I don't do well when I don't want to."
A squeeze to his hand.
A soft rustle of cloth.
A last breath carries a name, "John."
And then, there is nothing.
"We come from nothing, go back to nothing. What have we lost?" John lowers his forehead to the bed and cannot finish the ridiculous quote. He finds he has lost too much.
Fin
Further notes: I'm not sick in the head, I know there is no bright side in this fic. It's the quote, see, "Always look on the bright side of life"? Life of Brian? Monty Python? Yeah...maybe I am sick in the head...