This is the full version of a comment written as part of the Anniversary ficlet tree celebrating one year of mcsheplets . One year! It seems like just yesterday I was posting a fic for the first challenge there. Please go over and add to the tree. Your responses are limited to what you can get into a comment, not just drabbles, so after reading go take a look. There are only a few entries so far and there's a week left to play.

Title: Beer on the Pier
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: G
Words: 1,200
Spoilers: Missing scene for The Shrine, so definitely for that episode. No warnings.
Legal:  So not mine, of course.
Summary: He looked away, out over the black water emblazoned with two silvery stripes that stretched their way toward the pier. He concentrated on that shimmering light as more images started to pour forth

Beer on the Pier

The air was just on the edge of chilly, not really cool enough for John's jacket, but Rodney had felt strangely secure from the moment he'd slipped it on, in the way his own body heat enlivened the scent of John and leather, sending it up in waves over him.

The beer was cold, though, and tasted good. He and John had done this before – a lot according to John – so why couldn't he remember? It was so easy sitting there with him, talking and drinking. Or they had been talking. They were quiet now and Rodney still had faculties enough to know that was somehow very much okay, that just the two of them being there together was the thing.

Along with his beer, he drank in the complete sensory experience of having John so close, minus his own freaking out, of course. John's unique profile was backlit by the lights of their city; his face and the beer can awash in the fractured light from the moons bouncing off the water.

He caught himself studying how John's lips pursed as he drank and suddenly something flashed in his brain, sending a shudder over his entire body. Call it déjà vu or whatever you like, but Rodney knew how those lips felt and a few more seconds' reflection told him he also knew how they tasted. Those first few steps led him down the single path to a memory: John's hand cupping his cheek, their lips pressed together, softly, slowly, then with more intent, with more…

He looked away, out over the black water emblazoned with two silvery stripes that stretched their way toward the pier. Concentrating on that shimmering light, more images started to pour forth – more kissing, and touching, hands beneath shirts, skin on skin, with John! Was it just his brain playing crazy tricks on him? Tormenting him? Or was it real? It felt real. Otherwise, how was it that he knew what followed in some of the memories? Why was his body reacting the way it was, the sweating… his pulse racing?

He lifted the beer first to his forehead then to his cheek. The cool sting of the barely-cold aluminum not really helping.

"You all right, buddy? You wanna go in?"

Rodney turned his head slowly. The look of concern in John's face started an aching in his chest. He nodded. "I'm okay. You know, for something I'm supposed to have done a lot of, I don't—why can't I—"

John's eyes seem to bore into him. "It's like everything else, it's there… it just doesn't come easy. You know what Keller said. Don't worry about it. We can go back in if you want."

"No, no, it's—nice." He smiled and John returned it, though it looked more like a grimace. "It's just—we've—I can remember being here... but we've done other things too."

John quickly looked away and took another long pull from his beer. When he didn't ask what things or offer any contradiction, Rodney knew he was right and… oh my God.

"We've kissed here. I mean you've—I've kissed you. We've made out sitting right here, haven't we?"

"Rodney—"

"But I remember it. I don't know how many times, but… I even remember how it felt, I think."

John turned to him, the distance in his eyes and that tight-lipped expression signaled a barrier going up and, oh God, Rodney did remember that look. Something in his heart clenched, knowing John would close off now. He'd ruined it. Rodney's face fell. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"There's no need to be sorry," John said. He pulled another beer from the six-pack and cracked it open. Rodney asked for another, too, and John opened it and handed it to him without looking at him.

The time it took to take that long, satisfying first drink gave Rodney a moment. He knew better. Everything was going so well, this was nice. John had refused to say good-bye, which meant he was still holding out some kind of hope for a miracle… which told him what kind of friend John was. More than a friend.

Yes, he knew better, but screw it, in two weeks he wouldn't even know John's name, wouldn't recognize him, or the others. If John wouldn't say good-bye, maybe he would at least—

"Would you, could we—now?" John's eyes closed briefly and Rodney watched him take another sip. "You know your silence is as good as a confession. We have been out here a lot, but it hasn't been just to drink and talk. John?"

He turned to Rodney again, new lines of sadness and confusion etched on his face. "No, Rodney. It wouldn't be... fair. I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you."

"Bullshit, I'm giving you permission. I still have a few of my faculties left and—"

"No."

"So you're refusing a dying man's—"

John looked away. "I said no, Rodney. End of discussion."

There it was. The wall fully raised now. Rodney could see it in the way John wasn't looking at him anymore, in the coolness of his words, where before his voice had been somewhere Rodney had only heard when… when they were alone, together.

He looked down at the water beneath them and thumbed drops of condensation from the sides of the can. He wanted to ask again, but stopped himself with a single thought. John wouldn't kiss him because…. Rodney was immediately thrust into a feeling of calm – a peace he hadn't known in days. For the first time, he saw the situation through John's eyes and he knew. He knew the reason for John's refusal. It was John who was afraid. Rodney knew he wouldn't, couldn't and he wondered momentarily when he'd lost his own yellow streak, because he himself wasn't afraid anymore.

"Wait. I know. You… you love me."

John's head snapped around. "Rodney," he said in that warning tone, the one Rodney knew signaled denial, and the one that, again, told Rodney he was right.

"Really? You love me?"

"Rodney, I—"

Just then, Rodney noticed John sitting closer – he didn't remember seeing him move, but he was definitely closer, their hands on the pier, almost touching. "Yes, you do. Oh my God, and I—I love you—too?"

Their eyes met and some of the pain seemed to dissolve from John's face, but still all Rodney got was an impotent grin, one where just the corner of John's mouth barely curled.  Then John's hand covered his. "I hope so, Rodney. I hope so."

He smiled back and it didn't matter anymore that John wouldn't kiss him. Rodney watched him stretch and lean back on the pier, his arm around behind Rodney in a move he probably used countless times as a teenager.

The warm and secure feeling was back. Maybe there'd be that miracle John was holding out for after all. Maybe. He leaned in closer; they were a whisper away from touching. Salt licked a breeze that came up off the water, swept over him and showered him with chills. Yes, this was nice, and for right now, it was all he needed.

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