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Rodney finds out in an email. It’s not even an email addressed just to him, but Sam’s agenda for tomorrow’s senior staff meeting. Bullet point number 4, Specialist Dex’s Proposal for Pegasus Training Camp.
“Son of a bitch,” Rodney mutters, slamming his laptop closed.
Outside Ronon’s door, his brain finally catches up with him, surprise settling into something uncomfortable and angry in the pit of his stomach.
They’ve talked about it a few times. Just last week, they’d laid there, panting on the floor of the gym at 0200 going over all the details that would make Ronon’s insane plan work. Ronon’s not one to make idle plans, either. Rodney’s known from the start that this is where things were headed.
It’s late, so late, but neither of them sleep much these days anyway. Ronon’s door slides open, revealing Ronon’s scowl and packing boxes in a too-clean room. “What do you want?”
“That’s a stupid question,” Rodney snaps, shouldering his way past Ronon. Privacy is more important than ever, these days. “You didn’t tell me.”
Ronon glares at him, arms crossed over his chest.
“Okay, fine,” Rodney says, furious that the boxes make it impossible to pace in a straight line. He settles for digging his heels in, mirroring Ronon. “You told me your plan, but you didn’t say when. You didn’t say now.”
“I have to do it,” Ronon says, not giving an inch.
“I know that.” It hurts, twisting and sharp behind his ribs. But he knows it. He’s known it since the moment he figured out John disappeared into the future. He knows it the way he knows he doesn’t belong here anymore either. “You were supposed to give me a heads up—there are some important projects I need to deal with before I can leave.”
Ronon shakes his head, finally breaking eye contact to fiddle with one of the boxes near the door. “You aren’t leaving.”
That hurts, too. “We’re a team,” Rodney says. “We have each other’s back. I know I’m not ideal for a paramilitary organization, but I can help. You know I can. I think I’ve proved that by now.”
“That’s not it.” Ronon drops the box he’s adjusting. It crashes to the ground, but neither of them look at it. “We’re team. You and me and Teyla and Sheppard. We failed Teyla, but—”
Rodney gets it, then, feels it like one of Ronon’s blows in the gym, something heavy and fast and out of nowhere that knocks the wind out of him.
“You have to find him,” Ronon says. “I can’t do anything about it here. But you—”
Slowly, weighed down with the burden of it, with the sick sting of recent failure, Rodney nods. “You’ll come back. I’ll get John back and then you’ll come back.”
Ronon nods, his jaw tight. “Whenever you need me.”
Rodney doesn’t say, I need you now, and he doesn’t say, You’re the last thing I have left, even though it’s true. Atlantis isn’t the same. Not without Carson and Elizabeth. Certainly not without Teyla and John. It will be even worse without Ronon.
“We’ll keep in touch,” Rodney manages to say. He holds his hand out, forces his arm not to shake.
Ronon grips his hand firmly before he tugs, pulling Rodney in for a rough hug that’s over before Rodney can process what’s happening. It’s one of those things Ronon’s always done with John and Teyla, one that used to make Rodney jealous, one that kept him on the outside. But it hasn’t been that way for months, now—years, maybe. Rodney doesn’t know what changed, or when, but it has. And now he’s going to lose it.
Because he’s not ready and nothing is fair, Rodney finds himself waving at the boxes on the floor. “Do you need some help with this stuff?”
Ronon raises an eyebrow. “You don’t have to.”
“Of course not,” Rodney says, kneeling down to look at the box Ronon had dropped earlier. “This is what teams do.”
They work together in silence for a while, shifting things from box to box to make room for all the stuff Ronon has accumulated over the years. It’s easy and mindless and almost enough to distract Rodney from the ache in his chest.
“McKay.” Ronon puts a hand on Rodney’s shoulder, his eyes bright in the soft Ancient lighting. “Thanks.”
Rodney’s never been good at this team stuff, and he’s even worse at the friends part of it, but he’s learned enough over the years to know what Ronon means, even if Ronon’s just as bad at expressing himself as the rest of them. Ronon’s trusting him with everything they have left, and Rodney’s not going to let him down.
“Of course,” Rodney says, focusing back on the shirt he’s folding. “Just don’t get yourself killed before I find him. And—I don’t know, call me if you ever need backup on a mission.”
“Don’t think I won’t.” Ronon grins at him, looking wild and young and hopeful. And maybe, someday, things will be normal again.