stargateficrec | Requiem by Liviapenn (PG by reccer)

Show: SGA
Rec Category: Rodney McKay
Characters: Rodney McKay
Pairing: none
Het/Slash/Gen: Gen
Warning: canon character death, spoilers for various Season 1 episodes
Author on LJ: liviapenn
Author's Website: DW
Link: Requiem

Why this must be read:

This piece is one of those classics that benefits from multiple readings to get all the nuances. A deep piece that explores loss and grief through music. Rodney is Earthside and listening to a performance of Berlioz' Requiem. Through the aftermath of listening to said piece, Liviapenn explores how Rodney is dealing with the loss of so many Atlantis personnel. I loved the idea that Rodney is inspired to compose symphonies in memory of his fallen friends and how their loss affects him; remembering them through a vehicle that caused him pain in the past only shows how strongly their loss imprinted on him. Overall, this piece was an absorbing and intricate journey through loss, and traveling with Rodney on that journey made for a very engrossing read.

Story Summary (1st line of fic): When it's over he wanders out into the cool evening air, hand pressed over his mouth, eyes hot and wet.

Jesus, Jesus God, he thinks to himself, stumbling down the steps, catching himself with a hand against the soft papery bark of some kind of ornamental tree. It is nearly dark, the globed lights coming on automatically across the square. He has heard Berlioz' Requiem before (Lord have mercy, christ have mercy) but not like that, never like that (deliver the souls of the faithful) and he feels like he's *torn* something, like he's dying (let no such toil be in vain)--

He finds a seat on the broad stone edge of a planter and breathes, slowly and deeply. Rubs furiously at his eyes. Christ. After a while, the rest of the audience begins to drift out of the cathedral and down the stairs, a complacent flock slowly splitting off into smaller groups or pairs, chattering and chirping. Every third person is talking on their cellphone. It helps, a little.

Rodney can still hear the music. Still *feel* it. Like a knife, and that's not some melodramatic music-critic metaphor, because Rodney knows exactly what it's like to be helpless against a knife cutting into his flesh, and that's exactly what it fucking felt like.

(deliver me from the lion's mouth)