- A Long Hard Ride -
"I thought you weren't supposed to do anything too taxing," Rodney McKay commented as he grabbed a handful of chips from the open Fritos bag. He looked at them, but decided that he'd had enough and tossed them back in the bag. His 'chauffeur' noted the action with concern.
"This isn't taxing, McKay. Driving up here is relaxing. It's inspiring," John Sheppard exclaimed, his right hand coming off the wheel as he presented the obvious beauty before them with the sweeping motion of his arm.
The two Atlantis expedition members had been through the Pegasus Galaxy's version of hell on their last mission, taken prisoner by a tribe intent on gaining access to Atlantis and driving its current inhabitants back to Earth and wherever else they belonged, because according to the Venceri, they sure didn't belong in the ancient home of the Ancients.
As it turned out, the Venceri were pretty delusional, a third world version of the Genii. Well, old Genii, though no one in Atlantis was deluded about the potential for those people to turn on the expedition and their Pegasus home again in the future. In the end, the Venceri were correct about Sheppard and McKay: they were back on Earth, at least temporarily, and with good reason.
Their imprisonment at the hands of these brutal savages had lasted a long, painful week during which time Sheppard had suffered far too many deep lacerations from a knife wielded threateningly, nearly murderously, at the lieutenant colonel. The one broken and two cracked ribs as well as the deep bruising on much of his torso and the badly sprained wrist had kept him in the infirmary nearly twice as long as his captivity. Blood loss from all of the cuts had been a huge obstacle to overcome in his recovery. An ACE bandage was still present on the damaged right wrist.
McKay had fared no better; most would indeed say that he'd gotten the worst of it this time. For the early days he had witnessed the torture of his friend, bound and unable to do anything but watch as Sheppard was slashed and struck, though bear witness he did, because the bravery and commitment that Sheppard showed in the face of the intense assaults that were intended to gain the gate address for Atlantis deserved no less than his full attention.
When the Venceri were through with Sheppard, and by through meaning leaving him near death, they came to McKay. What they didn't know about Rodney McKay had been these peoples' undoing, but not before they had done their damage, both physical and psychological, on the tougher than anticipated scientist.
Little did their brutal kidnappers know that Rodney had already hidden a locator beacon; it might take time, but McKay knew they would be found. Or at least their bodies would be.
Their captors had convinced Rodney that John was dead, and certainly seeing his body unmoving made the charade easily believed. When they carted the colonel's body out of the cell, they manhandled him as though he was the next bit of refuse for the garbage pile. There was no sign of consciousness, no hint of life in his friend's body. Rodney had turned disconsolate, knowing that his own time was short, but no longer caring much after witnessing Sheppard's lifeless body being carted away. When they took the physicist from the cell and marched him past the trash pit, with John Sheppard's body unceremoniously tossed amid the garbage and the swirling mound of rats, he knew that he would have to survive this, if he could, in order to come back and avenge his friend's death.
The man with the knife was not Rodney's torturer. No, the man who was selected to break McKay preferred to do his damage with his hands, bare knuckled. The punches that he threw landed in dangerous places for any man, like McKay's kidneys, which were damaged so badly that Carson Beckett had claimed just one more hour without treatment would have meant kidney failure. But just as dangerous, especially to someone like Rodney, were the blows that he took to his head.
It was a frightening mess that met the Atlantis rescue team, McKay's face so distorted from the harsh blows, his ears, nose and mouth full of old and recent blood. Beckett had never been so relieved to see that his friend was talking, even if all he said, over and over again in the beginning minutes of his rescue was, "Sheppard is dead. Sheppard is dead." It was chilling, but it wasn't true.
Though Rodney McKay was usually right, this time he was mercifully very wrong. Sheppard was in the next cell, unconscious, malnourished, dehydrated. Barely alive. It wasn't until Carson got both of his patients back to the Atlantis infirmary that the extent of Rodney's injuries was made clear.
It was obvious just looking at McKay's face upon his rescue that there were likely broken bones, but luckily there was only a broken nose, the rest was very bad bruising and swelling. He had several broken or cracked teeth. Both of his eyes were blackened from the beatings. His eardrums had been bruised bad enough that his hearing had just a few days before they started out on this mountain adventure begun to seem like normal. Rodney's memory and supremely glorious brain were the most worrisome. It had been a cruel joke, Rodney's conscious state when they'd found him. He quickly lapsed into unconsciousness, and stayed that way for three long days; regular MRIs along with relieving of dangerous pressure on the chief scientist's brain kept Beckett busy as he waited for his friend to wake up. The physician had never been more afraid of what he would find as he kept his vigil, waiting for McKay's awakening.
Thankfully for the genius physicist, his neuro checks, once he finally woke, proved that his brain was in tact, but that he had suffered some memory loss, primarily of his captivity but also of the days leading up to the mission. He also now suffered occasional frightening vertigo. Carson was hopeful that both conditions were temporary, though he would be happy if Rodney never revisited what was done to him on that wretched planet. The scientist tired easily, still, now nearly five weeks after being found.
It had been determined on John and Rodney's behalf, and with John and Rodney's blessing, that when they were both healed enough that they should get away. Away from Atlantis and Pegasus and any worries about their roles and responsibilities. Earth was the immediate destination, but it had been their choice to head east once they had both been checked over again at Stargate Command. Upstate New York was their choice, a choice that had met with resounding objections from their friends and colleagues, particularly from Dr. Carson Beckett. The Atlantis contingent had been thinking more of a Colorado Springs get-away, something that would get them away from their recent horrific experience in the Pegasus Galaxy, but not so far that they couldn't be in touch, if they wanted.
Sheppard and McKay had other ideas. They wanted – they needed – to get away. Far away. Far from any one or any thing that reminded them of Atlantis and what being stationed there had almost cost them. They were both adventurers now, Rodney as much as John these days, and they knew that Atlantis was in their blood, in their soul, and that they would return. But time away would cleanse them of this most recent bad memory. Well, maybe cleanse wasn't the right word, but the time away, far away, would give them the distance they needed to work through, in their own way and in their own time, what was needed. They both knew that they wouldn't be placed back on active duty until they worked through some of the demons that the Venceri so viciously saddled them with.
It was late fall, the days in the mountains still warm from the sunshine, warm being a relative term in late November at several thousand feet above sea level. A medium weight jacket could suffice during daylight, with a couple of shirts layered underneath. The nights happily and rather mercilessly predicted the winter cold just around the corner. They packed accordingly, as walking in the downtown after sunset would require their warmest attire.
"Put both hands back on the wheel," McKay insisted.
"Hey, I'm a good driver," Sheppard defended as they passed the Warrensburg exit.
"Well, you never can tell when you might hit an icy patch up here. The mist from the fog freezes on the road, you know."
"Rodney, it's two o'clock in the afternoon."
"So?"
"So, it's way past fog time, and it's fifty degrees."
"Keep your hands on the wheel, hot shot. I didn't spend the last five weeks healing just to be found thrown from a rented SUV after it tumbled down a mountain because the driver got cocky."
"Fine," John replied, a little surprised at McKay's vehemence. Rodney hadn't really enjoyed their flights either, though the medication that Carson had given him for vertigo and nausea had pretty much kept him asleep for most of that time. And he had woken up cranky. "You feeling okay?" the colonel asked worriedly.
Rodney sighed. "Not really. I think that my," he waved his hand about his face, "head doesn't like the drive so much."
"We've only been driving since Albany," John noted. That earned him a dirty look from his passenger. They had flown in commercially, wanting to leave the feel of their official roles behind for their entire trip. "Do you want to stop?"
McKay rolled closed the Fritos bag. "Do you mind if I take some Meclizine?" Rodney appeared sad, depressed at having to make the request.
"Rodney, you're supposed to take it if you need it. Go ahead and take it."
"It pisses me off that I have to take it!" he yelled in reply. A barely voiced, "Fuck," followed, and then a little louder, "Sorry." Rodney rubbed his eyes and then his temples in a slow, easy motion, and then turned to John and said, "I'll fall asleep."
"Only one person can be behind the wheel," Sheppard replied comfortingly. "I had a nice nap on the plane. I'll be okay if you want to rest."
"As you know, and this is no reflection of how I feel about you as a driver," he said, and then added, "well, not really, but I don't like to sleep in the car."
"I know you don't, but I'll be careful. We only have another hour, hour and a half until we get to Lake Placid." John watched Rodney fleetingly, taking his eyes off the road for mere seconds in order to check on his friend. He placed his hand on McKay's arm. "Come on. Take the pills. You'll sleep through the rest of the drive. It's gonna get more hilly and windy. You'd be better off asleep through that with how you're feeling."
"I know," McKay agreed quietly. "And both hands on the wheel."
"Yes sir," John joked, saluting with his right hand before putting it back on the steering wheel. McKay didn't break even the slightest grin, his face steely, his lips pressed together, his entire demeanor declared unbridled tension and frustration, pain and illness. "Hey, look, we'll check in, get an early dinner and then call it a night so that we can both start fresh in the morning." Rodney looked at John, a faint crooked grin making its way to McKay's mouth. Sheppard knew that he could still count on Rodney's sense of humor to occasionally peek through, though it had made only special appearances these last weeks.
"Okay. But I'm turning the radio on. Something needs to keep you awake."
"You're the tired one, not me," Sheppard quipped as he offered McKay a huge, fake yawn.
"That's just great. How am I supposed to sleep now?" Rodney whined.
"Take the pills."
Rodney took two pills of twenty-five milligrams each. He tired with one, two would for sure knock him out. It was a testament to how lousy McKay felt that he would take two of the Meclizine; Rodney really didn't trust anyone in the driver's seat, not even the best pilot in two galaxies.
By the time they hit the Schroon Lake exit, McKay was fast asleep.
-Rest for the Weary –
Not surprisingly, both men had suffered serious nightmares since their rescue. John's had subsided, for the most part, and most especially as Rodney continued to improve. But McKay was not getting over what had happened to them. His post traumatic stress symptoms were worrisome, and though the scientist had healed significantly physically, Carson Beckett now felt that the frightening dreams were a contributing factor to his now seemingly stalled progress. Plus, McKay had refused to talk to anyone about the specifics of his disturbing dreams. Not Carson. Not Heightmeyer. Not even John Sheppard.
And thus the 'forced' vacation. John had been an active participant in the initial planning of this getaway, but it wasn't hard to see how much Rodney needed it; he had put up absolutely no fight in leaving his cherished Atlantis.
McKay was still dead to the world when Sheppard pulled up to the motel. The Air Force man got out of the car, leaving his friend to more rest as he checked them in. John had reserved a double with a view back toward the famous High Peaks. Rodney might have complained about sharing a room. Before. But Sheppard knew his friend would have no complaints now. And even if he did, John wouldn't have allowed him to have his own room. He may have before the Venceri, but not now. One of Sheppard's major goals for this trip was to get McKay to talk about the nightmares. He had to get his friend to talk. He knew from his own horrible past experience that the pain of talking about it, no matter how torturous it seemed, would pay huge dividends in the end. It surprised John that Rodney hadn't figured that out on his own. He had used Heightmeyer in the past. This time, Rodney McKay seemed intent on keeping his demons to himself.
As he left the lobby with two keys and directions to their room, the colonel leaned down and petted the resident German Shepherd.
"Hey bro," he said as he rubbed the old dog between the ears. "You know you spell your name wrong, right?" The dog just stared at him, pleased with the attention but none too sure about the rest.
John eased the door shut as quietly as possible and drove the Jeep down to their section of the motel. He turned the car off, pulled the keys from the ignition and then rubbed Rodney's arm, jangling the keys as a wake-up call.
"McKay, we're here."
Rodney didn't move a muscle, except for those muscles that moved his eyelids. He blinked, a lot. It wasn't just the blink of waking up, Sheppard noted, it was the blink of waking up and not being able to focus. Rodney wasn't moving a muscle because he already felt like he was moving from the effects of the vertigo. John had seen that look many times in these last weeks.
He hoped he wouldn't have to get used to it.
"Take your time," Sheppard said. "We made good time."
"You see, that's something that I really didn't need to know." McKay sat up from his slouched position and tried to focus on one spot straight ahead of him. It rarely worked, but Rodney McKay was nothing if not persistent.
"Hey! I'm gonna develop a complex if you keep that up."
Rodney snorted. "Yeah, right." The scientist laid his head back and closed his eyes.
"Do you want to sit here a minute while I go find the room?"
McKay turned his head to look at his friend. He smiled, but his eyes couldn't hide the sadness, the disappointment with how things were currently. "That would probably be good," he said, choking slightly at having to concede it was true.
John looked at his friend with sympathy. He wrapped his hand around Rodney's wrist and said, "You're gonna be fine, McKay. You just need to give it time." Tears came to Rodney's eyes and he looked away. What he saw astounded him.
"What kind of place are we staying in?" he asked, using the diversion to wipe the tears from his eyes. "Now that's a view. Can we afford this?" he sniffed, his vision obviously better if he was able to see the magnificence of the Adirondack Mountains' high peaks.
"Thought you'd like it. I asked for it special, used my 'I'm on leave from the military' card."
"You're shameless."
"Not news," Sheppard said with a crooked grin. "You okay?"
"I will be," McKay answered as he opened the passenger-side door.
"You're sure you're okay? You can take another minute to get your bearings."
"No, I'm okay. Let's look at this view before we lose the light."
"Great. Why don't you head over there for a look while I get the luggage?"
"No," Rodney declined irritably. "I can carry my own bags, thank you very much."
"Okay. I'm still going up to the room real quick," John said excitedly. He was practically squirming in his seat.
"You have to pee, don't you?"
"Can't get nothin' past you, you genius you." Rodney stuck his tongue out at the rejoinder. "Why don't you, and your bags, head over to look at the mountains. I, sans bag, will meet you there in a few."
"Should we synchronize our watches, Colonel?"
"Probably not. I really, REALLY have to go. No telling how long it'll take."
"You are so disgusting. Please go."
Rodney stood looking at the scene before him. It was an amazing picture. He really loved the mountains. When the two had gotten together to discuss where they would head for their enforced vacation, the first thing they had agreed on was some place north. The Venceri's planet had been stiflingly hot, the two men's cells even more so. The heat had contributed, along with the filthy surroundings and what had been infrequent and insubstantial meals, to their poor physical conditions upon their rescue. Because of that intense heat, they had even considered some place where they would be guaranteed to find snow, but cooler heads had prevailed. If they got snow during these ten days in the Lake Placid area, they would look at it as icing on the cake.
Lake Placid was famous for having hosted two winter Olympic Games, in 1932 and then again in 1980, when the United States beat the Soviet team in ice hockey in what became known as the 'Miracle on Ice'. This destination seemed ideal, especially for one hockey crazy Canadian known as Rodney McKay.
The big mountain, Whiteface, where the Olympic downhill skiing took place, was actually not in Lake Placid but in Wilmington, just a short drive away. From the town of Lake Placid, and most especially from where they were staying, McKay and Sheppard would enjoy unequaled views of many of the forty-six mountains that made up the 'high peaks' of the Adirondack Park.
Rodney sat at a picnic table not far from the closed for the season outdoor pool. He knew that this mountain region was equally well-known for its summertime activities, most notably the remarkable hiking that these mountains offered. But as he sat with the sun going down in the chill of late November he had a hard time picturing that pool ever getting much use.
"Man, is THAT a relief," John Sheppard said as he took a seat next to his friend. "Shit, that's cold, Rodney!"
McKay looked at him as the colonel grinned at his greeting. He shook his head and said, "You know, you won't get a rise out of me every time."
"I know," John answered smugly. He leaned over and bumped Rodney's shoulder with his own. "But the look on your face is priceless, and always worth the attempt."
"How's the room?" Rodney asked, ignoring Sheppard in his attempt to keep his friend from thinking that the scientist found him funny. He did, find him funny, that is, but there was no need for Sheppard to get more reinforcement than the 'look on his face' provided.
"Nice, but not as nice as out here," John admired.
Rodney nodded his head. "This was a good idea."
"Good." The colonel looked at the scientist closely. "You feeling any better?"
"Yes, but it's cold out here. I'm surprised I don't hear those bones rattling in that scrawny body of yours. Let's go inside and figure out where we're going to eat."
"Cool." They rose and walked toward their room. "You sure I can't carry some of that?" Sheppard asked helpfully. Rodney may have joked about Sheppard's thin frame, but McKay had lost a lot of weight, and not just during their imprisonment.
Rodney breathed in deeply, purposefully taking a moment before answering. "It's a laptop, a backpack and a suitcase. I've carried more crap than this on missions and I don't get any help from you." The silence was deafening as Rodney finished his mini tirade. He realized that he'd been nearly shouting and immediately regretted his tone. The fact that in his anger he could have let something slip that was classified about those 'missions' scared him just a little.
"Sorry," McKay apologized. "I'm…I don't know…it's frustrating. I can handle carrying my stuff. It's obviously not the physical stuff that I'm having trouble with, is it?"
"Okay. I'll stop asking," John conceded. "But remember, I can help with the other stuff, too." He grabbed McKay's arm to stop them before getting to the room. "Look, we went through this shit together and if we can make it through that, we can help each other get through the rest of it, too."
Rodney nodded, but didn't seem convinced. John let it go, for now. He led the way to the room.
"Hey, this is pretty nice," McKay commented as he tossed his luggage on the nearest bed. Sheppard had already dumped his bag on the bed near the heating unit, which said two things: the bed near the window was more firm, Rodney knew that John would already have checked that for him, and it was a win-win, because Sheppard's system was still working its way back from all that blood loss. The colonel would need the added warmth. Rodney shivered at the thought. He took his coat off in an attempt to hide it, and hung the bulky outerwear on one of the hangers in the open closet space. He watched as John removed his coat and draped it haphazardly over one of the chairs.
"Hello? We're here for a week. Hang it up."
"You're kidding, right? And it's ten days, actually, that we'll be here, Mr. 'I Haven't Cleaned, We'll Have to Meet in Your Quarters'," John noted sarcastically.
"That's 'Doctor' to you. And that's different."
"How?" John asked.
"Shut up," the scientist retorted. Rodney sat in one of the chairs and looked at the cover of the in-room information binder. "Art Devlin's Olympic Motor Inn?" the scientist asked. We're staying in a place called 'Art Devlin's Olympic Motor Inn'?"
"You should see all of his trophies in the lobby," John answered, clearly impressed.
"Trophies?"
"Yeah. Come on, McKay. Are you telling me that you've never heard of Art Devlin?"
"Oh, like you have." Rodney looked at John and could tell he was being played with. "Very funny. So, what did the guy do that he has a lobby full of trophies?"
"Ski jumping."
"Oh. They're ski jump towers. I saw them out looking at the mountains. They're kind of ugly, but they make sense now. They're really high," Rodney added, looking just a little sick thinking about the height of the ski jump facilities.
"Yeah, it's crazy, isn't it? But it's nothing compared to that downhill course at Whiteface Mountain, or so I've read. Now THAT'S crazy." They looked at each other and laughed. Sheppard commented as the laugh slowed to nearly non-existent, "I guess we've done crazier things than that, huh?"
McKay sat back in the chair, setting the binder back on the table. He relaxed into the chair's comfort. "Pretty crazy stuff," he said quietly in agreement. Sheppard went over to McKay's bed, stacked the pillows up against the headboard and made himself comfortable, unlacing his shoes and toeing them off before putting his legs up and stretching out. John saw that Rodney's eyes were closed. The man looked beat.
"Tired?" he asked.
McKay jumped a little, as though he'd dozed off. He looked at John and grinned.
"Comfortable?" Rodney asked his travel companion.
"Quite, thanks for asking. You know, I could probably go to sleep right now and not wake up 'til morning."
McKay closed his eyes again. "Earth-based travel can be exhausting."
Sheppard closed his eyes too and said, "How 'bout we order a pizza for tonight and just chill, no pun intended. Watch a little TV?" he suggested questioningly.
Rodney opened his eyes again. He wasn't too sure that Sheppard wasn't making the suggestion for his behalf, and he was readying to let him have it. Again. But it was apparent that John had had a long day, too. The colonel really did look ready to fall asleep…on Rodney's bed. And the more he sat there, in the slightly too warm room with its cozy diagonally cut wood walls and beamed ceiling, a 'motel' working hard and almost succeeding in giving off a lodge feel, the more the idea seemed like one of John Sheppard's best ever.
"Sounds…like a…plan," McKay said through a yawn.
"Good," John mumbled. They both stopped talking, tired from their journey, still kind of roughed up from their last harrowing mission, certainly emotionally, still feeling a bit beat up. They were warm and comfortable and safe, with their accommodations and with each other.
They fell asleep.
- A Walk Near the Woods -
John woke up first. They had fallen asleep with light from the fast setting sun coming through the large window near the door. Now it was pitch black out, the lampposts along the walkways nondescript, their light faint so as not to take away from the incredible views. Even at night, with the mountains climbing into a clear night sky lit by a full moon, the views were pretty awe-inspiring, the stars seeming so very close. Sheppard remembered where the light switch was for the sconces above the bed. He crawled across to the nightstand that both beds shared, pulling the bedspread with him a little, felt his way up the wall and found the switch. Once there was some light in the room he switched the dimmer to the highest setting and looked over to see how McKay was.
The chief of science of the Atlantis expedition would have been hard to recognize. The person in the chair barely resembled the cocky, always moving, always thinking, supremely self-assured ball of energy that epitomized Dr. Rodney McKay. Sheppard smiled sadly as he looked at his friend. He knew that before McKay had fallen asleep Rodney's head had been back on the chair, a soft black 'leather' club chair. It looked pretty comfortable and it seemed to be working just fine by McKay's comfort standards. His head now, though, was tilted right, his chin sagging down toward his chest. John hoped he hadn't been in that position long, his neck muscles were going to feel it on the left side for sure if he had.
Sheppard looked at his watch. Shit! Seven o'clock. They'd been resting, sleeping, for three hours. No wonder his stomach was growling like, well, like McKay's.
He crawled across the bed again, dragged his feet off to the floor and leaned over, shaking Rodney's knee.
"Hey, Rodney. Wake up." A quiet but steady snore told Sheppard that McKay was really down for the count. But it would be better, the 'Carson' in his head told him so, for his friend to get up, have a bite to eat, watch a little TV and then get to bed for a normal night's sleep. In a bed.
"McKay," John called louder, pushing his foot up against his friend's thigh. "Come on, let's get up and get some food."
Rodney stirred enough to speak, though he didn't move, nor did he open his eyes.
"Thought you were orderin' pizza," he slurred as he moved his head up and back against the back of the chair, wincing the entire time.
"Actually, I said 'we' could order a pizza."
"'s what I said," McKay responded as he put his hand up to his neck and rubbed the stiffness out.
McKay stayed in his 'new' old position a little while longer, but he knew it would do him no good with Sheppard ready to wake him up each time he dozed. He leaned forward in the chair and started to rise, but before he knew it the chair was spinning left. McKay put his hand on the table to stop the momentum. It only moved slightly, but to the vertigo suffering physicist, it was way more than enough.
"Whoa!" he said as he looked straight at John. "This chair rotates," he said, looking a little sick from the movement.
"Who knew?" John said, putting his hand on the chair to assure that it didn't move again. "You okay?" He winced slightly when he said it, knowing that Rodney was starting to hate being asked that question.
McKay breathed in and out to settle the unexpected and definitely unwanted nausea. "Yeah. I just wasn't ready for it. I'll know better next time. It's funny how when you know it's coming you can somehow deal with it." Rodney wondered why neither his common sense nor his innate intelligence was helping him in the same way with his other problem.
"Maybe you should sit in the chair that doesn't swivel, at least for now," John suggested.
"Sure. I get the uncomfortable chair. So typical of how my life is going right now."
The colonel really didn't know what to say to that except, 'when you're right, you're right'. And Rodney was usually right. But he wouldn't say that out loud, not in the mood McKay was in.
"Do you have a preference for your pizza," he asked instead.
"I think plain will do it for me."
Definitely not the best sign, when Rodney McKay didn't want meat, lots of meat, on his pizza.
"Drink? Coke?"
Rodney thought and then asked, "And a bottle of water?"
"Sure," John replied. "There's a small fridge in the bathroom. We should stock up on some stuff while we're out exploring the area tomorrow."
"Okay," Rodney agreed. "I think I'm gonna take my turn in the bathroom." He stood up carefully and walked to the other room, shutting the door behind him. That was weird, because they had many times before used each others' facilities, continuing to talk through the open door. But Sheppard knew that his friend wasn't feeling well and McKay probably knew that the only alone time he would get for quite a while would be in restrooms. That Rodney thought that he couldn't just let it go and show that he felt crappy in front of John was something that he hoped they could talk about in these next days. That and a whole lot more.
Sheppard paged through the directory and found a menu for Mr. Mike's Pizza. It was a big menu; they even had a dish with canellini beans. That was a good sign that the pizza had a chance of being decent. He made the call and had finished ordering by the time Rodney came out of the bathroom.
The scientist looked at his bed and said, "What have you been doing?" John followed McKay's eyes. "Yuck. You didn't, uh, you know," he started as he made to pump his hand, but decided better than to go there.
"No!" John said, appalled by the suggestion. "I wouldn't do that. Well, not here, and not while you were sleeping. That would be wrong." Rodney looked at him suspiciously. "Not without telling you that I was gonna do it."
"This conversation's getting weird," McKay admitted.
John blew out a breath. "Yes it is."
"Can I have my bed back?" Rodney asked.
"Sure." Sheppard got up, pressing the bedspread with his hands so that all of the mess he'd made looked a bit more presentable to the owner of said bed, at least for the next ten days.
McKay and Sheppard looked at the remnants of their dinner. John had ordered two pizzas, one plain and one with sausage and pepperoni, just in case. They were really good pizzas, as evidenced by the three measly slices left congealing in the boxes. One of the pieces had no pepperoni slices left on it; Sheppard had finally decided against 'one more piece', but he couldn't resist picking at it.
"We should take a walk," Rodney suggested.
"A walk? Rodney McKay is suggesting a walk?"
"We just finished off two pizzas. Almost. That's almost how much pizza each? Come on, you can do the math," McKay joked.
"It's almost one full pizza each," John replied obediently, his chest puffed out as though he had just provided the right answer in math class.
"It's a lot of pizza."
"Yeah, it is. You realize that Carson's been calling us 'his two skeletons' behind our backs."
"He has not." Rodney denied the possibility.
"He has, I swear."
"That little twerp sheep shearer."
"You're pretty thin, McKay," John offered. "You've got to be the lightest you've been since I've known you."
"Pot-kettle, pal," McKay replied sharply, not really wanting to have this conversation.
"Hey, look," John said, pulling his shirt down against his chest and stomach. There were too many places where you could see bone. "I know I need to gain some weight, but I've been doing that since I got back. But you, my friend, have lost more since you got back. You need to work on that."
Rodney nodded, knowing that what Sheppard said was true. "I know. And I want to work on that. I can't help right now that half of my meals have ended up in the nearest trash receptacle."
"I know the vertigo has messed you up," John conceded.
"But right now I feel pretty good. But I think this food would sit better if I walked a little." McKay couldn't help the grin that came unexpectedly to his face. "I'm sure you must think I'm 'Rod' McKay from some other dimension right about now."
"No, you still seem like my McKay."
"'Your' McKay?"
"Hell, yeah." Sheppard smiled as he stood and went for their coats. McKay smiled at the response, surprised at the warm feeling he got from hearing Sheppard talk about him that way. John tossed Rodney his coat and said, "Let's go."
"Shit," Rodney said as they headed up the hill. "It's cold."
"It's not too late to head back," John said. "There's no fireplace, but the room is nice and toasty."
The Olympic ice skating facility stood high on the hill, impressively to their left as they walked. They had only been out for five minutes, and there would be several more minutes to go before they hit the town center. They had passed some eating establishments, various outfitters, their storefronts changed out from biking and hiking apparatus to skiing and skating equipment. They walked a little bit further and came across a giant divot of mulch sprayed across the sidewalk. It looked like someone had taken a shovel full and just heaved it on the pathway.
"Huh, I wonder whose dog did that? That sucks," John said.
"Some dogs get real excited when they gotta go. I'm sure you can relate," Rodney said, his tone light and happy.
"That's very funny, McKay. Still, it made a real mess here."
"Oh, that was my dog," they heard up ahead. "He was playing with his toy and he just went crazy with it, charged through my neighbor's flower bed and then headed up toward home."
"Oh." John turned to Rodney. "And now we know the whole story." McKay just smiled.
The woman laughed as she saw the two men look at each other with crooked, smart-alecky grins. She continued to decorate the storefront with fresh cut pine.
"That smells great," Sheppard admired with a huge sniff.
"Looks nice, too," McKay added.
"You boys are sweet, but you're new here, right?"
"Just visiting. We just got here this afternoon," John explained.
"I could tell. And you didn't drive through town first?"
"No. Should we have?" McKay asked, a little curious about why she was asking.
"No, but if you had you would have seen, if you'd noticed, that my shop is just about the last one to get decorated with the greenery and the red bows. We do like a certain uniformity to our Christmas decorations here in Lake Placid."
"Hm. So," Rodney began, "have you had this…" he paused, stood back and squinted as he tried to tell what the business was, "shop long?" he asked, giving up on trying to figure out what it was.
The blonde, forty-something laughed again. It was infectious; the two friends were enjoying the conversation and had almost forgotten about the cold. Almost.
"It's a hardware shop. And the main place in the area for sharpening blades for skates. And we sell hiking, biking, skiing stuff. It's a bit of a hodge-podge. My dad died earlier this year and left it to me. It's a bit of a struggle making a go of it, but I thought I'd give it a try. So far, though it's been hard, it beats the corporate life."
"Sorry to hear about your dad," Sheppard said.
"No, it's okay. He lived a full life, and he lived up here for most of it. Pretty lucky, I'd say."
Rodney asked, "Why are you doing this so late, in the dark, in the freezing cold?"
"My, you're an observant one," she said with all the humor that she clearly possessed. John snorted at the comeback from the shop owner, but quickly muffled it due to the look Rodney gave him. "As I mentioned, mine is the only shop that isn't done, and tomorrow's the big day."
"It is?" John asked, putting on the confused look that so charmed the ladies and annoyed Rodney, when he wasn't also being charmed by it.
"Boy, you are a cute one," she said with a big smile.
"Adorable," Rodney agreed, dripping with sarcasm.
She laughed again. "You're quite a pair."
"Yes, aren't we," Rodney said testily. John looked at him with a frown. Rodney caught the look. "What? Didn't you want to know what tomorrow was? You asked. Plus, it's freezing!"
"Tomorrow is Black Friday."
"No it's not. Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving," John reminded helpfully.
"That's right," she said as she stuck the last bow on the last window box.
Sheppard and McKay looked at each other, and then Rodney slapped John, hard, up the side of his head.
"Hey!" the Air Force man protested.
"Ouch," the woman said, surprised.
"Oh, please. Do you see all that hair? He has plenty of padding," McKay explained as he shook the sting out of his hand. "And a hard head."
The woman looked at the 'violent' man suspiciously.
John leaned over close to the woman and conspiratorially said, "He's actually right on both counts."
"So you two are telling me that you didn't know that it was Thanksgiving today?"
"I'm Canadian," Rodney defended himself.
John glared at him. "A Canadian who has worked for the United States government for a long time, and knows all about the American Thanksgiving holiday."
"Why do you think I hit you? We could have had turkey," McKay whined.
"You still can. I've got a bird in the oven. I planned a late dinner purposefully because I had so much to do to get the store ready," she explained. "Have you eaten?"
"Yes," the two answered, dejectedly, and in a pleasing harmony.
The woman laughed again. "You two are adorable." John smiled unabashedly while Rodney put his head down and then raised it with an embarrassed grin. "Too cute," she added as she put the scraps of the greenery back behind the full window boxes.
"Well, enjoy your turkey," Rodney said sadly. "It was nice to meet you."
"It was fun for me, too. "I'm Jean, by the way." She held out her hand in greeting. Rodney took it first.
"Rodney McKay." And then John offered his hand. "This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, USAF."
"Rodney," John warned.
"Really? A military man. I would have thought you would be able to keep track of the calendar," she said with humor in her voice.
"Yeah, well, we had a rough mission recently. We're on leave. The days have been kind of a blur."
"You're in the military, too?" she asked McKay.
"Oh, heaven's no," he said. Then he raised his hand, pointed at his face and said, "Civilian consultant."
She raised her eyebrow. "Ah. Well, I can tell when I'm not going to hear more. My ex-husband was military."
"Really? What did he do?" Rodney asked innocently.
"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
John laughed out loud. Rodney said, "Oh, very funny. Military humor is contagious, all the way down to the wives. Lovely."
"I wasn't kidding, though actually I'd have to notify my ex and he would do the dirty work."
"Okay, this is the second conversation today that has taken a turn for the worse." He turned to Sheppard. "Now whenever I think of Jeannie I'll also have this picture of murderous ex-military spouses who want to off me."
"Hey, I said I wouldn't do it myself." Jean looked at her watch and then up the hill. "Who's Jeannie?"
"My sister," Rodney answered.
"His sister," John offered at the same time.
"Too cute," she said once again. "Look, I've got a bird with my name on it. I've gotta go. Happy Thanksgiving," she called as she headed across the street. "Enjoy your stay, John and Rodney."
"Hey!" McKay called. "Is there a coffee shop in town?"
Jean laughed loudly. "Everything's closed, except Mr. Mike's, I think. Oh, and the Hilton's buffet is probably open. It's Thanksgiving," she added as she continued to laugh at the seemingly hapless duo.
"No kidding," Rodney answered dejectedly under his breath.
"Thanks for the information, Jean. Enjoy your turkey," John yelled across the street as Jean headed up the steep hill towards her house.
"Bye!"
"Nice lady," John said as he watched her disappear into the night.
"Hm." Rodney looked toward town with yearning, knowing that his coffee would have to wait until morning. "Head back?"
"Cold?"
"Why do you insist on pretending that you're not?"
"McKay," John began patiently as he started back toward Art Devlin's. "I'm freezing my nuts off," he said as he pushed up against the scientist. "Warm me up."
"Get off of me," Rodney demanded. He pushed John off of the sidewalk, and John promptly fell on the slight, grassy hill. "Oops," Rodney added.
"Good thing I'm wearing my heavy coat, Rodney. Help me up," he ordered, offering his uninjured hand.
"No way. You'll pull me down with you. You're on a hill, and there's a bench right next to you. Make it up yourself."
"You're lucky there's no snow. But be warned, that response has earned you a snowball, aimed right at your neck, if we get any while we're here." Sheppard got up on his own with ease, considering his not-quite-healed ribs. They started walking companionably side-by-side once more.
"I'm shaking in my boots," Rodney retorted. He looked down at his shoes. "Close enough. And you're not 'getting any' on this trip. We're sharing a room."
"Getting any snow. You got sex on the brain, McKay?"
"It's been a long time," Rodney admitted.
"Me, too."
"Bullshit."
"Okay, so it's not been that long. But sex once a month is a pretty bad average."
Rodney stopped walking. "You have had sex, on average, once a month?" John nodded yes. "On Atlantis?"
"Sssssh. Jesus, McKay."
"Have you?" Rodney whispered to compensate for yelling 'Atlantis' in the echoing mountains of upstate New York.
"About that. My average is down these last few months."
"My life sucks," McKay complained as he took the lead back to their room.
"Why? What's your average?"
"You can't have an average if you don't 'get any'," he explained, the last part said through gritted teeth.
"I'm sure that's so, but seriously, you haven't had sex in over two years?"
"Okay. Maybe I exaggerated. But sex once or twice a year is like no sex at all. I'll tell you this, if I'd hurt my wrist the way you hurt yours, I'd be pretty upset. Variety is the spice of life, you know?"
John snorted. "Masterbating ambidextrously is the spice of life?"
"Shut up."
"You brought the subject up," Sheppard reminded.
"I know." They were in the parking lot at Art Devlin's. Rodney looked at John. "Hey, I haven't been dizzy since we left here. That's good, right?"
"I'm sure it is. You've had longer stretches than that without being dizzy, haven't you?"
"Not standing and walking, I haven't. This is a good sign, isn't it?" It was so terribly obvious that Rodney desperately wanted it to be so.
"I think so. Maybe this is the start of something."
"Yeah."
"Maybe you can start working up that average if you're not going to barf every couple of hours from vertigo."
"You're mean. Thanks for the pep talk. Why do you have to be so mean to me?" Rodney chastised, in all seriousness, as they approached their door.
"Come on," John said as he grabbed McKay's neck through the thick coat, rubbing it affectionately. "I'm glad you're not dizzy. And that was a joke about the barfing and the sex, though I can see how you might not find it funny."
- A Corner Turned -
Rodney turned the key in the lock and opened the door. He shrugged his shoulder and said, "I've been a little overly-sensitive lately. Everything has been weird, you know?" He turned around and looked at John. "You know I thought you were dead. I thought they killed you. You looked so…" He lost his battle with his emotions and sobbed, but went on. "Dead. In my head and in my heart, I knew you were dead. And I see you dead in my dreams all the time." McKay was trying hard not to cry. His face was screwed up in the way one's face gets when you just cannot hold it any longer. Rodney was a stubborn man, though, and he was giving it his best shot.
"Hey, hey, hey," John said as he walked up and enveloped his friend in a hug. He let out a nervous laugh, a small, nervous laugh. Rodney's breakdown seemed so severe and had come on so suddenly and John was so not sure he was ready to handle this. He didn't know what to do, what he should do, but hugging his friend seemed the right thing to do.
Rodney cried like he'd never cried in his life. The sobbing was a little scary, to Sheppard, as he wondered if he wasn't witnessing McKay in full-blown nervous breakdown mode. John knew he wasn't prepared to handle that. He hugged McKay a little tighter and said, "I'm here, Rodney. I'm not dead." McKay squeezed harder…it was good that they still had their coats on or John would have feared re-injuring his well-healing ribs. "Rodney?" He turned his face into McKay's cheek and tried to get a look at the devastated man in his arms. "Hey, Rodney," John tried again. "Breathing is important to, you know, not die."
McKay stepped back. He was a mess. His face was beet red, and wet from the ocean of tears that he'd finally let go after all these weeks. Why had he waited so long?
Part of the redness had to be overheating from their coats; it was good that Art Devlin's had all of the modern conveniences, like heaters, but it was pretty much a choice of three things: heat, no heat, or more heat.
"Come on, let's get that coat off, huh?" John suggested carefully. McKay seemed to be calming, and John didn't want to rock that boat. "Sit down," he instructed, helping direct his distraught friend by placing gentle pressure on McKay's shoulder. Rodney sat, but immediately leaned over his knees, placing his elbows on them and then dropping his head into his hands. His shoulders jerked up and down – he was still in the throes of his despair. Sheppard left him there for a minute, hung up both of their coats, a sad smile coming to his lips as he thought back at how the one comment from McKay had trained him good. He went to the bathroom, wetted a washcloth, grabbed a bottle of water from the small refrigerator, and headed back to the bedroom.
John sat next to Rodney, placing the water bottle on the nightstand. He reached for McKay's right forearm to try to pull his friend's hands from his face. "McKay, it's all right." Rodney pushed John's hand away violently, his bad right hand.
"Ah! Fuck," Sheppard said, dropping the wet rag on his knee and holding his wrist with his left hand. "Ow, ow. Jesus!"
Rodney pulled both of his hands back as though he'd just touched fire.
"Oh shit, oh shit. I'm so sorry. Did I mess it up? Shit, I am such an asshole." He stood up and began to pace, his hands as busy now as his mouth and his feet.
"Rodney."
"No, I, um, do you need something? Wait. You don't have anything. Do we need to find a hospital? Shit. Do they have hospitals up here?"
"Rodney."
McKay snapped his fingers. "What can we do? Ice! Do you need ice? I can go get some ice." He walked over to the plastic ice bucket. The wrapped plastic cups fell to the floor as he took the bucket in his hands. "No. Wait. Maybe you need heat. Damn it."
"Rodney, I'm okay."
McKay stopped moving, finally, and said, "You are cradling your bad hand, Sheppard. You're not okay."
"Actually, McKay," John answered, standing up and moving to position himself in front of Rodney, "it's feeling much better. It was the shock of it, that's all, and it's only throbbing a little now. It'll be fine." Rodney just stood there, not sure, once again, if John wasn't just saying that to make him feel better. In fact, he was sure that he was, so he told Sheppard so.
"I'm not so fragile that I can't handle the truth."
"Nobody said that you were."
Rodney looked like he might cry once again. Instead, he took the ice bucket and hurled it against the far wall. It probably left a dent in the soft pine, but nothing important got damaged. But maybe something very precious was on the way to being repaired.
"Did that make you feel better?" John asked softly.
"Not really."
Sheppard looked at McKay sadly. This was good, he knew in his heart that this was good. He'd had enough of his own meltdowns, even breakdowns, to know. And they had both had enough enforced therapy in their positions in the military and the government to recognize this episode as the breakthrough that it was. That knowledge was somehow not making any of this easier or less painful.
"Come on. Sit down." The amazing high that Rodney had enjoyed on their walk back from Jean's hardware store had plummeted alarmingly to a Rodney McKay in despair – confused, angry, more worried about Sheppard it seemed than about his own well-being. That part was the easily recognizable part. All of the rest was as upsetting to watch as anything John Sheppard had been forced to endure.
And that was it. The great epiphany, though not really. John knew what Rodney had been seeing in his nightmares, his time in the military had garnered him any number of unfortunate opportunities to watch comrades being tortured. But watching McKay in such exquisite pain was so much worse than that. Rodney wasn't a comrade. Not just a comrade. Never just a comrade. They had shared and endured so much in the Pegasus Galaxy. They had outlasted and outdone all that had been thrown their way. They may never have expected to be this close – they weren't the kind of men who developed relationships like this. Not normally. They each had their circle of acquaintances, one military, one science. That they would find a friendship with each other, a bond closer than brothers, one that at one point would have one so disappointed, so deeply disappointed in the other and still come out of that mess as friends. And then to have the other in the deepest, darkest despair in the absolute knowledge that he'd witnessed his dearest friend's death.
No. Not an epiphany, but quite simply an understanding. John 'got' it this time. He got where Rodney had been. It was now time, sorrowfully past time, to begin the healing.
McKay sat on the bed. Sheppard put his arm around his shoulder and said, "You're okay now. We're gonna make sure of it." At that, Rodney collapsed, putting his head against the colonel's chest, as he cried himself to sleep.
- A New Day -
Sheppard had managed to extricate himself from Rodney's embrace and got his friend as comfortable as he could make him, considering that he was still fully dressed. John removed Rodney's shoes and knew that once McKay's body recognized that he was in a bed, he'd position himself more comfortably. John knew he was risking a little letting Rodney fall asleep without taking the Meclizine or his regular medications for his allergies, but what had happened today far outflanked any benefits to be found by waking him up for those things. He was sure Beckett and Heightmeyer would agree.
John was exhausted. And his hand still ached. He took some extra strength Tylenol and switched the ACE bandage for the brace that Carson suggested for sleep and more strenuous activity. Who would have thought that comforting McKay would fall into the latter category?
Sheppard woke up to a groan coming from the bed next to his. He looked over, adjusting his eyes to the near blackness of the room but just able to make out the silhouette of his friend, and saw Rodney rubbing his forehead. John sat up and placed his feet on the floor.
"Headache?" John asked.
"Killer," McKay admitted. "Do we have any…"
Sheppard turned the light on, low, and rattled the bottle, lightly. "Extra strength," he noted in a hushed tone. He took two from the small bottle, making a note that they'd better replenish their Tylenol supply when they stocked up on other stuff later in the day. "Here," John said, offering his friend the pills and the bottle of water from the previous night. John had left it on the nightstand for McKay, just in case he woke up. But he didn't; John didn't know exactly what that meant, but any night without nightmares for McKay had to be a plus.
"You slept through the night," Sheppard observed as McKay took the pills and the water. Rodney's eyes were puffy and red…maybe his sleep hadn't been as peaceful as the Air Force officer would have liked, but it still had to fall in under the heading of a good thing.
"Emotional breakdowns will do that, I suppose," Rodney returned. "Also," he added, pointing to his head, "Massive headache."
"Sorry about that." John looked at his friend with sympathy. "You look like you could use some more sleep."
"What time is it?" McKay asked as he took one of the pillows, fluffed it up some and then eased his aching head back on it.
"It's early." Just like in the infirmary and every day during their recovery. The two men had experienced trouble sleeping in for some reason. Heightmeyer thought that it was due to conditioned protective reflexes, their psyches wanting to be ready for, well, anything that might happen. Though their bodies physically needed the sleep more, their minds had taken over total control of what would and would not happen, at least for a while; at least until they worked through those psychological issues.
"Of course it is," Rodney replied knowingly.
"Go back to sleep. I am."
"'kay."
At about eight o'clock on the morning of Black Friday John woke again, but this time it was to the sound of retching in the bathroom. He quickly got out of bed and listened at the door. Rodney was dry heaving now, but that didn't mean much to John.
"Rodney," he called after knocking lightly on the door. "You okay in there?" He didn't get an answer, not right away, though there was good reason for that as McKay continued the awful sounding gagging. "Come on, Rodney," John tried again as he also tried to open the door. It was locked. Shit. "McKay, the door's locked. If you're okay I need you to tell me, because I'm gonna break it in if you…" he was stopped by Rodney opening the door.
"You okay?" he asked as McKay walked past him and back to his bed. The lingering ugly smell of vomit followed Rodney from the bathroom and into the main area of the motel room. John reached in and turned the fan on, made sure the toilet was flushed, and shut the door behind him. Rodney still hadn't answered by the time Sheppard sat next to the prone man on the bed.
"Did the vertigo return?" Sheppard asked quietly.
"No. Tension headache from all that…" he searched for the right word. 'Crying' was probably right, but Rodney McKay wasn't about to voice that. "Tension," he finally said.
"Yeah," John said sadly. "It's only a little after eight. Are you gonna want to get up any time soon?"
"I'm going to want to, yes," McKay said irritably. "The jury's still out on whether I will."
"Tell you what. I'm gonna brish my teeth, throw on my coat and jeans and go get us two cups of coffee from the lobby. Then I'll take a shower and we'll see what's up then. How's that sound?" John asked lightly.
"Sounds like a plan," Rodney replied, sounding as though he might well head back to sleep. His eyes looked no where near as pinched and pained and worn as they did at five in the morning, even after having just heaved some of the pizza from the night before.
"See ya in a bit," John said.
When John came back with the coffee, unimpressive as it was, Rodney was out once again. He set McKay's cup on the nightstand as close to the bed as seemed safe. The scientist would either wake or he wouldn't. John could live with either.
Ten minutes later he came out of the shower to find McKay still asleep. He dressed, blow dried his hair, because going out in this cold with a wet head of hair was just asking for trouble. He grabbed his coat, the keys to the Jeep and left Rodney to his sleep. It was nearing nine o'clock and there was still a hint of frost on the windows of the car. He found the incredibly lame-ass for the Adirondacks ice scraper in the glove compartment – were they kidding with this? – and turned left out of Art Devlin's.
Sheppard's plan was to find a pharmacy to get Rodney some stronger stuff for his headache. He knew that something more geared to a tension headache would be better than Tylenol. Not too far down he found a Stewart's Shop, which wasn't a pharmacy, but would possibly have the over the counter drugs that he sought, and it would get him back to the room faster. The 'convenient' aspect of the convenience store found him paying more for the Excedrin, the water, the apple juice and the assorted Drake's cakes that he picked up, but it was worth it to get the errand done and be on his way back so fast.
John walked in the doorway of the motel room and found – McKay still asleep. That had to be good. He dumped the stuff, ran for another cup of the unimpressive coffee, and finally relaxed again on his bed, putting the "Service later" sign on the door before grabbing the remote, a juice and a Drake's cake and settling in to wait for Rodney to wake up.
He was watching "The Price is Right", and doing a damn good job guessing the prices for someone who'd been away in another galaxy for so long, when he heard Rodney say, "You're talking to the TV?"
"Hey, you're up!" Sheppard said happily. "And, no, I'm not talking to the TV. I'm talking to Bob Barker."
"Then that's okay," Rodney said as he sat up. He put his feet over the side of the bed, saw the wrapper from John's 'breakfast' and said, "Funny Bones? You had Funny Bones? Where'd you get…." He was cut off by John's finger pointing to the stash of goodies on the dresser. Rodney jumped up, rushed to the snacks and rifled through the Ring Dings, the Yankee Doodles – there was a definite chocolate theme going on…he really loved John Sheppard – to the other package of Funny Bones. The physicist ripped open the wrapper and stuffed one of the cakes, a full three quarters of the treat, though it seemed unlikely that the entire thing wouldn't be history soon, into his mouth. He moaned and said, "Oh my god," with his mouth still full. He sat back down and said, "How did you know?"
"I'm really intuitive that way, McKay." Rodney stopped chewing and stared at his friend. Realizing once again that Sheppard was yanking his chain, he finished chewing what was in his mouth, tossed the last quarter of the first cake into his mouth and swallowed it without bothering to chew it. He let his body fall across the width of the bed.
"That was heaven."
John turned the sound down on the game show. "Feeling better, I see."
Rodney sat up again. The look of utter gratitude John was receiving from his friend was almost too much to bear. Sheppard actually felt his own eyes start to tear, but he controlled it, with some clever evasion.
"Ooh, Plinko!" he shouted excitedly as he turned the sound up. He watched as Bob Barker described the game to the contestant, the studio audience, and the rest of the world. John could sense Rodney looking at him and then he felt the warmth of McKay as the scientist sat next to him on his own bed. As Rodney took the remote and turned the sound down again, the colonel finally looked at his friend.
"I…" Rodney started, but stopped. Rodney shook his head and grinned a crooked grin. He continued after the false start, "I am so lucky. I'm, um, grateful for what you did, uh, yesterday. For me." He blinked a couple of times as he looked John in the eyes. "This thing we have, this friendship, it's like nothing I have had, ever, in my whole life. I know now, for sure, that if I'd lost you, if you had really died, that my life would have lost most of its meaning. I think that I would have survived, but just barely. Doing what we do, what I do out there, is not as much fun, it's not as exciting, and it's definitely not as challenging without you." John looked, well, Rodney thought John looked…really, really uncomfortable. "Too maudlin?" Rodney asked.
"No. No. It's, it's really nice to hear."
McKay's grin broke into a surprising smile.
"Good. Because there's more. I want you to understand, you more than Beckett or Heightmeyer or Elizabeth…or even Jeannie…I want you to see what I've been dealing with. The others, they would try to understand. But you'll get it. At least I hope you will. The dreams…the nightmares. My heart," McKay said, emphasizing his words by placing his hand over his heart, "has been breaking over and over and over again. My head was so messed up, these dreams were so real…" he paused, long enough for John to jump in.
"PTSD is like that. Everything's so real, so vivid. Your flashbacks manifested in your dreams." It was a dangerous place for PTSD to lurk. Flashbacks, in the open, with witnesses, were impossible to deny, and impossible to ignore. When it happened the way it did with Rodney, while he was sleeping…it was far too easy to ignore, or write it off as unimportant. It hadn't affected his day-to-day dealings with people, not overtly, but it had not yet been tested beyond a small circle of people – close friends, a few colleagues, doctors and other medical personnel. John knew that it would have been simply a matter of time before it did.
"It had to have been scary for you," Sheppard said calmly.
McKay smiled sadly. "It was pretty bad."
"You know you slept pretty good last night," John pointed out.
"You mean save the waking with a blistering headache and then again to upchuck?"
"Except for that."
"Hm." Rodney looked around the room, looked at the wrinkled clothes he was wearing, at John's state of dress, and then the alarm clock between the two beds. "Oh. It's late."
"Eh. Late schmate."
"That's one way of putting it. You had Funny Bones for breakfast because I was sleeping in," Rodney said, somewhat ashamed to be admitting it.
Sheppard set him straight. "First, you needed the sleep. Second, that's what friends do, by the way, let friends sleep in while on vacaton…remember that for later in the week. Third, I was happy to do it. Fourth, how often do we get to watch 'The Price is Right'? And finally, those Funny Bones are damn good."
"Ooh." Rodney reached for the second Funny Bone in his pack. John watched as McKay finished it off in just seconds. He smiled as he watched, so very pleased to see a closer to normal Rodney McKay back in his life.
"So, are you gonna want to have lunch any time soon?"
"Of course. You think that's going to tide me over for any length of time then you're out of your skinny-assed mind." McKay grabbed some things out of his suitcase. "I'm taking a quick shower."
"Okee dokee. Thanks for the heads up."
McKay tilted his head and said, "Oh, ha ha." He turned for the bathroom, but then turned back around to Sheppard real quick. "Hey, maybe we should stop by the hardware store and see if Jean wants to join us for lunch?"
John looked at Rodney, a little surprised by the suggestion, but ever grateful that he was in the frame of mind to make it. Baby steps, John thought, though in the overall picture this was probably more along the lines of toddler steps.
"Um. Sure. But she's got a shop to run. And it's Black Friday."
"Black Friday, Schmack Friday. Huh, I guess that doesn't really work, does it? Anyway, it's fifty degrees out. Nobody's going to need anything she's selling, at least not for the hour we keep her away for lunch. We'll stop by, your 'adorableness' will win her over. She's a local, too, so she'll take us to one of the better places for lunch." Rodney's stomach growled, on cue. "I'm showering," he said, as he pointed back to the bathroom. And then he was in the bathroom, leaving the door open.
A teenaged step. And while McKay showered, John pulled out the Yellow Pages and found the number for the hardware store. Before he could make the call, Rodney yelled out from the shower, "If you're going to call her, make sure she knows that the most important thing for today's lunch is good coffee." 'Today's' lunch. John smiled. He made the call, and by the time he heard the water stop running in the shower, John Sheppard had charmed Jean into being his and McKay's tour guide for the rest of the day.
The End.
Comment from the author: Hi everyone. The story I posted the other day, Superhuman, was the result of almost unbearable temptation that I experienced while writing this story here. This story is gen, a story of John and Rodney and pain and healing. It takes place primarily in a motel room. Thus the temptation. I didn't want to spoil the gist of the story, a story of how a deep friendship could both cause pain and fix that pain, with the always interesting and nearly always distracting colors and plot devices that slash can bring to the table. But I tell you, my teeth were grinding and my head was throbbing trying to stay away from it. I read somewhere once that the best gen stories are pre-slash. Boy do I feel that pain! I don't know if this falls into that category, though I do love this story so much: in the way John and Rodney each turned out, and using my beloved Adirondacks as a backdrop. I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I loved writing it. And if you liked Superhuman, you should thank this story for its genesis. DV