Peter Grodin - Tumblr Posts

[fic] [stargate atlantis | gen] postmortem

ao3

“I don’t have time for this.” Kavanaugh sat in the front row, laptop still closed.

“As you know,” McKay bit out, face reddening, turning away to drag a hand down his face wearily. “We just lost Grodin. He was brilliant, and he still—“

Clearing his throat and moving to the table, he continued. “Pegasus is a circus, and I can’t lose any more of you. Not even you, Kavanaugh.

“So all science personnel will attend regular workshops to benefit from my knowledge. You won’t become experts, but you’ll have a fighting chance.”

With a small nod, Kavanaugh opened his laptop.

[fic] [sga | mckay/sheppard] we're still here

Summary: "We're here. That's our status." ----- “‘So long, Rodney,’” comes McKay’s slurred mimicry of what Sheppard’s last words to him could have been. His attempt at a baleful glare is dimmed by obvious sleep deprivation. “Asshole.”

ao3

He doesn’t bother knocking. He does lock the door behind him, though.

Rodney is face-down on his bed, hand still half on his tablet screen. His eyes are hazy, and he had clearly been in the middle of something when his brain gave up on him. Sheppard tosses the turkey sandwich onto his back, causing him to jolt into something resembling wakefulness.

“‘So long, Rodney,’” comes McKay’s slurred mimicry of what Sheppard’s last words to him could have been. His attempt at a baleful glare is dimmed by obvious sleep deprivation. “Asshole.”

Sheppard leans against the wall next to the bed while McKay sits up to wipe the drool from his mouth and nibble with uncharacteristic daintiness at his food. It’s the most standard-sized sandwich they have.

“I didn’t exactly have time to recite a sonnet before flying off to my death.”

He stands there, watching McKay slowly chew the corner of his sandwich until he decides enough is enough. He pushes the tablet towards McKay’s feet and sits at the head of the bed beside him.

McKay’s eyes are trying to focus somewhere in the direction of the doorway. “I’m sorry about Lieutenant Ford.”

That’s why Sheppard is here. He’d laid in the dark, eyes pointed at the ceiling but still seeing Ford’s wrathful expression as the transporter doors closed between them. He was–is–responsible. For Ford. Markham. Smith. Sumner. He’d figured Rodney would be up, detoxing from the amphetamines or doing a postmortem on one thing or another, and he’d been right.

“Yeah,” is all he can really say. He looks at the tablet by their feet, gestures with his chin. “What were you working on?”

McKay tosses the rest of the sandwich on his nightstand and blinks tears from his bloodshot eyes. “Grodin, he–” Tears well up again and he sets his jaw, shakes his head, and instead picks up his tablet and shows Sheppard his weekly agenda. “Very few remaining have the interdisciplinary skills to be as useful in the field, and I’m not putting Zelenka at risk by sending him out there with any regularity. I’ve been looking at where it would make sense to squeeze in worksho-o-o–” McKay interrupts his high-speed explanation with a protracted yawn, opening his mouth wide and stretching. “Workshops.”

“That’s–a really good idea, Rodney.”

“I’m so…” McKay’s chin trembles, and he stares at where his hands sit, face-up in his lap.

“Hey,” Sheppard says, waiting until McKay’s eyes slowly come up to meet his. “Hey. Think you can sleep?” McKay nods, glassy-eyed.

Sheppard switches the lights off with a thought, ignoring McKay’s bitter ‘show-off,’ placing the tablet on the nightstand beside him. He gets his boots and gear off, helps McKay with his, and pulls the sheet up over them both.

McKay is pretty rank from a week of amphetamine usage, stress sweat, and not showering. But this quiet space, with McKay’s overheated body and heavy breathing, is the reassurance he needed. Atlantis is still standing, most of them remain to fight another day, and McKay is here to keep his eyes on the horizon while Sheppard watches his six.

It’s unlike anything Sheppard has had anywhere else. Better than the wind in his hair on a flat stretch of highway, the view of the sky from a ferris wheel, or the freedom of flight.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” McKay murmurs, barely awake.

Sheppard grins at him. “Ditto.”