I come bearing fic...

As there simply is not enough crying!fic in SGA, I was forced to write some myself, so here goes. As I'm no native speaker and don't have a beta yet, any constructive criticism is highly welcome!

Title: Hope
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen (as gen as the episode anyway....)
Spoilers: Tag for 506 "The Shrine"
Summary: Everything dead coming back to life hurts
A/N: Even though by now everyone and their mum have done a tag for The Shrine, this kind of came and was written within an hour and, what the hell, one more can't hurt.....BTW "Everything dead coming back to life hurts" is a quote from Toni Morrison's lovely book "Beloved".


During those weeks in which they kept loosing Rodney piece by piece and John could do nothing, not one fucking thing – during those weeks John slowly and methodically killed off every bit of hope he ever possessed. By the last week there was nothing left. He didn’t delude himself into thinking it was acceptance. He was so far from acceptance he would probably have to step through a wormhole into a whole other galaxy to get even close. No, it was something much closer to despair, something dead. He’d given up hope, he’d made himself give up hope and devoted all his energy and time to making Rodney’s last days a little better, a little more comfortable. He took him out for walks on the piers, he played stupid, made up card games with him when Rodney couldn’t even remember how to play UNO anymore. He spent hours sitting next to Rodney while he slept, trading places only with Teyla and Ronon – and Jeannie, later – but never for long because if Keller couldn’t stand Rodney’s plaintive cries of “John, John, were’d John go?” without getting that tight, breakable look around the eyes, John couldn’t even stand the thought of it. Of Rodney thinking he’d somehow abandoned him. He did all this because it had to be done, because someone had to do it and noone else was there to do it instead of him, but he didn’t hope. There were days when John felt close to going crazy, when he nearly slammed his head into a wall just to see whether it helped, where he thought “I can’t do this, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.” but knew that he had to anyway. He didn’t hope, though. It tore at him to see Rodney so small and afraid, even his body posture curled in on himself and there were several moments when he thought that a quick death, quick bullet to the head, a fall off a mountain, anything would have been better than this. At first he felt guilty because while he thought these alternatives would be better for Rodney, hell, would probably even be preferred by a fully functioning Rodney, he was all too aware of the little voice in his head whispering “and I wouldn’t have to witness it.” In the end he lacked the energy for guilt as well and he plodded on, just on, like Sisyphus never looking up, simply because there was no way he could not do what he did. When Ronon started talking about the shrine and Teyla backed him up he probably should have felt hope. Should have trusted his team mates enough to have at least a little. In the end he agreed because Jeannie obviously still had some hope left and after all, when all hope is dead the only thing you can do is being methodical about your options. Well, that or giving up and do nothing but that was so far outside the realm of possibilities that John didn’t even consider it. He flew the puddle jumper and he guided Rodney to the cave because he had to, because this was Rodney and it needed to be done and maybe he was close to snapping, maybe he already had, but it needed to be done and so he did it. When it worked, when Rodney was there again at least for this last day, he expected to feel something, relief perhaps at being able to say goodbye or pain because Rodney was so upset, but he felt nothing. He felt – abstracted. From the scene, from his surroundings. When he raced to the jumper with Keller, when he pushed the drill into her hands he had felt hope. But it, too, had felt far away as if it happened to someone else and in the end this was something – the last minute attempt at a daring and surprising rescue – that had to be done, too. When the improvised neurosurgery was over he staggered outside and vomited into the bushes and stared at his vomit for a full minute, until Teyla came up behind him asking him if he was alright. He nodded his head and then they brought Rodney back to Atlantis and into the infirmary and Jeannie went to sit with her brother. John went to his quarters where the chaos of used clothing and food-wrappers still attested to the fact that every last ounce of his strength during the last few days had gone into taking care of Rodney and took a shower, as hot as he could stand. To his surprise he found that he couldn’t stop shivering though, no matter how long he stayed under the soothing spray, so in the end he dragged himself out of the shower again and pulled on a semi-clean sweatshirt and some sweatpants. He paced the room for a little bit trying to make himself clean up but in the end he found himself headed to the infirmary. It was night by then and Jeannie was gone, probably asleep on a bed in one of the curtained-off bays next to Rodney’s bed. John silently drew up a chair and had just settled into it when Rodney’s eyes snapped open. John’s heart skipped a beat – actually skipped a beat and, ow that hurt – and then he realized that it was Rodney who was looking at him, the old Rodney. His Rodney. His gaze was clear and sharp and his forehead already wrinkled in the way it always did when he was presented with a puzzle to figure out and when he asked “John? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” it sounded so fucking normal John had to squeeze his eyes shut. He tried to take a deep breath but it felt as if something large was stuck in his throat and he could hardly get any air in, it hurt so fucking much. And then his subconscious performed one of its weird little tricks and came up with a quote that John had read years ago in a book and hadn’t thought of in forever. “Everything dead coming back to life hurts” it said and fuck, he had killed hope, he had hunted down every trace of it and killed it dead and there right now it was trying to crawl out of his throat. And in the end he gave in, just gave in, hid his face in his hands and cried like he was never going to stop. He sat like this for what felt like a long time, hunched over and choking miserably on all the buried and yet-not-dead hope that fought its way out of himself with tears and embarrassing gasps when he heard the rustle of bedsheets and he looked up to see Rodney sitting down carefully in a chair opposite him, so close their knees touched. Rodney smiled his crooked, worried smile and said “Don’t worry, I’m allowed to get up I’m really only here for observation and the antibiotics” and then he leaned forward and pulled John to him, until his forehead rested against Rodney’s chest. And they sat like this for a long time, John shaking himself apart in Rodney’s arms while Rodney said things like “It’s ok, I’m right here” and “Did you really think you’d get rid of me that easily?” and rubbed John’s shoulders comfortingly. After a while  the tears stopped and then his breathing stopped sounding like he was drowning and for a while they just sat there in true silence. John felt drained and at peace even though in the back of his mind a part of him was terribly embarrassed and another part was shouting at him that Rodney had just returned from the dead, not entirely metaphorically speaking, and that he shouldn’t be out of bed and most of all shouldn’t have to take care of John. But he ignored both of them and decided that feeling guilty and mortified would have to wait for some other time. When he finally found the energy to sit up straight again, he found he had at some point curled his fingers into the scrubs top that Rodney was wearing and for a moment he felt like he was never going to be able to let go. But when he concentrated he could actually force his hands to open, finger by finger and finally he sat back and found he couldn’t quite bring himself to look Rodney in the face after all. Maybe the time for feeling embarrassed had come sooner than he had expected. He stared at the floor. “John?” Rodney sounded curious and concerned and so he said “It’s ok, I’ve stopped freaking out” and “Sorry about this”, waving his hand between them. It probably would have sounded more convincing if his voice hadn’t sounded like sandpaper so much. As it was Rodney gave a small, not-really amused chuckle and said “I don’t think you have anything to apologize for.” And when John did look up he realized that Rodney remembered, remembered everything and felt even more deeply ashamed of himself than John. And really, how stupid was this? They were both here, they were both still fucking here, firing on all cylinders and they should have been delirious with joy, not doing the “I’ll avoid your eyes if you’ll avoid mine” mime act. And so he reached out and took Rodney’s hand and said “I’m just really, really glad to have you back” and squeezed it. Rodney squeezed back and said “Yeah me too.” and then he stuttered “Thank you, I just, thank you for what you did” and John couldn’t take it anymore and so he said “You are a good friend Arthur” and then they both looked up and started to laugh. They sat for a while, laughing quietly in the dark and when he looked up Rodney could actually look him in the face and he let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. They were both tired, though, and when Rodney got up and climbed back into his bed, John realized that there was a real possibility for sleep, actual, deep, restful sleep in his immediate future. He nearly dropped where he stood. For a moment he considered spending the night here, like he had the last few days, though for his own comfort this time. He knew Rodney would let him stay if he asked but something had eased in his chest and in the end he went to his own room and fell into a deep and exhausted but peaceful sleep.