SGA Ficlet: Grace
May. 28th, 2006 07:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityofoneI wrote the following for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monanotlisa, who is in the hospital right now. I wasn't going to share it around more fully, but it's publically posted and people have seen it, so I thought it was only fair that everyone should get that same chance. It's a Human Vacillation fic, and takes place a bit in the future of that 'verse, so I suppose it can be considered spoilery for stories I will hopefully someday write. But who's to say that snippets aren't the way of the future?
Title: Grace
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Length: ~900 words
Summary: This was something he never thought he'd get to have.
A/N: Formonanotlisa.
Grace
When John came into the room, closing the door softly behind him, Rodney didn’t look up. He was sitting on John’s bed. It was strange to see him there. Not just because of recent changes, but because this was something he never thought he’d get to have. Old life and new: altered and imperfect, but together. He could still hear his mother and his sister’s voices, drifting up the stairs.
The bed was narrow, and looked smaller than ever to John now. It was a child’s bed. A little girl’s bed, he thought, pleased to finally be allowed to acknowledge it. He could still remember waking up there on Christmas morning, a whole series of Christmas mornings smushed together into one perfect one. Waking up and knowing what was waiting for him: slipping out from between the covers in his special Christmas nightgown and putting on his slippers, then creeping out into the hallway and over to Abby’s room, bouncing on her bed until she woke before walking downstairs together, into the living room, and seeing the tree all lit up... He was smiling and he felt like crying and he felt like smiling, too—like shouting and dancing and celebrating, because it was real again, it wasn’t some tarnished memory that he’d been told to forget about, to pretend didn’t exist.
“Rodney,” John said, and Rodney did look up from the large book he was holding awkwardly in his lap. John saw that it was a high school yearbook—his yearbook—and he felt a flash of fear before realizing that it was okay, it was all right. He sat down at Rodney’s side and tapped the picture that had obviously been the focus of Rodney’s attention. “If you think that top is bad, wait till you see my prom dress.”
Rodney closed the yearbook and set it aside. John could see him twitching, moving his arms to cross them over his chest, then changing his mind and placing his palms flat on the bed. “Your family seems nice,” he said.
“Yeah,” said John, smile a little shaky, but real, there. “I think they’re handling it pretty well.”
Rodney let out a breath; he looked slightly jealous. He made an effort, though. “And your sister seems at least moderately intelligent. In spite of the whole,” he grimaced, then spat the word like he was swearing, “astrology thing.”
John grinned. He wanted to stroke a hand along the back of Rodney’s neck, but Rodney had been reluctant to be touched, lately. John understood. “Abby is...Abby,” he said. Marvelling a little: she hadn’t changed a bit. And, because he’d always been curious, ever since he found out that Rodney had a sister, back when he hadn’t be able to talk about his own, “Do you think she and Jeannie would get along?”
Rodney’s mouth crumpled. He had the most incredible mouth, John thought, even still—but he couldn’t allow himself to become distracted, not when Rodney was putting his head in his hands and murmuring, “Oh God—Jeannie. What am I going to tell her?”
“You don’t have to tell her anything yet,” John said, although he was personally of the opinion that sooner was always better than later. Not that he’d been given that choice.
Rodney was shaking his head. “No, she’s gotten paranoid. And persistent—she’s like a pitbull. If I don’t contact her on a semi-regular basis, she’s going to start making harassing phone calls to the United States Air Force again.”
“The truth, then,” John said. And now he did touch Rodney: a gentle hand on the back of his spine. Rodney stiffened a little, then rolled back into the touch, like he’d been secretly hungry for it. John knew he himself had been.
“The truth is good,” he said, “really.” He looked around, purposefully, letting Rodney follow the movement of his eyes. This room is truth, he said without saying. It had been carefully preserved while he was gone (dead): skateboard and field hockey stick leaning just where he’d left them, copy of Little Women bookmarked on the nightstand, posters of jets on the walls, tattered jeans stuffed in his dresser and bad ‘80s miniskirts on hangers in the closet. He loved this room: it was a perfect portrait of the girl he’d been. Of the man he was.
When Rodney reached up and steered down his cheek, John accepted his mouth gratefully. The kiss was gentle and hesitant. Rodney’s lips were so soft and his movements were painfully unsure, but John had faith in him, he had faith in them, he had faith. For the first time in a long time, he did.
He brushed a hand over Rodney’s shoulder and down the side of his torso. Rodney sucked in a breath. He was staring up at John with wide eyes, blue and unchanged. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
John kissed him. If his eyes were a little wet, he didn’t care. Not when he had so many reasons to hope. So he chuckled, low in his throat, and with a gentle hand, caressed the curve of Rodney’s breast.
“So are you,” he said.
monanotlisa, who is in the hospital right now. I wasn't going to share it around more fully, but it's publically posted and people have seen it, so I thought it was only fair that everyone should get that same chance. It's a Human Vacillation fic, and takes place a bit in the future of that 'verse, so I suppose it can be considered spoilery for stories I will hopefully someday write. But who's to say that snippets aren't the way of the future?Title: Grace
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Length: ~900 words
Summary: This was something he never thought he'd get to have.
A/N: For
monanotlisa.Grace
When John came into the room, closing the door softly behind him, Rodney didn’t look up. He was sitting on John’s bed. It was strange to see him there. Not just because of recent changes, but because this was something he never thought he’d get to have. Old life and new: altered and imperfect, but together. He could still hear his mother and his sister’s voices, drifting up the stairs.
The bed was narrow, and looked smaller than ever to John now. It was a child’s bed. A little girl’s bed, he thought, pleased to finally be allowed to acknowledge it. He could still remember waking up there on Christmas morning, a whole series of Christmas mornings smushed together into one perfect one. Waking up and knowing what was waiting for him: slipping out from between the covers in his special Christmas nightgown and putting on his slippers, then creeping out into the hallway and over to Abby’s room, bouncing on her bed until she woke before walking downstairs together, into the living room, and seeing the tree all lit up... He was smiling and he felt like crying and he felt like smiling, too—like shouting and dancing and celebrating, because it was real again, it wasn’t some tarnished memory that he’d been told to forget about, to pretend didn’t exist.
“Rodney,” John said, and Rodney did look up from the large book he was holding awkwardly in his lap. John saw that it was a high school yearbook—his yearbook—and he felt a flash of fear before realizing that it was okay, it was all right. He sat down at Rodney’s side and tapped the picture that had obviously been the focus of Rodney’s attention. “If you think that top is bad, wait till you see my prom dress.”
Rodney closed the yearbook and set it aside. John could see him twitching, moving his arms to cross them over his chest, then changing his mind and placing his palms flat on the bed. “Your family seems nice,” he said.
“Yeah,” said John, smile a little shaky, but real, there. “I think they’re handling it pretty well.”
Rodney let out a breath; he looked slightly jealous. He made an effort, though. “And your sister seems at least moderately intelligent. In spite of the whole,” he grimaced, then spat the word like he was swearing, “astrology thing.”
John grinned. He wanted to stroke a hand along the back of Rodney’s neck, but Rodney had been reluctant to be touched, lately. John understood. “Abby is...Abby,” he said. Marvelling a little: she hadn’t changed a bit. And, because he’d always been curious, ever since he found out that Rodney had a sister, back when he hadn’t be able to talk about his own, “Do you think she and Jeannie would get along?”
Rodney’s mouth crumpled. He had the most incredible mouth, John thought, even still—but he couldn’t allow himself to become distracted, not when Rodney was putting his head in his hands and murmuring, “Oh God—Jeannie. What am I going to tell her?”
“You don’t have to tell her anything yet,” John said, although he was personally of the opinion that sooner was always better than later. Not that he’d been given that choice.
Rodney was shaking his head. “No, she’s gotten paranoid. And persistent—she’s like a pitbull. If I don’t contact her on a semi-regular basis, she’s going to start making harassing phone calls to the United States Air Force again.”
“The truth, then,” John said. And now he did touch Rodney: a gentle hand on the back of his spine. Rodney stiffened a little, then rolled back into the touch, like he’d been secretly hungry for it. John knew he himself had been.
“The truth is good,” he said, “really.” He looked around, purposefully, letting Rodney follow the movement of his eyes. This room is truth, he said without saying. It had been carefully preserved while he was gone (dead): skateboard and field hockey stick leaning just where he’d left them, copy of Little Women bookmarked on the nightstand, posters of jets on the walls, tattered jeans stuffed in his dresser and bad ‘80s miniskirts on hangers in the closet. He loved this room: it was a perfect portrait of the girl he’d been. Of the man he was.
When Rodney reached up and steered down his cheek, John accepted his mouth gratefully. The kiss was gentle and hesitant. Rodney’s lips were so soft and his movements were painfully unsure, but John had faith in him, he had faith in them, he had faith. For the first time in a long time, he did.
He brushed a hand over Rodney’s shoulder and down the side of his torso. Rodney sucked in a breath. He was staring up at John with wide eyes, blue and unchanged. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
John kissed him. If his eyes were a little wet, he didn’t care. Not when he had so many reasons to hope. So he chuckled, low in his throat, and with a gentle hand, caressed the curve of Rodney’s breast.
“So are you,” he said.
