Work Text:
Defining Family
by blackrose
It was a week before anyone even suggested going through John's things and even then it was only the news from the Daedalus that his parents were kicking up a fuss in D.C. demanding the return of their son's belongings along with his body that had led to Elizabeth standing in the doorway of John's room, surveying the emptiness
Most of his things had been boxed already, so many years in the military and an entire childhood of being up-rooted from one town and dumped in another every time his father had been reassigned had left John with a profound sense of neatness and the ability to travel light.
Three boxes in the corner contained clothes, two full of uniforms and the third containing civilian wear, the third was considerably emptier that the first two. A box of books sat next to the bed, a smile tugged at her lips even as she fought a sob at the sight of that goddamned copy of `War and Peace' on the top.
With a start she realised that she didn't know if he'd ever finished it.
There was a stack of DVDs and some cosmetics almost overflowing from the desk to the floor, hairgel in abundance she noted with another heartbroken grin, as well as several deodorants, aftershave, an electric razor... A laptop and an iPod were balanced on the chair.
And in the midst of the stripped coldness of the room sat Rodney McKay, playing with something in his hands.
"They'll just stick it into storage you know." His voice was soft and as hollow as the room, "or throw it away, they don't want it, they didn't want him. They never wanted John, they still don't they just want their precious hero. We wanted him Elizabeth, his things should stay here!"
His voice was gaining momentum, becoming more vehement even as it remained at the same volume.
She spoke softly, placating him, even as she tried to convince herself that she didn't agree with him. "They're his parents, his family, they deserve-"
"'Deserve'?" Rodney snorted, "They disowned him Elizabeth, they haven't spoken to him after Afghanistan, he tried, on Earth, John tried, called his father, bastard wouldn't even pick up the phone, just kept routing him through different secretaries, didn't even bother to hang up on him. They aren't his family, we are."
"They're his parents." She repeated firmly.
He laughed shortly and bitterly, "they don't have any right to him or anything to do with him."
"Rodney."
"Just... shut up, okay Elizabeth? For once just think about this instead of the usual diplomatic political bullshit." He rose quickly, pushing the item he'd been playing with into her hands as he stormed out the room, face white and pinched.
Slowly she turned over the item, recognising them as John's dogtags instantly, not from the writing stamped into them but because of the dent she could feel as she ran her fingers over them, from a bullet that had hit at just the right angle to be repelled and the faintly blackened tinge at the edge, from the fire that had killed him.
`Jonathon David Sheppard'... She frowned. Tilting them into the light so she could see the text that had been painstakingly, if crudely carved into the surface.
`McKay'.
`Jonathon David Sheppard-McKay'.
Slowly she let her head fall back to hit gently against the wall she was leaning against.
Oh God, Rodney.
It was so risky but who looked that closely at dog-tags anyway.
But it wasn't official, never official, but how did you define marriage anyway?
And just how was *she* defining family?
end