Disclaimer: I own nothing with regard to SGA or the characters herein, and I'm certainly making no profit from this story.
Summary: He's already late, yet he's still sitting there, kneading the steering wheel. John Sheppard, big damn hero. Able to face countless enemies without flinching, but not his own fears and insecurities.
A/N: Future fic. Mild spoilers for Last Man. This story is loosely based on the film, The Final Cut, written and directed by Omar NaimCharacter death mentioned but the death does not occur in the story. Features John, Rodney and Jennifer.
The Last Word (when you see with my eyes)
John cants his arm, letting the day's mail cascade onto the coffee table. Sitting down, he juggles a sandwich in one hand, a bottle of beer and the remote in the other. A deep navy blue envelope, magically separated from the bills and circulars, catches his eye and begs to be opened first.
He puts his sandwich back on the plate and takes a long pull from his beer. Wiping his fingers on his thigh, he picks up the envelope, turning it over carefully in his hands. It's not the first one he's received over the years, but this time he knows whose name he'll find inside. Which makes opening it that much harder.
The distinctive black and white logo on the return address is easily recognizable. Lyrres Systems, Ltd. These days, you'd have to be from another planet not to know about Lyrres and the DigiChron implant. Touted as one of the largest socio-technological advancements in history, second only to personal computing, the company has manufactured personal memory chips for human implantation for over twenty years. Tiny electronic wonders that record and store every thought, every action, every word… every second of an individual's life.
John slides a finger just underneath the flap, then backs off.
Rodney had done some consulting work for Lyrres after leaving the Atlantis "mission" as it had come to be known near the end. John hasn't thought of that in years, but he can vividly recall the day Rodney and Jennifer left the city. They were the only ones from his original team who remained after the scientists were ordered back to Earth. They'd both received special dispensation from the SGC to stay, but like Teyla and some of the others, they'd quickly become disillusioned with the new thrust of the expedition as a purely militaristic operation. Ronon, who would only swear allegiance to John and to Atlantis, was forced out by the SGC and had left the city some time earlier. Afterward, whenever he and John fought alongside each other, it was as allies instead of teammates.
John stayed on longer, of course. At first just to wrap things up and turn over command, but there'd been a little snafu in that plan with the rumblings coming from the Arkturans and talk of their takeover of neighboring planets. By the time that situation had been diffused, he'd learned of Rodney's marriage to Jennifer.
He'd stayed on, then, until the colonization and "nation building," rife in the wake of the Wraith's demise, was too much for even him to stomach.
When John did return to Earth, he was happy to resume old friendships and settled down in Weston, Washington, the same town where Rodney and Jennifer had made their home. He and Rodney fell back into an easy and familiar routine and John soon realized just how much he'd missed his friend's company.
Rodney seemed happier than John ever remembered. He'd put that down to Rodney's life with Jennifer. It certainly wasn't their morning jogs. Even through all the huffing and bitching, John was proud he'd finally convinced Rodney to pay more attention to his health.
They'd spend hours at a time talking about what Atlantis had become and bemoaning the fate of the Pegasus Galaxy. Both agreed that those whose job it was to combat the enemy had become the enemy, and neither of them were surprised to learn of the eventual closure and declassification of the Pegasus project.
It was during one of those discussions that Rodney had confided to John about his DigiChron implant. Rodney told him of his participation in the prototype testing during his brief affiliation with the Air Force, as well as his consulting job with Lyrres, who eventually took over the program for private use.
John rips through the dark blue seal and pulls out the invitation. He's not surprised at the name printed in Lyrres' distinctive block print on the stark white cardstock: M. Rodney McKay, Ph.D.
An unsettled feeling grows at seeing the words, that and the fact that he hasn't called Jennifer since the funeral.
Scanning the invitation, he notes the date, time and location of the Remembrance. God, he hates that term, it's so damn pretentious. The worldwide cultural fascination with the Digi chip may be phenomenal, but John abhors the concept of the implant. Parents fit their newborns with the chips, sometimes even going into debt to do so, so proud, yet never thinking of their child's reaction once they've reached the age of consent – the age Lyrres recommends they be told about their chip – to the violation of their privacy and the privacy of others, to be recorded and cataloged without their permission. It isn't surprising that the latest statistics reference a marked increase in the suicide rate among chip owners between the ages of twenty-one to twenty-eight. A fact John's sure Lyrres doesn't publicize in its prospectus or the annual reports to its stockholders.
Both Rodney and Jennifer were aware of John's views and that's why he can't understand Jennifer actually holding a Remembrance. They're mental scrapbooks, party favors for the grieving and the hangers on, celebrations of the events and moments of a person's life quickly forcing the standard funeral service into the realm of the passé. Customarily celebrated as lavish social events by the more affluent, in recent years the costs of the implant and cutting, as the process of digitizing the data is known, have been reduced to provide the service to as many people as want it – and a lot of people want it.
Rodney once explained the process of what happens after death and the recovery of the implant. After extraction, the data is read and digitally processed by what is known in the trade as a Cutter. That person's job is to sort and sift through a person's processed memories – everything neatly categorized into subfiles: hygiene, personal interaction, sleep, dreams, thoughts, sex – and painstakingly select those memories that most reflect and represent the person's life (or the life the family wishes to remember). This selection process, the Cutter's choice of memories to work from, is usually accomplished by interviews with family and friends, but can also be done by bequest of the individual, not unlike making a will. In the past, families carefully and lovingly selected a casket or burial plot for their loved one. Now, they select a good Cutter.
Like most occupations, Cutters vary in talent, experience and affordability, with a few reaching god-like acclaim for their skills. There are those who specialize in the rich and famous and those who cut for the masses. A good Cutter can earn a decent living, but a truly talented one can earn a fortune for the skilled crafting of a person's life remembered.
John stares at the invitation, already thinking up reasons that will prevent him from attending, when the postscript grabs his attention: As a final wish, Dr. McKay personally requests your presence at this event. John snorts at the idea of Rodney arranging his own Remembrance – though it doesn't surprise him. He can just imagine the guest list and what they'll all be in for, a parade of Rodney's brilliance mixed with images and memories of his life with Jennifer and the kids.
John closes his eyes as he chases down the lump in his throat with a swallow of beer. The last thing he wants right now is to sit through their life, but those words echo in his head: Rodney's final wish. John sighs deeply. He'd never denied Rodney anything in life… he isn't about to start now.
The Remembrance Hall at Stone Station is a large, modern, single-story stucco building at the end of a wending, tree-lined drive. The grounds are meticulously landscaped and groomed. Lyrres, who could probably buy and sell the Earth several times over, spared no expense on this location.
The parking lot is jammed, but this hall does have four Viewing Rooms. Spying an empty space, John wheels in and checks his watch. He's already late, yet he's still sitting there, kneading the steering wheel. John Sheppard, big damn hero. Able to face countless enemies without flinching, but not his own fears or the ghosts of his past. He exhales a long, ragged breath and gets out of the car.
Viewing Room 2 is already dark, and he slips into a seat at the back. By his thinking, he's already satisfied Rodney's wishes, he's here, he's just not promising for how long. The only other Remembrance he'd ever attended left him creeped out for days and he wants a clear shot to bolt if he has to.
The rooms are something of a cross between high-tech digital theaters and chapels. They're modernly ornate, but equipped with every technological advancement in digital entertainment – high definition floor-to-ceiling LCD screens and surround sound so real it's like having the departed back with you. The showing has already begun and early memories of Rodney's life fill the screen, his life as a child, his parents and Jeannie. They move by in succession and he's really not paying attention until—
Startled by his own voice, he looks up at the screen to see the gateroom of Atlantis. Seven hundred and twenty... Yes. I knew that of course. I'm just surprised you did… Take away the coordinates you can't get a lock on, and that's your one.
For the next few minutes, John sits through Rodney's hand-picked memories of his life on Atlantis, interspersed with those from his life afterward. Rodney must have paid the Cutter a fortune. The progression is swift but seamless, and after watching a few more moments, it occurs to John how many times his own face appears on the screen and how often he hears his own voice.
He winces at seeing himself bound to a chair, being fed upon by Todd, then stares into his own frightened eyes as Rodney begs permission to sacrifice himself to the very same Wraith. His heart races at Rodney's words, just as if it was happening all over again.
His jaw tightens as a succession of small, innocuous moments flash by, memories of Rodney's 'family' on Atlantis: laughter, tears and oh wow, Torren John! He huffs a laugh at Rodney's grating consternation that his brain was not a new deck on the back of John's house, but recalls all too well the pain of almost losing Rodney. So serious at the time, brains and power tools became a running joke for them after a few years.
The screen goes dark then brightens again with Jennifer's face, dancing with Rodney at their wedding. She looks so happy. Then a cut to a very small, wrinkled and red face screaming up at him as Rodney holds his son in his arms for the first time, his awe-filled voice showers John with chills. Welcome to the world, John Graham McKay.
The memories start to move quickly again, a flurry of baby John taking his first steps, his first words, Jennifer pregnant, John again, a diaper-clad computer genius in the making, the birth of another child, Rodney's daughter Jeannie.
An empty knot forms in John's stomach as the memories start to slow down. Another black screen and then—
Again, he sees a younger version of himself. They're clearly off-world and he appears to be sleeping. The location might be familiar but for all the planets in Pegasus looking pretty much the same at night. Rodney must be standing watch. He mumbles something but John can't make it out, just sits motionless, barely breathing as Rodney reaches down to smooth the hair back from his face.
His collar feels tight and fingernails dig tiny crescents into his palms as Rodney moves closer and closer, then another mumble and the soft whisper of Rodney's lips against his temple.
The corners of John's eyes sting, but he can't blink it away. He stares helplessly, chest aching from lack of air. Finally, he struggles to take a deep breath. If he's going to run, now's the time, but he can't. It feels as if the floor is falling away beneath him, threatening to drop him into the abyss below if he moves. Still reeling, he takes another blow as the next memory, one more recent, hits him hard.
What do you mean you're not happy, Rodney? Look at you – you've got a decent job, couldn't ask for a better family. How long have you felt this—
A long time. I don't know, it's just this feeling of wishing I'd done things differently—
That's just you getting old, buddy. Hey, the Nobel Committee is going to wise up one of these—
It's—it's more than that. I—there's something that I should have done a long time ago, things I should have said that I didn't and now, well now I—
Don't do that, Rodney. Hell, we all have regrets, and they'll eat your ass alive if you let them. Look, go home, hug the kids and try again with Jennifer. She loves you and I'm sure when you come out of this funk you're in, you'll see that you love her too.
But John, I… never mind. Of course, you're right. Of course.
The words seem to be emblazoned in red behind his eyelids – of course… you're right.
He doesn't watch the next sequence of scenes, but he can tell they're soccer games and debates, prom dates and driving lessons, arguments and advice.
When everything goes quiet again, he opens his eyes. The knot in his stomach pulls tight as Rodney stares back at him, or rather, Rodney's reflection. He'd aged better than the hologram version, but the same deep wrinkles from years of stress and concentration lined his handsome face. His hair, most of which was still there, was distinguished by streaks of silver and John's breath catches at the shock of looking into those blue eyes again. Eyes he could always read so well, or so he thought. How was it he missed the sadness he sees there now?
On screen, Rodney walks into the bedroom and takes a box from his closet. As the lid comes off, John's looking into it along with Rodney. It seems to be full of the last remnants of Atlantis. Things the sentimental soul in Rodney squirreled away.
Among other items crowded in the box were the patches belonging to Grodin, Dumais, Gaul, Abrahms and other scientists who died during the expedition; the tattered photograph of Rodney and Carson, curled and creased out of its frame; the Wraith necklace Ronon had given him the day he'd left Atlantis; a picture drawn by Torren with the words for Uncle Rodney scrawled at the top. John smiles. Is that a Czech to English translation manual?
He watches Rodney pull something from the box and his heart begins to pound again. He's confused for a moment but then… he remembers now. He'd given Rodney some personal items to take back to Earth, thinking he would follow soon.
Rodney strokes his thumb across the small face of a boy, all smiles, standing beside his hero. He utters one last word before the screen turns black for good: John.
As the lights start to come back up, John's finally able to move. He stands, blinking rapidly, wanting to get out quickly before anyone notices him. It's only then he realizes there's only one other person in the room besides the Cutter. Jennifer rises slowly as the man walks over and hands her something. They speak but John can't hear what they're saying. Whatever it is, Jennifer shakes her head and then she sees him. They stare at one another for a moment before she turns back to the Cutter, takes the object from his hand and walks up the aisle.
He tries not to look into her red-rimmed eyes. "Jennifer, I—I didn't…"
She quiets him. "I know that. If you had known, my children and I might not have been a part of this."
"I refuse to believe that. Rodney loved you." Oh God, he did… didn't he?
Her eyes brim with unshed tears and she looks away. "Maybe. I believe he loved the kids. I think it's obvious he loved you," she adds, slowly raising her eyes to John's again. She tries to hand him what the Cutter had given her. It's a small, clear plastic square about the size of his palm.
"What's this?"
"The replicate. It's a copy of the original cut, what they use for the showings."
John shakes his head and pushes it back toward her.
"Don't you see, John? This is a love letter, only it's not for me."
He opens his mouth to say something then closes it, tugging at his collar instead.
"But it does answer a few questions I've had over the years and I'm sure that's why it was his wish that only you and I see it."
"Jennifer, I really don't—"
She takes John's hand and presses the small square into it. "No, this is for you. You know how he always liked to have the last word." She offers a passable smile. "This is him saying... in case you missed it, moron."
John trembles a little, but Jennifer's hand is warm and he tries to smile back. Then she gathers him into a hug. "Take care of yourself."
"I'm sorry," he says into her hair, thinking whether to pat her shoulder or just stand there.
"Don't be." She pulls back, her face serious again. "I always knew something was missing… that after a while he wasn't happy. I believed it was my fault even though he always denied it. This was Rodney's way of finally making me see it had nothing to do with me." She lets go and takes a step back, pressing a tissue to her nose. "Don't be a stranger, huh? The kids would be thrilled to see you and John's asked more than once about those flying lessons you promised."
He nods absently and she kisses his cheek.
"Good-bye, John."
When the door closes, he takes a deep breath, starring at the plastic square. In his hand, he holds all the things in the world that were important to Rodney, with him front and center. John wonders how many times Rodney had tried in his own way to tell him. He starts to think back but catches himself – thinking of his own chances to tell Rodney how he felt, what he wanted. Chances he'd chosen not to take.
Instead, he'd settled for something he knew he already had and something he could never do without, Rodney's friendship. Even though the development of Rodney's relationship with Jennifer hadn't happened exactly as Rodney's hologram had described, John had made sure in the end that they would get together, thinking it was what Rodney wanted, never saying anything to either of them about what he'd learned on his visit into the future.
He makes his way to the front of the room. The Cutter, a lanky gentleman dressed in a custom cut suit and smelling of cigars, stands awaiting instruction. After a moment, John hands him the replicate. "Would you mind running this again, please?"
Stone-faced, the Cutter takes the silicone repository. "Certainly, sir," he replies in a thick and elegant accent.
John takes a seat in the front row, hands curling around the arms of the chair as the room drips darkness around him. Seconds later, the screen brightens with Rodney's life flickering before him. Now it's just the two of them, one last time.
In a rush of emotion, John realizes there was something he'd denied Rodney, something he had denied himself, and with that epiphany, he lets go. His whole body slackens as he closes his eyes and lets Rodney embrace him with the sound of his voice.