Dead Like Them: Ghost Story (Part One)
Dead Like Them: Ghost Story
John/Rodney
SGA/SG1/Dead Like Me crossover AU
NC17 for various reasons
"You're bleeding," Rodney said, unnecessarily, and he felt a little sick. Blood didn't faze him much these days, not with his job, but the blood wasn't usually John's.
Art by laytoncolt
Part One | Part Two
Despite the fact that Rodney hated DST with every fiber of his being, and despite the fact that Lee and Felger were quite possibly the most incompetent buffoons he'd ever met, he was beginning to find his rhythm again. After wading through the backlog of paperwork that had met him on his first day on the job, Rodney had insinuated himself into the midst of Lee's and Felger's latest project. It didn't hurt that Felger seemed to spend most of his time; head perched on his fist, staring off into space. Rodney had no problem letting the man daydream the day away--it simply meant he had free reign of the lab.
Lee seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time playing the poor, destitute scientist, begging for funding from this organization or that branch of the government in order to keep the lab afloat. Again, it just meant Rodney was free to do things as he saw fit, which brought back many a pleasant memory as he yelled at the peons, watching them scurry away with their proverbial tails between their legs.
Difficult though it was, he still managed to pull himself away from the lab to do his daily reap before hurrying back and burying himself in his projects once more. Every night he would trudge home to John's apartment, eyes half-closed as he aimed the key for the lock. Most nights John was there, waiting up with an affectionate smile that still made Rodney's heart beat faster no matter how many times he saw it.
John would ask how his day went, how his reap went, when he last ate and then begin to pull various things from the fridge or cupboards to throw something together for Rodney to eat before ushering him off to bed.
A couple of weeks before, John had surprised Rodney. He had a small room that had been serving as a storage space, one that Rodney had begun to take advantage of, storing his limited belongings inside. One night Rodney had arrived home from work, dead on his feet, and John had led him towards the room, opening the door and pushing Rodney inside, despite his protests, before switching on the light.
Rodney's eyes were wide, taking in his surroundings. John had cleared the room of its clutter, replacing it with a single bed, dresser, desk and a few other odds and ends that made the room feel homier. Turning, Rodney saw John's hesitant and hopeful look, waiting for Rodney's approval or disappointment.
When Rodney had asked why John had gone to so much trouble he'd simply shrugged, and with a self-deprecating smile said, "My back was getting sore from watching you sleep on the couch."
Feeling slightly overwhelmed Rodney had huffed that it wasn't as big as John's room but he supposed it would do. He could feel himself beginning to blush under John's amused scrutiny. Crossing his arms over his chest he tilted his head to the side, grinning crookedly. "Thank you."
John smiled brightly and said, "You're welcome."
Since that moment--and if he was being honest, even before that--Rodney had started thinking of John's apartment as home.
Pushing the door open, Rodney sighed. It had been a long day and he'd made a lot of progress at work, but he was glad to be home. He had to admit that before he died he'd spent the majority of his time at the lab, but now, now that he actually had someone to come home to--even if he wasn't technically coming home to John--he didn't mind leaving the lab at the end of the day. Yes, he still stayed longer than anyone else, but whereas when he was living he would be, more often than not, likely to sleep at the lab, he found himself shutting down his projects around ten every night, wondering if John was already home.
Rodney could hear John's muffled voice, tight in anger, coming from his bedroom. He couldn't hear what John was saying but his tone made it clear he wasn't happy. Rodney walked to his own room, throwing his stuff in the corner, peeled out of his work-clothes and changed into jogging pants and a t-shirt. Thales was curled up in the middle of Rodney’s bed and Rodney ran his hand gently through his soft fur, grinning when he began to purr even in sleep.
Hearing John's bedroom door open roughly, Rodney stepped out, seeing John's tensed back as he stormed into the kitchen. Following him, Rodney paused in the doorway, "Hey."
John turned, the scowl on his face quickly being replaced by his ever-present mask. He smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes, as he looked at Rodney. "Hey--how was your day?"
"I'm guessing better than yours," Rodney said, stepping into the kitchen. "What's going on?"
John shrugged, waving a hand dismissively before turning to the fridge. "Nothing."
"John--"
"It's nothing, Rodney." The tone was deceptively light, but Rodney could hear the underlying annoyance and unspoken 'back off'.
Rodney ignored it, pressing on, "Who was on the phone?"
Sighing loudly, John turned, eyes narrowed. "If I say it’s none of your business, will you--"
"Ignore you and continue to ask?" Rodney nodded. "Pretty much."
Rolling his eyes and fighting the smirk that wanted to escape John pulled two beers from the fridge. "It was a client."
Rodney frowned. "A client?" He took the offered beer and followed John to the living room, flopping onto the couch beside him. John flicked on the TV, the sound down low as he flipped through channel after channel not stopping long enough to see what was on any of them. "You told me you fly people on tours--"
"I do," John interrupted, taking a swig from his beer. "But during the off season I take on a few odd jobs--doing cargo runs or playing chauffeur."
"And this client--"
"Let's just say he'd prefer I only worked for him." John replied before swiftly changing the subject. "Are you hungry?"
Rodney doesn't take the bait, folding his arms over his chest and pinning John with a determined scowl. "There's more to it than you're telling me."
"Its fine, Rodney," John shook his head, a disarming smile on his face. "Don't worry about it."
"Funny thing is," Rodney started, "I can't not worry."
"Aw, I didn't know you cared." John grinned.
"Shut up--stop trying to distract me with your cocky smirk and insane hair." Rodney huffed in annoyance but there was a little truth to what he said--John was a big distraction; not one he's at all interested in ever getting rid of and one he'd most definitely like to do something about, but that's neither here nor there at the moment. "Tell me what's going on, John."
John glared at Rodney, hand gingerly touching his hair before sinking into the couch, his own arms folding over his chest and Rodney could swear he'd started to pout, but then he said, "He’s some rich asshole that's used to getting what he wants. He doesn't like the fact that I prefer flying the tours and has been hounding me with offers, each more extravagant than the next, in order to lure me away from my current job. Like I said--off season I take a few odd jobs here and there and I've been flying for him for a couple months now."
"Who is it?" Rodney's frowning now because this doesn't sound so much about work as it sounds personal.
John waved his hand as if to push away thoughts of his 'client', "His name is Kolya--he's rich enough to have a small army, but for the most part is harmless. He's more annoying than anything." John smiled falsely with a quirk of his eyebrow and Rodney could easily see the lie. "So--is the interrogation over?"
Rodney huffed, but nodded. "For now."
Rolling his eyes John asked again, "So--hungry?"
Rodney looked thoughtful for a moment before grinning crookedly at John. "You buying?"
John laughed, patting Rodney's leg before pushing himself up, off the couch to find the take-out menus.
___
Rodney woke up to the sound of John's voice in the other room, sounding angry again. It still threw him a little; before yesterday, he hadn't know John could get angry. He heard no one respond, so he figured John was either on the phone or having some kind of nervous breakdown. He crawled out of bed, and ran a hand over Thales' back as a good morning before wandering out into the living room.
"I don't give a fuck," John was yelling, and he was on the phone, which was good. Rodney couldn't deal with nervous breakdowns before his morning coffee. "I'm self-employed for a reason; I'm not going to be your errand boy."
John had some kind of sixth sense where Rodney was concerned, because he knew without looking that he'd entered the room and he instinctively lowered his voice.
"I can't do this now," he said quickly, and then bit his lip, and hung up the phone. He looked strangely distraught and vulnerable as he turned to place the phone back in its carriage, but he was smiling by the time he turned back around.
"Hey, Rodney," he said brightly. "Sleep well?" He was apparently going to use the old 'angry phone call? What angry phone call?' ploy again today. How utterly predictable.
John handed him a steaming mug of coffee and turned on the charm a bit higher, taking the wattage of his smile from pleasant to dazzling without any visible effort, and obviously trying to distract him. Rodney hated that it almost worked.
Sometimes Rodney thought John had some kind of internal switch. He could go from brooding and mysterious to Stepford wife in less time than it took Rodney to blink. It was actually more than a little disturbing, because as much as he loved John doing things for him, he always felt bizarrely guilty about it, like John was trying to make up for something he couldn't ever fix.
"Was that the Kolya asshole again?" Rodney asked.
John sighed and jumped up onto the counter. John always sought higher ground when he was feeling cornered. "No, it was my mother," he said.
Rodney sipped at the coffee, and managed to roll his eyes at the same time. "Why do you keep doing things for him if he's so awful? You've been looking like the walking dead for weeks now."
John smirked. "Apt," he said.
"Oh, shut up," Rodney snapped. "You know what I mean. Just drop him."
"He pays really well," John said and shrugged; then he flashed another grin. "I just want to be able to buy you nice things."
Rodney glared at him. It always threw him when John said things like that; he had a feeling it was just John's way of deflecting his attention, and honestly, it was true enough that the man would flirt with anything. He'd had Thales eating out of his hand within the first ten minutes. John was probably just having some harmless fun, but Rodney was dead, not celibate, and he never knew how to respond. One of his biggest regrets about dying was that he'd never learned to flirt while he was still alive.
"You make the best coffee," he said after a moment's hesitation. "What more could I ask for?"
John laughed, but it sounded a little forced, like he had to work at it. He reached across the counter and grabbed something, before pressing it into Rodney's palm. "For you," he said sweetly.
Rodney grimaced. "You shouldn't have," he said wryly, glaring at the post-it.
"I went out running this morning and ran into Jack, thought I'd save you the trip to O'Malley's today," he explained.
"You run?" Rodney asked, looking mortified. "What the hell for? We're dead."
"That's no excuse not to be healthy," John said, smiling at the irony of his own statement, but looking strangely sincere at the same time.
Rodney's mind was boggling. "We've lived together for weeks, I've never seen you run."
"I'm usually back before you're awake," John said wryly. "You're welcome to join me if you want. I would have asked earlier, but you didn't strike me as the morning jog type."
The thought of John sweaty and running was tempting, but not that tempting. "When hell freezes over, I might start running for fun," he said. "Until then I'll stick with sleeping in."
John laughed again and jumped off the counter. "I've gotta head out," he said. "Don't wait up. I'll probably be late."
Rodney pursed his lips shut to keep from saying something nagging like 'again' or 'that's the third time this week!’ "Whatever," he said, instead, but John wasn't fooled.
"You've got a late reap tonight anyway," John said, nodding towards Rodney's post-it, apparently intending for that to be some kind of comfort, when really it just made things worse.
"What are you doing today?" Rodney asked. He was going for casual, but even he could hear the worry in his voice.
"You worry too much," John said grinning. "You're dead, Rodney, live a little."
"That makes no sense!" Rodney shouted after him, but John just waved at him brightly, and then disappeared out the door.
-----
He went out his office window at quarter to five, because Felger kept messaging him these pathetic little comments about how he missed his former assistant Chloe, and he'd never known what he'd had until he'd lost her. He'd figured he either had to leave early or take Felger's soul without a post-it, and skipping out early seemed like less of a hassle.
It was actually kind of fun. He'd never skipped out on work before, because work used to be his fun. He bet John used to climb out windows all the time.
He spent the next two hours in the park, sitting alone on a swing and waiting for J. Harold to show up and die. Harold sat on the swings with him for awhile, after he'd walked by the construction site at the wrong time and got knocked in the face by one of the worker's errant shovel, smashing his nose up into his skull.
"So I'm dead?" he'd asked.
"Yeah," Rodney told him. Then, feeling obligated to give him some words of wisdom he said, "Go into the light, my friend, go into the light."
J. Harold's lights appeared flickering in front of them, shaping into the Eiffel Tower. "I never did get to see it," he said.
"You can see it now," Rodney told him, and then the lights and J. Harold disappeared, and he was alone again, swinging in time with the ambulance sirens coming closer from somewhere far away.
Being a Grim Reaper wasn't the worst job to have, Rodney decided. It wasn't so terribly depressing as it probably should be. Most of the time they weren't even sad.
It was being left behind that made people sad.
He knew he shouldn't, but he ended up outside of Atlantis Labs. The lights were still on, but that wasn't surprising. Atlantis Labs had better scientists than DST; it had the kind that never sleeps. He could see Radek's backlit silhouette at the third floor window, and Rodney wondered if Radek was sad.
He felt bad about it, but Rodney kind of wanted someone to be sad about him, and Radek was the only real friend he'd ever had in his life.
-----
Rodney trudged back home, fully intending to be alone and feeling sorry for himself for the rest of the night, or until John made it back from wherever the hell he was, but when he went to open the door, his palm came off the doorknob sticky with drying blood. He pushed inside quickly. "John?" he shouted, starting down the hall when he wasn't to be found in the kitchen or the living room.
He found him leaning over the bathroom sink; blood was swirling down the drain, and the water ran pink and then clear as the last of it disappeared. John's lip was split open and still bleeding, and he could already see the beginnings of a bruise spreading across his cheek. "Jesus," he whispered. "What happened? Are you okay?"
John pushed off of the sink, and it took visible effort for him to gain his balance and his composure, which alarmed Rodney more than anything. "I'm fine," John said, glancing up at him and then quickly away; not that it helped, Rodney had already seen the damage.
"You're bleeding," Rodney said, unnecessarily, and he felt a little sick. Blood didn't faze him much these days, not with his job, but the blood wasn't usually John's. He reached out instinctively, but paused with his hand mid-air, afraid to touch.
"It's nothing," John told him, reaching up and pushing Rodney's hand gently back down. He even tried to smile. It was a pathetic attempt; the right side of his face looked puffy and sore, and his lower lip had a line of bright red running through it. Rodney had never been really hurt before, not back when he'd been passing his days in an ivory tower, not before that one time where he died, and he winced just looking at him.
"You look awful," Rodney snapped. "I thought we were...you know, undead. I thought we couldn't be hurt."
John laughed, but that looked painful too. "No," he said. "We can be hurt like anyone, we just can't die twice."
"What happened?" Rodney asked again, and his voice was strangely calm now, but he realized kind of distantly that he'd never been this angry. He'd gladly take the soul of whoever had done this.
"Haven't you ever been in a fight before?" John asked him. His eyes were wide and kind of disbelieving, like coming home in one piece every night would be the real insanity.
"John," Rodney said. His voice was still strangely eerily calm, and oddly commanding.
John seemed to sense that Rodney wasn't in a mood to be fucked around with, and he glanced away again. "The job didn't go as planned," he said. "It's not a big deal, Rodney, this will all be gone by tomorrow. We can get hurt, but we heal fast."
Rodney wondered how many other times John had been hurt that he could predict how long it would take to heal. "Did that bastard Kolya do this?" Rodney asked.
John placed a finger against his split lip in distraction, pressing at it like he might be able to hold it closed. "I can take care of myself," he said.
"That isn't an answer," Rodney snapped.
"It's all you need to know," John told him, before pressing up against him to slip sideways out the door. The contact left Rodney a little dizzy and nauseous from the coppery scent of his blood, even though he knew he should really be used to it by now.
His hands got a little more covered in it every single day.
-----
The next morning, as John had predicted, his split lip was no longer visible. He could still see faint bruising across his cheek, a strange yellow-tinged glow, and he was favoring his left side. Rodney trapped John against the counter in irritation when he tried to act like it was just any other morning, and started pulling at his shirt.
"It's a little early to be getting frisky, don't you think?" John asked, and anyone else might think he sounded amused, but Rodney could hear the tension he was trying to hide.
Once he'd wrestled John's shirt high enough he could see why. There were three small holes beneath John's ribs on his side. "You idiot," Rodney shouted. "You were fucking shot and you didn't tell me?"
John shrugged with a self-depreciating smile. "It's that whole undead thing again. A 9 mm feels like a Beebe gun. It's not worth worrying over."
"I want you to stay away from this guy," Rodney told him vehemently, and he was still holding John at his hips, pressing him against the counter. He'd never pushed someone like this before; had never cared enough to.
"Kolya didn't do this," John said, though Rodney noted absently that John had never denied Koyla was responsible for his split lip. "He wouldn't. He wants me."
"That's what worries me," Rodney told him.
"Everything worries you," John said, going for glib, before effortlessly twisting out of his grip. "Be fearless, Rodney, there's no reason left not to be."
Rodney remembered the picture; John's easy grin in the Vietnam sun. He had a feeling John had always been fearless, and that being dead had nothing whatsoever to do with it. "You said we can still be hurt," Rodney said quietly. "That's reason enough for me."
He was pissed off at John for having so little regard for his own well-being, but tried to compose himself before he gave anything more away. It was just his luck that he'd finally found someone to care about and that someone didn't care about himself.
-----
Jack mostly let Rodney get away with not having a baby-sitter anymore, but today he must have noticed Rodney's mood and the way John had grabbed his post-it and hightailed it out of the restaurant as quick as he could manage, because he said just as Rodney was about leave, "Why don't you take Ronon with you?"
Ronon made some kind of protest through the piece of toast he'd just shoved in his mouth, but Jack just flashed him a grin. Jack grinned a little the way John did, in that it never meant what it seemed to. "You'd love to? Great. Have fun then, kids. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Daniel snorted. "And that rules out what, exactly?"
Jack glanced at him. "I don't like knitting. I wouldn't knit," he said.
Daniel rolled his eyes and slouched further in the booth. Rodney, used to these kinds of things by now, just turned on his heel and started out the door. Ronon joined him a moment later, stuffing the rest of his toast into his pockets for reasons known only to him.
They were silent for awhile. Ronon was kind of like that, couldn't be bothered to talk unless you got him started. And getting him started was rarely a good idea, but Rodney was on edge already, and the silence got to him quickly. "You've known John awhile, right?" he asked.
"Going on forty years," Ronon said nonchalantly.
"Right," Rodney said, a little startled, because sometimes he forgot that these people died before he was born. "Is he...I mean, does he get hurt a lot?"
"What's a lot?" Ronon asked, pulling out a piece of bread crust from his pocket to chew on.
"You need me to define 'a lot'?" Rodney snapped. "A lot is a lot."
Ronon shrugs. "He gets hurt sometimes. Not usually too badly. He can take care of himself."
"Yeah," Rodney said petulantly. "So he likes to claim."
Ronon threw him a mischievous grin, which Rodney was a little wary about. "You like him," he said, and then laughed. "Never gonna happen, McKay."
Rodney glared at him, stopping in his tracks and crossing his arms. "What's that supposed to mean? You think he's out of my league?" he snapped.
Ronon paused. "I know he is, but that's not what I'm talking about." Ronon tilted his head, watching him carefully. "It's just that you blew it. You waited too long to make a move. He thinks you're friends now. Roomies. Buddies."
"I get it," Rodney interrupted. "But we're guys. Guys don't work like that. We'll do anything for the possibility of sex."
"Whatever you say," Ronon told him, as he started off again. "John ain't that kind of guy, though. You think he has trouble getting laid? Even dead? Friendships are harder to come by."
Rodney caught up to him again, glaring all the while. "What are you trying to say? You think I'd have trouble getting laid?"
"That's not what I meant," Ronon said. "You're hot in that intellectual geeky way, if I were into guys, I'd fuck you."
Rodney was caught between being flattered and horrified. "Uh...thanks?"
"No problem," Ronon said. "Were you heading somewhere with this? Or can we be done talking now?"
"Oh, we're just getting started," Rodney snapped. "Have you ever heard of someone named Kolya?"
Ronon paused, and shot him a shifty glance. "Now where did you hear that name?"
"From John," Rodney said. "He's doing jobs for him, whatever the hell that means."
Ronon sighed. "Fuck," he said.
Rodney glared. "You know something. What do you know?"
"That Kolya is bad news," Ronon said, before shedding the worry like he'd never been concerned at all. "But John can--"
"Take care of himself," Rodney finished irritably. "Yeah, and I guess that's why he came home last night with his face smashed in and three bullet holes in his chest?"
Ronon's gaze darkened and he stiffened a little. "I'm sure he knows what he's doing," Ronon said.
"I'm not," Rodney said simply. "I think he's got issues. Big huge issues."
"It's hard to be dead and well-adjusted," Ronon said with a shrug.
Rodney admitted, if only to himself, that he made a good point. "If he's so damn good at taking care of himself," Rodney snapped, "why doesn't he just tell this Kolya to go fuck himself? Why does he keep working for him if he's going to get hurt?"
"Kolya is the type to cause trouble if he doesn't get what he wants, and John has a very strict code regarding the living," Ronon said. "He only touches them to take their soul, and does the jobs he needs to do to get by; otherwise, he's completely non-interference." Ronon moved his coat aside, and Rodney caught sight of a rather large gun strapped to his belt before the coat fell back into place. "I don't have any such code myself."
Ronon grabbed the next guy that walked across them by the front of his t-shirt, and pulled him into an ally. He pushed him up against the wall and placed the sharp edge of a knife blade against the terrified man's throat; Rodney hadn't even seen him reach for it. "Gimme your wallet," Ronon said, his voice was deep and threatening, and Rodney nearly scrambled to find his own.
The man quickly handed it to Ronon and Ronon took it, before pushing the man back towards the street.
Rodney blinked as the man went running off shouting for help, and Ronon grabbed him by the arm and started walking in the opposite direction. "Are you supposed to mug people?" Rodney asked incredulously.
Ronon shrugged, and flipped through the wallet, counting money. "Probably not," he said, before turning to Rodney, looking a little creepily pleased with himself. "Now, are you ready to go grab some souls?"
____
John sauntered into O’Malley’s; flopping into the seat beside Daniel and grinning widely at Jack’s bent head. Jack didn’t look up as he peeled of John’s post-it, handing it wordless to him before going back to whatever he’d been doing when John walked in. Daniel was frowning at John, biting his bottom lip and John rolled his eyes. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything,” Daniel answered with a wide-eyed innocent look.
John narrowed his own eyes. “You’re staring.”
“He’s probably staring at the remnants of the big ass bruise on your pretty little face,” Jack mumbled without looking up.
“It’s nothing,” John said quickly, grinning as Janet came over to take his order.
After she left Daniel took a sip of his coffee, turning in the booth; arm over the back of the seat to better see John. “It doesn’t look like nothing; it looks like someone used you for a punching bag.”
“This something I should be worried about?” Jack asked, finally looking up to pin John with an assessing look.
“I told you, it’s nothing-I can take care of myself.”
“Newbie’s worried about you,” Jack said, leaning back in his seat, tapping out an annoying rhythm on the table with his pen.
“I don’t need a lecture,” John snapped, suddenly not all that hungry anymore.
“Who’s lecturing?” Jack grinned charmingly. Turning to Daniel he asked, “Am I lecturing?”
Daniel shook his head, “No-I’ve been on the receiving end many times-this isn’t lecturing.” He smirked at Jack.
John rolled his eyes, used to Jack and Daniel by now. “I’m fine, guys-really.”
Jack nodded, shifting to lean his elbows on the table. “You’d tell me if you weren’t though, right?”
“Of course,” John replied, too quickly, and Jack scowled.
“You enjoy making my life miserable, don’t you?”
John threw Jack a cocky smirk. “It is, by far, my only joy in death.”
Jack snorted before stealing Daniel’s coffee, grimacing at the sweetness.
__
Rodney watched as Ronon’s reap disappeared into the cheesiest looking strip club he’d ever seen. “Huh,” he said. “I didn’t expect that.”
Ronon shrugged, turning away from where the lights had faded and started to walk away. With a final stunned blink Rodney followed. “How long before your reap?”
Rodney glanced at his post-it again, sighing. “Not for another four hours.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Ronon asked.
Rodney shrugged. “Didn’t feel like going in today. I called in sick.” The truth was, after dealing with-or rather trying to deal with-John and his god damned subterfuge, Rodney was fucking exhausted. “I’ll probably go home and sleep for a few hours.”
Glancing at Rodney from the corner of his eyes Ronon grunted, “I guess you can hang out with me today.”
“That’s-uh,” Rodney stuttered. “I’m kind of tired.” And the idea of spending the day with Ronon after he’d just mugged a man at knife point kind of terrified him.
Slinging an arm around Rodney’s shoulder, Ronon bared his teeth in another startling grin. “It’ll be fun.” Rodney swallowed audibly but let Ronon pull him along.
____
Jack grinned as a man with dark hair and bright blue eyes slid into the seat across from him. “Been a long time,” he said.
Nodding, Kowalski grinned. “That it has, Jack. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know, can’t complain.” Waving Janet over, he ordered another coffee, Kowalski doing the same. “Colorado beat New York last night so it’s all good,” he shrugged.
Huffing out a laugh, Kowalski took a drink of his coffee, sitting the cup back on the table carefully before looking Jack in the eye. “You sure about this, Jack?”
Jack nodded, sticking his finger into his coffee before removing it and shaking his hand, rubbing it on his pant leg and leaning on his elbows to stare at Kowalski. “Did you find it?”
“Not too sure you’re going to be happy with what you find…”
“Kowalski,” Jack snapped impatiently. “Yes or no?”
Kowalski paused for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling a folded piece of paper out, lying on the table, his hand covering it. “You’re the one that always told me you can’t go back.” He pushed the paper across the table towards Jack. Swallowing the last of his coffee, he threw a couple dollars on the table and stood with a sad smile. “As hard as it might be--not knowing, Jack,” Kowalski said quietly, “sometimes knowing is worse.”
Jack didn’t look up as Kowalski left, his eyes still on the folded white paper in front of him. His hands shook as he picked it up, mouth in a firm, thin line; eyes hardened from years of pain. Sucking in a deep breath, he unfolded the paper.
__
Daniel smiled brightly at his assistant, who had, much to Daniel’s chagrin, taken it upon herself to ‘put some meat on his bones’. She deposited another batch of cookies onto his desk with a motherly pat to his shoulder, tutting about how thin he was getting, how peaky-death warmed over she said. He needed rest, needed good home cooked meals and a nice wife to give him lots of beautiful little babies she said.
She was sixty five and had told Daniel on numerous occasions about her very single granddaughter. Daniel thanked her, accepting the cookies and carefully refusing the granddaughter before turning back to his work. Catherine left him alone, but not before telling him he needed to take his nose out of his books once in a while.
Laughing quietly to himself, Daniel snagged a cookie, glanced at the clock and returned to his reading. He still had time before he needed to do his reap.
__
Rodney flinched again as the bullet hit its mark, dead center. Ronon's smile was growing with each clip he emptied into the paper target and Rodney wondered why exactly he had let himself be dragged along to the firing range when all he really felt like doing was curling up with Thales on the couch and watching bad Sci-Fi...or maybe some bad porno. He didn’t really care at this point. He was getting a headache, even with the protective earphones and the longer he stood beside Ronon, shifting restlessly from foot to foot, the more his thoughts began to jumble together.
Then Ronon shoved a gun into his hand, pulling the earphones from his own head before removing Rodney’s. After a very quick lesson on what to do and what not to do, Ronon pushed Rodney into position in front of the firing window, a new, perfectly pristine paper target waiting for Rodney to begin shooting.
The first shot went wild, hitting the back wall and not even nicking the paper and Rodney growled to himself because honestly killing paper people was not his idea of fun. But just as he was about to tell Ronon he was leaving, that he didn't want to do this anymore, John’s bloodied and bruised face popped into his head and an imaginary vision of the people that did it to him suddenly is superimposed over the blank face of the paper target.
He still wasn't shooting very well but at least this time he was managing to hit the target and he had to admit that picturing the bastards that shot John in front of him as he emptied clip after clip, letting Ronon show him how to reload, he was starting to feel a little better. And if the thought that perhaps he’d get the chance to use his newly learned shooting skills on said bastards was in the back of his mind as he watched the paper explode on impact, well-he was actually okay with that.
On to Part 2
John/Rodney
SGA/SG1/Dead Like Me crossover AU
NC17 for various reasons
"You're bleeding," Rodney said, unnecessarily, and he felt a little sick. Blood didn't faze him much these days, not with his job, but the blood wasn't usually John's.
Art by laytoncolt
Part One | Part Two
Despite the fact that Rodney hated DST with every fiber of his being, and despite the fact that Lee and Felger were quite possibly the most incompetent buffoons he'd ever met, he was beginning to find his rhythm again. After wading through the backlog of paperwork that had met him on his first day on the job, Rodney had insinuated himself into the midst of Lee's and Felger's latest project. It didn't hurt that Felger seemed to spend most of his time; head perched on his fist, staring off into space. Rodney had no problem letting the man daydream the day away--it simply meant he had free reign of the lab.
Lee seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time playing the poor, destitute scientist, begging for funding from this organization or that branch of the government in order to keep the lab afloat. Again, it just meant Rodney was free to do things as he saw fit, which brought back many a pleasant memory as he yelled at the peons, watching them scurry away with their proverbial tails between their legs.
Difficult though it was, he still managed to pull himself away from the lab to do his daily reap before hurrying back and burying himself in his projects once more. Every night he would trudge home to John's apartment, eyes half-closed as he aimed the key for the lock. Most nights John was there, waiting up with an affectionate smile that still made Rodney's heart beat faster no matter how many times he saw it.
John would ask how his day went, how his reap went, when he last ate and then begin to pull various things from the fridge or cupboards to throw something together for Rodney to eat before ushering him off to bed.
A couple of weeks before, John had surprised Rodney. He had a small room that had been serving as a storage space, one that Rodney had begun to take advantage of, storing his limited belongings inside. One night Rodney had arrived home from work, dead on his feet, and John had led him towards the room, opening the door and pushing Rodney inside, despite his protests, before switching on the light.
Rodney's eyes were wide, taking in his surroundings. John had cleared the room of its clutter, replacing it with a single bed, dresser, desk and a few other odds and ends that made the room feel homier. Turning, Rodney saw John's hesitant and hopeful look, waiting for Rodney's approval or disappointment.
When Rodney had asked why John had gone to so much trouble he'd simply shrugged, and with a self-deprecating smile said, "My back was getting sore from watching you sleep on the couch."
Feeling slightly overwhelmed Rodney had huffed that it wasn't as big as John's room but he supposed it would do. He could feel himself beginning to blush under John's amused scrutiny. Crossing his arms over his chest he tilted his head to the side, grinning crookedly. "Thank you."
John smiled brightly and said, "You're welcome."
Since that moment--and if he was being honest, even before that--Rodney had started thinking of John's apartment as home.
Pushing the door open, Rodney sighed. It had been a long day and he'd made a lot of progress at work, but he was glad to be home. He had to admit that before he died he'd spent the majority of his time at the lab, but now, now that he actually had someone to come home to--even if he wasn't technically coming home to John--he didn't mind leaving the lab at the end of the day. Yes, he still stayed longer than anyone else, but whereas when he was living he would be, more often than not, likely to sleep at the lab, he found himself shutting down his projects around ten every night, wondering if John was already home.
Rodney could hear John's muffled voice, tight in anger, coming from his bedroom. He couldn't hear what John was saying but his tone made it clear he wasn't happy. Rodney walked to his own room, throwing his stuff in the corner, peeled out of his work-clothes and changed into jogging pants and a t-shirt. Thales was curled up in the middle of Rodney’s bed and Rodney ran his hand gently through his soft fur, grinning when he began to purr even in sleep.
Hearing John's bedroom door open roughly, Rodney stepped out, seeing John's tensed back as he stormed into the kitchen. Following him, Rodney paused in the doorway, "Hey."
John turned, the scowl on his face quickly being replaced by his ever-present mask. He smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes, as he looked at Rodney. "Hey--how was your day?"
"I'm guessing better than yours," Rodney said, stepping into the kitchen. "What's going on?"
John shrugged, waving a hand dismissively before turning to the fridge. "Nothing."
"John--"
"It's nothing, Rodney." The tone was deceptively light, but Rodney could hear the underlying annoyance and unspoken 'back off'.
Rodney ignored it, pressing on, "Who was on the phone?"
Sighing loudly, John turned, eyes narrowed. "If I say it’s none of your business, will you--"
"Ignore you and continue to ask?" Rodney nodded. "Pretty much."
Rolling his eyes and fighting the smirk that wanted to escape John pulled two beers from the fridge. "It was a client."
Rodney frowned. "A client?" He took the offered beer and followed John to the living room, flopping onto the couch beside him. John flicked on the TV, the sound down low as he flipped through channel after channel not stopping long enough to see what was on any of them. "You told me you fly people on tours--"
"I do," John interrupted, taking a swig from his beer. "But during the off season I take on a few odd jobs--doing cargo runs or playing chauffeur."
"And this client--"
"Let's just say he'd prefer I only worked for him." John replied before swiftly changing the subject. "Are you hungry?"
Rodney doesn't take the bait, folding his arms over his chest and pinning John with a determined scowl. "There's more to it than you're telling me."
"Its fine, Rodney," John shook his head, a disarming smile on his face. "Don't worry about it."
"Funny thing is," Rodney started, "I can't not worry."
"Aw, I didn't know you cared." John grinned.
"Shut up--stop trying to distract me with your cocky smirk and insane hair." Rodney huffed in annoyance but there was a little truth to what he said--John was a big distraction; not one he's at all interested in ever getting rid of and one he'd most definitely like to do something about, but that's neither here nor there at the moment. "Tell me what's going on, John."
John glared at Rodney, hand gingerly touching his hair before sinking into the couch, his own arms folding over his chest and Rodney could swear he'd started to pout, but then he said, "He’s some rich asshole that's used to getting what he wants. He doesn't like the fact that I prefer flying the tours and has been hounding me with offers, each more extravagant than the next, in order to lure me away from my current job. Like I said--off season I take a few odd jobs here and there and I've been flying for him for a couple months now."
"Who is it?" Rodney's frowning now because this doesn't sound so much about work as it sounds personal.
John waved his hand as if to push away thoughts of his 'client', "His name is Kolya--he's rich enough to have a small army, but for the most part is harmless. He's more annoying than anything." John smiled falsely with a quirk of his eyebrow and Rodney could easily see the lie. "So--is the interrogation over?"
Rodney huffed, but nodded. "For now."
Rolling his eyes John asked again, "So--hungry?"
Rodney looked thoughtful for a moment before grinning crookedly at John. "You buying?"
John laughed, patting Rodney's leg before pushing himself up, off the couch to find the take-out menus.
___
Rodney woke up to the sound of John's voice in the other room, sounding angry again. It still threw him a little; before yesterday, he hadn't know John could get angry. He heard no one respond, so he figured John was either on the phone or having some kind of nervous breakdown. He crawled out of bed, and ran a hand over Thales' back as a good morning before wandering out into the living room.
"I don't give a fuck," John was yelling, and he was on the phone, which was good. Rodney couldn't deal with nervous breakdowns before his morning coffee. "I'm self-employed for a reason; I'm not going to be your errand boy."
John had some kind of sixth sense where Rodney was concerned, because he knew without looking that he'd entered the room and he instinctively lowered his voice.
"I can't do this now," he said quickly, and then bit his lip, and hung up the phone. He looked strangely distraught and vulnerable as he turned to place the phone back in its carriage, but he was smiling by the time he turned back around.
"Hey, Rodney," he said brightly. "Sleep well?" He was apparently going to use the old 'angry phone call? What angry phone call?' ploy again today. How utterly predictable.
John handed him a steaming mug of coffee and turned on the charm a bit higher, taking the wattage of his smile from pleasant to dazzling without any visible effort, and obviously trying to distract him. Rodney hated that it almost worked.
Sometimes Rodney thought John had some kind of internal switch. He could go from brooding and mysterious to Stepford wife in less time than it took Rodney to blink. It was actually more than a little disturbing, because as much as he loved John doing things for him, he always felt bizarrely guilty about it, like John was trying to make up for something he couldn't ever fix.
"Was that the Kolya asshole again?" Rodney asked.
John sighed and jumped up onto the counter. John always sought higher ground when he was feeling cornered. "No, it was my mother," he said.
Rodney sipped at the coffee, and managed to roll his eyes at the same time. "Why do you keep doing things for him if he's so awful? You've been looking like the walking dead for weeks now."
John smirked. "Apt," he said.
"Oh, shut up," Rodney snapped. "You know what I mean. Just drop him."
"He pays really well," John said and shrugged; then he flashed another grin. "I just want to be able to buy you nice things."
Rodney glared at him. It always threw him when John said things like that; he had a feeling it was just John's way of deflecting his attention, and honestly, it was true enough that the man would flirt with anything. He'd had Thales eating out of his hand within the first ten minutes. John was probably just having some harmless fun, but Rodney was dead, not celibate, and he never knew how to respond. One of his biggest regrets about dying was that he'd never learned to flirt while he was still alive.
"You make the best coffee," he said after a moment's hesitation. "What more could I ask for?"
John laughed, but it sounded a little forced, like he had to work at it. He reached across the counter and grabbed something, before pressing it into Rodney's palm. "For you," he said sweetly.
Rodney grimaced. "You shouldn't have," he said wryly, glaring at the post-it.
"I went out running this morning and ran into Jack, thought I'd save you the trip to O'Malley's today," he explained.
"You run?" Rodney asked, looking mortified. "What the hell for? We're dead."
"That's no excuse not to be healthy," John said, smiling at the irony of his own statement, but looking strangely sincere at the same time.
Rodney's mind was boggling. "We've lived together for weeks, I've never seen you run."
"I'm usually back before you're awake," John said wryly. "You're welcome to join me if you want. I would have asked earlier, but you didn't strike me as the morning jog type."
The thought of John sweaty and running was tempting, but not that tempting. "When hell freezes over, I might start running for fun," he said. "Until then I'll stick with sleeping in."
John laughed again and jumped off the counter. "I've gotta head out," he said. "Don't wait up. I'll probably be late."
Rodney pursed his lips shut to keep from saying something nagging like 'again' or 'that's the third time this week!’ "Whatever," he said, instead, but John wasn't fooled.
"You've got a late reap tonight anyway," John said, nodding towards Rodney's post-it, apparently intending for that to be some kind of comfort, when really it just made things worse.
"What are you doing today?" Rodney asked. He was going for casual, but even he could hear the worry in his voice.
"You worry too much," John said grinning. "You're dead, Rodney, live a little."
"That makes no sense!" Rodney shouted after him, but John just waved at him brightly, and then disappeared out the door.
-----
He went out his office window at quarter to five, because Felger kept messaging him these pathetic little comments about how he missed his former assistant Chloe, and he'd never known what he'd had until he'd lost her. He'd figured he either had to leave early or take Felger's soul without a post-it, and skipping out early seemed like less of a hassle.
It was actually kind of fun. He'd never skipped out on work before, because work used to be his fun. He bet John used to climb out windows all the time.
He spent the next two hours in the park, sitting alone on a swing and waiting for J. Harold to show up and die. Harold sat on the swings with him for awhile, after he'd walked by the construction site at the wrong time and got knocked in the face by one of the worker's errant shovel, smashing his nose up into his skull.
"So I'm dead?" he'd asked.
"Yeah," Rodney told him. Then, feeling obligated to give him some words of wisdom he said, "Go into the light, my friend, go into the light."
J. Harold's lights appeared flickering in front of them, shaping into the Eiffel Tower. "I never did get to see it," he said.
"You can see it now," Rodney told him, and then the lights and J. Harold disappeared, and he was alone again, swinging in time with the ambulance sirens coming closer from somewhere far away.
Being a Grim Reaper wasn't the worst job to have, Rodney decided. It wasn't so terribly depressing as it probably should be. Most of the time they weren't even sad.
It was being left behind that made people sad.
He knew he shouldn't, but he ended up outside of Atlantis Labs. The lights were still on, but that wasn't surprising. Atlantis Labs had better scientists than DST; it had the kind that never sleeps. He could see Radek's backlit silhouette at the third floor window, and Rodney wondered if Radek was sad.
He felt bad about it, but Rodney kind of wanted someone to be sad about him, and Radek was the only real friend he'd ever had in his life.
-----
Rodney trudged back home, fully intending to be alone and feeling sorry for himself for the rest of the night, or until John made it back from wherever the hell he was, but when he went to open the door, his palm came off the doorknob sticky with drying blood. He pushed inside quickly. "John?" he shouted, starting down the hall when he wasn't to be found in the kitchen or the living room.
He found him leaning over the bathroom sink; blood was swirling down the drain, and the water ran pink and then clear as the last of it disappeared. John's lip was split open and still bleeding, and he could already see the beginnings of a bruise spreading across his cheek. "Jesus," he whispered. "What happened? Are you okay?"
John pushed off of the sink, and it took visible effort for him to gain his balance and his composure, which alarmed Rodney more than anything. "I'm fine," John said, glancing up at him and then quickly away; not that it helped, Rodney had already seen the damage.
"You're bleeding," Rodney said, unnecessarily, and he felt a little sick. Blood didn't faze him much these days, not with his job, but the blood wasn't usually John's. He reached out instinctively, but paused with his hand mid-air, afraid to touch.
"It's nothing," John told him, reaching up and pushing Rodney's hand gently back down. He even tried to smile. It was a pathetic attempt; the right side of his face looked puffy and sore, and his lower lip had a line of bright red running through it. Rodney had never been really hurt before, not back when he'd been passing his days in an ivory tower, not before that one time where he died, and he winced just looking at him.
"You look awful," Rodney snapped. "I thought we were...you know, undead. I thought we couldn't be hurt."
John laughed, but that looked painful too. "No," he said. "We can be hurt like anyone, we just can't die twice."
"What happened?" Rodney asked again, and his voice was strangely calm now, but he realized kind of distantly that he'd never been this angry. He'd gladly take the soul of whoever had done this.
"Haven't you ever been in a fight before?" John asked him. His eyes were wide and kind of disbelieving, like coming home in one piece every night would be the real insanity.
"John," Rodney said. His voice was still strangely eerily calm, and oddly commanding.
John seemed to sense that Rodney wasn't in a mood to be fucked around with, and he glanced away again. "The job didn't go as planned," he said. "It's not a big deal, Rodney, this will all be gone by tomorrow. We can get hurt, but we heal fast."
Rodney wondered how many other times John had been hurt that he could predict how long it would take to heal. "Did that bastard Kolya do this?" Rodney asked.
John placed a finger against his split lip in distraction, pressing at it like he might be able to hold it closed. "I can take care of myself," he said.
"That isn't an answer," Rodney snapped.
"It's all you need to know," John told him, before pressing up against him to slip sideways out the door. The contact left Rodney a little dizzy and nauseous from the coppery scent of his blood, even though he knew he should really be used to it by now.
His hands got a little more covered in it every single day.
-----
The next morning, as John had predicted, his split lip was no longer visible. He could still see faint bruising across his cheek, a strange yellow-tinged glow, and he was favoring his left side. Rodney trapped John against the counter in irritation when he tried to act like it was just any other morning, and started pulling at his shirt.
"It's a little early to be getting frisky, don't you think?" John asked, and anyone else might think he sounded amused, but Rodney could hear the tension he was trying to hide.
Once he'd wrestled John's shirt high enough he could see why. There were three small holes beneath John's ribs on his side. "You idiot," Rodney shouted. "You were fucking shot and you didn't tell me?"
John shrugged with a self-depreciating smile. "It's that whole undead thing again. A 9 mm feels like a Beebe gun. It's not worth worrying over."
"I want you to stay away from this guy," Rodney told him vehemently, and he was still holding John at his hips, pressing him against the counter. He'd never pushed someone like this before; had never cared enough to.
"Kolya didn't do this," John said, though Rodney noted absently that John had never denied Koyla was responsible for his split lip. "He wouldn't. He wants me."
"That's what worries me," Rodney told him.
"Everything worries you," John said, going for glib, before effortlessly twisting out of his grip. "Be fearless, Rodney, there's no reason left not to be."
Rodney remembered the picture; John's easy grin in the Vietnam sun. He had a feeling John had always been fearless, and that being dead had nothing whatsoever to do with it. "You said we can still be hurt," Rodney said quietly. "That's reason enough for me."
He was pissed off at John for having so little regard for his own well-being, but tried to compose himself before he gave anything more away. It was just his luck that he'd finally found someone to care about and that someone didn't care about himself.
-----
Jack mostly let Rodney get away with not having a baby-sitter anymore, but today he must have noticed Rodney's mood and the way John had grabbed his post-it and hightailed it out of the restaurant as quick as he could manage, because he said just as Rodney was about leave, "Why don't you take Ronon with you?"
Ronon made some kind of protest through the piece of toast he'd just shoved in his mouth, but Jack just flashed him a grin. Jack grinned a little the way John did, in that it never meant what it seemed to. "You'd love to? Great. Have fun then, kids. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Daniel snorted. "And that rules out what, exactly?"
Jack glanced at him. "I don't like knitting. I wouldn't knit," he said.
Daniel rolled his eyes and slouched further in the booth. Rodney, used to these kinds of things by now, just turned on his heel and started out the door. Ronon joined him a moment later, stuffing the rest of his toast into his pockets for reasons known only to him.
They were silent for awhile. Ronon was kind of like that, couldn't be bothered to talk unless you got him started. And getting him started was rarely a good idea, but Rodney was on edge already, and the silence got to him quickly. "You've known John awhile, right?" he asked.
"Going on forty years," Ronon said nonchalantly.
"Right," Rodney said, a little startled, because sometimes he forgot that these people died before he was born. "Is he...I mean, does he get hurt a lot?"
"What's a lot?" Ronon asked, pulling out a piece of bread crust from his pocket to chew on.
"You need me to define 'a lot'?" Rodney snapped. "A lot is a lot."
Ronon shrugs. "He gets hurt sometimes. Not usually too badly. He can take care of himself."
"Yeah," Rodney said petulantly. "So he likes to claim."
Ronon threw him a mischievous grin, which Rodney was a little wary about. "You like him," he said, and then laughed. "Never gonna happen, McKay."
Rodney glared at him, stopping in his tracks and crossing his arms. "What's that supposed to mean? You think he's out of my league?" he snapped.
Ronon paused. "I know he is, but that's not what I'm talking about." Ronon tilted his head, watching him carefully. "It's just that you blew it. You waited too long to make a move. He thinks you're friends now. Roomies. Buddies."
"I get it," Rodney interrupted. "But we're guys. Guys don't work like that. We'll do anything for the possibility of sex."
"Whatever you say," Ronon told him, as he started off again. "John ain't that kind of guy, though. You think he has trouble getting laid? Even dead? Friendships are harder to come by."
Rodney caught up to him again, glaring all the while. "What are you trying to say? You think I'd have trouble getting laid?"
"That's not what I meant," Ronon said. "You're hot in that intellectual geeky way, if I were into guys, I'd fuck you."
Rodney was caught between being flattered and horrified. "Uh...thanks?"
"No problem," Ronon said. "Were you heading somewhere with this? Or can we be done talking now?"
"Oh, we're just getting started," Rodney snapped. "Have you ever heard of someone named Kolya?"
Ronon paused, and shot him a shifty glance. "Now where did you hear that name?"
"From John," Rodney said. "He's doing jobs for him, whatever the hell that means."
Ronon sighed. "Fuck," he said.
Rodney glared. "You know something. What do you know?"
"That Kolya is bad news," Ronon said, before shedding the worry like he'd never been concerned at all. "But John can--"
"Take care of himself," Rodney finished irritably. "Yeah, and I guess that's why he came home last night with his face smashed in and three bullet holes in his chest?"
Ronon's gaze darkened and he stiffened a little. "I'm sure he knows what he's doing," Ronon said.
"I'm not," Rodney said simply. "I think he's got issues. Big huge issues."
"It's hard to be dead and well-adjusted," Ronon said with a shrug.
Rodney admitted, if only to himself, that he made a good point. "If he's so damn good at taking care of himself," Rodney snapped, "why doesn't he just tell this Kolya to go fuck himself? Why does he keep working for him if he's going to get hurt?"
"Kolya is the type to cause trouble if he doesn't get what he wants, and John has a very strict code regarding the living," Ronon said. "He only touches them to take their soul, and does the jobs he needs to do to get by; otherwise, he's completely non-interference." Ronon moved his coat aside, and Rodney caught sight of a rather large gun strapped to his belt before the coat fell back into place. "I don't have any such code myself."
Ronon grabbed the next guy that walked across them by the front of his t-shirt, and pulled him into an ally. He pushed him up against the wall and placed the sharp edge of a knife blade against the terrified man's throat; Rodney hadn't even seen him reach for it. "Gimme your wallet," Ronon said, his voice was deep and threatening, and Rodney nearly scrambled to find his own.
The man quickly handed it to Ronon and Ronon took it, before pushing the man back towards the street.
Rodney blinked as the man went running off shouting for help, and Ronon grabbed him by the arm and started walking in the opposite direction. "Are you supposed to mug people?" Rodney asked incredulously.
Ronon shrugged, and flipped through the wallet, counting money. "Probably not," he said, before turning to Rodney, looking a little creepily pleased with himself. "Now, are you ready to go grab some souls?"
____
John sauntered into O’Malley’s; flopping into the seat beside Daniel and grinning widely at Jack’s bent head. Jack didn’t look up as he peeled of John’s post-it, handing it wordless to him before going back to whatever he’d been doing when John walked in. Daniel was frowning at John, biting his bottom lip and John rolled his eyes. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything,” Daniel answered with a wide-eyed innocent look.
John narrowed his own eyes. “You’re staring.”
“He’s probably staring at the remnants of the big ass bruise on your pretty little face,” Jack mumbled without looking up.
“It’s nothing,” John said quickly, grinning as Janet came over to take his order.
After she left Daniel took a sip of his coffee, turning in the booth; arm over the back of the seat to better see John. “It doesn’t look like nothing; it looks like someone used you for a punching bag.”
“This something I should be worried about?” Jack asked, finally looking up to pin John with an assessing look.
“I told you, it’s nothing-I can take care of myself.”
“Newbie’s worried about you,” Jack said, leaning back in his seat, tapping out an annoying rhythm on the table with his pen.
“I don’t need a lecture,” John snapped, suddenly not all that hungry anymore.
“Who’s lecturing?” Jack grinned charmingly. Turning to Daniel he asked, “Am I lecturing?”
Daniel shook his head, “No-I’ve been on the receiving end many times-this isn’t lecturing.” He smirked at Jack.
John rolled his eyes, used to Jack and Daniel by now. “I’m fine, guys-really.”
Jack nodded, shifting to lean his elbows on the table. “You’d tell me if you weren’t though, right?”
“Of course,” John replied, too quickly, and Jack scowled.
“You enjoy making my life miserable, don’t you?”
John threw Jack a cocky smirk. “It is, by far, my only joy in death.”
Jack snorted before stealing Daniel’s coffee, grimacing at the sweetness.
__
Rodney watched as Ronon’s reap disappeared into the cheesiest looking strip club he’d ever seen. “Huh,” he said. “I didn’t expect that.”
Ronon shrugged, turning away from where the lights had faded and started to walk away. With a final stunned blink Rodney followed. “How long before your reap?”
Rodney glanced at his post-it again, sighing. “Not for another four hours.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Ronon asked.
Rodney shrugged. “Didn’t feel like going in today. I called in sick.” The truth was, after dealing with-or rather trying to deal with-John and his god damned subterfuge, Rodney was fucking exhausted. “I’ll probably go home and sleep for a few hours.”
Glancing at Rodney from the corner of his eyes Ronon grunted, “I guess you can hang out with me today.”
“That’s-uh,” Rodney stuttered. “I’m kind of tired.” And the idea of spending the day with Ronon after he’d just mugged a man at knife point kind of terrified him.
Slinging an arm around Rodney’s shoulder, Ronon bared his teeth in another startling grin. “It’ll be fun.” Rodney swallowed audibly but let Ronon pull him along.
____
Jack grinned as a man with dark hair and bright blue eyes slid into the seat across from him. “Been a long time,” he said.
Nodding, Kowalski grinned. “That it has, Jack. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know, can’t complain.” Waving Janet over, he ordered another coffee, Kowalski doing the same. “Colorado beat New York last night so it’s all good,” he shrugged.
Huffing out a laugh, Kowalski took a drink of his coffee, sitting the cup back on the table carefully before looking Jack in the eye. “You sure about this, Jack?”
Jack nodded, sticking his finger into his coffee before removing it and shaking his hand, rubbing it on his pant leg and leaning on his elbows to stare at Kowalski. “Did you find it?”
“Not too sure you’re going to be happy with what you find…”
“Kowalski,” Jack snapped impatiently. “Yes or no?”
Kowalski paused for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling a folded piece of paper out, lying on the table, his hand covering it. “You’re the one that always told me you can’t go back.” He pushed the paper across the table towards Jack. Swallowing the last of his coffee, he threw a couple dollars on the table and stood with a sad smile. “As hard as it might be--not knowing, Jack,” Kowalski said quietly, “sometimes knowing is worse.”
Jack didn’t look up as Kowalski left, his eyes still on the folded white paper in front of him. His hands shook as he picked it up, mouth in a firm, thin line; eyes hardened from years of pain. Sucking in a deep breath, he unfolded the paper.
__
Daniel smiled brightly at his assistant, who had, much to Daniel’s chagrin, taken it upon herself to ‘put some meat on his bones’. She deposited another batch of cookies onto his desk with a motherly pat to his shoulder, tutting about how thin he was getting, how peaky-death warmed over she said. He needed rest, needed good home cooked meals and a nice wife to give him lots of beautiful little babies she said.
She was sixty five and had told Daniel on numerous occasions about her very single granddaughter. Daniel thanked her, accepting the cookies and carefully refusing the granddaughter before turning back to his work. Catherine left him alone, but not before telling him he needed to take his nose out of his books once in a while.
Laughing quietly to himself, Daniel snagged a cookie, glanced at the clock and returned to his reading. He still had time before he needed to do his reap.
__
Rodney flinched again as the bullet hit its mark, dead center. Ronon's smile was growing with each clip he emptied into the paper target and Rodney wondered why exactly he had let himself be dragged along to the firing range when all he really felt like doing was curling up with Thales on the couch and watching bad Sci-Fi...or maybe some bad porno. He didn’t really care at this point. He was getting a headache, even with the protective earphones and the longer he stood beside Ronon, shifting restlessly from foot to foot, the more his thoughts began to jumble together.
Then Ronon shoved a gun into his hand, pulling the earphones from his own head before removing Rodney’s. After a very quick lesson on what to do and what not to do, Ronon pushed Rodney into position in front of the firing window, a new, perfectly pristine paper target waiting for Rodney to begin shooting.
The first shot went wild, hitting the back wall and not even nicking the paper and Rodney growled to himself because honestly killing paper people was not his idea of fun. But just as he was about to tell Ronon he was leaving, that he didn't want to do this anymore, John’s bloodied and bruised face popped into his head and an imaginary vision of the people that did it to him suddenly is superimposed over the blank face of the paper target.
He still wasn't shooting very well but at least this time he was managing to hit the target and he had to admit that picturing the bastards that shot John in front of him as he emptied clip after clip, letting Ronon show him how to reload, he was starting to feel a little better. And if the thought that perhaps he’d get the chance to use his newly learned shooting skills on said bastards was in the back of his mind as he watched the paper explode on impact, well-he was actually okay with that.
On to Part 2