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Carson’s never been a fan of the jumper bay. Or at least, he’s fairly sure he’s never been a fan. He catches himself, sometimes, trying to find the difference between his memories and reality. Even if everyone insists they’re the same thing, he can’t help but look for the differences.
The jumper bay isn’t a terrible place in itself, but it carries with it the notion of off-world missions or high-stress flights and too much responsibility—and Carson’s really just not a fan.
Today, however, it’s just routine. Rodney’s doing jumper maintenance and presumably injured himself. It’s probably just a broken nail, judging by the string of curses emanating from the hatch of Jumper 3.
“What’s my favorite patient done now,” Carson asks, trotting up the ramp.
Rodney’s elbows-deep in crystals, but appears well enough. “Good,” Rodney says, sounding clipped and satisfied and not at all injured. “You made it.”
“Glad you could join us, Doc.”
The call to the infirmary hadn’t included the fact that John was also at the scene, but it’s never surprising to find him nearby where Rodney’s concerned. However, the fact that he’s out of uniform in the pilot’s seat of the jumper is more than a little unusual.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Carson says. He’s not sure which one of the three of them is responsible for the hatch of the jumper closing behind him, but he’s sure privacy is paramount at this point. He drops his medkit on a bench. “I take it there’s no need for this?”
Rodney eyes the kit and shrugs. “You never know when it comes to Colonel Death Wish over there.”
John rolls his eyes and turns to the flight console. “We packed your bag for you. Hope you don’t mind,” he says, his hands flying over the controls with a grace Carson’s sure he could never achieve. Even after years of practice, the jumpers still feel foreign to him.
“Where are we going?” Carson asks, because there are three duffels and Rodney’s overstuffed field pack lined up against the hull, looking for all the world like luggage ready for holiday. The problem is, Carson doesn’t really exist anymore, not according to Earth. “I’m not allowed off base.”
“Well, then,” John says casually, “I hope you’re ready to be kidnapped.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Rodney snaps before John’s words really sink in. He sighs and shoves the crystal bank closed, turning his attention to Carson in full. “You’re just here to check out my shoulder. I must’ve pulled a muscle during pre-flight.”
There’s definitely something off. Beyond the clothes and the bags, there’s a general air of tension in the jumper. Carson trusts John and he trusts Rodney, but he also trusts that the two of them know exactly how to get into trouble when they put their heads together.
“What are you two up to?” Carson asks, running his palm over Rodney’s shoulder, which seems in perfect working order. Can’t hurt to check.
“We’re not up to anything,” Rodney says at the same moment John’s saying, “We’re just heading to the city to pick up Major Lorne.”
Rodney glares at John, pulling away from Carson and marching up to take the co-pilot’s seat. “If we get caught, it’s your fault.”
John tilts his head towards Rodney, but keeps his focus on the jumper. It’s something Carson’s not used to yet—the way the two of them fit together like that so easily. He’s used to the bickering and pigtail-pulling—or some other version of him had been used to it—but the way John and Rodney move together like they’re somehow physically one unit is new. Or it’s new to him. No one else seems to notice—one of those things Carson missed in the long years of his captivity.
“We’re not going to get caught because we’re not doing anything wrong.” Which means, most likely, that they’re doing something dubious at best.
“Of course,” Rodney says, practiced. They’ve had this conversation before. “Right. You’re just taking one of the shuttle flights for yourself. Nothing special. I know.”
John throws a little smirk back to Carson, a short break in focus before he turns back to the console. There’s something new about that, too. Something that has butterflies dancing in Carson's stomach—something about the way John’s eyes go soft when he looks at Carson, the genuine tilt to his smile. “Exactly,” John says, matter of fact. “Just be cool, McKay.”
“Not exactly my strong suit,” Rodney says defensively.
“You can be cool,” John says and Carson can’t help but smile at the way the comment has Rodney sitting up a little straighter, like John’s words contain some sort of magic. “The coolest.”
There’s a ping on the HUD and John waves a hand at Carson and Rodney for silence as he turns the comm on, the gate tech confirming their flight and opening the jumper bay doors.
“Seems very official,” Carson says when the jumper is finally in the air and the comm closed. “For a kidnapping, that is.”
John gives him another little smile and Rodney throws his hands up in the air. “We’re not kidnapping you! We’re just Lorne’s shuttle ride back from his vacation.”
Carson slides into the seat behind Rodney, bracing his hand on the back of Rodney’s chair just to feel his warmth. “And it was vital that you have me and a week’s worth of luggage on board for your little excursion to the city—where I’m not allowed.”
“Knew you’d get it,” John says, pivoting his seat towards them with one heel on the floor. “Besides, it’s definitely McKay’s fault if we get caught.”
“Excuse me,” Rodney squawks.
John shrugs, Rodney’s glare rolling off him like so much water. “You’re the one who bought the tickets.”
Rodney scoffs. “You think I used my own log-in to do that?”
“I think you used our passports.”
Carson’s focus fractures, John and Rodney’s argument about validity and stolen jumpers and credit cards mostly lost to him because there are tickets and passports, things Carson hasn’t let himself think about since they revived him from the stasis pod over a year ago.
“What did you two do?” he finds himself saying, the world slowly coming into focus around him.
The jumper is circling a building now, presumably the Homeworld Security office in the city. There are two landing pads on the roof, a helicopter resting in one, the other clearly their destination.
John doesn’t say anything, turns his attention back to the jumper instead. It’s Rodney who reaches into his jacket and pulls out a slightly crumpled envelope, handing it over to Carson like it’s a treasure.
“We’ve booked a hotel in the city for a few days,” John says before Carson gets up the courage to open the envelope.
“But we also thought you might want to—well,” Rodney frowns, his whole face twisting up as he looks for the words. “We know the SGC isn’t helping and family is—she’s important to you.”
John’s still studiously looking out the viewscreen. “We don’t want you to have any regrets.”
Carson stares at the contents of the envelope. Three tickets—tickets that will take him home. It feels like a different lifetime, sitting at his mother’s table. Maybe it was a different lifetime. He’s convinced himself of that over the past year, convinced himself that she doesn’t belong to him, nor he to her.
“We don’t have to go,” Rodney says quickly, making an aborted motion to take the tickets back before he swivels his seat to face the console again. “Lorne will take the jumper back either way—and the hotel room here has a jacuzzi big enough for the three of us.”
Carson’s still fuzzy on the details of how they got here. There was a time, back when he was someone else, when he and Rodney had spent hours whispering about a future like this into each other's skin, one with the two of them and John and the universe at their fingertips.
“Thank you,” he says, although the words don’t sound like nearly enough.
There are a thousand ways Carson doesn’t fit into the world around him, a thousand ways he feels like he’s borrowing someone else’s life. But here in a nearly stolen jumper with John and Rodney, there’s no question that he belongs.
With the two of them, there never has been.