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Stepping into his room is a relief, the lights dim and the rest of the base cut off completely when he waves the door closed behind him. John hasn’t been alone in—weeks, apparently.
Everything has been a blur, the tiny date on his watch the only way he’s able to keep track. It’s been over a week since he went down on the planet with the purple kangaroos. Something went wrong in negotiations, but no one’s managed to tell him what, exactly. He can’t remember, thanks to the goose egg on the side of his head, but it must’ve been bad, if the concussion and the broken arm and the gash healing across his lower back are any indication.
Ronon seems fine, besides the fading black eye, and Teyla got off with no injuries at all. Rodney too, if John ignores the deep bags under his eyes and the jittery way he moves around the infirmary on his visits. Not that John is unsympathetic. He never wants to stay in the infirmary any longer than necessary, either.
Thankfully, after a handful of miserable days in which John painstakingly proves that he can move around on his own without the help of the good painkillers, Carson releases him back to his quarters.
John breathes in, soaking up the mixed scents of detergent and aftershave that linger in the air, comforting in an entirely different way than the antiseptic scent of the infirmary.
“Shower,” he mumbles, when he gets a whiff of himself.
It’s an ordeal, with the cast and the bandages and the fact that he’s entirely out of breath by the time he manages to get his clothes off. The hot water is reward enough, even if he can barely swipe at himself with the bar of soap. He takes his time, after, lingering in the steam, drying himself off with extra care before figuring out a new bandage for his back. By the time that’s done and he’s fumbled himself into clean sweat pants, all he can think about is his bed and the fact that it’s mere feet away.
“Oh,” Rodney says when John opens the bathroom door.
Of course Rodney’s in his room. It shouldn’t be that surprising, considering that they haven’t had a minute alone in over a week—and maybe also considering the fact that John had nearly died.
“What do you want, McKay?” John snaps, running his good hand up over his face because it’s exactly the wrong thing to say. They don’t talk about whatever it is they’re doing, but it’s not nothing.
“You—” Rodney says, his eyes huge and hurt and shining. “Carson told me he let you go. I thought—”
“I just want to sleep,” John says, reaching down to pull the blankets back, ignoring the way the movement pulls everything in the wrong direction.
“Sure,” Rodney says, shifting to the side slightly, backed up against John’s dresser. “Yes. Of course. I’ll—uh—” He looks to the side, hands behind his back. He’s definitely not moving to the door.
“Rodney.”
“Just let me—tidy up a bit,” Rodney says, shuffling around and failing entirely to conceal the vase of flowers on the dresser. The flowers are dead, drooping and dried and falling to pieces when Rodney knocks into them. In his haste to get to the shower, John must have missed them, because they definitely hadn’t been there when he left his quarters before the mission.
His head hurts. “What are those?”
Rodney sags a bit, deflated, and turns back around, vase in hand. He’s holding something else, too. Something red and sparkling.
“It’s nothing,” he says, shrugging and uncomfortable. “It’s stupid. I just—I forgot about it, with the whole nearly dying thing and week in the infirmary—I should’ve come back sooner.”
“Rodney.” John’s so tired and it’s been so long since he’s been in his own bed. He’s missing something, though, and Rodney needs to spit it out.
“I know we don’t—we’re not really—but it seemed like the right thing to do, you know? Everyone else was going a little crazy about it and I guess I kind of got carried away. Swept up in the general holiday spirit, which is not something that normally happens to me, I swear. Definitely won’t happen again, you can count on that.” He drops the dead flowers into the trash can, along with the shiny red thing, which looks suspiciously heart-shaped.
John looks back at his watch, blinking to do the math through the headache beginning at the base of his skull. Just over a week ago, when they left on their mission—
“It was Valentine’s Day,” Rodney says with a shrug, already heading to the door. “Stupid, I know.”
John takes a breath, something warm rising in his chest, catching at his throat, making him lightheaded all over again. “Rodney.”
Rodney freezes, his eyes jumping between John and the door, looking so uncomfortable John can’t stand it.
“Rodney, I can’t—”
“I know,” Rodney says, holding up his hands. “We can only—It’s fine. I know. Just a silly mistake.”
“McKay,” John grinds out. “I can’t chase you across the room right now, is what I was going to say. Come here.”
Rodney stares at him, his hands moving absently. “Oh.” He blinks. “Oh? Really?” And he’s all but hopping across the room, toeing off his shoes and arranging the pillows on the bed, which is a bit presumptuous, but makes John’s chest ache a little bit more.
“Get in bed, you idiot,” Rodney says, pushing until John goes, crawling in after him and tugging the blankets up. The bed is small, but they manage to find the right position, mindful of John’s back and his arm and the fact that Rodney doesn’t want to take his hands off John for a second.
“You need a new bed,” Rodney gripes, like he always does, but his arm is curled up around John’s side, his hand gentle on John’s back.
“Maybe,” John says, pressing his nose into Rodney’s shoulder, breathing him in. It’s better than stepping into his room, better than the infirmary or the shower, and he feels like maybe he’s still a little high. “You got me flowers.”
Rodney hums, kissing the side of John’s head. “I let them die, though, which I feel should not count against me, given the circumstances. And—well, I shouldn’t have dropped the chocolates in the trash. They’re probably still good. I could just—”
John presses closer, holding Rodney down against the mattress as best he can.
“Okay, okay,” Rodney says, waving his free hand in surrender. “I just—it was Valentine’s Day and that’s what you do on Valentine’s Day, but then you—well, I thought it over while you were in the infirmary and I—I wasn’t sure you’d want all of that.”
John shakes his head, the memory of Rodney’s drawn face in the infirmary catching in his chest, making it hard to breathe. There’s more to say, but he can’t find the words, not now, so he pushes up on his good arm and kisses Rodney instead, relieved when he feels Rodney smile against his lips.
“You can tell me more about that later,” Rodney says, reaching out to turn the lights down. “Preferably when you’re not miserable and half asleep.”
John grunts, hiding his grin in Rodney’s shoulder.