She heard it on the radio while she was driving Melissa home from an afterschool rehearsal. The phrase “Nobel Prize Committee” caught her unwilling attention, as it always did at this time of year. Then she heard his name.
She hadn’t kept in touch after leaving Atlantis. She hadn’t been surprised when he hadn’t followed her back to Earth. But twenty years later, it still hurt that he hadn’t at least considered the possibility, not even for a moment. It still hurt that he hadn’t tried to talk her out of leaving.
Really, for a man who could babble on at such length, he hadn’t said much at all in their last real conversation, even though he was the one who’d started it. “We have to talk,” he’d said.
And she’d replied, “I was about to say the same thing.”
“Oh? Oh, okay. Uh, is it okay? What we’re talking about?” He’d looked cautious. Wary.
“It’s what I have to do. I can’t stay on Atlantis after this.”
“You could, but, no, I guess not. So you’re...”
“I just sent Woolsey my resignation.”
“Oh. Well. Well, good luck then. I’m... sorry about this?”
She wondered if he’d really meant that to come out as a question rather than a statement. “Good luck to you too.”
He’d smiled then, that wide, real smile that had always caught at her heart. Seeing him smile that way now, in this situation, not only caught but tore.
“Thank you,” he’d said. And left.
***
When they got home, she left Melissa and Adam to start dinner while she went upstairs to check her computer. The on-line version of the news story came with a photo. Dear God, after twenty years he was almost completely bald, but she still would have recognized him anywhere. She recognized the man standing next to him as well, despite the thick of shock of silver hair and the cane. Damn, hadn’t she told him that he couldn’t keep on abusing his body?
They looked happy, both of them grinning like loons at the camera. She was surprised by the spark of anger she felt – at Atlantis for taking over most of Rodney’s life. At Sheppard for soaking up whatever remained. At Rodney himself for not realizing how tragic it was that he was celebrating his Nobel Prize not with his wife, not with his family, but instead with his best friend. At Rodney for never having allowed himself to grow out of his insecurities. For not knowing what he was missing.
The photo came with a caption, which she read absently. “Dr. M. Rodney McKay and his husband...”
What?
“Dr. M. Rodney McKay and his husband, Brig. General John Sheppard, USAF (Ret.)...”
Rodney, you absolute bastard.
When had this started? After she’d left? Before? Or – she shivered – even before that? Had she never been anything but a cover story?
Damn Sheppard for his secrets and Rodney for agreeing to keep them. Because even if Rodney had never used her that way, she’d deserved more truth than she’d gotten. Sure, DADT had still been in effect back then, but hadn’t they considered that as a doctor, she’d been trained to maintain confidentiality? If Rodney had never loved her the way she’d loved him, hadn’t he at least trusted her?
And hadn’t it ever occurred to him to apologize?
Apparently not.
She heard the front door open and shut, heard Brian’s voice call out, “Jen? You home?”
Melissa yelled back from the kitchen, “Mom’s upstairs, Dad!”
She had a husband who loved her, two fine children and a successful career. Twenty years later, there was no need for the tears that blurred the photo on the monitor until she could no longer see it at all.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2010-01-16 08:48 pm (UTC)She heard it on the radio while she was driving Melissa home from an afterschool rehearsal. The phrase “Nobel Prize Committee” caught her unwilling attention, as it always did at this time of year. Then she heard his name.
She hadn’t kept in touch after leaving Atlantis. She hadn’t been surprised when he hadn’t followed her back to Earth. But twenty years later, it still hurt that he hadn’t at least considered the possibility, not even for a moment. It still hurt that he hadn’t tried to talk her out of leaving.
Really, for a man who could babble on at such length, he hadn’t said much at all in their last real conversation, even though he was the one who’d started it. “We have to talk,” he’d said.
And she’d replied, “I was about to say the same thing.”
“Oh? Oh, okay. Uh, is it okay? What we’re talking about?” He’d looked cautious. Wary.
“It’s what I have to do. I can’t stay on Atlantis after this.”
“You could, but, no, I guess not. So you’re...”
“I just sent Woolsey my resignation.”
“Oh. Well. Well, good luck then. I’m... sorry about this?”
She wondered if he’d really meant that to come out as a question rather than a statement. “Good luck to you too.”
He’d smiled then, that wide, real smile that had always caught at her heart. Seeing him smile that way now, in this situation, not only caught but tore.
“Thank you,” he’d said. And left.
***
When they got home, she left Melissa and Adam to start dinner while she went upstairs to check her computer. The on-line version of the news story came with a photo. Dear God, after twenty years he was almost completely bald, but she still would have recognized him anywhere. She recognized the man standing next to him as well, despite the thick of shock of silver hair and the cane. Damn, hadn’t she told him that he couldn’t keep on abusing his body?
They looked happy, both of them grinning like loons at the camera. She was surprised by the spark of anger she felt – at Atlantis for taking over most of Rodney’s life. At Sheppard for soaking up whatever remained. At Rodney himself for not realizing how tragic it was that he was celebrating his Nobel Prize not with his wife, not with his family, but instead with his best friend. At Rodney for never having allowed himself to grow out of his insecurities. For not knowing what he was missing.
The photo came with a caption, which she read absently. “Dr. M. Rodney McKay and his husband...”
What?
“Dr. M. Rodney McKay and his husband, Brig. General John Sheppard, USAF (Ret.)...”
Rodney, you absolute bastard.
When had this started? After she’d left? Before? Or – she shivered – even before that? Had she never been anything but a cover story?
Damn Sheppard for his secrets and Rodney for agreeing to keep them. Because even if Rodney had never used her that way, she’d deserved more truth than she’d gotten. Sure, DADT had still been in effect back then, but hadn’t they considered that as a doctor, she’d been trained to maintain confidentiality? If Rodney had never loved her the way she’d loved him, hadn’t he at least trusted her?
And hadn’t it ever occurred to him to apologize?
Apparently not.
She heard the front door open and shut, heard Brian’s voice call out, “Jen? You home?”
Melissa yelled back from the kitchen, “Mom’s upstairs, Dad!”
She had a husband who loved her, two fine children and a successful career. Twenty years later, there was no need for the tears that blurred the photo on the monitor until she could no longer see it at all.