Abstract Objects

by WesleysGirl



It's been four years since the last time John saw Rodney.

He's at the airport now, where he's been for the past two hours because of course, of course Rodney's plane is late. They've been on the phone off and on for a day and a half, stopping once when John had fallen asleep with the phone still pressed to his ear -- he'd woken up with drool at the edge of his mouth and the phone hot against his jaw and said, like a reflex, "Rodney?" And Rodney had made a startled sound and said, "Oh, thank God. You know, I'd forgotten that you snore." "Why didn't you hang up?" "I don't know. It seemed rude," Rodney'd said, and John had laughed. Priceless, the thought of Rodney worrying about being rude.

Later, when Rodney had been driving to the airport, John's phone had suddenly cut out. It shouldn't have been a surprise, considering they'd been talking for hours, but it was. John had gotten it plugged in with shaking fingers and waited anxiously for it to turn back on, then dialed Rodney's number. Rodney answered the phone with, "What the hell happened?" "Battery," John said. "Well, I suppose after Atlantis running out of power is a problem that's going to follow us the rest of our lives," Rodney said, grumpy, and John smiled and hitched himself up onto the counter.

He's pacing near where the passengers from Rodney's flight are supposed to show up. The plane's been on the ground for fifteen minutes, for Christ's sake. John's palms are sweaty and he wants to dial Rodney's number again, to hear his voice even if he can't see him, but then people start appearing, holding carry-on bags and laptop bags and jackets draped over their arms, and then he sees Rodney and his hand goes up like a shot, automatic.

Rodney looks tired, but his eyes are bright and his hairline only a little more receded than it was the last time John saw him. He has a bag over his shoulder and his hands are empty.

And then he's standing in front of John, hands full of John's jacket and shirt, and his mouth is on John's.

Rodney's lips are warm. John doesn't care that they're standing in the middle of the airport kissing, and he doesn't care when Rodney's bag slips down and bangs him in the knee. He doesn't even complain that Rodney is standing on his right foot. He just slides a hand around to the back of Rodney's neck and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him, and discovers that the past four years have been no time at all.


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