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John walks to his quarters in silence, trying to shove down the dread he's felt since Rodney's diagnosis. Every day, his friend seems to lose another chunk of himself. It's scant comfort that Rodney remembers him even as others fall away.
He climbs into bed, ignoring the ache in his chest and refusing to think about the future. What kind of future can it be without his best friend? Other than filled with regret for not telling him how he feels. That's what depresses John most of all.
The pounding on the door startles John awake after a short and restless doze. The desperate calls that filter through nearly break his heart as he races to the door. It's barely halfway open when he pulls Rodney through and holds him close, hoping to be his anchor in the chaos.
He's glad Rodney agrees to go to the East Pier. He tosses Rodney his leather jacket with an order to put it on and grabs a six-pack. If this is the last evening he gets to have with Rodney, he's going to make the most of it.
~*~*~
After their reminiscences on the pier, John walks Rodney back. The pain that arches through him when he has to tell Rodney which quarters are his shouldn't be surprising, but somehow is. Rodney says goodnight, but John stops him from going in with a hand on his wrist.
"Hey, buddy."
"Yes?" Rodney says, brusquely. Even after losing most of his memory and trying to say goodbye, his core streak of impatience shines through.
John runs his hand along the leather up to the elbow. "My jacket."
Rodney looks embarrassed. "Oh, of course," he says as he shrugs out of it and hands it over.
"G'night," Rodney says with a tentative wave.
"'night, Rodney," John replies, raising his hand as the door shuts.
The sense of impending loss nearly takes John off his feet, and he only makes it half a dozen steps before he has to lean against the wall to stay upright. It takes a minute - and the appearance of a passing night patrol - to regain his composure. He nods to them and quickly makes his way down the hall to his room.
~*~*~
John tosses and turns for about an hour before glancing at his watch. The minutes before his alarm goes off (before Rodney is gone forever) are ticking away. He can't sleep, and he can't think of any way to fix that, until he spots his jacket thrown over the back of a chair. He gets up to grab it, breathing deeply as he slouches back to bed to immerse himself in the scents. Leather is strongest, but the quilted lining holds the unmistakable smell of Rodney McKay. He blanks his mind against the uncertainties of the future, and swipes at a sudden dampness on his cheek. He's rarely cried since his mother's death, but this is almost worse - forewarning coupled with helplessness. It's certainly more cruel.
John spreads the jacket across his pillow and pulls the comforter over his head. He's fast asleep in minutes.
~*~*~
Once Jeannie's on her way back to the Milky Way, John goes to Rodney's room bearing a six-pack. There's no answer so he lets himself in, disappointed to find it empty. He checks the mess before finding Rodney in his lab.
"Yes?" Rodney barely looks up from his computer.
John taps the six-pack against his thigh to get Rodney's attention. "I thought we could..."
"Can it wait? I'm very busy ever since-" Rodney cuts himself off with a gesture at his temple.
John puts a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "C'mon," he says, giving Rodney a look he hopes will convey everything he can't say.
Rodney examines him for what feels like days. "Okay," he says finally, shutting his laptop without acknowledging John's touch. "Lead on, Colonel."
John leads them to the same section of the East Pier they'd shared a couple of weeks ago. He hands a beer to Rodney, who scoffs. "I thought the Daedalus brought us a pallet of Molson last trip?" he asks, opening the Budweiser.
"Beer's beer, Rodney," John retorts, opening his own a taking a healthy swig. The chilled brew cools his throat before settling in his stomach. Setting the can down, John leans back on his hands.
Rolling his beer in his hands, Rodney says, "Thanks. You know, for..."
"'s what friends are for, McKay."
Raising his can, Rodney toasts, "To friends." John retrieves his beer and returns the sentiment, "To friends." They clink their cans and drink in companionable silence.
John watches the moonlight scatter across the water like his thoughts. Resolved, he takes a deep breath and slowly edges his hand towards Rodney's. It takes a few minutes, but eventually John touches warm skin. His peripheral vision catches Rodney turning to face him, but keeps his gaze fixed on their entangled fingers, only glancing up when Rodney gives them a squeeze.
They catch each other's eye and laugh at how ridiculous they are.
"Took ya long enough," Rodney says, squeezing John's hand again. "But we're here now."
"We're here now," John echoes, noting that Rodney looks as stunned as he feels himself.
Using his grip to pull Rodney in even as he scoots closer, John claims a kiss. He hopes it's the first of many more.