Tag to Miller's Crossing.
Author's Note: I know Rodney and John had come to an understanding of sorts at the end of the episode, but I can't see Rodney dealing with it that well, not in the end. So this is my tag.
Thank you to Layla for the quick beta!
For the first few days after the incident, Rodney kept trying to scrape the red specks from his palms. He scratched with such vigor that small beads of blood replaced the imaginary ones.
He had meant to keep it to himself, to just look past the events and let John be. He knew, after all, how much it had cost John to…to… But the knowledge gnawed at him, pressing images into his mind of wraith and body bags and his friend as a killer. He couldn't keep silent. He just couldn't.
"You killed someone for me." Rodney's voice was barely a whisper, cautious of those around him. His tray of food was untouched, though filled with his favorites: chicken fried chicken, blue jello, and extra garlic mashed potatoes. He didn't care about the food, not when he had first agreed to ignore the situation, and certainly not now.
John sighed heavily, leaning against his chair. All of his barriers were up, complete with the crossed arms and impassive expression. "We've been through this, Rodney, I only…"
"Presented him with the options. Yes, so you've been saying, but, John, you…You convinced…"
"He made the choice. Not me. Can we please stop dwelling—"
"I didn't ask you to do that. I mean, it's not as if I'm not grateful, but, I really didn't ask. I was willing to die. I was willing…" He let his words drift, knowing he was saying the wrong things. His feelings were neither here nor there, and he wished he could just vanquish them altogether.
Before John could cut in, Rodney continued. "I…You can't kill someone and be the same person you were. You can't just walk away from that! I'm now responsible for all of it, for whatever you have to go through. Me. I'm the one you did it for."
Rodney felt his body shake, trembling from the vastness of the situation and the darkness that consumed him. He had to crawl out, move on, he knew that, but knowing it was different from doing it. Was he making it worse by bringing it up to John? Was John so callous that he didn't care, that he could ignore the imaginary blood covering his hands? No. Rodney knew that wasn't it at all.
"Listen, I'm just saying—"
"Well stop saying," John snapped loudly, no longer able to hide the hurt on his face. His fork clattered against his empty plate. Rodney flinched. The commissary went silent. Heads turned and people stared.
John and Rodney went silent, waiting for the heads to turn back, but not taking their eyes off one another. This was their fight alone, not for others.
In the silence, Rodney could see the Wraith feeding. A man sacrificed himself as Rodney's friends looked on. If only John hadn't taken his card and thus kept him from his lab. If only he had gotten there sooner. If only… If only… Yet Rodney was alive, and that was good, right?
Rodney stared down at his sore hands, worn from all the scratching. "You will have to face this eventually," he whispered. It wasn't what he had meant to say, but the words seemed right.
"Not today." John scooted his chair back, as if preparing to leave, but he stayed in place, glancing warily at their curious audience. At least the nosey few weren't looking directly at the two of them anymore.
Keeping his voice low, Rodney leaned further into the table. "You won't be able to put it off forever. You know that. I know that."
John kept his voice low, but inflamed. "That man kidnapped you and your sister. He's the reason she was in trouble in the first place. You're damn right I chose his life over yours. And you know what? I don't regret it. And no, I don't feel remorse. It's no different than any of the other kills I've made as a soldier. He was the enemy."
Rodney had told himself the same thing, tried to convince himself that everything was as normal. John had killed to save his life before, but never… No, this was different. This was almost murder, and had John not lied on the reports, he'd be facing charges for his actions. There was no rationalizing it. There was no denying it. John had killed the man, and all for Rodney's sake. It was as good as if Rodney had pulled the trigger.
Rodney glanced up at his friend, ignoring the nauseating aroma of chicken. "Fine, just…just…" He didn't know what more there was to say. He was only making things worse. Maybe John was better behind his barriers, where he didn't have to feel the repercussions. Maybe he could hide there forever. Maybe.
"I'm not hungry," Rodney mumbled, finally finishing his sentence.
He didn't realize he was storming out until he was already to the door, his fists clenched tight and his chest heaving. The world was suffocating.
John didn't come after him. It wasn't their first argument since the incident. It wouldn't be their last.
Rodney kept moving, as though trying to race from the demons and the blood and the pain. If he ran far enough, fast enough…
"Rodney?" Teyla's soft voice was soothing.
She blocked his way, reaching out a hand to his shoulder. No one had told her of what had happened. There was no guilt in her eyes and that was…that was nice.
"Hey. I, uh, was just…" He pointed behind him as though that would help his explanation, even though he didn't know what that explanation was.
"Are you okay?"
"Me? Of course, I…I'm great. You know how it is, keeping busy and, uh, did you want something?"
Teyla glanced at him, worried, as though she could see all that was hidden in the lines of his face. She looked down at his hands, and Rodney hid them awkwardly behind his back. "You need someone to talk to." She said it as a fact, as though she were a soothsayer or a mind reader who could see his thoughts despite how much he tried to hide them.
He wanted to deny the need to talk, but couldn't. So instead he talked at a fast pace about anything else: how his sister was doing well and how he really should get to the labs and whatever else popped into his mind.
He barely noticed she was leading him to her quarters.
"Sit," she ordered, and Rodney dared not argue.
She prepared the tea kettle for herself, the coffee for him. All the while, Rodney sat, and waited, thinking of what to say. He never could have imagined he'd ever feel this way. A thousand times worse than fighting the Wraith, the guilt was almost too much to bear. How could he share that with her? How could he tell her that he should have been the one to die? Had been willing to…
Rodney wondered for a moment if he was betraying John's trust just by being there with Teyla, knowing his intent was to tell her everything. But no, this was Teyla, this was the one person who wouldn't turn John in, and even better, she would not pretend that this was nothing. It wasn't nothing. Maybe she could even reach out to John.
He stared back at his scaly hands, pushing back the images of his dying sister and of the man that had sacrificed himself for her. Slowing his trembling, he took in a deep breath, refusing to look her in the eye.
At last, he was ready to talk.
"I killed a man. A few days ago, actually. I mean, I didn't, but I did, and… I can't get the blood off my hands."