| Bluespirit |
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light in dark places' |
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Alone at a table
for two
by
Bluespirit
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Rodney's lost Atlantis - and he's lost John.
Series: Wurlitzer 'Verse
Genre: angst, romance
Spoilers: The Return Part 1
Word count: ~ 1 450
Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction. The characters and universe are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions and the Sci-Fi Channel. This fic is meant solely for entertainment purposes and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes:
1. A big thank you to my two wonderful betas, Xanthe
& Lantean_drift (Q.H.) for all of their help. *hugs*
2. Additional notes may be found at the end of the story.
He didn’t come here every night because they used to come here.
It wasn’t because of maudlin sentimentality or desperation to cling to
some shred of what he’d lost. No, it was nothing like that. Absolutely
nothing like that… at all. He was just here because the beer was good
and the steak was even better. That was the only reason and it was pure
coincidence that this happened to be the very same bar he and John had
always hung out at when they were back on Earth.
Well, they were all back on Earth now - for good - thanks to the
overwhelming generosity of the Ancients. ‘Hey, thanks for rescuing
us from the interminable void between galaxies but we’d like our city
back now and you have 48 hours to leave. ‘Kay? Thanks. Bye!’
Rodney snorted into his beer.
Just like that he’d lost Atlantis - and he’d lost John. He
couldn’t even blame John, much as he’d like to. He could still see
the pain behind John’s eyes as he’d haltingly tried to explain - Landry,
closer scrutiny on Earth, threat to his career - and he’d
understood, he really had. He’d known that they’d had it easy on
Atlantis, far enough away from the prying eyes of Stargate Command and
the United States’ draconian military code to give them a chance to be
together. It was different at Cheyenne Mountain though - too many
curious stares, too many people eager to ask and then tell, just waiting
for them - for John - to put a foot wrong. No, he hadn’t been able to
blame John, even as he’d wanted to rage against the unfairness of it
all and demand that John choose him, goddamn it, and put him
above his job. But that was crazy - and he was far from that. He knew
that he’d been lucky to have had John at all; had known all along that
it wouldn’t - couldn’t - last.
He closed his eyes for a moment at the memory of John walking away from
him, back stiff and more painfully eloquent than any faltering words.
Rodney swallowed another mouthful of beer and nodded to himself. He’d
take the position he’d been offered at Area 51. He wasn’t masochist
enough to stay and have to pass John by in the corridor every day, with
nothing more than a nod between colleagues. He couldn’t see John and
act like he didn’t remember the soft touch of his lips or the hot pant
of his breath against his skin. But he was still masochist enough to
keep coming to this damn bar and wallowing, of course. Though he was
proud that he’d allowed himself just a little dignity - he’d
steadfastly refused to give in to the one final act that would
completely turn his life into some tear-stained biopic worthy of the
Hallmark channel.
He was resolutely steering clear of the jukebox.
It had been their little ritual; every time they’d come here, Rodney
had grabbed the same booth in the back and John had ambled over and fed
quarters into that damn old Wurlitzer. It had been the same steel
guitar-twanging, gravel-voiced ballad bemoaning the same ‘done me
wrong’ sentiment every time and John’s grin would just get lazier
and sexier the more that Rodney rolled his eyes and huffed about the
correlation between country music and diminishing brain cells. It had
been a joke, so well worn that it wasn’t even really funny anymore but
they laughed anyway, because it was them, it was what they did.
So Rodney hadn’t played the jukebox. He knew that he couldn’t hear
that song and not have John here to roll his eyes at, not have John’s
smile to melt at. No, despite coming here alone every night and
wallowing, he had enough self-preservation to avoid the last straw that
he knew would finally break him.
He finished his drink and glanced at his watch - it was later than
he’d realised and definitely time to leave. He dropped a few bills on
the table and began to gather the detritus of his evening. He was just
stuffing the latest issue of The Astrophysical Journal into the
already over-full pocket of his laptop case when he heard the familiar
wheezing whir and click of the jukebox starting up. He squeezed his eyes
tightly shut for a second as instantly recognisable chords spilled out
across the bar, familiar rasping lyrics threatening his hard won
composure. Typical! Of course it had to be this song - his orgy of
self-pity obviously wasn’t complete without some imbecile underscoring
it all with Johnny-fucking-Cash! He needed to leave, he wasn’t going
to fall apart in the middle of ‘Red’s Bar and Grill’ for god’s
sake. And not because of a song, a country song at that!
“Hey, Rodney.” The voice was soft and achingly familiar, and so
close that Rodney jumped in surprise. He looked up to see John standing
at the edge of the booth, a strangely wistful twist to his mouth but the
stiffness of his shoulders shouting out a world of uncertainty.
“I, um… you?” Rodney swallowed and tried again, desperately trying
to marshal thoughts and words into some kind of coherency. This wasn’t
something he’d anticipated at all. “I mean, what are you doing here?
I was just leaving, you can stay, I’ll go….” He ground abruptly to
a halt, struck by a sudden thought. “Hey! Why did you put our song on
the jukebox?”
John raised an eyebrow and seemed to be fighting a small grin. The
action was so patently and intimately ‘John’ that Rodney felt it
like a kick to the gut. “Our song?” John said mildly. “You
always gave me hell every time I played it.”
“Well, yes… maybe,” Rodney stuttered. “Stop trying to change the
subject. Why are you here?” He could hear the plaintiveness of his
tone.
John’s eyes dropped and the smile slid from his face, his body taut
with unspoken, possibly unspeakable words. Some things didn’t change.
“Oh, for god’s sake, sit down,” Rodney muttered and couldn’t
help smiling just a little as John sat next to him - not touching but
still next to him. It was juvenile and sappy and Rodney couldn’t bring
himself to care - he’d missed John so damn much. “What’s going on?
What’s the matter?” he asked again. Things really were bad when he
was the emotionally articulate one.
“Rodney, I… I… wanted to say,” John began, angling his body
towards Rodney a little more. “I can’t do this, I don’t want to do
this anymore.”
“Do what?” Talk to him? Then why the hell had John come here? Of
course, he couldn’t have known that Rodney would be here. But then why
hadn’t he just left when he’d seen him?
“I don’t want to be alone,” John breathed, words slicing through
Rodney’s train of thought like a knife.
He felt his gut twist at the aching echo of John’s weariness. “But
what about Landry? And ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’? What about your
career?”
“I don’t care, Rodney! I can’t choose that,” John paused and his
eyes met Rodney’s, suddenly bright with intensity. “I can’t choose
that over you.”
Rodney exhaled sharply. “You mean, you…?”
John smiled tentatively, hopefully. “Yeah, I do… if you?”
Rodney nodded frantically, mirroring the smile slowly warming John’s
face. “Yes! Yes! Definitely! Absolutely!” He paused. “But your
job?”
John squared his shoulders. “We’ll be careful but if it comes down
to it, then I want you, Rodney. Just you.”
Rodney felt a long-absent warmth spreading through him, as weeks of
numbing loneliness began to melt away. “Me too. I mean, you, I
want you… just you,” Rodney nodded and John’s smile was blinding,
his face so open that Rodney felt he was seeing into forever.
“How about we take this back to your place?” John suggested, the
sudden heat of his stare making Rodney flush. That was definitely a good
idea; they’d always been so much better with actions - sweat-slicked,
sex-smeared actions - than words.
“And I thought I was the genius,” Rodney laughed, unable to contain
the honest to god delight bubbling through him because, wow, this was
really happening - John had chosen him.
“Hey - could’ve been in Mensa,” John smiled softly, rubbing his
knuckle across the back of Rodney’s wrist.
The mechanism of the old Wurlitzer rumbled and clicked into place, a new
song beginning as Rodney and John left the bar.
The end
Additional note:
I must thank Lantean_drift for her encyclopaedic knowledge of all things
Johnny Cash (seriously, she's a marvel) & for helping me with the
song that John was playing on the jukebox. It was 'Lonesome to the
Bone', for anyone who's interested. *g*
Strangely enough, the original inspiration for this story came from
listening to a completely different country song - not even by The Man
in Black! It was 'The Wurlitzer Prize (I Don't Want to Get Over
You)' by Waylon Jennings. (I also appropriated the title from the lyrics!)
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