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stargateficrecShow: SGA
Rec Category: Rodney McKay
Characters: Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Carson Beckett’s Mother
Pairings:Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Categories: slash, emotional hurt/comfort, episode: s03e17 sunday, canonical character death, pov Rodney
Warnings: none
Words: 11122
Author's Journal on DW: n/a
Author's Website: starlightandpinot on AO3
Link: from sunday to sunday
Author’s summary: John and Rodney, in Scotland, dealing with the aftermath of Carson's death.
Why This Must Be Read: It's a heart-wrenching, yet beautiful, story, which starts after Carson's memorial service and lets you feel immersed in the deeply sad moments that followed after the casket was brought to earth. It gives you really sensitive and thoughtful insights into Rodney's inner feelings, his turmoil and his downward spiral into guilt and grief.
Starlightandpinot doesn't use big words but still conveys the strongest emotions and lets you share in the small, but meaningful, moments between Rodney and John. It's so wonderful how she shows that John is always there for him, without saying much, but being the anchor in Rodney’s storm of devastating guilt. And so, despite all the sadness, at the end, this fic leaves you comforted and with a peaceful heart.
“What happened?” John yelled, racing out of the bathroom a moment later. Then, upon getting a better look at Rodney’s condition, a slightly softer, “Rodney?”
Rodney turned, barely noticing the fact that John Sheppard was wearing nothing but a towel.
“The fucking coffee spilled all over my fucking shirt, I can’t get my tie on right, and it’s all fucking… fucked up!”
And then he kicked the dresser—hard—immediately wincing in pain as he grabbed his throbbing foot.
“Whoa!” John caught Rodney as he began to stumble backward, quickly steadying him upright. “Just calm down, alright? We’ll fix this.”
Feeling like a total idiot, and lacking the strength to argue, Rodney didn’t resist; just allowed John to guide him away from the dresser, setting him down on the bed like a small child recovering from a tantrum.
He locked eyes with himself in the mirror, gazing out at his pitiful reflection. He looked like the personification of shit.
His typically-bright blue eyes were bloodshot and swollen from hidden bouts of crying and chronic lack of sleep. His cheeks were just as red, the mud brown coffee stain on his formerly-white shirt mocking him as he stared straight ahead. He practically growled at the sight; the silent, unrelenting accusation of all your fault, all your fault playing over and over in his mind.
“Here,” John added, leaning over the bed and digging around his bag. He pulled out a package of Shout wipes a moment later, wiggling it in front of Rodney with a very typical Sheppard-smirk on his face.
Rodney just sat there, feeling a bit dumbfounded as he watched a very wet (and very half-naked) Sheppard go to town on the stain.
“You carry Shout wipes with you?” Rodney sniffled, still trying to process this latest development.
“Hey, you never know when you might need one,” he replied, maintaining that classic John Sheppard calm as he rubbed the wipe into his chest in a firm, circular motion.
Rec Category: Rodney McKay
Characters: Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Carson Beckett’s Mother
Pairings:Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Categories: slash, emotional hurt/comfort, episode: s03e17 sunday, canonical character death, pov Rodney
Warnings: none
Words: 11122
Author's Journal on DW: n/a
Author's Website: starlightandpinot on AO3
Link: from sunday to sunday
Author’s summary: John and Rodney, in Scotland, dealing with the aftermath of Carson's death.
Why This Must Be Read: It's a heart-wrenching, yet beautiful, story, which starts after Carson's memorial service and lets you feel immersed in the deeply sad moments that followed after the casket was brought to earth. It gives you really sensitive and thoughtful insights into Rodney's inner feelings, his turmoil and his downward spiral into guilt and grief.
Starlightandpinot doesn't use big words but still conveys the strongest emotions and lets you share in the small, but meaningful, moments between Rodney and John. It's so wonderful how she shows that John is always there for him, without saying much, but being the anchor in Rodney’s storm of devastating guilt. And so, despite all the sadness, at the end, this fic leaves you comforted and with a peaceful heart.
“What happened?” John yelled, racing out of the bathroom a moment later. Then, upon getting a better look at Rodney’s condition, a slightly softer, “Rodney?”
Rodney turned, barely noticing the fact that John Sheppard was wearing nothing but a towel.
“The fucking coffee spilled all over my fucking shirt, I can’t get my tie on right, and it’s all fucking… fucked up!”
And then he kicked the dresser—hard—immediately wincing in pain as he grabbed his throbbing foot.
“Whoa!” John caught Rodney as he began to stumble backward, quickly steadying him upright. “Just calm down, alright? We’ll fix this.”
Feeling like a total idiot, and lacking the strength to argue, Rodney didn’t resist; just allowed John to guide him away from the dresser, setting him down on the bed like a small child recovering from a tantrum.
He locked eyes with himself in the mirror, gazing out at his pitiful reflection. He looked like the personification of shit.
His typically-bright blue eyes were bloodshot and swollen from hidden bouts of crying and chronic lack of sleep. His cheeks were just as red, the mud brown coffee stain on his formerly-white shirt mocking him as he stared straight ahead. He practically growled at the sight; the silent, unrelenting accusation of all your fault, all your fault playing over and over in his mind.
“Here,” John added, leaning over the bed and digging around his bag. He pulled out a package of Shout wipes a moment later, wiggling it in front of Rodney with a very typical Sheppard-smirk on his face.
Rodney just sat there, feeling a bit dumbfounded as he watched a very wet (and very half-naked) Sheppard go to town on the stain.
“You carry Shout wipes with you?” Rodney sniffled, still trying to process this latest development.
“Hey, you never know when you might need one,” he replied, maintaining that classic John Sheppard calm as he rubbed the wipe into his chest in a firm, circular motion.
