Mensa AU Fic Exchange: "(Don't Take Money) To Ride This Train" for jade_1459
Title: (Don't Take Money) To Ride This Train
Author: paradise_city
Pairing: Mensa!John/Rod
SGA-verse or MENSA-verse: MENSA-verse
Rating: PG
Summary: "Kidnapping! Coercion! And that Rod person sexually harassed me!" And yet somehow, John joined the expedition after all.
Notes: Many thanks to M. for beta.
Recipient: jade_1459
Monday, June 14th
"I thought it was the Palestinians," Radek said, peering into his toolbox and digging through its depths.
Peter frowned, his expression made comical by the magnifier he was using to study a drone. "Wasn't it the Libyans?"
"No," Zelenka said, "I am quite sure it was the Palestinians."
Rod looked up from his laptop. "Sorry, Comrade," he said, "it was the Libyans. Trust me, it's one of my favorite movies. I would know."
"One of your favorite movies?" Peter's look of shock was even funnier than his frown. "There isn't a single scientifically accurate thing in that film."
"It wasn't meant to be scientifically accurate; it was meant to be funny. And it was. You can't tell me that Calvin Klein--"
His radio chirped. "Dr. Weir to Dr. McKay," Elizabeth said, poor reception making her sound oddly breathless. "Rod, I need to see you immediately."
He keyed the radio. "Right," he said, saving his work and shutting the laptop. "On my way."
As he left, he heard Zelenka mutter, "I still think it was the Palestinians."
"Movie night Friday," Rod called as he left. "I've got the Libyans for $50."
--------
"Rod," Elizabeth said when he entered her office, and he could see it wasn't a trick of the radio that had made her sound breathless. "Sit down. You're going to want to sit down for this."
"For what?" he asked, and she slid a folder across the desk.
"Look at this."
The first page was a genetic report. While it wasn't his own field of expertise, Rod was familiar enough with Carson's work to understand its implications immediately. "Is this right? This can't be right."
"We've tested his sample three times," Elizabeth said, "and we'll test him again in person, but yes, I think it's right. Do you know what this means?"
"Of course I do. This is unbelievable. Who is he?"
"John Sheppard. Ex-military, USAF," she said as Rodney flipped through the folder's pages. "He's currently holding a faculty position in engineering at Bucknell University."
"That's not even a real science school. And he's not even a Ph.D.," Rod said. "What is he doing there?"
"That's anyone's guess," she said. "He got his M.S. in aeronautical engineering at AFIT. He was stationed at the research lab at Wright-Patterson during Desert Storm but was honorably discharged shortly thereafter. It was expected he'd complete a Ph.D. at one of the major research universities when he left the military, but he disappeared instead. He reappeared a few times to publish, but disappeared immediately afterward each time. Eventually he resurfaced at Bucknell."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Rumor has it he became a pacifist during the war, but details are sketchy. I've got General O'Neill working on it, but I get the impression he's not going to get anywhere, or that he'd tell me even if he did. The one thing I do know for certain from speaking with Mr. Sheppard is that he has no interest at all in working with the government or the military."
Rod sighed.
"But," Elizabeth said, "I convinced him to come to Antarctica and at least hear our offer."
"What? How'd you manage to do that?"
She looked sheepish -- or at least what passed for sheepish on someone who had one of the best poker faces Rod had ever seen. "I may not have mentioned the military connection or the confidentiality agreement when I spoke with him."
"Elizabeth!"
"He has the strongest gene expression we've seen by far," she said, "stronger even than General O'Neill's. If we can get him to sign on to the expedition, it will have been worth any subterfuge we might have had to resort to."
"Is lying to someone who already distrusts the military really the wisest course of action here?"
"There's simply no way I could have gotten him to meet with me otherwise. He can make or break this expedition and I can't let him walk away, not without understanding what his participation could mean. Think of what he could do, not just for his country or his planet, but his entire galaxy," she said. "He can make a difference the scale of which we can't even begin to comprehend. There's never a time to set ethics aside, but think about the scale of what we're doing here, Rod. We need every advantage we can get."
"Hey," he said. "I'm on your side, remember? I'm not the one who needs convincing."
"No," Elizabeth said, "but I think you're just the man to do it."
"What?"
"Mr. Sheppard is arriving in McMurdo on Wednesday. I think you're the best person to get him to sign the confidentiality agreement and agree to hear our offer."
"Elizabeth," he protested, "I can't--"
"We need him, Rod," she said. "I'm certain he'll sign on once he understands that this is first and foremost a civilian enterprise, with only defensive military aims. But I can't prove that to him until he signs the agreement and meets with me.
"You know better than all of us what he could mean to this expedition. And if you can't pique his curiosity and excite him about all the possibilities at hand, no one can."
"Sure. I'll just say, what, 'I know you think the government and military are the devil, Mr. Sheppard, but would you care to saunter vaguely downwards with me anyway?'"
"I don't much care what you say. Just get it done. Right now, this entire expedition is hinging on his participation."
"Right," Rod said. "No pressure."
Wednesday, June 16th
The man who stepped off the helipad looked nothing like the picture in his file, mostly because the man in the picture wasn't bundled in enough extreme cold weather gear to warm a family of five.
Rodney waved him over, clipboard in hand, and John carefully made his way over the snow to the helipad enclosure. "Mr. Sheppard?" Rod shouted over the noise of the departing helicopter.
He nodded, brushing ineffectually at the snow that had dusted his glasses. "Dr. McKay?"
Rodney tucked the clipboard under his arm and extended his gloved hand. "Call me Rod," he said, when the noise of the departing helicopter had faded away.
"John," he replied, shaking firmly. From the feel of his hand, Rod guessed he had five pairs of cold weather gloves, as well.
"John, it's cold out, so I'll make this quick. When Dr. Weir contacted you, she neglected to mention that in order for this meeting to proceed, you'll have to sign a standard military confidentiality agreement."
"What?" John said. "No! She never mentioned anything about the military. She said this was a civilian expedition. Are you saying it's not?"
"I'm sorry, John," Rod said. "It was a simple oversight on our part, no misdirection intended. The expedition is civilian in nature, but the confidentiality agreement is standard due to U.S. involvement. If you'll sign the agreement, we can get on with the business at hand. Trust me when I say you'll be very interested in what we have to say."
"Trust you?" John said, righteous indignation creeping into his tone. "No. There's nothing happening behind closed military doors that I want to be a part of. I made that expressly clear to Dr. Weir when we spoke."
"Mr. Sheppard, please."
"I trusted Dr. Weir because her reputation preceded her. Clearly she's no different than anyone else in the American government if she's been lying right from the start. I won't sign, and I'm not interested in any expedition with ties to the military."
"This isn't an offer we make lightly, Mr. Sheppard," Rod said. "We asked you here because we need you, and I guarantee this is a civilian-run enterprise. You have my word. If there's anything else I can say or do to change your mind, I'll do it. But I simply cannot proceed without your signature."
"No. I want nothing to do with an expedition of liars. I should've known better. I had no business coming here at all."
Rod tried one last time. "Mr. Sheppard, please, are you certain?"
"Absolutely."
Rod sighed, switching forms on his clipboard and handing it over with a pen. "Fine. If you'll sign here acknowledging your refusal to grant confidentiality and stating that no sensitive information has been divulged, we can take you back to Christchurch." He gestured to a waiting helicopter on the pad. "We apologize for your time."
John signed the form and brusquely handed it over. "You've wasted a lot of it."
"I know, Mr. Sheppard, and we're sorry." He paused, checking over the forms, then looked at John with badly faked surprise. "Oh, what's this? Looks like I mixed up my forms and the one you signed was the confidentiality agreement after all! Guess it's not going to be such a waste of time, then. What a lucky mistake."
"What?" John said, slowly warming to full-on outrage. "You -- you tricked me! You can't do that! I did not sign that form and I won't be a party to--" but Rod was already hustling him toward the helicopter and John's protests were lost to the wind when they left the safety of the enclosure.
"Come on," Rod said, shoving him toward the helicopter. "You're skinny, but you weigh a ton. What did you do, dress for hibernation?" He clicked his radio. "Lorne! Can you help me out here? I'm not exactly experienced in kidnapping!"
"Kidnapping!" he heard John shriek over the roar of the wind, but Rod ignored him and shoved him along.
"Come on, come on. This would be so much easier if you'd just agreed to come with me like a normal person, but you had to make it difficult." He pushed and pulled some more, then resorted to dragging when that didn't work. As they neared the helicopter, Lt. Col. Lorne leaned out and started pulling John from the inside while Rod shoved from the outside.
"Stop that!" John yelled. "This is harassment! Coercion! A violation of my civil rights! Kidnapping is a federal offense, you know! You can't -- get your hands off my ass!"
"Oh, don't flatter yourself!" Rod panted, and gave one last shove that sent John sprawling over the seat.
"I can't believe this! This is--"
"A moot point, Sheppard," Rod huffed, falling into the seat beside him and pulling the door shut with a heave. "You're here, so you might as well hear us out. You come, you listen, you agree or not. We're not going to hold you against your will or make you disappear off the face of the earth if you decide you don't want to play. All we're asking for is a chance to make that offer, and for you to accept or decline with full understanding of the ramifications."
"Say the people who kidnapped me," John sniped, wiping at his glasses gone awry. "And don't call me Sheppard. I hate it when people call me Sheppard. My name is John."
"We went through a lot of trouble to kidnap you. The least you can do is be appreciative."
John sputtered.
"Kidding," Rod said, digging in one of his pockets and handing over a bundle of Kleenex. "Here. Now strap yourself in. We didn't go through all this trouble to lose you somewhere over the great white wilderness." When he was done, Rod handed him a helmet and helped him fasten it, his gloved hands cold on John's cheek. He showed John how to toggle his radio and clicked his own on.
"Do we have a go?" Lorne asked, already running through his pre-flight check.
"We have a go," Rod said. "If he gives me trouble, I'll just pop the hatch and give him a good shove."
John's expression was horrified behind his helmet.
"Kidding!" he said. "I already told you're too valuable for us do that."
"Rod, stop scaring the fish," Lorne said, and the rotors thundered to life above them.
"Believe it or not," Rod said to John, strapping himself in, "we are sorry. But this really is worth it. You may not know it yet, but you're the most powerful man in two galaxies."
"Me?"
Rod looked him over, skinny frame drowning in five layers of cold weather gear and fogged up, crooked glasses behind his helmet. "I know," he said doubtfully. "I can hardly believe it myself."
They flew in silence for a while, John still giving off righteous indignation in tidal waves. When it became clear he wasn't going to calm down anytime soon, Rod asked, "Why'd you come all the way out here anyway, if you had no idea what we were offering and weren't willing to jump through a few hoops to find out?"
"I like the cold," John said stiffly, glaring at Rod. "I thought I might like it out here. Clearly I was mistaken."
Rod looked at him, disbelieving, then tapped Lorne on the shoulder. "You hear that, Colonel? Sheppard thought he'd like it here."
Thursday, June 17th
"Outrage!" Rod and Radek heard as they passed Elizabeth's door on their way to the mess. "Kidnapping! Federal offense!"
Rod paused, his noble quest for pancakes momentarily forgotten. "He's still at it? My god."
"You did kidnap him," Radek pointed out reasonably.
"Yes, but this is a little extreme for a relatively minor kidnapping, don't you think? It's not like we threatened him. And he'll get a million dollar contract out of this if he plays his cards right."
"Sounds like ransom."
"It's not ransom if we're paying him. What kind of backward spy movies have you been watching, Radek?"
"Mr. Sheppard," they heard Elizabeth say, shouting to be heard over John's protests, "please, if you'll just--"
"And that Rod person sexually harassed me!" John added. "I demand recompense!"
"What?" Rod said, when Radek gave him the eyebrow. "Okay, maybe my hands were on his hindparts, but he was being recalcitrant. It was a kidnapping; there was pushing and shoving involved!"
Radek continued on toward the mess. "That sounds not like a spy film," he said, "but another sort of film entirely."
"That's it. No more movie nights for you."
Saturday, June 19th
Rod answered the persistent knocking at his door reluctantly, stumbling in the dark and feeling blindly around for his robe. When he'd finally managed to tie it on over his Math jokes are the first sine of weakness t-shirt, he opened the door and blinked in the sudden brightness of the hallway. "What?" he mumbled blearily, "are we about to explode? Implode? Dematerialize? And why didn't you just use the radi -- oh," he said, finally focusing on the figure in front of him. "It's you. What are you doing here? It must be two in the morning."
"Three, actually," John said. "I didn't mean to wake you. Well, I did," he amended, "but not out of any ill will."
"Hey," Rod noted, stifling a yawn. "You're not hysterical anymore."
"Yeah," John said, "about that. Sorry, sort of. In my defense, I'd been traveling for 32 hours. And you kidnapped me. That's enough to make anyone hysterical."
Rod could concede the point. "Fair enough. Nice to know you're not normally like that, though. Hysteria isn't high on the list of qualities I like to see in my coworkers."
"Ah," John hedged. "I may be a little...excitable by nature, perhaps, but not to that extent. Now that I've slept off the jet lag, I'm sure you'll find I'm far more reasonable."
Rod nodded. "I'm sure I will. But you still haven't told me what you want. Not that I object to an attractive man appearing in my doorway in the middle of night, but somehow I doubt that's why you're here."
John's eyes went wide for a moment, then he relaxed. "Oh," he said, "kidding. Right."
"I wasn't, actually."
John stared, then said, vindicated, "I knew it! You grabbed my ass on purpose!"
Rod rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to go through this? It was a kidnapping. You were being difficult. There was pushing and shoving involved. It was completely accidental."
"Sure it was."
Rod sighed, exasperated. "Are you going to tell me why you're here? You're interrupting valuable sleeping time and I have an uncomfortable bed to get back to, so...?"
"Right," John said, chastened. "Sorry. I just wanted to know if we could schedule time for me to sit in the chair. Dr. Weir said I should speak to you about it."
"Sure," Rod said, "we can do it this afternoon. I'll have Carson and a medical team stand by and we'll sit you in the chair and run you through a standard test diagnostic. It's a simple process."
"Okay," John said. "Sorry to disturb you. I couldn't sleep any more and I just...wanted to know."
"No worries," Rod said. Then, "Are you really thinking about doing this, joining the expedition?"
"Yeah," John said. "I'm a little surprised, to tell you the truth."
"I think you're full of surprises," Rod said. "This is just the first."
--------
"All right," Rod said, checking his readouts one last time. "Ready?"
John eyed the chair nervously and took a deep breath. "With great power comes great responsibility."
"Oh," Carson said brightly, checking the last of the EEG leads. "Superman. I liked him when I was a boy."
John frowned at him. "Spiderman. Hardly the same."
"Come on, Spiderman," Rod said, snapping. "In the chair."
John hesitated for a moment, but Carson motioned him on. "Go on then, lad. I'll be monitoring you. You're perfectly safe."
With a determined look, John sat down.
The effect was instantaneous: the dais lit up brightly around them and the chair reclined to its active position. John looked slightly panicked, but remained calm.
"It's okay," Rod said, watching him closely, "you're fine. It just detected your ATA gene and initialized. Now, I need you to think about where we are in the solar system."
John screwed up his face. "Okay. Solar system, solar system." A maze of star charts coalesced brightly overhead, illuminating the most detailed astrography Rod had ever seen.
"My god," he said quietly. "Look at that."
John squinted one eye open and looked heavenward. "Did I do that?"
Rod watched the hologram revolve slowly around them, illustrating galaxies and planets no man had ever seen before. "I think it's just the beginning of what you can do," he said, as breathless with the reality of John as Elizabeth had been with his potential.
Thursday, June 24th
When the ink was dry on John's contracts and he'd returned from settling his affairs in Pennsylvania, Rod presented him with an expedition uniform. "Here," he said. "Now you can look just like the rest of us."
"What a joy," he replied dryly.
Rod raised an eyebrow. "Someone's snippy."
"Traveling is hard on me," John said defensively. "You know that."
"You're not going to be like this all the time, are you?" Rod asked. "Because there's this thing called a stargate -- stop me if you've heard this one -- and it uses wormholes to travel through vast areas of space."
"I know that," John said. "I don't think wormholes give you jet lag."
"Well if they do, I'd like a little warning before you show up at my door in the middle of the night next time."
Radek looked up from the code he was parsing. "Already?" he said. "That is fast, even for you."
"January and February conversation here, Comrade."
"This is the laboratory," Radek said. "This is where you do work. If you want to pull each other's pigtails, I suggest you go elsewhere."
"What?" John sputtered, "we're not--"
"Of course you're not," Radek said, and returned to his code.
Tuesday, June 28th
"Hey," Rod said, tugging on John's sleeve as he passed him in the hall. Rod pulled him into a nearby room and shut the door behind them.
"What are you doing?" John said.
"Listen. Lorne's going out to 155 later this afternoon. Go with him and bring back a bottle of vodka."
"Why? I don't drink."
"Well," Rod said, "there's half your problem. But this isn't for you. This is for Radek."
"Why am I buying vodka for Radek?"
"Because he's made this polymer treatment that'll stop your glasses from fogging up all the time. His price is a bottle of liquor, and he likes vodka."
"You -- you couldn't have told me this before?" John said, working up to the outraged hysteria that was always lurking just beneath the surface, despite John's vehement protests to the contrary. "I haven't been able to see properly for four days!"
"Well, we needed some time to figure out if you were one of the good guys or not."
"That's outrageous!"
"This is Antarctica. Get used to it. And whatever you do, don't tell Kavanagh."
"But his glasses fog up all the time."
Rod grinned. "I know."
Friday, July 2nd
"Hey," Rod said, setting his tray down next to John's in the mess. "Movie night tonight: Back to the Future. We were supposed to watch it a while back, but Simpson started a fire and then Wagner almost took down the mainframe."
"Back to the Future?" John said, wrinkling his nose. "Whose choice was that? That's got to be one of the stupidest movies ever made."
"Why does everyone say that? No movie with Christopher Lloyd was ever intended to be intelligent. It was intended to be funny. And it is. Great Scott!" he said, as if to demonstrate.
John rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "I don't know," he said. "I still have a lot of catching up to do with the SG-1 files." After a moment of picking at his peas, he added, "Will you be there?"
"Of course," Rod said, stealing John's chocolate chip cookie. "I won the rock-paper-scissors tournament to pick the movie."
Saturday, July 3rd
"Psst," Rod said, motioning John into an alcove near the med bay.
John stopped and looked around. "Did you just 'psst' me?"
"Yes," Rod said, "for all the good it did. Discretion is clearly not your middle name."
"No," John said, "it's Adam."
Rod sighed. "Would you just get over here?"
"Fine," John said, squeezing into the alcove next to him and lowering his voice. "What do you want?"
"Are you any good at poker?" Rod asked.
"Depends. Am I allowed to count cards?"
"No."
"Then I suck."
"Great," Rod said. "Saturday's poker night. We play for office supplies, so bring your stash."
"I don't have a stash."
"What do you mean you don't have a stash? You've been here for a week and a half."
"I take only what I need from the community supplies."
"What am I going to do with you?" Rod sighed. "Everyone needs a stash, Sheppard."
"Well, I don't have one."
"Fine. I'll float you a starter loan, but we split your next two weeks' winnings 50/50."
"That's highway robbery! I'll give you 70/30."
"This is not a negotiation, Sheppard."
"Fine," John said, "but this is a one-time fleecing. When we get to Atlantis, all bets are off."
"Fine."
--------
"Raise," John said, tossing a whiteboard marker onto the pile. "By the way, is there a Mensa chapter around here?" he asked, and then, "Hey! A whiteboard marker is worth three pads of Post-Its, Dumais, not two," when she tried to call.
"No," Radek said.
"We've been too busy to socialize," Rod said, "especially those of us who have been here from the beginning. You wouldn't believe the amount of work we've had to do in such a short period of time."
"What do you call this, if not socializing?" John said. "If we have time to watch movies and play poker, we have time for a Mensa meeting."
"Let me guess," Rod said, "you were active in your chapter back home?"
"I was in a college town in the northeast. Of course I was."
"I'd be interested," Kavanagh said.
Simpson frowned at Kavanagh, but shrugged. "Yeah, me too."
"That is only because you are terrible at poker," Radek pointed out.
"Speaking of," John said, and laid down a full house. Dumais laid down two pair.
"Ha." Rod said, laying down a straight flush. "To answer your question, Sheppard," he said, dragging the pot toward him, "I don't call this socializing. I call it restocking."
Wednesday, July 7th
"Well, forgive me for not wanting to support the military-industrial complex by getting a Ph.D.!" John huffed. "But a real scientist wouldn't need me to have one before he took me seriously!"
"I'm sorry," Rod said, flabbergasted, "did you just call me a fake scientist? And 'supporting the military-industrial complex?' Are you for real?"
"You can't honestly tell me you think the United States is a benevolent government that has the people's best interests at heart."
"Of course not; no government does. But I don't think it's all shadow conspiracies, either."
John gestured around them. "Antarctica! Ancients! Aliens! Is this not the definition of a shadow conspiracy?"
"It's hardly the grassy knoll."
"This is worse than the grassy knoll," John said, in full flail. "I can't believe you! Aren't Canadians supposed to be more civic-minded than Americans?"
"That's a gross generalization. And I can't believe you think that all universities are part of the military-industrial complex!"
"Like Caltech and your precious Dr. Fleinhardt?"
"What do you have against Larry? You become completely irrational every time I mention his name, and for no good reason!"
"Because you talk about him all the time like he's not exactly what's wrong with high-stakes science! His last few papers came out of work he did for the FBI, for god's sake! But if it'll get you to take me seriously, fine, I'll just whip up a dissertation and send it to Dr. Fleinhardt. I'll call it All of the Ways in Which Dr. Rodney McKay is Wrong: So Very, Very Wrong. Would that make you happy?"
"Joyful," Rod deadpanned.
John slammed his tablet down. "Whatever. I'm going to lunch."
He stormed out, leaving Rod and Radek in his wake. "Did he just 'whatever' me?" Rod asked, incredulous. "I don't believe it."
"Yes, he did," Radek said, by now resigned to let their January and February tempests swirl around him. "I think he is elevating pigtail pulling to an art form."
"What?" Rod said. "That's ridiclous."
"Yes," Radek said, "because you have not been secretly hoping for weeks."
"I'm not exactly pining away over here. If that's what you're thinking, you're sorely mistaken."
"Whatever," Radek said, and started a new simulation.
Friday, July 9th
"You can't really think the United States has a better educational system than Canada," Rod said, "military-industrial complex aside."
"Of course they do. The Ivies, MIT, Caltech, Northwestern, Johns Hopkins. Need I go on?"
"Those are for exceptional students," Rod argued, "and exceptional students will always find a way to be successful. But what about the average student? From what I understand, no one expects No Child Left Behind to be anything but a failure. Canada's other government-run programs may have flaws, but its educational system -- for the average student -- is far better than the American system. And that's not even taking into consideration the proliferation of professional schools. Really," Rod said, "Canada is just superior to America in some very important ways. You're going to have to acknowledge that."
"'Some very important ways?'" John scoffed. "Like what?"
"To start with," Rod said, looking up from his diagnostics and catching John's gaze with a grin, "we're bigger. And on top."
John blushed slightly and looked away, then returned to his simulation. After a moment, he said, "That's not all it takes to be superior, you know."
Thursday, July 15th
"Are you sure about this?" John asked, listing sideways on the bed until he came to a stop against Rod's shoulder. "I mean, really sure? One-way trip and possible danger and death and god only knows what else?" He gestured extravagantly with his bottle as though to illustrate. "Can you imagine all the things that could be out there?"
Rod slipped the whiskey from John's slack grip and took a long pull. "I've seen a lot of sci-fi, Sheppard. I have a good imagination."
"I hate it when you call me Sheppard."
"I know."
"So are you?"
"What?"
"Sure."
"Of course not. I don't know what's out there, any more than you do. I don't know if we'll find great things or terrible things or nothing at all. I don't know if it's worth leaving my sister and her family behind, or if my talents and abilities would be better utilized here or there. And despite your desire to usurp my title as smartest man in two galaxies," he said, poking John in the arm, "that's not an inconsequential question."
John listed to the left, as though by the inertia of Rod's gesture, and eyed him with the careful consideration of the spectacularly soused. "You're not drunk enough," he decided.
Rod sighed. "I think you're right."
John was quiet for a moment, absently tracing the faded letters across Rod's chest. Obey gravity, his t-shirt read. It's the law. "So," John finally said. "Not sure, then."
Rod took another drink, then another. "I'm sure I want to find out. It's another galaxy, Sheppard. How cool is that?"
"Pretty fucking cool."
"Yeah," Rod said, "that's what I think." Then, "Are you going to pass out on me now? You've been touching on me for the last 20 minutes. Not that I don't appreciate it, but I have it on good authority that a touchy Sheppard immediately precedes a passed out Sheppard."
"Who told you that?"
"Radek."
"You can't trust him," John said, "the man drinks like he's inhuman."
"Mm," Rod agreed. "I'm not entirely sure that he's not."
"And I haven't been touching on you."
"John," Rod said, "you're fondling my chest right now."
John looked down at his hand. "Oh. So I am."
"So," Rod said. "Passing out now?"
"Yes," John said uncertainly. "I think so."
"Good enough." Rod stood, took a moment to find his balance, then pulled John's feet up and shoved at him until he was mostly comfortable on the bed. "All right. Just as long as you're up in time to go through the gate, even if you go through with a hangover. I hardly doubt you'll be the only one, come to think of it." He headed for the door, but hesitated before he opened it. "You haven't changed your mind, have you?"
"No. You?"
"No."
"Okay," John said, "then we'll--" but whatever else he was going to say was lost to his soft snores.
Friday, July 16th
"Let's go, people!" Lorne boomed. "We don't know how much power we've got. Security teams one and two, you're up first. All the personnel will follow on our signal. Once you're on the other side, keep moving and clear the debarkation area." Stackhouse and Markham took position in front of him, and he offered his arm to Elizabeth. "On our lead!"
The four of them went through the gate, the rest of the expedition left behind and waiting eagerly for their report.
Finally, General O'Neill's voice filled the gate room. "Expedition team," he said, "move out."
Rod and John lined up behind security team two and walked slowly onto the ramp, watching as the Marines ahead of them went through the gate. "Wait," John whispered, eyeing the puddle nervously, "what does it feel like?"
"It hurts like hell."
John's eyes went wide and he swallowed hard, then screwed up his face resolutely.
"Kidding," Rod said, taking him by the sleeve, his warm hand brushing against John's. "Don't worry. We'll go through together."
Poll Author, author!
Author: paradise_city
Pairing: Mensa!John/Rod
SGA-verse or MENSA-verse: MENSA-verse
Rating: PG
Summary: "Kidnapping! Coercion! And that Rod person sexually harassed me!" And yet somehow, John joined the expedition after all.
Notes: Many thanks to M. for beta.
Recipient: jade_1459
Monday, June 14th
"I thought it was the Palestinians," Radek said, peering into his toolbox and digging through its depths.
Peter frowned, his expression made comical by the magnifier he was using to study a drone. "Wasn't it the Libyans?"
"No," Zelenka said, "I am quite sure it was the Palestinians."
Rod looked up from his laptop. "Sorry, Comrade," he said, "it was the Libyans. Trust me, it's one of my favorite movies. I would know."
"One of your favorite movies?" Peter's look of shock was even funnier than his frown. "There isn't a single scientifically accurate thing in that film."
"It wasn't meant to be scientifically accurate; it was meant to be funny. And it was. You can't tell me that Calvin Klein--"
His radio chirped. "Dr. Weir to Dr. McKay," Elizabeth said, poor reception making her sound oddly breathless. "Rod, I need to see you immediately."
He keyed the radio. "Right," he said, saving his work and shutting the laptop. "On my way."
As he left, he heard Zelenka mutter, "I still think it was the Palestinians."
"Movie night Friday," Rod called as he left. "I've got the Libyans for $50."
--------
"Rod," Elizabeth said when he entered her office, and he could see it wasn't a trick of the radio that had made her sound breathless. "Sit down. You're going to want to sit down for this."
"For what?" he asked, and she slid a folder across the desk.
"Look at this."
The first page was a genetic report. While it wasn't his own field of expertise, Rod was familiar enough with Carson's work to understand its implications immediately. "Is this right? This can't be right."
"We've tested his sample three times," Elizabeth said, "and we'll test him again in person, but yes, I think it's right. Do you know what this means?"
"Of course I do. This is unbelievable. Who is he?"
"John Sheppard. Ex-military, USAF," she said as Rodney flipped through the folder's pages. "He's currently holding a faculty position in engineering at Bucknell University."
"That's not even a real science school. And he's not even a Ph.D.," Rod said. "What is he doing there?"
"That's anyone's guess," she said. "He got his M.S. in aeronautical engineering at AFIT. He was stationed at the research lab at Wright-Patterson during Desert Storm but was honorably discharged shortly thereafter. It was expected he'd complete a Ph.D. at one of the major research universities when he left the military, but he disappeared instead. He reappeared a few times to publish, but disappeared immediately afterward each time. Eventually he resurfaced at Bucknell."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Rumor has it he became a pacifist during the war, but details are sketchy. I've got General O'Neill working on it, but I get the impression he's not going to get anywhere, or that he'd tell me even if he did. The one thing I do know for certain from speaking with Mr. Sheppard is that he has no interest at all in working with the government or the military."
Rod sighed.
"But," Elizabeth said, "I convinced him to come to Antarctica and at least hear our offer."
"What? How'd you manage to do that?"
She looked sheepish -- or at least what passed for sheepish on someone who had one of the best poker faces Rod had ever seen. "I may not have mentioned the military connection or the confidentiality agreement when I spoke with him."
"Elizabeth!"
"He has the strongest gene expression we've seen by far," she said, "stronger even than General O'Neill's. If we can get him to sign on to the expedition, it will have been worth any subterfuge we might have had to resort to."
"Is lying to someone who already distrusts the military really the wisest course of action here?"
"There's simply no way I could have gotten him to meet with me otherwise. He can make or break this expedition and I can't let him walk away, not without understanding what his participation could mean. Think of what he could do, not just for his country or his planet, but his entire galaxy," she said. "He can make a difference the scale of which we can't even begin to comprehend. There's never a time to set ethics aside, but think about the scale of what we're doing here, Rod. We need every advantage we can get."
"Hey," he said. "I'm on your side, remember? I'm not the one who needs convincing."
"No," Elizabeth said, "but I think you're just the man to do it."
"What?"
"Mr. Sheppard is arriving in McMurdo on Wednesday. I think you're the best person to get him to sign the confidentiality agreement and agree to hear our offer."
"Elizabeth," he protested, "I can't--"
"We need him, Rod," she said. "I'm certain he'll sign on once he understands that this is first and foremost a civilian enterprise, with only defensive military aims. But I can't prove that to him until he signs the agreement and meets with me.
"You know better than all of us what he could mean to this expedition. And if you can't pique his curiosity and excite him about all the possibilities at hand, no one can."
"Sure. I'll just say, what, 'I know you think the government and military are the devil, Mr. Sheppard, but would you care to saunter vaguely downwards with me anyway?'"
"I don't much care what you say. Just get it done. Right now, this entire expedition is hinging on his participation."
"Right," Rod said. "No pressure."
Wednesday, June 16th
The man who stepped off the helipad looked nothing like the picture in his file, mostly because the man in the picture wasn't bundled in enough extreme cold weather gear to warm a family of five.
Rodney waved him over, clipboard in hand, and John carefully made his way over the snow to the helipad enclosure. "Mr. Sheppard?" Rod shouted over the noise of the departing helicopter.
He nodded, brushing ineffectually at the snow that had dusted his glasses. "Dr. McKay?"
Rodney tucked the clipboard under his arm and extended his gloved hand. "Call me Rod," he said, when the noise of the departing helicopter had faded away.
"John," he replied, shaking firmly. From the feel of his hand, Rod guessed he had five pairs of cold weather gloves, as well.
"John, it's cold out, so I'll make this quick. When Dr. Weir contacted you, she neglected to mention that in order for this meeting to proceed, you'll have to sign a standard military confidentiality agreement."
"What?" John said. "No! She never mentioned anything about the military. She said this was a civilian expedition. Are you saying it's not?"
"I'm sorry, John," Rod said. "It was a simple oversight on our part, no misdirection intended. The expedition is civilian in nature, but the confidentiality agreement is standard due to U.S. involvement. If you'll sign the agreement, we can get on with the business at hand. Trust me when I say you'll be very interested in what we have to say."
"Trust you?" John said, righteous indignation creeping into his tone. "No. There's nothing happening behind closed military doors that I want to be a part of. I made that expressly clear to Dr. Weir when we spoke."
"Mr. Sheppard, please."
"I trusted Dr. Weir because her reputation preceded her. Clearly she's no different than anyone else in the American government if she's been lying right from the start. I won't sign, and I'm not interested in any expedition with ties to the military."
"This isn't an offer we make lightly, Mr. Sheppard," Rod said. "We asked you here because we need you, and I guarantee this is a civilian-run enterprise. You have my word. If there's anything else I can say or do to change your mind, I'll do it. But I simply cannot proceed without your signature."
"No. I want nothing to do with an expedition of liars. I should've known better. I had no business coming here at all."
Rod tried one last time. "Mr. Sheppard, please, are you certain?"
"Absolutely."
Rod sighed, switching forms on his clipboard and handing it over with a pen. "Fine. If you'll sign here acknowledging your refusal to grant confidentiality and stating that no sensitive information has been divulged, we can take you back to Christchurch." He gestured to a waiting helicopter on the pad. "We apologize for your time."
John signed the form and brusquely handed it over. "You've wasted a lot of it."
"I know, Mr. Sheppard, and we're sorry." He paused, checking over the forms, then looked at John with badly faked surprise. "Oh, what's this? Looks like I mixed up my forms and the one you signed was the confidentiality agreement after all! Guess it's not going to be such a waste of time, then. What a lucky mistake."
"What?" John said, slowly warming to full-on outrage. "You -- you tricked me! You can't do that! I did not sign that form and I won't be a party to--" but Rod was already hustling him toward the helicopter and John's protests were lost to the wind when they left the safety of the enclosure.
"Come on," Rod said, shoving him toward the helicopter. "You're skinny, but you weigh a ton. What did you do, dress for hibernation?" He clicked his radio. "Lorne! Can you help me out here? I'm not exactly experienced in kidnapping!"
"Kidnapping!" he heard John shriek over the roar of the wind, but Rod ignored him and shoved him along.
"Come on, come on. This would be so much easier if you'd just agreed to come with me like a normal person, but you had to make it difficult." He pushed and pulled some more, then resorted to dragging when that didn't work. As they neared the helicopter, Lt. Col. Lorne leaned out and started pulling John from the inside while Rod shoved from the outside.
"Stop that!" John yelled. "This is harassment! Coercion! A violation of my civil rights! Kidnapping is a federal offense, you know! You can't -- get your hands off my ass!"
"Oh, don't flatter yourself!" Rod panted, and gave one last shove that sent John sprawling over the seat.
"I can't believe this! This is--"
"A moot point, Sheppard," Rod huffed, falling into the seat beside him and pulling the door shut with a heave. "You're here, so you might as well hear us out. You come, you listen, you agree or not. We're not going to hold you against your will or make you disappear off the face of the earth if you decide you don't want to play. All we're asking for is a chance to make that offer, and for you to accept or decline with full understanding of the ramifications."
"Say the people who kidnapped me," John sniped, wiping at his glasses gone awry. "And don't call me Sheppard. I hate it when people call me Sheppard. My name is John."
"We went through a lot of trouble to kidnap you. The least you can do is be appreciative."
John sputtered.
"Kidding," Rod said, digging in one of his pockets and handing over a bundle of Kleenex. "Here. Now strap yourself in. We didn't go through all this trouble to lose you somewhere over the great white wilderness." When he was done, Rod handed him a helmet and helped him fasten it, his gloved hands cold on John's cheek. He showed John how to toggle his radio and clicked his own on.
"Do we have a go?" Lorne asked, already running through his pre-flight check.
"We have a go," Rod said. "If he gives me trouble, I'll just pop the hatch and give him a good shove."
John's expression was horrified behind his helmet.
"Kidding!" he said. "I already told you're too valuable for us do that."
"Rod, stop scaring the fish," Lorne said, and the rotors thundered to life above them.
"Believe it or not," Rod said to John, strapping himself in, "we are sorry. But this really is worth it. You may not know it yet, but you're the most powerful man in two galaxies."
"Me?"
Rod looked him over, skinny frame drowning in five layers of cold weather gear and fogged up, crooked glasses behind his helmet. "I know," he said doubtfully. "I can hardly believe it myself."
They flew in silence for a while, John still giving off righteous indignation in tidal waves. When it became clear he wasn't going to calm down anytime soon, Rod asked, "Why'd you come all the way out here anyway, if you had no idea what we were offering and weren't willing to jump through a few hoops to find out?"
"I like the cold," John said stiffly, glaring at Rod. "I thought I might like it out here. Clearly I was mistaken."
Rod looked at him, disbelieving, then tapped Lorne on the shoulder. "You hear that, Colonel? Sheppard thought he'd like it here."
Thursday, June 17th
"Outrage!" Rod and Radek heard as they passed Elizabeth's door on their way to the mess. "Kidnapping! Federal offense!"
Rod paused, his noble quest for pancakes momentarily forgotten. "He's still at it? My god."
"You did kidnap him," Radek pointed out reasonably.
"Yes, but this is a little extreme for a relatively minor kidnapping, don't you think? It's not like we threatened him. And he'll get a million dollar contract out of this if he plays his cards right."
"Sounds like ransom."
"It's not ransom if we're paying him. What kind of backward spy movies have you been watching, Radek?"
"Mr. Sheppard," they heard Elizabeth say, shouting to be heard over John's protests, "please, if you'll just--"
"And that Rod person sexually harassed me!" John added. "I demand recompense!"
"What?" Rod said, when Radek gave him the eyebrow. "Okay, maybe my hands were on his hindparts, but he was being recalcitrant. It was a kidnapping; there was pushing and shoving involved!"
Radek continued on toward the mess. "That sounds not like a spy film," he said, "but another sort of film entirely."
"That's it. No more movie nights for you."
Saturday, June 19th
Rod answered the persistent knocking at his door reluctantly, stumbling in the dark and feeling blindly around for his robe. When he'd finally managed to tie it on over his Math jokes are the first sine of weakness t-shirt, he opened the door and blinked in the sudden brightness of the hallway. "What?" he mumbled blearily, "are we about to explode? Implode? Dematerialize? And why didn't you just use the radi -- oh," he said, finally focusing on the figure in front of him. "It's you. What are you doing here? It must be two in the morning."
"Three, actually," John said. "I didn't mean to wake you. Well, I did," he amended, "but not out of any ill will."
"Hey," Rod noted, stifling a yawn. "You're not hysterical anymore."
"Yeah," John said, "about that. Sorry, sort of. In my defense, I'd been traveling for 32 hours. And you kidnapped me. That's enough to make anyone hysterical."
Rod could concede the point. "Fair enough. Nice to know you're not normally like that, though. Hysteria isn't high on the list of qualities I like to see in my coworkers."
"Ah," John hedged. "I may be a little...excitable by nature, perhaps, but not to that extent. Now that I've slept off the jet lag, I'm sure you'll find I'm far more reasonable."
Rod nodded. "I'm sure I will. But you still haven't told me what you want. Not that I object to an attractive man appearing in my doorway in the middle of night, but somehow I doubt that's why you're here."
John's eyes went wide for a moment, then he relaxed. "Oh," he said, "kidding. Right."
"I wasn't, actually."
John stared, then said, vindicated, "I knew it! You grabbed my ass on purpose!"
Rod rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to go through this? It was a kidnapping. You were being difficult. There was pushing and shoving involved. It was completely accidental."
"Sure it was."
Rod sighed, exasperated. "Are you going to tell me why you're here? You're interrupting valuable sleeping time and I have an uncomfortable bed to get back to, so...?"
"Right," John said, chastened. "Sorry. I just wanted to know if we could schedule time for me to sit in the chair. Dr. Weir said I should speak to you about it."
"Sure," Rod said, "we can do it this afternoon. I'll have Carson and a medical team stand by and we'll sit you in the chair and run you through a standard test diagnostic. It's a simple process."
"Okay," John said. "Sorry to disturb you. I couldn't sleep any more and I just...wanted to know."
"No worries," Rod said. Then, "Are you really thinking about doing this, joining the expedition?"
"Yeah," John said. "I'm a little surprised, to tell you the truth."
"I think you're full of surprises," Rod said. "This is just the first."
--------
"All right," Rod said, checking his readouts one last time. "Ready?"
John eyed the chair nervously and took a deep breath. "With great power comes great responsibility."
"Oh," Carson said brightly, checking the last of the EEG leads. "Superman. I liked him when I was a boy."
John frowned at him. "Spiderman. Hardly the same."
"Come on, Spiderman," Rod said, snapping. "In the chair."
John hesitated for a moment, but Carson motioned him on. "Go on then, lad. I'll be monitoring you. You're perfectly safe."
With a determined look, John sat down.
The effect was instantaneous: the dais lit up brightly around them and the chair reclined to its active position. John looked slightly panicked, but remained calm.
"It's okay," Rod said, watching him closely, "you're fine. It just detected your ATA gene and initialized. Now, I need you to think about where we are in the solar system."
John screwed up his face. "Okay. Solar system, solar system." A maze of star charts coalesced brightly overhead, illuminating the most detailed astrography Rod had ever seen.
"My god," he said quietly. "Look at that."
John squinted one eye open and looked heavenward. "Did I do that?"
Rod watched the hologram revolve slowly around them, illustrating galaxies and planets no man had ever seen before. "I think it's just the beginning of what you can do," he said, as breathless with the reality of John as Elizabeth had been with his potential.
Thursday, June 24th
When the ink was dry on John's contracts and he'd returned from settling his affairs in Pennsylvania, Rod presented him with an expedition uniform. "Here," he said. "Now you can look just like the rest of us."
"What a joy," he replied dryly.
Rod raised an eyebrow. "Someone's snippy."
"Traveling is hard on me," John said defensively. "You know that."
"You're not going to be like this all the time, are you?" Rod asked. "Because there's this thing called a stargate -- stop me if you've heard this one -- and it uses wormholes to travel through vast areas of space."
"I know that," John said. "I don't think wormholes give you jet lag."
"Well if they do, I'd like a little warning before you show up at my door in the middle of the night next time."
Radek looked up from the code he was parsing. "Already?" he said. "That is fast, even for you."
"January and February conversation here, Comrade."
"This is the laboratory," Radek said. "This is where you do work. If you want to pull each other's pigtails, I suggest you go elsewhere."
"What?" John sputtered, "we're not--"
"Of course you're not," Radek said, and returned to his code.
Tuesday, June 28th
"Hey," Rod said, tugging on John's sleeve as he passed him in the hall. Rod pulled him into a nearby room and shut the door behind them.
"What are you doing?" John said.
"Listen. Lorne's going out to 155 later this afternoon. Go with him and bring back a bottle of vodka."
"Why? I don't drink."
"Well," Rod said, "there's half your problem. But this isn't for you. This is for Radek."
"Why am I buying vodka for Radek?"
"Because he's made this polymer treatment that'll stop your glasses from fogging up all the time. His price is a bottle of liquor, and he likes vodka."
"You -- you couldn't have told me this before?" John said, working up to the outraged hysteria that was always lurking just beneath the surface, despite John's vehement protests to the contrary. "I haven't been able to see properly for four days!"
"Well, we needed some time to figure out if you were one of the good guys or not."
"That's outrageous!"
"This is Antarctica. Get used to it. And whatever you do, don't tell Kavanagh."
"But his glasses fog up all the time."
Rod grinned. "I know."
Friday, July 2nd
"Hey," Rod said, setting his tray down next to John's in the mess. "Movie night tonight: Back to the Future. We were supposed to watch it a while back, but Simpson started a fire and then Wagner almost took down the mainframe."
"Back to the Future?" John said, wrinkling his nose. "Whose choice was that? That's got to be one of the stupidest movies ever made."
"Why does everyone say that? No movie with Christopher Lloyd was ever intended to be intelligent. It was intended to be funny. And it is. Great Scott!" he said, as if to demonstrate.
John rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "I don't know," he said. "I still have a lot of catching up to do with the SG-1 files." After a moment of picking at his peas, he added, "Will you be there?"
"Of course," Rod said, stealing John's chocolate chip cookie. "I won the rock-paper-scissors tournament to pick the movie."
Saturday, July 3rd
"Psst," Rod said, motioning John into an alcove near the med bay.
John stopped and looked around. "Did you just 'psst' me?"
"Yes," Rod said, "for all the good it did. Discretion is clearly not your middle name."
"No," John said, "it's Adam."
Rod sighed. "Would you just get over here?"
"Fine," John said, squeezing into the alcove next to him and lowering his voice. "What do you want?"
"Are you any good at poker?" Rod asked.
"Depends. Am I allowed to count cards?"
"No."
"Then I suck."
"Great," Rod said. "Saturday's poker night. We play for office supplies, so bring your stash."
"I don't have a stash."
"What do you mean you don't have a stash? You've been here for a week and a half."
"I take only what I need from the community supplies."
"What am I going to do with you?" Rod sighed. "Everyone needs a stash, Sheppard."
"Well, I don't have one."
"Fine. I'll float you a starter loan, but we split your next two weeks' winnings 50/50."
"That's highway robbery! I'll give you 70/30."
"This is not a negotiation, Sheppard."
"Fine," John said, "but this is a one-time fleecing. When we get to Atlantis, all bets are off."
"Fine."
--------
"Raise," John said, tossing a whiteboard marker onto the pile. "By the way, is there a Mensa chapter around here?" he asked, and then, "Hey! A whiteboard marker is worth three pads of Post-Its, Dumais, not two," when she tried to call.
"No," Radek said.
"We've been too busy to socialize," Rod said, "especially those of us who have been here from the beginning. You wouldn't believe the amount of work we've had to do in such a short period of time."
"What do you call this, if not socializing?" John said. "If we have time to watch movies and play poker, we have time for a Mensa meeting."
"Let me guess," Rod said, "you were active in your chapter back home?"
"I was in a college town in the northeast. Of course I was."
"I'd be interested," Kavanagh said.
Simpson frowned at Kavanagh, but shrugged. "Yeah, me too."
"That is only because you are terrible at poker," Radek pointed out.
"Speaking of," John said, and laid down a full house. Dumais laid down two pair.
"Ha." Rod said, laying down a straight flush. "To answer your question, Sheppard," he said, dragging the pot toward him, "I don't call this socializing. I call it restocking."
Wednesday, July 7th
"Well, forgive me for not wanting to support the military-industrial complex by getting a Ph.D.!" John huffed. "But a real scientist wouldn't need me to have one before he took me seriously!"
"I'm sorry," Rod said, flabbergasted, "did you just call me a fake scientist? And 'supporting the military-industrial complex?' Are you for real?"
"You can't honestly tell me you think the United States is a benevolent government that has the people's best interests at heart."
"Of course not; no government does. But I don't think it's all shadow conspiracies, either."
John gestured around them. "Antarctica! Ancients! Aliens! Is this not the definition of a shadow conspiracy?"
"It's hardly the grassy knoll."
"This is worse than the grassy knoll," John said, in full flail. "I can't believe you! Aren't Canadians supposed to be more civic-minded than Americans?"
"That's a gross generalization. And I can't believe you think that all universities are part of the military-industrial complex!"
"Like Caltech and your precious Dr. Fleinhardt?"
"What do you have against Larry? You become completely irrational every time I mention his name, and for no good reason!"
"Because you talk about him all the time like he's not exactly what's wrong with high-stakes science! His last few papers came out of work he did for the FBI, for god's sake! But if it'll get you to take me seriously, fine, I'll just whip up a dissertation and send it to Dr. Fleinhardt. I'll call it All of the Ways in Which Dr. Rodney McKay is Wrong: So Very, Very Wrong. Would that make you happy?"
"Joyful," Rod deadpanned.
John slammed his tablet down. "Whatever. I'm going to lunch."
He stormed out, leaving Rod and Radek in his wake. "Did he just 'whatever' me?" Rod asked, incredulous. "I don't believe it."
"Yes, he did," Radek said, by now resigned to let their January and February tempests swirl around him. "I think he is elevating pigtail pulling to an art form."
"What?" Rod said. "That's ridiclous."
"Yes," Radek said, "because you have not been secretly hoping for weeks."
"I'm not exactly pining away over here. If that's what you're thinking, you're sorely mistaken."
"Whatever," Radek said, and started a new simulation.
Friday, July 9th
"You can't really think the United States has a better educational system than Canada," Rod said, "military-industrial complex aside."
"Of course they do. The Ivies, MIT, Caltech, Northwestern, Johns Hopkins. Need I go on?"
"Those are for exceptional students," Rod argued, "and exceptional students will always find a way to be successful. But what about the average student? From what I understand, no one expects No Child Left Behind to be anything but a failure. Canada's other government-run programs may have flaws, but its educational system -- for the average student -- is far better than the American system. And that's not even taking into consideration the proliferation of professional schools. Really," Rod said, "Canada is just superior to America in some very important ways. You're going to have to acknowledge that."
"'Some very important ways?'" John scoffed. "Like what?"
"To start with," Rod said, looking up from his diagnostics and catching John's gaze with a grin, "we're bigger. And on top."
John blushed slightly and looked away, then returned to his simulation. After a moment, he said, "That's not all it takes to be superior, you know."
Thursday, July 15th
"Are you sure about this?" John asked, listing sideways on the bed until he came to a stop against Rod's shoulder. "I mean, really sure? One-way trip and possible danger and death and god only knows what else?" He gestured extravagantly with his bottle as though to illustrate. "Can you imagine all the things that could be out there?"
Rod slipped the whiskey from John's slack grip and took a long pull. "I've seen a lot of sci-fi, Sheppard. I have a good imagination."
"I hate it when you call me Sheppard."
"I know."
"So are you?"
"What?"
"Sure."
"Of course not. I don't know what's out there, any more than you do. I don't know if we'll find great things or terrible things or nothing at all. I don't know if it's worth leaving my sister and her family behind, or if my talents and abilities would be better utilized here or there. And despite your desire to usurp my title as smartest man in two galaxies," he said, poking John in the arm, "that's not an inconsequential question."
John listed to the left, as though by the inertia of Rod's gesture, and eyed him with the careful consideration of the spectacularly soused. "You're not drunk enough," he decided.
Rod sighed. "I think you're right."
John was quiet for a moment, absently tracing the faded letters across Rod's chest. Obey gravity, his t-shirt read. It's the law. "So," John finally said. "Not sure, then."
Rod took another drink, then another. "I'm sure I want to find out. It's another galaxy, Sheppard. How cool is that?"
"Pretty fucking cool."
"Yeah," Rod said, "that's what I think." Then, "Are you going to pass out on me now? You've been touching on me for the last 20 minutes. Not that I don't appreciate it, but I have it on good authority that a touchy Sheppard immediately precedes a passed out Sheppard."
"Who told you that?"
"Radek."
"You can't trust him," John said, "the man drinks like he's inhuman."
"Mm," Rod agreed. "I'm not entirely sure that he's not."
"And I haven't been touching on you."
"John," Rod said, "you're fondling my chest right now."
John looked down at his hand. "Oh. So I am."
"So," Rod said. "Passing out now?"
"Yes," John said uncertainly. "I think so."
"Good enough." Rod stood, took a moment to find his balance, then pulled John's feet up and shoved at him until he was mostly comfortable on the bed. "All right. Just as long as you're up in time to go through the gate, even if you go through with a hangover. I hardly doubt you'll be the only one, come to think of it." He headed for the door, but hesitated before he opened it. "You haven't changed your mind, have you?"
"No. You?"
"No."
"Okay," John said, "then we'll--" but whatever else he was going to say was lost to his soft snores.
Friday, July 16th
"Let's go, people!" Lorne boomed. "We don't know how much power we've got. Security teams one and two, you're up first. All the personnel will follow on our signal. Once you're on the other side, keep moving and clear the debarkation area." Stackhouse and Markham took position in front of him, and he offered his arm to Elizabeth. "On our lead!"
The four of them went through the gate, the rest of the expedition left behind and waiting eagerly for their report.
Finally, General O'Neill's voice filled the gate room. "Expedition team," he said, "move out."
Rod and John lined up behind security team two and walked slowly onto the ramp, watching as the Marines ahead of them went through the gate. "Wait," John whispered, eyeing the puddle nervously, "what does it feel like?"
"It hurts like hell."
John's eyes went wide and he swallowed hard, then screwed up his face resolutely.
"Kidding," Rod said, taking him by the sleeve, his warm hand brushing against John's. "Don't worry. We'll go through together."
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