Somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantean ocean, a puddlejumper, flooded and broken, sat amongst the rocks and sand. It would probably start to rust in time, rotting away, and eventually disappearing in thousands of years.
Inside it sits a laptop, destroyed the minute the water seeped inside its protective covering, though if it were to be booted up, one could see the desperate plan someone had tried to execute. Its screen would show the steps taken from theory to practice, show how that plan had failed.
But that were only if someone were to find that jumper, find that computer. Which at the moment doesn't matter in the slightest to Rodney McKay who had occupied the now-water-filled space hours earlier.
Carson had forced him to stay in the infirmary for extended testing, but by dusk, John had successfully managed to spirit him away from the somewhat less than watchful eyes of their CMO. Oh, Beckett would hunt them down in the morning, scold them like school children, and roll his eyes as he walked away, but that was just the way it had been since they'd arrived in Atlantis.
Still, to avoid any possible crossing of paths with the man, both had quickly made their way to John's quarters and crawled into the bed. Sheppard made careful note that for the first time in months, he didn't hear one whine from his lover about the prescription mattress two corridors away.
He kissed the back of Rodney's neck, wrapping an arm around Rodney's chest and pulling him close. The other man was practically vibrating, maybe from stress, maybe shock. Most likely not the latter, John figured, given the amount of time that had passed though he didn't discount it – Rodney did have a strange ability to make the 'improbable' probable.
Then he realized Rodney was trying to hide his face in the pillow.
Shit. The one thing in the world that John still couldn't deal with was someone crying, especially if that someone was touching him. Especially if he may possibly be in love with that person. If only because he hated that he couldn't fix whatever was causing the tears.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he began to whisper at some point, though it was muffled by the cotton of the pillowcase. He started to twist into it and the blanket John had pulled over them, away from his lover, in an effort to cover himself from the other man.
To keep himself and his pain from being seen.
"Hey," Sheppard finally called softly, gently pulling at Rodney. "Hey, come here," he continued, "Rodney, it's okay."
A whimper slipped from his lips involuntarily as McKay finally relented and rolled to his side, facing John and closing his eyes as he attempted to stomp out the emotion that had so suddenly overwhelmed him. It really wasn't anything worth crying over and he knew John had no idea what had really caused such a stupid reaction.
"Don't hold it back," John told him, hopeful that it was the right thing to say. It was, after all, what his father had told him the night his mother died. And okay, being trapped in a sunken jumper wasn't quite the same as losing a parent, but the principle held. "I'd be pretty damn freaked out too, if I'd been down there."
"That's not it." Rodney shook his head and said in a murmur, "I don't want to talk or think for the next few hours."
"Whatever you need." It wasn't a sexual comment; John's voice had only lowered in volume, soothing as he watched his lover's eyes start to droop. "Go to sleep."
"You'll be here in the morning?"
John pressed his lips to the stretch of clean skin beside the head wound Rodney'd sustained in the crash. "I'll be here in the morning," he promised, "I'll be right here."