Safety by sheafrotherdon
~ 200 words; set right after the last scene in 4x20: The Last Man



He makes a list –

– (as physicists are wont to do).

Closed mouth kisses . . .

. . . determined (come back safe);

an affectionate, glancing brush of lips (g'morning);

pecks on the cheek (a masquerade; no innocence); soft, sweet, open-mouthed (. . . you . . . you); quick, eager, desperate (thank god); barest breath (I'm gonna . . .oh . . .); steadfast (promise); thoughtful (still here?); languid, clumsy, drifting (brain . . . it's – gone?); hesitant (couldn't save him . . .); needy (been too long); hands at his face, at his hips, in his hair (I missed you – can't say it, please, please); an exhale – warmth; he belongs. He belongs.

He decides: One more. I can hold on for that.

And he waits – in the dark, beneath rock, without bearing; he waits, makes lists, pits memory against pain. John, he thinks as he closes his eyes; John he thinks as his thoughts ebb away.

Kiss

– closed lips, feverish, dusty; rough hands and split nails; words – there are words where intuition used to –

"Rodney."

"M'here?"

A short burst of breath against his face; a ghost of laughter; a firm kiss that lingers. "I know you are, buddy. I got you. You're okay."

Rodney squints, risks a glance into the glare of lamps and flashlights. "Yeah."

(More than one)

"I got you."

(Safe)