Blame: Rodney

They blamed him. Brendan had said people would talk, and he had been right. Not right about the jealousy, but about the blame? Absolutely.

Rodney winced as he recalled his reaction when Brendan accused him of feeling threatened by a younger, sharper mind. Of course, Brendan hadn't meant it. He was just scared, bitching and moaning to keep the terror at bay. Rodney would have done the same, did, in fact, do the same on a regular basis. If he had only played along, the whole thing might have turned out differently. That's what he should have done. Snarked back, played along. Pretended that everything was fine. That nothing life shattering had happened. But he hadn't. He couldn't. He had reacted badly, aghast at the casual mention of Brendan's youth, and Brendan had seen. Brendan had known.

Even after that, there should have been a way not to let him see how much of his future had vanished. How much life the wraith had stolen from him. Brendan should never have had to see that. Rodney should have been more convincing. He should have been more persuasive. He should never have given Brendan the mirror. No wonder the poor man had given up hope. How could someone who set so much store at being the boy genius, a wunderkind, cope with being an old man.

It wasn't his fault. Rodney tried to say the right things, but it always came out wrong. Never once had he ever claimed to be good with people. He was the lead scientist in Atlantis because he was the smartest, not because he was good at dealing with people. He had never been good at dealing with people. Once upon a time, he had tried to please, but somehow he could never quite carry it off. So instead, he pretended that he didn't care if no one liked him, that he didn't care what anyone thought of him. He hid his insecurities and self-doubt behind a wall of arrogance.

Even so, he should have seen how afraid Brendan was. Maybe if he hadn't been so worried about Major Sheppard. Brendan was right about that, too. Thinking about it, Brendan had been remarkably astute for a man who was mostly dead. Brendan had been right when he said that Rodney had changed. The old Rodney would never have considered leaving a place of relative safety to venture forth and confront an adversary as terrifying as a seemingly indestructible wraith.

Nevertheless, Rodney had not only considered it, but had actually wanted to do it. Because he was worried about Major Sheppard. He knew he wasn't brave. So many things scared him. At least now, he had a compelling reason to worry, a fearsome enemy shared by every man and woman on Atlantis. No one need ever know that even more than the wraith, he feared failure. Yet even that had changed now. Before, his need to succeed had been all about maintaining his reputation, at being the best and brightest. Now, his every achievement was inextricably linked to the good of Atlantis. More that anything he feared that he would fail his friends. And that was why he had needed to help Major Sheppard. Because the loss of John Sheppard was the most terrible thing he could imagine.

It should have been a consolation to know that he had been able to help. The Major had even thanked him. Of course, that was before he found out how Brendan had died. After that…well, after that, what was there to say?

Maybe if they had come back together in the jumper, just the two of them, they might have been able to talk. But that hadn't happened. It was simply assumed that they…the team…would come back together. And so he had had to endure fifteen hours of Teyla and Ford's curious, accusing stares. Well, Ford's accusing stares. Teyla's cautious glances had been more compassionate than condemnatory, but then, Teyla was the most non-judgemental, fair-minded and rational person he had ever known. Maybe it was living her whole life under the constant threat of having her soul sucked that made her so wise; who knew. Rodney was just grateful to have her in his life.

Comforting as Teyla's sympathy was, it still couldn't ease the bone deep ache he felt at Major Sheppard's withdrawal from him. The Major had barely spoken a word the whole way home, seeming vague and distracted, answering questions but not really communicating. He never once looked Rodney. It hurt so much more than he could ever have imagined, this loss of respect from the man whose opinion he so valued. Now, whatever had been developing between them, whether friendship or something deeper, it was gone, and its absence was devastating.

He would have given anything to be able to go back. To do it again. To do it right. This time, he wouldn't be so overconfident, so arrogantly sure, that nothing could have survived for so long. These were aliens, for god's sake. He should have known better than to make assumptions based on nothing but his own entrenched beliefs. If only he had continued to scan for life signs, or had recognised the danger sooner, then all of this could have been avoided. Brendan and Abrahams need never have died.

Why had Brendan done it? Did he sacrifice himself so that Rodney would be free to help the Major? Rodney had certainly never meant to make Brendan feel like a burden, but he was just so worried. How many times had he said that he couldn't leave Brendan? Once, twice, more than that? He couldn't remember. He was sure that he had said it more than once, but he hadn't meant…he hadn't thought…oh god, why had Brendan done it.

Ultimately, it didn't really matter whether Brendan had acted out of selflessness or fear. Either way, the responsibility must be borne by Rodney. Rodney would have to live the rest of his life with the guilt of his friend's death, Rodney who would hear the echo of that single gun shot again each cold and lonely night. It had been Rodney's duty to care for his injured friend and he had failed to do so.

He understood why they blamed him; they were right to do so. It was his fault.