His breath curls white into the night air as John sighs. The night's beautiful, all those glittering, unfamiliar stars hanging in the inky black above, but it's getting chilly - winter will be coming soon, or so says Teyla and John's learned to listen well when she speaks.
John shifts to try and ease the pressure off his ankle again by leaning against the railing. It doesn't do more than aggravate his sore ribs but it's a nice distraction from the cold. Not very well, but just enough to keep him from shivering to noticeably. He really shouldn't be standing at all but he's been in bed for five days and just out of the infirmary for two.
"Didn't Carson banish you to your room, Colonel?"
John knows the voice well and he's surprised McKay's here and not back in his lab where the scientist would toil away until well past the witching hour. A quick glance at his wrist shows that it's just coming up one a.m.
"I needed something fresh and clean, and not recycled to breath." He replies and keeps his eyes turned up towards the sky. "I needed to see the sky for a little while."
Just for a little while. Just a few minutes to remind himself that he wasn't broken beyond repair, that he would recover. A few minutes to remind himself that he was going to be fine.
Rodney was at his back, breathing warmly against his neck, his hands gently pushing underneath John's crossed arms, sliding lightly over his chest and settling low on John's stomach. Whether mindful of his tender muscles there or not, Rodney didn't press his hands flat or tug John back against his board, waiting chest but John went anyways, leaning heavily, gratefully against the man.
"Sometimes I wonder," McKay whispered into his ear, "I wonder if you're going to not come back to me one day."
John looked away from the sky then, eyes lowering to focus on the band of silver glittering just as brightly as the stars above. He had one just like it tucked safely beneath his shirt, hanging above his heart.
"I'll always come back, Rodney." He said quietly, breathlessly as he lifted a suddenly quaking hand to curl possessively over the sliver of metal. "Always."
Summary: Written, admittedly late but posted nonetheless, for tzzzz's No on 8 drabble-a-thon. Read about the Prop. 8 HERE.