SGA fic: Take Out, McShep, For All Audiences
Title: Take Out
Author: Beadattitude
Pairing: McShep
Rating: For All Audiences
Spoilers: None
Author’s Note: Written from a prompt megahann. by This story keeps trying to tell me that it’s part of a bigger story. What that story is and why? I don’t know. But here you go.
Unbeta'd
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They hadn't timed the call right. ("Because you keep trying to break the sound barrier in a pickup truck," Rodney griped.) And it was Friday night and there was a good layer of snow up at the ski runs - or had been when they left, and more snow on the way - so their food wasn't even near ready when they showed up at China Gourmet.
Rodney, who had stomped in to collect their food, phoned John from inside the restaurant, "I have a table in the waiting area and I'm not getting up. Get in here before some cretin tries to talk to me." As he hung up, John could already hear Rodney bellow at someone that "Yes, that seat is taken: go away before I kill you with my brain."
Who said chivalry was dead?
The place was packed and Rodney was hunched over a tiny, ornate table fixated on something. Frowning, John wove through the crowd of wailing children, college students and happy, windburned skiiers to make it to his side. Rodney, very determined not to make eye contact with anyone, was in the process of ripping up a pilfered advertising placemat into squares. John hovered briefly as he tried to figure out a way not to sit with his back to the door without admitting what he wanted.
"You're in my light," Rodney said by way of greeting.
John scratched the back of his head. "Little crowded tonight," he mused, wondering why on earth Rodney hadn't just come back to the car. It was a nightmare in here. He sat down stiffly.
"Hm," Rodney said vaguely, creasing another side of the paper with the kind of focus he normally reserved for wormhole physics. John got his answer indirectly when Ji Shen set a tall milky glass of bubble tea next to Rodney. Very very large, very black tapioca pearls undulated softy in the bottom of the glass, making John feel slightly queasy. Tapioca was not supposed to be that color. Or that big. It looked….he decided not to think about what it looked like.
“I can’t believe you ordered that,” he scoffed, talking to the blushing crown of Rodney’s head.
“And for you, Colonel,” Ji Shen interrupted, placing a frosted metal cup in front of him. “Life is short, yes? Your order will be up soon.”
“Just because you have a sweet tooth, McKay, doesn’t mean that I…”
Rodney looked up and glared fondly at him. “Did you even take a look to see what it was? Or are you still feeling weird about having your back to all those people?”
John glared, not wanting to admit to either, then looked down at his dessert dish. It was ginger ice cream, John’s favorite, homemade and it flew off the menu so fast they’d taken to ordering it with their entrees so they’d reserve a couple of scoops. There was no way the soft, rich stuff would make it home without turning into a puddle, even in this weather. It was just too long a drive. “Oh.” John deflated and shot Rodney a grateful look.
Rodney smiled as he took a long pull on his bubble tea straw. John decided to watch the way his eyes sparkled as his cheeks hollowed with the force of his drinking, instead of the fact that it looked like Rodney was sucking up black tapioca eyeballs. (Such a creepy drink.)
“You might want to eat that spoonful before it drips all over your shirt,” Rodney pointed out smugly.
John ate it as lasciviously as possible, licking the spoon clean enough to, well, eat off. Rodney blinked a few times, snorted and returned to his folding. His foot just happened to wander over between John’s and hook itself around John’s ankle, pressing their calves together.
John slowly pressed back, smiling secretly as he savored his ice cream. He couldn’t quite figure out what Rodney was making. It wasn’t his usual crane, or the frog he sometimes made, both without needing much thought; just something to do with his hands while he worked on a problem.
Last time they were in Toronto visiting the Millers, Rodney had turned out a whole origami menagerie for Madison. It had been awesome to watch their heads bent close together, whispering, clever, long fingers folding bright squares of paper. Maddie picked it up pretty quickly and Rodney started grumbling about having to look up more advanced patterns to charm her. Obviously, tonight he was practicing some new moves.
Muttering dire threats to his ripped-up placemat, Rodney worked too fast for John to follow, fingers flashing and folding and twisting. John frowned, wondering at his haste, until he realized Rodney had given himself a timeline and was trying to beat their order.
Glancing over his shoulder, he looked toward the kitchen. Ji Shen was holding big bag of food, leaning over to hear something his petite mother (and boss) was saying. He allowed himself to make a quick scan of the crowd, snorted at the lingering feeling that Earth was one long, undercover gate mission, and forced himself to relax, dammit.
He wasn’t an idiot. John knew that he’d been tense and quiet all the way back from Cheyenne Mountain and that Rodney was trying to help without bring up any of the things that were bothering them both. It was really very subtle, for Rodney.
When John turned around, there was a paper x-wing fighter right in the middle of the table. Rodney was looking at him in the smug and hopeful shy way that always made John want to kiss him.
He grinned helplessly, “Cool!”
Rodney rolled his eyes, pleased, and pressed his leg against John’s. Flicking his gaze over John’s shoulder, he sat up straighter in his seat and smiled. John turned to see the restaurant owner emerging from the crowd, nearly dwarfed by an enormous take out bag.
“You go home now,” Mama Ji ordered, marching up to the table and plunking their order down. “Before this gets cold. I need this table for paying customers.”
“But,” Rodney said, bewildered, just as John was saying warningly, “Mama Ji….”
“Peaky!” she barked, over-riding both of them. “Colonel looks peaky! Always too thin! I put some of my soup in, yes? Prevents cold. And yes, I put in some of those little dumplings you like, and the fried wonton strips though Dr. Rodney should not eat fried food. I have special vegetable pot for you as well, Dr. ‘What High Blood Pressure?’ You eat all, you hear? Will be better for lunch. Let the flavors mix, infusion get stronger.” She patted the bag. “Should be enough food to last through storm tomorrow if you not greedy.” She poked Rodney meaningfully.
John dug his wallet out of his back pocket. “Mama Ji,” he ventured, turning on the charm.
“Peaky!” she barked again, shoving his hand down, pushing at his shoulder and picking up the x-wing between two fingers. “Take your toy and Dr. Rodney home. I don’t want your money.” She gestured to her crowded restaurant. “Do not need business from peaky fly-boys and crazy theoretical doctors.” She dropped the origami spaceship into John’s palm.
"Hey!" Rodney said in his own defense. "Actual doctor. Several times over."
Mama Ji folded her hands over her stomach and regarded them like a benevolent, must-be-obeyed tyrant. Rodney's prickles retracted meekly. “But Mama Ji,” he said in a small voice.
“You welcome,” she said and smiled beautifully at them, which was disarming enough to let her make her escape through the crowd of customers, all of whom were looking at John and Rodney in a way that reminded John of the cannibals on PX8-349.
John rose and looked at Rodney, who seemed just as blindsided by the whirlwind of Mama Ji as he was. “You get the food,” he said, cuddling his gift close. “I’m peaky.”
Rodney snorted and stomped down on the smile that was trying to break out, but he grabbed the bag and put his wide shoulders to good use muscling through the crowd. John followed quickly, looking forward to crowding Rodney up against the side of the pickup to thank him for all sorts of things, not the least of which was the suggestion that Chinese comfort food was in order and an origami x-wing.
~*~**~*~*~*~*~
Author: Beadattitude
Pairing: McShep
Rating: For All Audiences
Spoilers: None
Author’s Note: Written from a prompt megahann. by This story keeps trying to tell me that it’s part of a bigger story. What that story is and why? I don’t know. But here you go.
Unbeta'd
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They hadn't timed the call right. ("Because you keep trying to break the sound barrier in a pickup truck," Rodney griped.) And it was Friday night and there was a good layer of snow up at the ski runs - or had been when they left, and more snow on the way - so their food wasn't even near ready when they showed up at China Gourmet.
Rodney, who had stomped in to collect their food, phoned John from inside the restaurant, "I have a table in the waiting area and I'm not getting up. Get in here before some cretin tries to talk to me." As he hung up, John could already hear Rodney bellow at someone that "Yes, that seat is taken: go away before I kill you with my brain."
Who said chivalry was dead?
The place was packed and Rodney was hunched over a tiny, ornate table fixated on something. Frowning, John wove through the crowd of wailing children, college students and happy, windburned skiiers to make it to his side. Rodney, very determined not to make eye contact with anyone, was in the process of ripping up a pilfered advertising placemat into squares. John hovered briefly as he tried to figure out a way not to sit with his back to the door without admitting what he wanted.
"You're in my light," Rodney said by way of greeting.
John scratched the back of his head. "Little crowded tonight," he mused, wondering why on earth Rodney hadn't just come back to the car. It was a nightmare in here. He sat down stiffly.
"Hm," Rodney said vaguely, creasing another side of the paper with the kind of focus he normally reserved for wormhole physics. John got his answer indirectly when Ji Shen set a tall milky glass of bubble tea next to Rodney. Very very large, very black tapioca pearls undulated softy in the bottom of the glass, making John feel slightly queasy. Tapioca was not supposed to be that color. Or that big. It looked….he decided not to think about what it looked like.
“I can’t believe you ordered that,” he scoffed, talking to the blushing crown of Rodney’s head.
“And for you, Colonel,” Ji Shen interrupted, placing a frosted metal cup in front of him. “Life is short, yes? Your order will be up soon.”
“Just because you have a sweet tooth, McKay, doesn’t mean that I…”
Rodney looked up and glared fondly at him. “Did you even take a look to see what it was? Or are you still feeling weird about having your back to all those people?”
John glared, not wanting to admit to either, then looked down at his dessert dish. It was ginger ice cream, John’s favorite, homemade and it flew off the menu so fast they’d taken to ordering it with their entrees so they’d reserve a couple of scoops. There was no way the soft, rich stuff would make it home without turning into a puddle, even in this weather. It was just too long a drive. “Oh.” John deflated and shot Rodney a grateful look.
Rodney smiled as he took a long pull on his bubble tea straw. John decided to watch the way his eyes sparkled as his cheeks hollowed with the force of his drinking, instead of the fact that it looked like Rodney was sucking up black tapioca eyeballs. (Such a creepy drink.)
“You might want to eat that spoonful before it drips all over your shirt,” Rodney pointed out smugly.
John ate it as lasciviously as possible, licking the spoon clean enough to, well, eat off. Rodney blinked a few times, snorted and returned to his folding. His foot just happened to wander over between John’s and hook itself around John’s ankle, pressing their calves together.
John slowly pressed back, smiling secretly as he savored his ice cream. He couldn’t quite figure out what Rodney was making. It wasn’t his usual crane, or the frog he sometimes made, both without needing much thought; just something to do with his hands while he worked on a problem.
Last time they were in Toronto visiting the Millers, Rodney had turned out a whole origami menagerie for Madison. It had been awesome to watch their heads bent close together, whispering, clever, long fingers folding bright squares of paper. Maddie picked it up pretty quickly and Rodney started grumbling about having to look up more advanced patterns to charm her. Obviously, tonight he was practicing some new moves.
Muttering dire threats to his ripped-up placemat, Rodney worked too fast for John to follow, fingers flashing and folding and twisting. John frowned, wondering at his haste, until he realized Rodney had given himself a timeline and was trying to beat their order.
Glancing over his shoulder, he looked toward the kitchen. Ji Shen was holding big bag of food, leaning over to hear something his petite mother (and boss) was saying. He allowed himself to make a quick scan of the crowd, snorted at the lingering feeling that Earth was one long, undercover gate mission, and forced himself to relax, dammit.
He wasn’t an idiot. John knew that he’d been tense and quiet all the way back from Cheyenne Mountain and that Rodney was trying to help without bring up any of the things that were bothering them both. It was really very subtle, for Rodney.
When John turned around, there was a paper x-wing fighter right in the middle of the table. Rodney was looking at him in the smug and hopeful shy way that always made John want to kiss him.
He grinned helplessly, “Cool!”
Rodney rolled his eyes, pleased, and pressed his leg against John’s. Flicking his gaze over John’s shoulder, he sat up straighter in his seat and smiled. John turned to see the restaurant owner emerging from the crowd, nearly dwarfed by an enormous take out bag.
“You go home now,” Mama Ji ordered, marching up to the table and plunking their order down. “Before this gets cold. I need this table for paying customers.”
“But,” Rodney said, bewildered, just as John was saying warningly, “Mama Ji….”
“Peaky!” she barked, over-riding both of them. “Colonel looks peaky! Always too thin! I put some of my soup in, yes? Prevents cold. And yes, I put in some of those little dumplings you like, and the fried wonton strips though Dr. Rodney should not eat fried food. I have special vegetable pot for you as well, Dr. ‘What High Blood Pressure?’ You eat all, you hear? Will be better for lunch. Let the flavors mix, infusion get stronger.” She patted the bag. “Should be enough food to last through storm tomorrow if you not greedy.” She poked Rodney meaningfully.
John dug his wallet out of his back pocket. “Mama Ji,” he ventured, turning on the charm.
“Peaky!” she barked again, shoving his hand down, pushing at his shoulder and picking up the x-wing between two fingers. “Take your toy and Dr. Rodney home. I don’t want your money.” She gestured to her crowded restaurant. “Do not need business from peaky fly-boys and crazy theoretical doctors.” She dropped the origami spaceship into John’s palm.
"Hey!" Rodney said in his own defense. "Actual doctor. Several times over."
Mama Ji folded her hands over her stomach and regarded them like a benevolent, must-be-obeyed tyrant. Rodney's prickles retracted meekly. “But Mama Ji,” he said in a small voice.
“You welcome,” she said and smiled beautifully at them, which was disarming enough to let her make her escape through the crowd of customers, all of whom were looking at John and Rodney in a way that reminded John of the cannibals on PX8-349.
John rose and looked at Rodney, who seemed just as blindsided by the whirlwind of Mama Ji as he was. “You get the food,” he said, cuddling his gift close. “I’m peaky.”
Rodney snorted and stomped down on the smile that was trying to break out, but he grabbed the bag and put his wide shoulders to good use muscling through the crowd. John followed quickly, looking forward to crowding Rodney up against the side of the pickup to thank him for all sorts of things, not the least of which was the suggestion that Chinese comfort food was in order and an origami x-wing.
~*~**~*~*~*~*~