Fic: The Last Barrier (Submersion) by neevebrody

[neevebrody.livejournal.com]

Fic
Title:  The Last Barrier
Author: neevebrody
Episode and type of story:  Submersion - episode related - events after Submersion
Additional spoilers:  Spoilers for Sunday and Submersion
Rating:  R, for swears
Categories:  established relationship - hurt/comfort (sort of)
Pairing:  McKay/Sheppard
Warnings:  None
Word Count:  2,930
Summary: Standing there, John remembered the "roll call" of the dead Rodney had recited earlier… He hadn't realized there had been so many, so many from the science team, and now Graydon and Dickenson.

This was originally written for my mini_nanowrimo project, which was 30 episode related fics in 30 days.  I've revisited it and thought I'd post it here.

The Last Barrier

AN:  There's an homage to Randle Patrick McMurphy contained herein, with just a little twist to make it my own.

John guided the replacement jumper as it slid silently through the dark water.  The combined teams had been down on the ocean floor at the drilling platform for two days and were en route back to Atlantis.

The trip down had been like ferrying kindergartners.  Now, they were looking at another hour in the water, and so far, the return trip had been deathly silent.  The only exception was Ronon's snoring.  John almost started a fight between Rodney and Zelenka just to have something to complain about. 

And Rodney.  He had been uncharacteristically quite since he sat down in the co-pilot's chair.  He hadn't made one snarky or sarcastic comment, in fact, no comment at all.  He seemed to be ignoring everyone in favor of his computer tablet.

The others had noticed as well.  Teyla had gotten up once already, but after staring at Rodney for a moment, returned to the rear of the jumper.  John couldn't stand it any longer, the somber silence driving him crazy.

"McKay?  You all right?" John asked, cutting his eyes over at Rodney.

"Hmm?"  Rodney was poking at the datapad.

"You're awfully quiet.  In fact, you're starting to scare me."

"What?" Rodney finally looked up, squinting.  "Did you say something?"

John pointed to the tablet.  "What's so interesting?"

"Oh, I'm just going over some of this preliminary data we downloaded from the-- from the, um-- platform database and the results of a few of the simulations," Rodney said absently, his attention focused again on the display.

"Can you tell yet how much energy the drilling station is capable of producing?" John asked.

Rodney didn't answer.

"So," John said, trying a different tack.  "Who knew the Wraith were capable--"

“Would you-- if you don’t mind, I'm trying to go through this data.”  His voice held an edge John had rarely heard.

“Fine, sorry,” John said in that excuse the hell out of me tone.

After a few more minutes of silence, John chanced another glance over at Rodney.  "Hey, Rodney, you wanna take the controls-- fly this thing the rest of the way."

He noticed Rodney's jaw working.  "No," he said evenly.  "You know what, just--"

Rodney got up and stalked to the rear of the jumper.  John didn't hear the rest of the remarks he was mumbling under his breath.

He focused his attention straight ahead, his eyes wide. Concern gnawed at him - it wasn't so much that he was worried about Rodney's unusual behavior, but, yeah, he was.

Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed someone else taking the front seat.  It was Elizabeth.

"What did you say to Rodney?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said defensively, "I don't know what his problem is.  I was just trying to get him to lighten up a bit.  He's had his nose in that damn computer ever since we left the platform."

"John Sheppard, I'm surprised. I would have thought you'd be able to recognize when something is troubling your best friend."

John turned to stare at Elizabeth.

"Rodney just lost two more members of his team, men he ordered into harm's way," Elizabeth pointed out.  "Do you really think that hasn't affected him, especially coming so soon after--"

She didn't need to finish her sentence.  John understood.  Heat crept up the back of his neck, warming his face.  He hadn't even thought of that.  The less he thought about the untimely death of Carson Beckett, the less likely he was to have to face his own feelings.

"You still haven't dealt with your own grief have you?" Elizabeth asked him.

John looked straight out into the blackness.

"John, I know it's not easy, but as a leader, it wouldn't do for you to--"

"I'm fine." John bit back.

"Maybe you should see Dr. Heightmeyer."

John snorted.

"I know you're not particularly fond of Kate, John," Elizabeth said, "but her job is to try and help."

He pretended to focus on something ahead in the blackness.  Hell no, he wasn't fond of Kate Heightmeyer, or any other shrink for that matter.  All they wanted to do was get inside your head and twist all your thoughts around – get you so confused you didn't know whether to shit or set your alarm clock.

Yep, it would be a red-letter day in Atlantis when he went to see Heightmeyer – right up there will hell freezing over and pigs flying; or, as his grandfather Seamus used to say, "when cows 'ave wings."

"For that matter," Elizabeth was saying, "Maybe I could convince Rodney to see Kate.  They seem to get along well enough, and--"

"I'll talk to Rodney," John interjected.  "I'm pretty sure he trusts me after helping him with the meditation thing."  No way was Heightmeyer getting her clutches into Rodney - not if he had anything to say about it.

Elizabeth nodded.  "Good, I really think that's best."

They didn't speak anymore for the remainder of the trip, and that was just the way John wanted it.

~~~~~~~~~~

John lay on his bed trying to think of the best way to approach Rodney when it occurred to him that Rodney might not even accept help from him.  He knew he had to be careful.  This thing between them was wonderful, but still new, and they'd been through one rough patch already.  John was wary of doing anything to upset the status quo.  Real feelings were involved here, feelings John couldn't name.  He just knew he didn't want to think too much about them or talk too much about them.

The chimes at his door interrupted his thoughts.  Rodney stood there, a solemn look on his face, chess board under his arm.  John had forgotten it was Thursday.  He and Rodney tried to play at least once a week on Thursday nights.  That was the premise anyway, most of the time they either ended up in bed or an argument over the game, then in bed.

"Hey," he said as Rodney walked past him into the room.

"It's Thursday, right?"

"I didn't think you'd feel up to it tonight.  You were in a very weird mood earlier."

Rodney didn't respond; he just began setting up the board like an automaton.

John sat down opposite him and remained silent while Rodney arranged the pieces and made the first move.  They carried on that way until John noticed Rodney had begun to make unusual moves – unusual for Rodney.  After the last one, John grabbed his hand before he could complete the move.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked.

Rodney looked surprised, like he'd just roused from a daydream.  He opened his mouth to speak but shook his head instead.  He replaced the piece and drew his hand back.

"What's wrong, Rodney?" John asked, his voice soft.

Rodney raised his eyes to meet John's.  "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"How does losing people not affect you?  Do you get some special training in the military-- a way to remain impartial, unfeeling--"

"Wait a minute, I never said losing people didn't affect me.  As military commander, I can't afford to let it affect me.  And, yes, being military, you realize the risks you take every day, we know that going in.  Not that--"

"Do you realize how many scientists have died since we arrived?" Rodney interrupted.  "Shall I give you the tally?" and without waiting for John to respond, he began naming names, each name corresponding with a finger as he ticked them off.  Scientists who, almost to the last one, died under Rodney's supervision, most times with Rodney watching.

"You know, these people didn't sign up for this, they--"

"They were aware of the risks, Rodney," said John calmly.

"Maybe.  Risks associated with the unknown, yes, I'll give you that, but they didn't sign up thinking they were going to die, sometimes in the most god-awful, freakish ways possible.  And why is it always someone else?

"What are you saying?"  John stared at him.  This had gone way past Rodney simply being bothered. 

"I'm quitting," Rodney said after a few minutes.  "I'm going to talk to Elizabeth.  I can probably get my old job back--"

"Rodney, what are you--you can't leave Atlantis, you're needed here."

Rodney stood up.  "Cut the bullshit, Sheppard.  I think it's quite clear I'm not fit to head the science department any longer."  He started for the door.

John tried to stop him from leaving.  "Wait a minute Rodney, don't you think-- I mean, how much of this has to do with," he hesitated, "Carson?" 

"What?" Rodney stopped at the door.

"Maybe you just haven't gotten over-- you know, Carson being gone?"

Rodney eyed him sharply.  "You mean like you?  Yeah, I guess the military has done you a real favor."  He walked out, letting the door close in John's face.

Rodney's words stung.  John could feel the heat rise and he wasn't sure exactly what he was angry about – McKay being an asshole, or his own inability to deal with his emotions.  Elizabeth had been right, and Rodney just didn't understand – he hadn't confronted his feeling about Carson, he'd pushed them back, compartmentalized them, just like every other meaningful emotion he'd ever had.

He sat back down and started to put away the chess pieces.  Rodney should understand, should know how he feels.  Like he said, he couldn't afford to appear emotional or unstable, worried about feelings, he was a leader.

But how could Rodney know?  Rodney didn't know anything about his feelings because he'd never shared any with him, outside of God, Rodney I love the feel of your cock in my ass.  John slammed his fist on the little table and watched the remaining chess pieces clatter to the floor.

He had emotions, he had feelings, dammit, and sometimes they were more than he could understand, and how the hell was he supposed to express something if he didn't understand it?

Regardless, John knew he couldn't leave things as they were with Rodney, didn’t want to.  He gathered the fallen game pieces, got the board and headed for Rodney's quarters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rodney didn’t answer his door.  John didn’t want to get on the radio, let Rodney know he was there and give him a reason to avoid him.  He let himself in, thinking he'd just lie down and wait.  Something on Rodney's desk attracted his attention.  His laptop was there, open.  He knew he shouldn't look, but--

It looked like a draft of a letter to Graydon's and Dickenson's families.  John shook his head, just like Rodney, he wasn't using the standard issue notification letter, he was trying to compose his own:

My name is Dr. M. Rodney McKay.  Your son was a member of my science team and was engaged in a very important expedition.  It is with deep regret that I must inform you that he was killed while heroically performing his duties just a few days ago.  As the head of the expedition's science team, it was I who selected your son for his participation in this most noble of missions, and I am most profoundly saddened by his passing. 

On a personal note, even though I did not know your son well, nor did I have the privilege of interacting with him on a daily basis; it was also I who ordered him on the mission which took his life.  I want you to know that I do not take the accountability for my team members lightly, and I will have to live with the knowledge that I was responsible for your son's…

John stopped reading, not because the letter ended, but because something else caught his eye.  There were several items strewn across Rodney's desk.  He fingered several uniform patches, the Union Jack, the Stars and Bars…  Looking further, John found several personnel files - Lindstrom, Collins, Gaul, Hays, Abrams, a dossier of Griffin, the pilot from the Daedalus who'd sacrificed his own life to save Rodney.  He tried to think what Rodney was doing with these files.

Standing there, John remembered the "roll call" of the dead Rodney had recited earlier.  Looking at the files somehow made it more real.  He hadn't realized there had been so many, so many from the science team, and now Graydon and Dickenson. 

John's eyes fell on a framed photograph near Rodney's laptop.  He picked it up.  He had no idea who took the picture; it looked to be in the early days of the expedition.  Carson and Rodney, both in field dress, laughing.  It suddenly struck him, the military expected this, he'd gone through this himself, notifying next of kin, clearing personal effects, it was expected.

But for Rodney.  Grodin - Gaul - Abrams - Dumais.  Rodney was right, these people signed up to explore, to make discoveries, to utilize their unique talents, to research, to record, to explain.

John looked at the picture again.  This time Carson's features were blurred.  His mind started to fill with images of Ford, Sumner, and other military personnel, other friends he'd lost.  He thought of the families he'd written to, that personal visit with Ford's cousin, and how he'd felt guilty somehow.  Guilty for what?  For not protecting Ford, for not being a good enough commanding officer, a good enough friend?

Then he thought of Carson.  Carson had always accepted him, never judgmental, never cross, not even when he was being the worst of patients.  And a day didn't go by that John didn't acknowledge that if it hadn't been for Carson and his team, he would have lost his humanity, would have been worse than dead.

The memorial service had been hell for him.  He'd fought hard that day to keep his emotions in check, and not only concerning Carson.  The look he and Rodney shared before going through the gate spoke volumes.  It could have been either one of them in that box, and selfishly, John had been glad it wasn't.  Was that what he was afraid to face?  Was that the reason he didn't want to look too closely, because he was relieved it hadn't been him, relieved it hadn't been Rodney?

Rodney.  God, he envied Rodney's ability to show his emotions.  John couldn't. He was raised to keep his thoughts, emotions and opinions to himself.  In the service, being opinionated got you nowhere, absolutely nowhere - his father taught him that.  He learned that it got you nowhere in a marriage either, unless, of course, his thoughts and opinions happened to agree with those of his ex-wife. 

John was aware some people saw Rodney as a weak, reckless man, partly because he chooses to show his emotions, lets his opinions and his words fly without any fear of recrimination.  Weak?  There may have been times when Rodney hadn't been a testament to fortitude, but knowing Rodney as he did, seeing him work tirelessly day after day, seeing how the loss of his team members affected him, reading his words in that letter, John thought Rodney was the strongest person he'd ever known.

The sound of the door opening interrupted his thoughts.  He whirled around like a kid caught doing something he wasn't supposed to, his heart pounding.  Rodney walked towards him slowly, looking from the items on his desk to John's face.

"Rodney, I'm sorry-- I was waiting for you and I-- just--"  John was still holding the picture.

"I didn't mean to pry, really--" John bowed his head, "I-- Carson--"

Rodney threw his jacket on his chair and stood in front of John.  Without saying a word, he put his arms around John and held him, just held him, those strong arms enfolding him.  John leaned in, his hands pressing against Rodney's back, fingers still curled around the photograph.  If Rodney noticed that John's shoulders shook a little, he didn't say anything.

He didn't say anything about the wet spot on his shirt either.  He just stood there holding John, making shushing noises, just like John's grandmother used to do when he was little - so his father wouldn’t know he was crying.

Suddenly, John felt so warm, so protected, so cared for he didn't think he'd be able to hold it in any longer, and at just the instant he began to feel overwhelmed, Rodney pulled back and took John's face in his hands.  He thumbed away the few tears that had escaped John's brimming eyes and then he kissed him.  First his trembling lower lip, then soft kisses all over his face - each cheek, each temple and finally each eyelid, instantly staunching the tears.

"Rodney--," he tried, but Rodney's mouth was on his again.  His kisses were warm yet protective, possessive yet giving, and it didn't matter that John couldn't articulate his feelings, because Rodney knew.  Rodney knew what John needed, even when he didn’t know himself. 

He was aware they were walking backwards, Rodney's lips pulling at him, his hands pushing him, and John let himself be pushed, let Rodney have him.

When they reached the small bed, Rodney eased John down and settled beside him.  His arms encircled John and he bent to rest his cheek against the spiky hair.  John curled against him, burrowing into the comfort of Rodney's broad shoulders and chest.  He closed his eyes.  He was safe, at least for as long as those arms held him.