3. John and Rodney Both Remember

Rodney paces back and forth. It’s an easy prowl that he once would have been attributed to Sheppard.

“Rodney, please, you are making even the lab benches nervous,” Radek scolds from the other side of the room. “He will be fine. Smart, capable, you know he can do it.”

Perhaps once John was a man who could take out more than sixty enemy soldiers in one day or pump a Wraith full of bullets without even breaking a sweat, but, as Rodney must constantly remind himself, that John is not the one out there now. This John is clumsy (on top of his ability to get lost practically anywhere). He’s also thin and sickly and interested only in science and flying and long afternoons spent drafting perfectly penciled diagrams of space cruisers while conversing quietly with the City.

“Radek, he’s not Sheppard. Yes, he can defend himself if necessary, but we’re not talking Lethal-Weapon-John anymore. What if his asthma acts up? Or if it rains and he comes down with another bout of pneumonia, eh? Or if he gets eaten by wild animals or attacked by crazy natives or one of the Wraith survivors or any of a million things that could go very, very wrong?!”

“Yes, yes, commando-John is still clearly absent, and yet paranoid-pain-in-ass-Rodney has made his glorious return.” Surprisingly Radek is very good at the whole slight-schizophrenia thing that Rodney’s had going for the past four years – both teacher and student, both young and old.

Mostly, Radek deals by insulting him – telling him he is too young to operate big-kid machinery or too old to make such stupid mistakes. Basically, Radek wants to make both Rodneys into better men. Teyla’s son would thank him for this, Zelenka’s old boss would mock him mercilessly. Rodney settles for stealing his booze, messing with the lighting in his room and sometimes sharing his muffins with him.

Radek is far better than the others.

Elizabeth refuses to see him as who he once was, requiring that he return to Earth to earn his degrees before she can employ him as a scientist. Only when they are in the depth of crisis will she come to him with the city’s troubles, and only then if John is distracted elsewhere.

Ronon is the opposite. No matter how many times Rodney proves himself in weapon’s training or tracking, when they are off world, Ronon keeps him to the center of the group, protecting him like the brain on legs he once was.

Sometimes Rodney thinks that his mother understands. She does not belittle nor try to discourage his old knowledge, and yet she does insist that he grow up like any other child, to earn all the respect and acclaim he found in his old life. She tells him that though his old memories might guide him, it was not he who made those decisions, so he will never truly take them to heart. But sometimes, when he wakes from the dreams, he feels the change, like with each puzzle piece that falls into place, he is growing, bursting, becoming in a way that she will never understand.

There’s only one person who can and right now he’s on another planet engaged in some stupid Athosian coming-of-age ritual. Not that he thought it was stupid before when he did it himelf, but he’s a genius, with skilled hands and natural tracking abilities – abilities to see patterns in the wilderness, now that he’s finally taken the time to look. It only took him one and a half days to track the berserbek and kill it, practically a record. John has been gone for going on four days now.

And he’s probably never coming back. He’s dead in a ditch somewhere. John, this John, is all creature comforts and numbers and machines that bend to his will. Rodney can understand that. If he grew up with a great, near-empty city that spoke to him, he would hardly ever want to leave either.

But then in comes the klaxon for unscheduled offworld activation and Rodney takes off at a run for the Gateroom, Zelenka panting behind him. He feels it in a tingle running down his spine – something has happened.

Elizabeth is there already, shooting Rodney a warning glare (he’s not supposed to be here for dangerous situations. He’s still a baby that she wants to keep safe).

But then, John is stalking through the shimmering puddle of water, no ritual berserbek slung over his shoulder, but nonetheless covered in blood.

“John?” Elizabeth has raced down the steps and is already reaching for him, like the dotting mother she has always been towards him. He flinches away. “John, what happened?”

“Genii,” he says, simply, a familiar darkness lurking in his eyes.

“John?” Rodney asks, tentatively. How long has he prayed for this day? The John he remembers, all focus and courage and intensity. He’d forgotten about this darkness.

“Rodney?” John’s voice is shy, uncertain, but wise too.

When they embrace, the blood squelches between them, though Rodney finds that he doesn’t care.

And when they kiss, no one is surprised.