Disclaimer: Not mine.
Title: Smooth
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: T
Summary: They'd all been shocked by his decision.
Notes: This is the follow up chapter to Dial Tone and Red Droplets. There is death, but not suicide. You are forewarned.

When Rodney made the decision to go back to earth on the next Daedalus run, his entire department was shocked. Rodney McKay, genius, was voluntarily leaving his position of power. But no one celebrated; Kavanagh actually asked him to stay. Radek surmised it was the guilt of what he'd done that made him ask.

Many asked him why or if he was going to return. Radek tried to help still the deluge of questions – he knew what brought Rodney to that decision and thought it the best. Rodney had only just started to surface from his deep depression brought on by the loss of his hearing and the loss of his lover, and he kept being dragged back down by John's mere presence.

The senior staff's reactions were mixed. Carson and Elizabeth had expected it, Teyla wished him well though it was obvious that she'd been upset that he was going and Ronan was silent. Bates looked as he always did, but he couldn't look at Rodney after the announcement.

John immediately tried to get him to stay. Rodney resisted all the offers, excusing himself when he knew his resolve was being tested.

And so he went, three days later. Everyone made sure to say goodbye, except John who thought Rodney would seek him out for one last talk.

That didn't happen and John kicked himself for two years over it. He sent letters to Rodney with the mail the Daedalus took and he attached little videos in the data bursts, nothing that could be interpreted into something that could get him court-martialed but Rodney would understand.

Nothing ever came back. Radek would get a random letter here and there, Carson as well, but everyone else just got notes on their birthdays and on holidays. John complained once that his were sterile – crisp white paper, folded into a card shape, with words denoting the holiday on front, and something like "Happy birthday. Hope it's nice. –R" inside. Nothing warm like the letter Carson had gotten inside his card, or the little trinket he sent to Teyla.

Rodney sent him a hallmark card after that. It had a picture on the front of two children, a boy and girl, holding hands and Rodney had crossed off the message ("Best friends are the greatest gifts.") and written, "Better? –R".

John never complained again because he knew Rodney at least read his letters. And even if Rodney'd been trying to be mean, John could deal with that.

He tried once to visit Rodney, making the Daedalus trip with plans to spend a week with Rodney, because they were going to make up and be friends. He knew it. Only there was just one snag – Rodney had managed to schedule all his closed door meetings and trial experiments to be conducted while John had free time, and when John was in meetings, Rodney was outside the SGC.

Dejected, John went back to Atlantis and spent all of his transit time trying to not think of where they'd gone wrong.

When the third year of Rodney's absence came, the letters, gifts and cards, all stopped coming. It was three months before John could take a leave and with Elizabeth and Carson, the trio made the trip Earthside. Elizabeth and Carson were ushered off to meetings and John found himself alone with Landry who looked older than he did before.

Hesitant, John broached the subject he'd only spoken of once before with the man, "Sir. I'd like to know where Dr. McKay is."

It seemed that the General aged ten years right then. His mouth twitched and he, grudgingly, told John that don't ask, don't tell was gone. A liberal democratic administration had come in (something Atlantis knew about anyway) and had decided that the policy was archaic when there were other concerns they'd rather face.

John must have visibly brightened, but then Landry followed up with the words, "There was a clot..."

The drive to the grave was short, hidden in a smallish private cemetery as per Rodney's directions. He'd been buried far in the back, beneath an aging weeping willow; John found it appropriate. The tears started before he'd even seen the stone.

It was white marble, rough on the top but smooth on the face and the letters indented.

Rodney Andrew McKay

1965 – 2008

Nothing else was listed. Nothing saying he was the beloved brother, son, boyfriend, husband. Just a name and years and John fell to his knees, clutching at his tags and wondering what power in the world had hated them so much as to finally let them have a chance and ruin it at the same time.

Carson and Elizabeth stood behind him, quiet and unmoving. Their tears were inward, shed in silence.

It was two hours before any of the three found the strength to leave.