When Rodney died, the whole city shook, both literally and metaphorically.
When Rodney died, John shook, in every sense possible.
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In the very first instant after it happened, he felt it in his bones, in the city, in his heart: Something's wrong.
In the second instant after it happened, alarms started going off, and the shockwave rolled through the floor, knocking him to his knees.
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A whole section of the lower levels blew up; it was damn lucky for them that that part of the city didn't simply collapse.
There had only been one person in the area.
Rodney's last recorded position was right at the center of the destroyed section. Passes were made with scanners, but the entire section had been reduced to rubble. If there was anything left of Rodney at all, they'd never be able to get to it.
John figured it was at least a little more bearable than finding a mangled corpse, but then when he finally slept-- alone for the first time in weeks-- he dreamt of Rodney burnt and twisted.
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He'd always hated his dress uniform. It used to just be that he wasn't big on dressing up. Now, John associated his dress blues with funerals.
He couldn't stand to look up, either-- to see, lined up in front of him and lit by the flickering blue of the Stargate, everyone he knew and cared about. All waiting for him to somehow make it better with a handful of words.
Except, of course, for the man John knew best and cared about most. He was just an empty coffin now.
John turned a page.
"Rodney was also one of the bravest people I've ever known." He would not break down here, in front of everyone. He would not. "Maybe he never meant to be a soldier, or to live in this kind of situation. But when he knew what needed to be done, he did it without hesitation, and we all owe our lives to him a hundred times over. And Rodney--" dammit, he didn't want to say it aloud-- "Rodney died working to make things better for this city and everyone in it."
John looked up despite himself, swallowing convulsively.
Looked up, and met a pair of wide blue eyes at the back of the room.
John blinked, shaking his head hard, because he couldn't possibly be seeing this.
But Rodney walked out into the space in the middle of the crowd, eyes still fixed on John's, and John felt all the blood drain out of his face. He worked his jaw frantically, but there didn't seem to be anything to say.
Rodney was gaping back, stunned. "Oh, is this how you people spend your time?" he snapped at last, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. "Instead of, I don't know, trying to rescue me?"
Utter silence.
John found himself moving around the lectern and the empty coffin, down the aisle to meet Rodney coming up it. It was all he could do not to break into a run.
And then he was there, hugging Rodney as hard as he could.
Abandoning all dignity, John buried his face in Rodney's shoulder, breathing him in, making sure he was real. Rodney smelled of smoke and grease and sweat and everything else that John loved. "You asshole," he muttered. "You made me dress up in this damn uniform for nothing."
This was probably a bad idea, standing in each other's arms like this in front of the entire expedition, but John couldn't bring himself to care.
All that mattered was that Rodney was there, stroking his back and saying "Hey, John, shh, it's okay," like John was the one who'd died.
.
END