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“-and God knows how I ever managed to fall for you in the first place- I mean, seriously, me? Want someone who talks to empty space as part of their job description? But I- well, it's not like this has ever been rational.”
Rodney let his hands drop to his lap and stared at them, John thought, a little disconsolately. The guy had to be almost out of his mind with this: Rodney had never been good at the irrational, and having what he had just called “a big gay epiphany “ with a spear at his throat earlier that day certainly qualified as irrational.
Why this spear, why this day- well, that was a question he'd have to leave sit. The timing sucked, of course, but it could have been worse.
Rodney brought his head up- he had what John called his “Global Thermonuclear Warfare face” on. “So, I was wondering, are you, do you....”
John fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, and very carefully didn't blink. “Yeah, Rodney.”
“Yes? Really” Rodney, miracle of miracles, was perfectly still.
“Yeah.” And John's nerve broke and he stared at one of the plaques on his wall. He felt strangely detached from the whole scene. “For a long time, now.”
“So we-” Rodney smiled and started to stand.
“No.” Rodney dropped down again, stunned. John hadn't meant the old officer-bark to creep into his voice; the trouble with having started as a regular officer was that his command tone sometimes showed up at the worst times. He let his voice soften. “No, Rodney, we can't.”
“But you said the decision was this week. You said it was a cinch. You've been practically bouncing for weeks, even your hair looks springier!” Righteous indignation, right on schedule.
“It hasn't happened yet, buddy. Let's not jump the gun, here.”
“So you want to wait four days? I, um, I guess.” He trailed off, clearly confused.
John had a reputation for planning ahead, since the academy. It got him through flight school, and discernment, and the nastier interviews along the line. But for once it had completely abandoned him. He had never seen this coming- Rodney had always been so comfortably straight.
“It isn't just that, Rodney.” He saw panic start to simmer on Rodney's face, and got as close as he ever had to regretting that day, months ago, when he had come out to Rodney- furiously, in response to one too many jabs at his profession and his superiors. He didn't regret Rodney knowing, but he would have preferred to tell him some other way.
“It's- look, if this had happened, if we had met eight years ago, I'd be-” he swallowed, hard, to keep his voice from breaking, “I'd be all over this. All over you.” And he tried to let a little humor into that, but it wasn't coming. “DADT is ridiculous and insulting, and I've been saying that publicly for years, and I'll go on saying it. And in certain circumstances- well, I sometimes don't have too much of a problem with lies of omission to the American government. You know that.”
“So it isn't O'Neill you're worried about.”
Damn straight. Or, well, that seemed inappropriate. John hadn't spent a lot of time with the General and Dr. Jackson, but somehow he really doubted this would be something O'Neill would take issue with. “No.”
“So, didn't you tell me they decided a couple years ago not to enforce this?”
“No, Rodney. They left it up to the bishops whether to enforce it. And my bishop's also a military chaplain, and there's no way in hell he won't enforce it.”
“Quarter for the Jesus jar.” Rodney said, it was instinct by now. Why the man thought John wasn't supposed to swear, he still didn't know. “So you'll know Friday? Or won't it make the databurst?”
“It should, they'll vote in the morning. But that isn't- it isn't just that.” Simul justus et peccator. Damn, almost, but he just couldn't stretch it that far. He went over to the wall and took down the plaque that held his letter of call, and stared at it a minute before going on.
“When I entered the military, well, sure, I felt called to serve. But really I went in because I wanted to fly- it was selfish, in the end. But the call to ministry- that wasn't exactly voluntary.” He'd been flat-out miserable for months, actually, until he'd found out he wasn't permanently grounded. “I would never have chosen to give up flying. But this was- is- bigger than me. The call is stronger than how much I love to fly, than anything.” He couldn't look at Rodney.
“When I went back to school, I said I'd live by certain rules, whether or not I agreed with them. Because that's what my church wanted from their pastors, and I was called to serve. And there are rules besides the ones about who I can and can't have sex with. Look.” He handed the plaque to Rodney, who skimmed through it and looked up, questioning. “Rodney, part of this, part of who I am, is to avoid the appearance of wrongdoing. And while I, personally, might not have a problem with it, or even if O'Neill doesn't- lying outright to my superior officers and my country is definitely wrong.”
Rodney's voice sounded hollow. “So when I asked you, that afternoon, why you'd chosen a church who didn't want you....”
He skipped their old arguments that the church did, demonstrably, want him and that the choice had been in the opposite direction, and went to the point. “It wouldn't have mattered. They have the same rule, for the same reasons. I have to wait for DADT's repeal.” He might have chosen the Lutherans for their emphasis on grace and forgiveness- which he'd badly needed, after Afghanistan- but he didn't go out looking for reasons to need it.
The silence stretched out a few moments. John began to fervently pray that somewhere along the line, Rodney had picked up some tact, or failing that, a little compassion for John's occasionally over-developed sense of duty. If he asked John to give up his call- not that he wasn't tempted. But he'd known the rules when he signed up.
“I see. I- thank you for your time, Chaplain. I should get back to the lab.” Rodney stood, and left.
**
John across from Elizabeth in her office, waiting for the databurst. It had only been a few days, but it felt like longer. As the only chaplain for the city, John couldn't really have friends, like most of the people there. He, Colonel Lorne, Elizabeth and the new shrink, Dr. Applegate, were in the same boat, for slightly different reasons. Rodney had been an exception to the rule for John- only someone that naturally open and that strong of an atheist could take ministry from a friend.
Rodney had been avoiding him pretty thoroughly, and the days already felt longer than usual. He hoped they could straighten this out.
“The databurst should be here any minute, John.” Elizabeth flashed what he knew she thought was a comforting smile, and he spared a moment's thought on the differences between their professions. He had to mean his smiles.
He nodded in return, and they waited in silence.