Clementine Tart

[almostnever]

Title: Clementine Tart
Author: Cesare (almostnever)
Ratings/Warnings: Worksafe. This story should be safe for people with triggers.
Summary/Notes: Part of the Foster's Bakery AU. Follows Pear & Gorgonzola. Thanks to anatsuno for writing assist and readover.

*

John Sheppard has never been the type of guy to fail to call a woman the next day.

It's not often he makes the same mistake twice, and he learned this lesson at fourteen, after sneaking beer and making out with Mara in the poolhouse at her family's summer place. Her brother dared them to do it, shutting them in together; it was only a few minutes of tentative kisses and necking. But she took it as seriously as a promise ring, snuck into his room the next night to say she loved him and cried when he haltingly explained he didn't know her well enough to feel that way about her.

Since then he's always been careful to say up front when it can only be casual, and he's usually managed to get laid anyway, so honesty's always seemed like the best policy. Every time he's ever said he'd call, he's called.

So it can't be karma that Rodney turned up unexpectedly, took him out on what sure as hell seemed to be a date, had sex with him on his sofa and kissed him when he left, and now, three days later, still hasn't shown his face or called.

John does his deliveries feeling like a cartoon character with a storm cloud permanently stationed over his head, and cuts the usual chit-chat with receptionists and doormen short.

When he gets back to the bakery, a glance at the calendar reminds him that he's been opening earlier twice a week to accommodate Ronon. The guy's pretty carb-conscious, but he likes the vegetarian zucchini muffins John makes, and drops by for them on the mornings that he's not busy TAing for Dr. Zelenka's early engineering class.

John unlocks the doors and flips the sign around to Open, even though he's letting himself in for some of the morning rush he usually avoids. Today he welcomes the distraction. Even though he doesn't usually keep these hours, the place gets pretty busy. The pastry case is already looking picked-over by the time Ronon arrives.

"What's new?" Ronon greets him, looking over the case. He takes more of an interest in John's new recipes than John ever would have expected from an athletic engineering student with a thing for classic lit.

"Pumpkin spice muffins, with clove and mace," John says.

"Sounds violent," says Ronon. "I like it."

"You wanna try one?" John offers. "Though they're not vegetarian."

"That's okay. Give me that and a zucchini. And--"

"Chai, right? Got it."

"I had one of these someone made for a party," Ronon says, accepting the zucchini muffin. "Didn't taste as good."

"Was it vegetarian too?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe it's because I put a little applesauce in mine."

"Makes 'em good," Ronon says. "Where do you get that stuff, cookbooks? Internet?"

"Some of it. I usually end up changing most of the recipes I use. Keeps me interested. Lately I've had this idea to puree some nuts and add them in to some of the muffin recipes, because some people like the taste but they don't like that texture, biting down on a nut in the middle of the bread." John hands Ronon his chai.

It occurs to him that he's maybe talking kind of a lot, relatively. Ronon looks a little surprised at the chattiness, though at least he's also smiling a little, so John doesn't feel too idiotic.

The thing is, it's usually Rodney he tells about his recipe ideas. And now he's pissed all over again at the desertion.

"Hey," he says impulsively. "You're free til your one o'clock class, right?"

Ronon's eyebrows rise. "I have a thing at eleven, but yeah."

"Can you do me a favor? I'll pay you back in free stuff."

"I'd do it anyway," Ronon shrugs, "but sure."

John snags a pad of paper and starts scrawling. "I have some ideas I want to try making today. I just need a few things. If you could hit the grocery store down the street for me--"

"Okay," Ronon says readily, taking the list. "Back in a few."

There aren't a ton of customers in the meantime, but enough that John's glad he didn't just close up and make the trip himself, especially when Teyla comes in.

He hands over her honey bread and herbal tea. "You look great today."

"Thank you," she says. Her suit is a subdued shade of dark red, flattering the ginger bronze of her hair and the sienna of her skin. "Has Dr. Zelenka been in today? I have a book to return to him."

"Not yet," says John. "When he shows up on Thursdays it's usually sometime after lunch. I can hang onto it and give it to him for you if you want."

"That's all right," she says, and smiles, devastating, beautiful, glorious. Teyla's so amazing that it kind of messes with John's head. He used to think that his marriage failed partly because when it comes down to it, he's really more gay than bisexual. But one smile from Teyla and he's sliding back down the Kinsey scale again. If he hadn't already had a thing for Rodney by the time he met her, who knows.

He really has to quit thinking about Rodney Mc-fucking-Kay. He's already worked halfway through a roll of antacids and it's not even noon.

Ronon returns, looking a little confused as he gives John the shopping bag and his change. "You don't usually make stuff with citrus. McKay's still out of town, huh."

Of course. Everyone knows, Rodney never shuts up about it. John figures Rodney must have been the kind of kid who spent his grade school days getting picked on for everything except his shiny inhaler that made cool Darth Vader noises and a story about how he almost died this one time; and now he wears his health problems proudly, expecting the same kind of sympathy and awe.

John found that endearing as recently as, well, three days ago.

"No," John says shortly, "he's back. Or he was. I guess I'm not sure."

The thing is... okay. Obviously John isn't really all that up on astrophysics; he's got a handle on the basics, but he's not really clued into the bleeding-edge specifics. He doesn't understand how there could ever be such a thing as a deep space telemetry emergency. John doesn't get it; they're stars, right? They'll be there for a while.

It just doesn't sound that goddamn urgent to him, but when Rodney left town in a hurry the last time, it was all rush and furor, and several of the physicists from Rodney's consultancy came to the bakery looking ragged, claiming they'd been working around the clock.

Frankly, John suspects that Rodney's consultancy probably does some kind of black budget stuff, that Rodney and his staff are actually engineering stealth tech or smart bombs or poison piñatas or whatever the latest big boys' toys are, these days.

If that's the case, he can understand how Rodney might be called away at a moment's notice-- he can even speculate that if he doesn't hear from Rodney for three days, maybe Rodney's dealing with another "telemetry" emergency now. And hey, John knows how that goes. He'd be okay with that.

But he doesn't have any way to be certain that any of those things are true; he just kind of supposes that maybe that's how it is. It's a complete house of cards. And even if Rodney's been swept up into the smothering arms of the military-industrial complex to make something important happen on a deadline... still, the guy couldn't drop a goddamn dime?

He's feeling some sympathy for his ex-wife right about now, and her complaints that she never knew when John would jet away on his next mission, or where he'd be. Maybe there's a little bit of karma to this after all.

Something must show on his face; Teyla looks concerned, and exchanges glances with Ronon.

"Wherever McKay is, he's been emailing with Radek again," Ronon says. "Radek says Rodney should quit wasting his time on telemetry and work at the university, teach and do research. Rodney says Radek should quit wasting his time teaching and work at the consultancy and do research." Ronon shakes his head. "And then they both complain to each other about how neither of them gets to do enough research."

"How is Radek?" Teyla asks.

"Hhm, kind of squirrelly. Like usual."

"I enjoyed the book he loaned me, very much."

Ronon's expression warms. "I'll tell him."

"Ronon could give him the book back," John points out.

After the slightest hesitation, "That is all right," Teyla says, "I would like to ask Radek about the later chapters when I return it."

"Right," says John, corralling some of the fruit out onto the sales counter as he looks them over. A dozen lemons, a dozen limes, a dozen clementines, all round and fragrant and brightly colored.

"Is everything truly all right, John?" Teyla asks. "In all the time I have been visiting the bakery you have never made anything with these ingredients..."

"It's fine," John tells her. She doesn't look convinced, but fortunately just then a couple of customers come in and John has an excuse to duck the conversation to wait on them.

*

John turns the sign to Closed soon after Teyla and Ronon leave so that he can mix and bake up more of his staple recipes and experiment with the new fruit. He makes a reduction of the clementine guts, zests some of the rind into dough and pastry cream, and bakes the reduction into tarts, piping cream on top and drizzling chocolate over it all. It's fun to make something so decadent after working so hard for so long to make healthier recipes.

He dusts off one of his old recipes and tears through the limes, too, but he hasn't decided what to do with the lemons by the time everything else is done. When he glances at the door he sees a couple of would-be customers peering inside, so he flips the sign back and welcomes them in.

He's just in time to catch the lunch rush, and things stay hopping for a couple of hours. Really, it's kind of amazing he has as much business as he does considering the random hours he tends to keep. Rodney-- dammit.-- Rodney keeps telling him it's crazy for him to run the place single-handedly, and it's true, it is, but every time he considers hiring help, John finds himself balking. Taking responsibility for other people again... yeah, maybe not.

The afternoon gradually begins to lull, with occasional traffic from mothers waiting to pick up their rugrats from extra-curricular activities. Radek Zelenka has commandeered Rodney's favorite armchair in McKay's absence. He's mostly absorbed in grading and trying out the new tarts and muffins, but he's also cast a few too many thoughtful and assessing glances in John's direction.

"Oh, chocolate lime cupcakes!" says Peri, one of John's neighborhood regulars. "I'm so glad to see those again, it's been so long since you made them!"

"Didn't know you missed them," John says.

"I forgot how much I liked them. I'd better stock up while they're back! Three, please? And a cup of coffee to go."

John serves her and, when the place stays quiet for a while with only Radek's clicking keyboard, he goes and turns the sign around to Closed again. The regulars know they can ignore it and try the door; most of the time, it doesn't mean he's really closed, just that he's busy in the kitchen. Rodney-- dammit!-- keeps threatening to make John a more accurate sign, something like "Hands Floury; Help Yourself." Of course, as John keeps, kept, pointing out to him, the fact that the door is unlocked while John's occupied in the kitchen isn't necessarily something he wants to widely advertise.

He flicks through his recipes for a couple of minutes, hunting for ideas to use the lemons.

"Have you ever considered making koláče?" asks Radek.

"Kolaches?" John frowns. "Guess not. I've only had them once or twice. They're good, but I wouldn't know where to start."

"Lemon koláče are wonderful. I will loan you a cookbook."

"Teyla was looking for you before lunch," John remembers. "To return a book."

"Ah." Radek smiles weakly. "Yes."

"I tried to get her to leave it for you, but she wants to give it back to you special," John lays it on, teasing him a little.

"I suppose I should arrange to meet her, then. Will you be open tomorrow evening around seven?"

Radek looks so bizarrely unenthused that John finds himself straightening instinctively, squinting at the guy. "C'mon, you can do a little better than this place, right? She likes you. Take her on a date."

"She is a very beautiful and successful woman," Radek says. "She... I don't know how you would say it; she makes me nervous with hope. I admire her very much, but I do not have much to offer such a woman."

"Why don't you let her decide that?" John asks. "Or are you just stringing her along and using that crap as an excuse to back off because you're not serious?"

Surprise flashes across Radek's face momentarily, then he looks at the lemons on the counter and his expression becomes knowing.

"Don't," John warns, pointing at him.

"I had no intention of making comment," Radek answers-- pretty graciously, really, under the circumstances.

"Peach lemon muffins, with ginger," John decides out loud, and ducks into the kitchen to gather supplies.

Once he has everything together, he brings it all out to the sales counter to work so he can keep an eye on the place while he preps and mixes. He's peeling the peaches when Rodney comes in.

John's jaw tenses. Rodney looks-- a little rumpled, a little ragged, and John figures he'll keep his peace and let Rodney offer up whatever he's got to say for himself. He's kind of morbidly curious to hear what McKay will come up with.

But Rodney doesn't tender any explanations. He just casts a tired glare at Zelenka sitting in his usual spot and slumps up to the counter, extending a empty hand in John's direction with a quiet, "Hey."

John glowers at him, unimpressed and trying to figure out what the hell Rodney's hand is doing like that, palm up like he's waiting for something. Damned if he's going to ask, though, so there's a silence.

Rodney hovers that way for another moment and then drops his hand, gripping the counter. "I really need to sleep, and I can't sleep at home because my moronic neighbour's having work done on his roof, I can't take it anymore, I thought I could maybe, um, crash here...?"

John does his best to blank his face, too surprised and pissed to school himself into anything else. "What?"

"I can go to the lab, but I've been at the lab, so I went home, but the noise! Apparently they use jackhammers on roofs now? I don't know, but I'm really tired, and--"

So not only does John not rate a phone call, he doesn't even rate an excuse. Jesus.

"City's full of hotels," he says, pitting and cubing the last peach and moving on to the first lemon.

Rodney has the gall to look hurt, and then he blinks down at the gaggle of lemons on the counter and shuffles back a step, surprise and dismay tugging down his mouth like it's torn on one side, his whole face startled into vulnerability.

And seriously, fuck him for wearing that look like he's entitled to it when John's the one who's disappointed and about as bitter as he's ever been since... since the last time Rodney let him down. John's aware all over again that he's hung way too much on this guy; sure, he's a genius and stimulating and kind of hot and fun sometimes, but he's also crap with people and doesn't care enough to get better. He's probably just going to keep pulling this shit and expecting John to deal in perpetuity.

"Don't you think you're overreacting a little?" Rodney whines, and John's jaw clamps that much harder; he resists the impulse to lob the lemon at him. "Look, if this is about what I said on the whole Marvel versus DC issue, I'm sorry, but you have to understand, I was just thinking it out, unfiltered, I wasn't really considering your sentimental fanboy feelings on the matter."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"In the emails!"

"You've been emailing me?" Oh god, of course he has. Why did John ever think that a quintessential geek like Rodney would ever condescend to use an ordinary old-fashioned telephone? "Wait. No you haven't."

"Yes, I've been emailing!" Rodney throws his hands around wildly. "I've been spamming you, but I've been on this amazing roll and I had to keep it going and the best way to keep my wheels spinning between startling breakthroughs is to just open up a window and write whatever crosses my mind until the next insight hits me, and emailing you was really inspiring that way, so-- but you've been getting them, right? You said you checked your email at least once every day!"

"I do," John says evenly. "I check every morning before I start baking and every night before bed. I haven't gotten a thing from you, McKay."

"Did you check your spam filter? Because like I said, I have been sending kind of a lot of them, so it might have classified me as--"

"I haven't been getting anything," John says.

"It's John at fostersbakery, all one word, dot com, right? I know you haven't set up the website yet but you have the domain."

John can't figure out if he's relieved or despairing; he clamps his hands on his hips and holds himself together. "It's Fosters dash Bakery, Rodney. Someone else has the smushed together one."

"Oh god," Rodney says, blinking rapidly. "If there's a John at the other Foster's Bakery, he's going to be so confused."

"Yeah, about that. The fact that you didn't get an answer once in three days didn't clue you in that something was wrong?"

Rodney fidgets. "I just thought you're, you know... taciturn."

John rolls his eyes. "I think you need a cooler cellphone," he says. "That way maybe you might be tempted to, you know, use it? And try calling or something."

"Wait a minute." Rodney squints at him. "Why exactly didn't you call me? I mean, who said you had to abide by some kind of bizarre post-date etiquette and sit by the telephone like a proper princess waiting for me to phone you?"

"Princess?" John says sharply; Rodney winces, already looking like he's itching to take it back, so John tables it and goes on. "I did call. You didn't pick up."

"You could've left voicemail..." Rodney starts, but he dwindles off dubiously and makes a face.

"Rodney, when you're in town, you drop by here every day. If you weren't coming in, then either you had another work thing, or you were staying away on purpose. I wasn't going to leave you voicemail."

Rodney's eyes get gratifyingly big. "I wouldn't-- I wouldn't! Look, okay, I sent-- look, I'll prove it to you," and he goes to the nearest table and hefts his bag, wrestling out his laptop.

"I believe you, you don't have to show me," John says.

"No, I can't sleep til this is settled," says Rodney stubbornly, and then he sways on his feet a little.

"Hey now," John says, moving to prop him up.

Rodney backs away with a shrill, "Lemons! Death!" He gropes around and grabs the back of a chair instead, leaning heavily against it as his computer boots up. With a few taps he brings up his email's Sent folder and gestures for John to look. "Don't touch, please. Just skin contact with citrus oils could give me hives."

So John can't open the emails, but he can see them, subject line after subject line:

SUPERMAN DEFEATS FLASH Kryptonian Sweep Indicated
Also re: Flash
Chocolate2
Can I still like Murdock?
Another Flash thought
Ginger, waffles, fudge
Planned obsolescence planet? Shoe strata?
Never mind it was from the H2G2 radio plays EOM
All-time favorite Asimov short story
Vending machine food
Justice League > Avengers, F4, Xcetera
Marvel vs. DC in general
Non-tomato based sauces on pizza
The inherent sadness of guacamole
Aelita, Maria, Barbarella, Rachael
Baking utility belt & spice rack
World's Greatest Detective/Physicist

...And there are more, all addressed to john@fostersbakery.com.

"Rodney, you emailed me twenty-nine times." He doesn't know whether to laugh or... what. But his shoulders and the little muscles around his eyes feel relaxed, finally, after days of tension.

"Some of them were just a line or two," Rodney says defensively. "And I haven't actually, um, slept since I left here, you see."

"You--"

"At the lab, on a roll," Rodney explains in a weary sing-song. He sounds like a toy winding down. "And then home, and it's noisy there, jackhammers on roofs, and then here, I was hoping to sleep? But there was lemon hate..."

"Well, I'm not going to be throwing you any parades any time soon, but you're off the hook for lemon hate," John tells him. "Go on up to the loft, buddy, get some rest."

"Oh. I'm buddy again? That's, I'm forgiven, right?"

"Three days. Pretty weak, McKay," John says, but he's mostly just needling him now.

"Lemon pastries, also weak," Rodney returns, and adds with the tiniest smirk, "Sheppard."

"You're just jealous, because these are going to be awesome."

"Deadly food doesn't qualify as awesome, ever."

"Radek taste-tested the other citrus stuff I made," John says, realizing that holy shit, Radek has been quietly sitting over there in the armchair this whole time. John's never going to hear the end of this, but there's nothing he can do about that right now. "Radek, back me up! Awesome, right?"

"Delicious is the word I would use," Radek says precisely. "Very, very delicious. I would go so far as to say that a person's life could not be complete without tasting them."

Rodney rolls his eyes theatrically and scowls at Radek, and then takes a deliberate step, angling himself so that his back is to Radek and he's created a little bubble of personal space between him and John. As gestures go, it's completely blunt and unsubtle, but it is, at least, an attempt to bring the conversation back to just the two of them. It's more interpersonal savvy than John expected, but at this point he can't tell if Rodney's antics have just sunk his expectations to an unnatural low.

"You're very, um, you look good today," Rodney says. "You look. Handsome?"

John sighs, "Don't start that. Come on." Over his shoulder he calls, "I'll be right back," and Radek responds with a negligent wave of his hand.

"Don't start what?" Rodney demands as John herds him up the stairs to the loft.

"Giving me bullshit to get me to forgive you," John says, unlocking the door.

"I thought I was already acquitted of the charges!" says Rodney indignantly. "I did think I was contacting you! If anything, I thought I was overdoing it and you were mad at me for spamming you!"

Crossing to wash his hands in the kitchen sink, John says, "Yeah, okay. So you don't need to start giving me-- whatever that was."

"I was going to say you looked really hot, all annoyed and glaring at me like that, but Radek was right there and he would've mocked me forever."

"You think he wouldn't mock you for calling me handsome? You really are tired."

"I really am," Rodney sighs, and John dries his hands and comes over to him and puts his citrus-free arms around him.

"Really forgiven then?" Rodney asks, cautious, and John squeezes him.

"Yeah."

"You look hot when you're mad, even at me, but I really hated it." As soon as he admits it, Rodney's posture goes defensive again, chin rising, shoulders squared.

"Well, don't do that again and it won't happen again."

"But I didn't do it! I thought we thoroughly established--"

"I still didn't hear from you."

"That wasn't my fault."

"Kinda was," John says, making his tone lazy and infuriating, because that's easier than trying to explain. Rodney came over and took him out, on a day that John was braced to spend on his own and in mourning. They had their first kiss. They talked about taking it slow. Then they ended up screwing on the sofa, and he didn't hear from Rodney for three days. He was pretty sure he'd blown it, or that they'd never been on the same page in the first place. It sucked.

"Maybe partly," Rodney finally concedes, sulky. "As long as I'm mostly exonerated since I did try. I really need to sleep... I guess my choices are the wholly inadequate sofa or the terrifying loft bed."

"I think I still have an air mattress I can blow up with the vacuum cleaner."

Rodney shudders, "No thank you. Terrifying loft bed it is."

John guides him up the ladder while Rodney grumbles about neck-breaking heights. "It's not even six feet up," John says.

"It doesn't have to be much. People can drown in just two inches of water."

"So what? They can't drown in six feet of air." John takes the shoes that Rodney belatedly kicks off and drops them to the floor.

"I heard that! That was a long way down!"

"You're crazy," John says, but it comes out fond despite himself. "Twenty-nine emails, jeez."

"I was inspired," says Rodney almost dreamily as he lies back, eyes smoothly closed, lashes long.

"Now who's the princess, Sleeping Beauty?"

"That's so unfair. Anyway, it won't be a hundred years... I can never sleep more than five hours at a time." Rodney's eyes flutter open. "Wait, that was a pretext for a kiss, wasn't it? I never recognize things like that til it's too late."

"It's not too late," John says, leaning down over him, and softly kisses him. Rodney curls his hand around the back of John's neck, fingers sliding up into his hair, and John finds himself letting the kiss draw out, warm and close, gentle and slow, til Rodney's hand falls away and his breathing is regular and deep.

John's tempted to crawl in next to him, but Rodney needs to rest and John needs to work, and there's going to be time later. He's pretty sure now that Rodney's going to be around.