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"You found me!" Rodney's voice found its way through the depth of the night to John's ear.
John kept his distance, not wanting to invade Rodney's personal space. It wasn't for nothing that Rodney searched out the privacy of Atlantis' pier in the middle of the night, the full moon the sole, quiet companion for his thoughtful mood.
"It wasn't exactly a hardship to do so," John replied. "For you, there are only two different modus operandi in case of emotional meltdowns to take into account. And I ruled out the first one by checking in your lab for crying scientists left in your wake and not finding anyone. So, the pier it had to be—Bingo—here we are! "
John approached just a few more steps wanting to leave Rodney enough space. "What happened?"
"I don't wanna talk about it," Rodney said, not at all abrasive and repellent like John would have imagined but subdued, and it even sounded resigned and melancholy.
"Sure, you do," John told him, closing up now to Rodney and sitting next to him, dangling his legs over the edge.
They sat a long time like this, side by side, thighs almost touching, the full moonlight playing with shadows on their faces.
"I always loved the moon, you know, sappy as it sounds," Rodney said suddenly, almost in a whisper, lowering his head in anticipation of the inevitable teasing. To his surprise, it didn't come to it, but John laid his hand on Rodney’s thigh, squeezing it slightly.
"Why not? It also has a fascination for me. When I was a kid, I actually believed in the man in the moon, and I even dreamed about meeting him someday." John snorted, "If that's not sappy, I don't know what is. So, we're good on this, McKay. We're even when it comes to childhood dreams." He looked profoundly at Rodney, who didn't move, head still down and hands in tight fists at his sides.
Rodney felt John's gaze falling upon him like a laser light and, finally, looked up again—his eyes so big and deep blue like the night ocean lying before them, the moonlight sparkling in the water and in the scientist’s eyes.
Rodney opened his mouth as if to say something to that, but then he sighed lightly and turned his head again, staring back at the silent moon.
Having expected a mocking reply to his confession, John furrowed his brows at the complete lack of reaction. "Okay, now you officially scare me. The big Dr Rodney McKay is at a loss for words! Come on, talk to me. I'm not used to a quiet genius friend," he said, trying to lighten the mood, but it didn't have the desired result. Rodney looked anything but amused.
"Rodney—a little help here—what's the problem? You left the mess hall as if the devil were after your soul, and now you're not even talking to me. Something must have happened—So, what's wrong?" John's hazel eyes were now intensely focused on his best friend, trying to will him into raising his head and looking at John.
When he didn’t get any response, John sighed and quietly closed the space, his thigh finally touching Rodney's in a silent attempt to reach out and offer whatever comfort he needed. For some time, both men sat wordlessly, both able to feel the warmth shared between them.
Suddenly, it was a whisper again that broke the silence. "Moonlight Sonata," Rodney murmured, almost too quiet to get through.
"Um?" John responded in surprise and equally quiet, not wanting to destroy the mood.
Rodney sighed and turned his head towards John, his eyes haunted and sad. Moonlight Sonata—You did hear Cadman, didn't you?"
"What? You mean earlier? In the mess hall?" John looked at him in astonishment. "Yes—I heard her saying something to you about a 'nice little tune'. How could this be the reason for your quick retreat—or should I say, breakout?" John smirked.
Rodney winced at John's words. "It may have looked so. In a way, it was a 'fight or flight' response, Major." Rodney's mouth regained some of his natural crookedness. "Not that I expect your self-sacrificing self to understand the 'flight' in this. And certainly, you would have put up a charming reply to anything coming from her.” The last part came out while not accusatory yet kind of bitter, as if to emphasise his shortcomings when it comes to dealing with women—or honestly said, with people of either gender.
Rodney’s exasperation was not lost on John, and he wasn’t willing to let it go.
“Rodney, at the moment, I have no response to all this, charming or not, so maybe you could give me a clue? What’s the problem? You won’t get rid of me until you tell me what’s going on.” With this, John bumped his shoulder against Rodney’s, trying to lighten the mood and simultaneously encourage a meaningful answer.
It seemed to do the trick because Rodney leaned into the touch and turned his head back again, looking wide-eyed but determined at John.
“Look, it’s something from a while ago, when Cadman, you know—” Rodney made a circular gesture with his index finger toward his head, “when she was… in here.”
Rodney didn’t speak further but again seemed lost in thought. So now it was John’s turn to make a circular hand gesture, prompting Rodney to keep talking. When nothing happened, he raised his eyebrows and waited.
“Okay,” Rodney sighed, “You’re like a dog with a bone, Major. You’re not going to let up anyway,” and with a pained look on his face, he continued, “You see, I used to play the piano. I loved it. Really loved it. It was my—salvation, the only place my busy brain could let go, and I could escape my miserable so-called family life.” The last part was softly spoken and said with a bitter touch. “I know, I never talked about it. It isn’t something I wanted anyone to know. I truly dreamed of being a pianist, giving concerts and captivating people with the music I would play for them.” Rodney looked over the water, not realising that he'd pressed his thigh even closer to John’s. His eyes seemed to look into a different reality, reliving a time long ago.
“I did not have a picture book childhood. My parents fought constantly about who was to blame for their misfit, know-it-all boychild who wouldn’t stop challenging them, wouldn’t stop arguing, and who made their life a living catastrophe. And if that wasn't enough, I had to make things even more difficult with such unnecessary things like allergies and hypoglycemia.” A bitter laugh escaped Rodney, making John’s heart clench.
“Music was the one thing that could make me forget about all this, that gave me something else to feel other than hatred and isolation. It surrounded me, gave me something to live for. It made me feel love.” Rodney’s voice was a mere whisper now.
John could sense the wave of emotion, the sadness and misery, emanating from Rodney. He wasn’t sure what to say about all this, his own feelings out of the whack too. John would have loved to take Rodney in his arms, to hold him tight, and give him the love Rodney craved—which, in reality, they both craved. But how could he? His feelings for Rodney, which he had been developing for some time, were buried deep within him.
Instead, he focused on the closeness between their bodies, trying to ground Rodney and pass on some of his inner emotions to Rodney and comfort him.
“So, what’s happened?”
“What happened?” Rodney looked John piercingly in the eyes again and continued in a sarcastic tone, “That's what happens all the time. I usually lose, Major. You know what an arrogant man I am, and of course, I was an arrogant kid, too. I then thought about Carnegie Hall the same way I think about the Nobel now. But my piano teacher held a mirror up to me and put me in my place. My luck!” Rodney snorted. “He told me what I could not see, or more to the point, what I probably didn’t want to see. I am a fine clinical player. Granted, perfection is what I’m aiming for. Rodney McKay doesn’t make mistakes! But he opened my eyes and showed me what I was missing. I couldn’t give the music the emotion it deserved. I couldn’t move people, I couldn’t touch their soul. My playing may have been perfect, but it had no soul! I have no soul. I am unable to give love!”
Rodney got agitated with each word and almost shouted at the end. Like always, his face showed every emotion, all the pain and despair, and John didn’t think, wasn’t even able to think anymore and grabbed Rodney, put his arms around him, holding on to Rodney as if his life depended on it and ended with his lips pressed firmly on the other man’s.
When Rodney stiffened in surprise but gave no sign to end the kiss, John found the courage to let his tongue request entry. After a moment when his fear of being rejected made his heart race and his throat tighten up, Rodney opened up to John in full anticipation, and they deepened the kiss.
But, as fast as the kiss started, it ended, too.
“Major—” Rodney looked up, dazed and confused.
“John—” John corrected him softly, his eyes full of emotion. “This was something I've wanted to do for so long. Um—I hope I didn’t get this wrong.”
“I… I don’t know what to say… John. You can’t mean this, can you? It’s me you’re talking about. Are you… are you serious? No, don’t say anything. I know you can’t be. And it’s ok. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just a kiss from a—um—from a friend to another friend. So, seriously, a peck to the cheek would have worked too. You must know, I have delicate lips, and I would appreciate you to—mmph.”
While stopping Rodney’s hands from flailing back and forth between them with his own, John silenced him again, this time with a tender kiss that left no doubt about his intentions.
“So, a kiss from a friend to another friend is what it’s called now,” John smirked, “actually, true friends are the best lovers, so everything’s alright on that part.” He held Rodney a bit away from himself by both arms, letting the other man see his face and the deep, honest emotion written there.
“But now, I still want to know what you meant by Cadman and that ‘Moonlight Serenade’ earlier.”
“Ah, of course! How could I think you knew any artistically valuable music? It’s the 'Moonlight Sonata' by Beethoven, not the 'Moonlight Serenade' by Glen Miller. But, whatever—” Rodney sighed, suddenly looking dejected and sad again.
“Rodney, hey, you can tell me. I want to know—I want to understand what makes you feel so bad. And if Cadman had anything to do with this, I promise you, she will regret it when I put her on night shift in the farthest parts of the city.”
“Ah, Major, you don’t have to save me from Cadman. I have my own ways of punishment if I want to—honestly, it wasn’t exactly her fault. It’s just that she could have been less vocal about things she only knows about me because of her time, you know—” There were those circulating fingers again to make John understand without having to spell it out for him. Rodney still struggled with the aftermath of that dilemma.
“Please, don’t leave me out of it when it seems to cause you so much stress. How can the mere mention of this make you… react like this? You really worried me here, buddy. So, explain it to me, and let me help you.” John looked at Rodney almost pleadingly.
“Okay—” Rodney gave in, “ So, I told you about my piano lessons. And I didn’t exaggerate. I think that if I hadn’t had my music, maybe we wouldn’t be able to have this conversation. At that time, playing the piano was the only thing that did stand between me and—” Rodney hung his head and was just whispering now.
“Don’t let us go there, please. What’s past is past.” He was silent for a moment, but after a heartfelt sigh, he continued.
“The 'Moonlight Sonata' was my favourite piano piece, and playing let me escape into another reality—into a world where I was able to immerse in the music—in the harmony of the melody and where flying with my fingers over the keys and the feelings of the piano under my hands, just made me feel alive.”
Hearing this genuine confession, John felt his heart tighten, and he couldn’t help himself, and once again, he took Rodney in his arms to make him feel safe, and wanted, and loved—maybe for the first time in his life.
Rodney melted into the embrace, burying his face in the hollow between John’s neck and shoulder, giving himself over to the blissful feeling.
They stood like this for a long time—just the two of them, under the night sky, the pier lit by the full moon.
It was John who, eventually, released the hug, a boyish smile on his face, and cupped Rodney’s cheek. “Don’t move! I’ll be right back.” With that, he crossed the pier in long strides, quietly talking into his mic, leaving his newfound lover behind with a questioning expression.
It didn’t take long for John to return, looking all the more conspiratorial. He stopped before Rodney and got him to stand up beside him, suddenly looking soft and affectionate. He offered Rodney his arm in a courtly gesture and raised his eyebrows in invitation.
When Rodney followed his lead, curious about what that would be for, he tapped twice on his mic, then focused on Rodney and asked, “Would you do me the honour?”
With that, the music sounded from the speakers around them, wrapping them in a soft tune, and the initial confusion on Rodney’s face gave way to a knowing look when he recognised the swinging melody.
“Ah, how romantic, Major. I wouldn’t have thought of you as a—”
“How romantic, John,” John interrupted him and turned him around into the dancing posture. “Let me give you my ‘moonlight’ place to escape to—together, with me.”
“Okay—John—someone seemed to have owed you a big favour.”
In response, John just pulled him close and silenced him with a gentle kiss.
Then they started to move to the well-known orchestra sounds of saxophones and clarinets. Closely embraced, they danced in perfect unison under the blessing of the moon and the stars.