Church on Sunday by AndromedaMarine

Explosion, bleeding, death, shrapnel, organic something, mess hall. Rodney's head was spinning. What had blown up? But wait – WHO was dead? WAIT. STOP. REWIND. It was Sunday. The day off. So why the hell was Rodney's head spinning? He should be relaxing in his quarters or spending time with Katie. Oh, that's right. He had promised to go fishing with Carson. But rewind again – he had blown Carson off to stay with Katie. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Rodney was now slamming his head against the metal wall of the laboratory.

It took a muscular John Sheppard, Radek Zelenka and one Evan Lorne to pull him away from the wall and into a swivel chair. The three men who'd stopped Rodney from ruining the smartest brain in three galaxies were sporting teary eyes and very, very sad expressions. John's shoulders were even slumped. Rodney McKay remembered what had happened – and he didn't want to. The distraught scientist leapt out of the swivel chair and blearily pushed past his three friends and into the hallway. It was eerily quiet and that scared the hell out of him.

Before John, Radek or Evan could retrieve the blurry-eyed scientist from the hallway Rodney sprinted away and stopped when he was out of breath. He didn't know where he was. Frankly, he didn't care. A door to the left hissed open and Rodney (maybe on instinct) hurried inside and sat against the wall of the supply closet. The door hissed shut, leaving the grieving man in complete darkness. He finally processed what had happened and began to cry. His head dropped into his arms and he started heaving out the tears. It had been twelve years since Rodney McKay had had a good, long cry. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why didn't he just go on that damned fishing trip?

Rodney didn't know how long he sat there. Three or four times he had actually drifted to sleep, but the annoying crackle in his ear jolted him awake. Suddenly, the door hissed open and light flooded in, making Rodney's eyes snap shut and he curled into a ball, his back facing the door and whoever was intruding on his misery. "Rodney," a soft, caring and gentle voice said. "Rodney, are you all right?"

"Stupid question," he mumbled back, although he welcomed the presence of Elizabeth. "Of course I'm not all right."

Elizabeth stepped into the roomy supply closet and sat across from him. The door hissed shut, enclosing them in darkness again. "Rodney, I feel it too."

Although he couldn't see her, he faced her. "Did you know him like I did? Did you spend your time off in his infirmary, annoying the bloody hell out of him and just waiting for him to throw you out with a smile on his face? Did you?"

Elizabeth was shocked, even more so by Rodney's vocalization of his pain. "No," she admitted. "But I knew him well enough."

"Like hell you did," he shot back, curling into a tighter ball.

"I'm not leaving," Elizabeth stated, although it was obvious. "No one should face this kind of thing alone. Ever."

"You're supposed to say that," Rodney mumbled again, "you're a diplomat."

Elizabeth frowned. "Diplomacy has nothing to do with it. You needn't be strong here, Rodney. Everyone needs a shoulder to cry on. I'm waiting for you to accept mine." She shifted so she was next to the head of science. Up until now she had been holding the tears in, waiting until it was time. She wrapped her arms around the scientist's surprisingly small form and rested her head on his.

He shuddered, accepting Elizabeth's shoulder, and they cried together, mourning and grieving the loss of Carson Beckett.