AN: For the SGAHC gray hair challenge. Warning, very sad.

Gray Hairs
by kodiak bear

"General Sheppard?"

John turned away from the painting to see a young aide approaching. "Sergeant," he acknowledged.

"Doctor McKay will see you now."

There hadn't been any doubt, at least on his part. When he'd shown up unannounced, the aide had puttered and fussed, and said that Doctor McKay was a very busy man. John had calmly placed a hand on the desk and suggested the aide contact McKay. The sergeant had stuttered, "Yes, General" and did.

He followed the man, taking the time to examine the lobby as they walked through to Rodney's laboratory. When he spied the hunched figure in a white lab coat, the smile broadened into a boyish grin that he hadn't felt in a while.

"Rodney," he said evenly, his eyes dancing mischievously.

The figure turned, and even with the thinning hair, and aged eyes, wrinkled face, it felt like staring at a picture frozen in time years ago. "Sheppard! When that idiot told me, I didn't believe -"

"That was always your problem," he said good-naturedly. "You never believed."

The brief smile said more than words. McKay walked closer. "More gray hairs than last time, I see," he pointed out, moving towards a coffee pot. "Want a cup?"

"Sure. And I'm not the only one."

Rodney poured two cups, and handed John one, before sipping from his. "While I'm touched you'd take time from your busy schedule to visit, this isn't exactly on the way to the Pentagon, so tell me, what brings you this way?"

John took a drink, and set the mug down. "That's what I loved about you, McKay, always to the point."

One thing you could never accuse Rodney of being, was slow. In all their years of working together, fighting against the Wraith, and building Atlantis back to its original glory after they'd won the war, McKay had been instrumental in saving his ass more times than he cared to admit. But this time, not even Rodney could save him.

"I'm dying, Rodney. I wanted to tell you in person."

The stunned silence stretched and became even more painful than his worsening headaches. When McKay did talk, his voice was thick and strained. "Does Elizabeth know? Carson?"

John shook his head, and moved to sit in a chair nearby. Rodney was there instantly. "What? Now?"

He chuckled. "I'm not dying right now, just – headache." Sheppard fumbled with his pocket and pulled out the bottle of pills, popping the top off and shaking out a couple. "I wanted to tell you first."

There was always this look Rodney got when he thought the end was near. John had seen it enough times in the past, and McKay wore it now. A lost forlorn look that said Rodney had never truly accepted that life wasn't infinite, and when death snuck up and snatched one of their own, or was threatening too, he didn't want to believe it. "There's got to be something Carson can do."

"Inoperable brain tumor," Sheppard said casually. It'd taken more than a few tries in front of a mirror to get it right. "Look, I didn't come here to upset you. We've got more gray hairs than we've a right to. Nobody lives forever." He leaned forward, reaching for his coffee and downing the pills.

"There's still room for more," Rodney spoke past a lump in his throat. "The Sheppard I knew wouldn't give up so easily."

He finished his coffee, and stood. "The Sheppard you knew grew up," he said. "I've got a meeting while I'm here, but after, if you want -"

McKay nodded numbly. "Yes, fine. Dinner at seven?"

John let out the breath he'd been holding. He'd hoped Rodney would accept it, and not push him away. The road ahead wasn't long, but it promised to be painful, and he needed his friends. Fighting against the emotion John had promised himself he'd conquered, Sheppard handed McKay a card with his number on it. "Sounds good," he said. He quickly turned away, and started towards the door, needing to get some fresh air.

As he walked out, Rodney called, "I meant it, John. I'm not giving up that easily. Some day we'll be sitting on a porch, and you'll have more gray hairs than you know what to do with."

Sheppard stopped, and his shoulders slumped. Not trusting himself to turn back, or saying anything, he steadied himself. This had been harder than he'd thought it'd be. Instead, John nodded, to himself, to McKay. Then he pushed the door open, and walked away. He had meetings, and then dinner with a good friend. For now, it'd do. It'd do.