It had been in Rodney's eyes the whole time he'd stood in the infirmary with Ford and Teyla. Or maybe it was always there and John just hadn't been conscious of it until now, with the blankets pulled up over him and the ache in his neck that seemed to go all the way down into the bone.

Rodney left with the others, and then Elizabeth did, and John was alone for a little while. The nurse came back with some food on a tray, and he tried to eat it -- he was starving, his stomach clenched into a knot as if it had been a lot longer between meals than it had been -- but he couldn't get more than a few bites past the lump in his throat. He was looking at the tray, trying to decide what to do with it, when Rodney's familiar hand closed around the edge of it, steadying it. 

"I see you got that nurse to bring you some food," Rodney said.

"Elizabeth did," John said, giving credit where it was probably due. "But I can't eat."

"No? Are you sure?" Rodney's eyes were dark and soft as he lifted the tray and set it on the empty bed behind him. He sat down on John's bed and reached tentative fingers to brush the uninjured side of his neck. "Are they giving you the good drugs?"

John nodded even though the truth was that they barely seemed to be helping. "I'm glad you came back," he said.

"I needed to make sure you were okay." Rodney's voice was quiet, his warm hand cupping the side of John's face, and John closed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath, leaning into the touch, needing more. 

Somehow, he was sitting up, and Rodney's arms were around him, holding him together. 

"It's okay," Rodney was saying soothingly. "You're okay. You're going to be fine." One big hand was cradling the back of John's head. Rodney had never seemed so strong and capable than in that moment, when John couldn't do anything but cling to him and soak up the reassurance. "You scared the shit out of me, you know that?"

John made a muffled sound against Rodney's shoulder that was supposed to be 'yes,' and Rodney's hand rubbed up and down along his spine. John wished he could say something, anything, but the ache went too deep. He breathed in, trying to forget the panic in Rodney's voice back on the puddle jumper, when they'd realized they were stuck in the gate. Trying to forget how Rodney's eyes had looked in those last seconds before Ford had zapped him with the defibrillator and everything had gone dark.

Rodney pulled back, hand sliding to the side of John's face again. "You should get some sleep," he said.

"Yeah, probably." He didn't want Rodney to go.

"I'll come back and see you in the morning." Rodney pressed an awkward and completely unexpected kiss to John's mouth, a kiss that John leaned into eagerly and which was over far too soon, and then stood up. "Oh," Rodney said. "I brought you this." He slipped a hand into his pocket and brought out a small, red-wrapped rectangle that John immediately recognized as a Kit Kat, flipping it into John's lap. Then Rodney leaned down until their faces were almost touching and said, very slowly and clearly, "Never do that to me again."

John swallowed painfully. "I won't," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Good." Looking almost cheerful, Rodney straightened up and left the infirmary, leaving John propped up in bed with a chocolate bar in his hand and what he was pretty sure was a dumbfounded expression on his face.