Author: padfootthegrim AKA Gypsy Lupin-Black AKA Merrov
Disclaimer: If I owned Stargate, they probably wouldn’t be suitable for general consumption.
Rating: PG-13, perhaps R later?
Pairing: Rodney McKay/Carson Beckett
Warnings: Extreme ANGST.
A/N: In a bit of a mood tonight, and this is what happens. Depending on reader response and my moods, there may be more of this later. This has not seen a beta.
He knew people were looking for him. He knew his team was concerned about him. He knew that the research labs were probably in shambles with out him there. He knew that Zelenka was probably tearing his hair out and cursing his name in Czech by now. He knew that
He knew all of that. He just couldn’t make himself care.
The real stinger was that even if he’d wanted the company (which he really didn’t) no one really knew what he was going through. No one had been told, no one had seen them. It had been what they both wanted, out of fear, or maybe embarrassment, who knows. The point… the point was that people wondered how he was doing after his friend had died, when really, really what they should have been wondering was if he was still alive inside after his lover had died.
He couldn’t stop the sob that wracked his body. Couldn’t stop the gut-wrenching sensations that thinking that name caused. Couldn’t help hearing, over and over and over again, that voice over his headset, suddenly cut off by the sound of an explosion, quickly fizzing to nothing but static and… and then silence.
He was curled on the cold floor of his quarters. He’d been there for hours this time, dead eyes staring at the wall, seeing his face, his hands, his smile, hearing his laugh. It was a torture like he had never known before. How could one man’s life, one man’s… death… fill him up and drain him out? The empty space inside was like nothing he’d experienced. It overwhelmed him, consumed him.
There was nothing left in him. He’d barely made it back to his- their- quarters after it happened before he broke. He’d screamed and thrashed, breaking anything he could get his hands on, tearing at books, slamming equipment into the walls, the window, the door controls… Finally he’d collapsed in the midst of everything he’d destroyed, barely noticing the broken glass that bit into his knees. There was nothing left. Nothing mattered anymore, and he wasn’t there to hold him above the surface.
What killed him more than anything else was that he could have prevented it. Fishing wouldn’t have been that terrible, really, and why should he have cared that people had been wondering about them? There’d been whispers, gossip; they spent too much time together, argued like a couple in the mess hall, and isn’t that weirdly funny? Ha ha.
He did care. Or he thought he’d cared. He’d made excuses, run off to prove his manliness by trying to reaffirm that he was dating Dr. Brown, and because of that, he’d lost the light, the love of his life.
There were no more tears, but that just made the sobs more painful.