Dating on a Grand Scale by itsuki9 (Dating Challenge)
Title: Dating on a grand scale
Author: itsuki9
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: R
Notes/Spoilers: Splits off from canon around 3x17 Sunday. Assume spoilers for everything up to the season finale (3x20 First Strike).
Word Count: ~3380
1. Family
The side effect of having mended fences with a sibling who's happily married was that the solution to Rodney's problems (and any conflicts in the world) now involved going out and meeting new people. One more time: what did he look for in a date?
"Blonde and smart," he answered by rote, giving up his default checklist. Even exhausted, he knew better than to try and dissuade Jeannie when she got that hopeful shine to her eyes.
"And has no desire to kill me."
"Piece of cake," Jeannie said. She pulled him into a careful hug before leaving. The little menace waved bye! at him over Jeannie's shoulder. The movements of that small chubby arm made him think of Athosian brats and the psychedelic squiggles of their paint-stained palms--memories, sense of a time cut short, blurring into a single drip of the IV.
He didn't need to meet new people. There hadn't been time to miss the old.
*
2. Blonde
Jeannie set me up on a date, Rodney mentioned at the end of his email to Sheppard. She says to tell you hello. By the way? Still married.
All official emails were coalesced into a data stream, and that particular encrypted packet containing the exciting details of one Rodney McKay's life was transmitted to Atlantis via SGC at 9pm EST on a Friday night.
Eight days later, the server forwarded a reply from Sheppard with the subject line: how did it go? to his work email.
He didn't bother with the details, other than conceding that it was the most awkward sixty minutes of lunch conversation he'd ever endured just to put a sandwich in his mouth.
There was also an email from Elizabeth. He downloaded it to read later.
*
3. Brunette
His sister had a systematic mind. (The system in place here seemed to be hair color. Was he that shallow... Never mind.) Working by process of elimination, she might eventually arrive at the correct conclusion that Rodney really wasn't ready for the dating scene.
John sent him schematics of Asgard-inspired technology that was to be incorporated into Jumper navigation systems. He stared at the plans for a long time, after the dinner that got cut short, till 3 in the morning, guzzling down coffee and sitting with an overly good posture for hours until his back started aching.
In the morning, he sent an email with a list of changes somebody had better make to the puddle jumper's interface if they didn't want to crash and burn.
Have Zelenka look this over. He'll know what to do.
*
4. What-the-hell?
Wrong again.
Some days, he refuses to believe that he and Jeannie share genetic material. Process of utter elimination, which he'd been counting on to eventually guide her from point M (for Matchmaker) to point N for No, Nyet, Not interested, instead led to her scheduling him for coffee with Todd, the 'very nice' pediatrician.
He thought he was going to have an aneurysm; she laughed it off and apologized by baking him gingersnap cookies, then tried to coax his forgiveness by encouraging her snot-nosed daughter to wobble-carry the plate to Uncle Rodney. Kid sneezed on his knee, twice. He admitted, reluctantly, that she had a sense of humor to stump him with the coffee-date-with-Todd thing.
Jeannie looked kind of defeated. Oh, no, he thought. She couldn't have been hoping this was the one who stuck.
*
5. Redhead
The last bundled communication from the Pegasus galaxy arrived at 0600. There had been no reply from Sheppard.
Rodney went ahead and ordered the set of DVDs; the Daedalus was leaving within the week, and he knew Sheppard would need new mindless entertainment the next time he pulled a muscle playing golf.
"This is the point where I say, cut your losses."
It was poker night at the Miller's, but he could easily be referring to her continuing efforts to hook him up with strangers. (For the record, Jeannie was a terrible poker player. Truly dismal.)
"Come on, Mer. Give me something to work with."
Caleb gave his wife a patient look, and went into the kitchen to get juice for a thirsty, crayon-breaking Madison. Victory eludes those who fold early.
Feeling surprisingly pliant in the glow from their grandmother's antique lamp (which hid the crayon smears and kid drool on his khakis), he ceded. "It'd be ... nice, to meet someone not intimidated by my work."
"You mean, your huge brain."
"Yes, my huge brain. And my work. Not that I'm planning to reveal classified information at any point, but you get the idea."
Two days later, he found himself having dinner with an old classmate of Jeannie's who now worked for a defense contractor. Neither blonde nor brunette, but witty and gutsy--how they went from Pinot grigio to crème brulée, to making out in the backseat of his car, the car key digging into his ass, he wasn't quite sure. He definitely wasn't complaining.
He heard his tie slithering off and a button pop, then she'd pushed the shirt off his shoulders. He could bet money on the exact moment she froze, though she recovered smoothly.
"When you said you worked with 'ancient' technology, you weren't talking about the computers, were you?" He was wrong about her, too: he had second-degree burns still healing along one arm, but what she squinted to see was an older mark, two small concentric triangles above his heart. (They served as a reminder to never underestimate the weapons technology of Pegasus natives, though he'd apparently forgotten them.) From these and the work stuff he'd talked around, she could probably deduce a lot of things. Like he said, smart.
Pretty girl, with pretty hair, even when she was striding away in her high heels, leaving him confused and regretful and not so turned on anymore.
*
6. How was your day?
A week went by without news from Sheppard. Rodney was regretting sending him the cheesiest television shows from the 80s (that should've been the first clue his plans of mockery would backfire) when the email arrived.
Control Room sustained damage from the Replicators' beam weapon.
Elizabeth's injured.
A chartered flight and manic driving brought Rodney to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex before midnight. He grabbed a few collars and demanded an update on the situation: there'd been no communication from Atlantis all week, which Rodney would've known about if he'd either come in to work or checked in with Sam Carter. But it turned out he was among the first to hear from Atlantis--probably right after the asphyxiating crew near drained the ZPM, in exchange for a flickering skip in hyperspace that let them drift within range of a dialing planet. Now he knew as much as the Gate technician.
While he waited for the incompetents to stop panicking and the higher-ups to make themselves useful, he took over a station and opened the old email from Elizabeth. It was succinct.
Are you ready to come back?
When he'd told Jeannie he wanted someone who wouldn't be put off by his work, it's because in any relationship, the room reserved for freaking out had a maximum capacity of one person--and that room was Occupied.
It'd seemed possible to conquer almost any fear when his team counted on him. Go mano-a-mano with a stronger, faster, life-sucking species? No choice, no problem. But that was the Rodney McKay back then, bluffing away with his poker face, downplaying his fears.
The SGC gave him plenty of space and time these days. No rush, Sam Carter had said. The first thing he did while unpacking boxes of stuff from his old apartment was to get rid of the digital clocks, as if the green numbers held the key to his anxiety, the two blinking dots and the relentless forward momentum of time somehow ominous. In reality, he'd only had one dream where he was back in the hallway of the O.R. level, struggling to stand up though his skull threatened to split apart. The shockwaves from the detonation had sent the air vibrating so wildly that he couldn't hear himself screaming Beckett's name. He'd thrown himself at the lockdown barrier while Atlantis denied him entrance, again and again, until the strange, tight sensation of not fitting in his own skin finally sank in all along the battered side of his body. Then John was knocking him to the ground away from the melting metal, pressing something heavy over him.
In his drug-induced dreams, he'd believed it was Carson by his side, keeping up with his gurney and telling him not to be such a baby as they went through the wormhole together. Carson, John had explained, didn't cross the Gate until a day later, accompanied by men in dress blues and with the flag of Scotland draped over his casket.
Elizabeth was going to come through at any moment--if Rodney saw Stars and Stripes or John Sheppard with a perfect posture and a hollow look, he was done with this.
For the Stargate Program, he'd given more than anyone had the right to ask of him. He'd seen it in their eyes. If he chose to become the type of scientist he despised and not return to Atlantis, nobody would blame him.
*
7. John
They brought Elizabeth through the Gate on a gurney around 0330. She was unconscious and in bad shape. Rodney stayed by her side the entire time, holding on to her hand until they kicked him out of the operating room.
After she was out of surgery, he sat by her bed and talked to the softly bleeping machines. I'm not ready yet, he said. But I wish I'd been. I could've prevented this.
He'd been a permanent fixture in her hospital room and annoying the nurses for days when John woke him up with a light shake to his shoulder.
"Hi," he said, blinking blearily and sitting up. His back creaked. "Why are you here?"
"The situation's under control for now. There was this guy, Colonel Ellis..." John trailed off as if he couldn't be less interested in his own words. He checked Elizabeth's stats.
"She's doing okay."
"Good." The exhalation stirred the hair by Rodney's ear. He felt John's relief, deep in his bones.
John headed home after a while and took Rodney with him--pushed a towel and clean clothes into his arms and walked him into the shower. When Rodney stumbled out, more or less human again, John put him to bed in the spacious room with the guitars, the fluffy pillows and a nice-smelling duvet.
"Couch?" he wondered aloud, before falling into a deep sleep almost immediately.
*
Elizabeth avoided all gossip, as a rule, and Rodney would sooner fire his best scientists than have them stand around making crass comments, but that week he talked enough trash for the both of them, denouncing a hotshot Colonel he didn't need to meet to despise. He made Elizabeth smile despite the gauze.
She wouldn't tell Rodney more about the power struggle on Atlantis, and Rodney didn't care to dig. He simply wondered how many more days John could afford to spend on Earth.
In the mean time, he enjoyed the extra company in the evenings. It was nice to have someone who played poker like a pro.
John had a special way of making popcorn (with extra butter, cheese, and cayenne pepper), which Rodney declared to be disgusting. Jeannie liked it--of course. Rodney looked to Mr. Jeannie for the swing vote, but Caleb refused to touch the huge bowl. Rodney couldn't figure out whether he was vegetarian or vegan, or just freaked out by corn.
The days were suffused with an air of inevitability, a countdown on green LEDs continuing in the back of his mind--John did whatever he needed to do at the SGC while Rodney was careful not to abuse his privileges again--but that made the nights more precious, and Rodney clung to them.
After the Millers & kid circus departed, they got up as one, Rodney carrying the bowl and plates to the sink while John shoved the unfinished root beer back in the fridge. He reappeared in a moment, dirty mugs dangling from his fingers. "Cake by the TV," John reminded. The way they moved around each other--working quietly, flicking soap suds here or bumping elbows there--was no revelation.
Having escorted the last piece of miserable leftover to the fridge, Rodney licked the caramel sauce off his thumb and turned around to share his insights into the parallels between their friendship and that of a dating couple's. He found John watching him, the strangest look on his face.
The knife slipped from his other hand and bounced once near his toes.
"McKay!" John's voice was a low rumble. It made his stomach do flip-flops and the hair on the back of his arms stand up.
He gestured emptily, his mouth still open. "Is this ... Are we dating?"
It fit the pattern. Instead of flowers, John sent him schematics because reverse engineering the multi-layered logic of an Asgard scanner was way cooler. And instead of preparing a turkey sandwich for John, Rodney made the necessary adjustments to the Jumper's interface that would save all their collective hides. And here, in his own apartment, homemade popcorn with extra everything was more enjoyable than steak and red wine. They'd even passed the test of Long (Seriously, You-Can't-Top-This Long) Distance.
It was almost a marriage, except for the sex part and the moving in.
And except that John had turned so pale, he looked like he was going to be sick.
"No, my mistake. Never mind," Rodney quickly corrected. He grabbed the mugs in John's hands before they were dropped, and placed them under running water. John clenched his fists and had to go sit down at the table, proper like a dinner guest.
The last time Rodney had been this confident and this flat out wrong about something, he'd blown up five-sixths of a solar system and drained the warmth out of John's eyes. It had taken him almost a month before he saw one of the secret smiles John intended for him alone, when no one else got the humor. He might've used up all his second chances by now.
*
Elizabeth was angry over some unwise shifting of personnel when he stopped by. Her old fire was back, and he was glad to see it. She told him John had been called back to Atlantis that morning. Rodney nodded and sat down by the window.
"You don't look well," she said.
Indigestion, he determined. His brain had been busy contemplating the hole he'd dug himself into, deconstructing and re-analyzing past evidence to arrive at a different conclusion that would make sense. The cayenne pepper wasn't helping, still lurking in his system, making his eyes sting.
"--not saying you shouldn't be afraid." He stopped his mental calisthenics to pay attention to Elizabeth's words. "But I've seen what you can do, Rodney, and in times of crisis your quick thinking gives all of us a fighting chance. The SGC won't be able to find someone who could replace you."
"Are you going back?" he asked her.
"No," she answered without hesitation. "I wish I had reason to."
*
Some moron ringing the doorbell around one in the morning woke him from his fitful sleep. He had a good idea who it could be. What was it about wormholes that destroyed a person's ability to check the clock?
He opened the door with a grumpy "What?"
John stood there with his index finger on the doorbell, looking a little dazed that Rodney actually answered the door. Held between his thumb and loosely curled fingers were strange ... plant life. The little white wildflowers were drooping from their thin stems, but they must've been perky and fresh when John came through the Gate.
They spoke at the same time. "You brought me wilted weeds?"
"--Can I come in?"
Tired face, contrite expression. John's other hand (scraped elbow sticking up in the air) was straining with the weight of the duffle bag slung over his shoulder, so Rodney stepped aside and let him in.
The stubby bottles of Canadian beer and the new DVDs he'd brought along definitely worked in his favor.
While Rodney filled a mason jar with water for the flowers, John stood close beside him, almost chest-to-shoulder, and delivered the message: Teyla wanted Rodney to know that she and Ronon both missed his presence on Atlantis. And, the flowers from the fields--
"Wait," Rodney interrupted. "Grave what? You brought me what?"
"Gredhiar, Rodney. Gredhiar. It stands for thriving friendship."
"Oh."
"Or love."
He looked up from the white speckles dangling over the edge of the jar. John's face showed an ongoing struggle between betting it all and maintaining his distance, so Rodney made things easier by stepping closer and--tentatively--kissing him.
Rodney didn't relax until John moved, turned his head to press soft lips against Rodney's temple, stubbles scratching Rodney's ear. What he saw overlaid on the sweat-damp triangle of muscles in John's neck were white hot flashes of heat and pain, striking him to the ground like a fly. Then, remembering, he couldn't help but tense up again.
The hand that stroked over his chest was cautious, but it brought him back to the here and now. The first dip of a wet tongue in his mouth was no less startling than the memory of John's dirt-streaked fingers pulling a soaked shirt--it'd felt so mercilessly heavy--over the already raw battlefield of his arm. Nothing had ever hurt so much, and nothing seared him the same way since.
"The Replicators are gone."
"But?"
Atlantis is disintegrating, John confessed into his shoulder, muffled. I shouldn't have left at all. Need to go back soon.
Perspectives merging--a sudden understanding of all the changes John couldn't bear to speak of in Elizabeth's presence. His heartbeat, lulled by the drag of his half-assed recovery and prolonged leave on Earth, was shocked back and brought in synch again with the beat of Atlantis. With the exchange of so few words, he and John were on the same wavelength.
I get it, Rodney whispered back. Stay tonight.
In the warmth of the bedroom, John shrugged off his dusty clothes and tugged Rodney's worn and faded shirt over his head. They stared at each other--the dog tags glinting on a stretch of tanned skin doing its best to absorb what little light came through the windows; his own paleness in contrast. Not one to dwell on the unchangeable, John's eyes skimmed over the marks on his body--Healing? Good--bypassing the knot of his worries.
As simple as that.
Full disclosure: this was a guy who hadn't been too flustered when morphing into a giant blue bug. But he'd seen the worst of it, when the burns were just beginning to heal. Any visual thereafter could only be an improvement.
John's hands took over the communication then, tracing Rodney's jaw and cheeks with fingertips, letting him know he'd been missed, everyday of the past six months.
Now Rodney could detect the faint scent of the flowers--the jar knocked over and seeping into the carpet, buds opening in the darkness--as he kissed with his mouth, talked back tenderly with his touch.
In the morning, he woke up with his legs tangled with John's, the shy sweet scent of lush white petals teasing his nose, blossoms revitalized and at their most beautiful. Full bloom.
"Come back to Atlantis," John said. Return with me, live and work alongside me. A question without a time limit, taking nothing for granted because John knew all he had to offer were unrest and a city in ruins, strifeful days and long nights of rebuilding ahead of them.
Rodney wanted it; everything on this grand scale.
He clasped John's cold fingers in his own and nodded, not trusting his voice. A dozen emotions moved him--shaking him to the core while his hand held on, steady--and fear was not among them.
End.
Author: itsuki9
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: R
Notes/Spoilers: Splits off from canon around 3x17 Sunday. Assume spoilers for everything up to the season finale (3x20 First Strike).
Word Count: ~3380
1. Family
The side effect of having mended fences with a sibling who's happily married was that the solution to Rodney's problems (and any conflicts in the world) now involved going out and meeting new people. One more time: what did he look for in a date?
"Blonde and smart," he answered by rote, giving up his default checklist. Even exhausted, he knew better than to try and dissuade Jeannie when she got that hopeful shine to her eyes.
"And has no desire to kill me."
"Piece of cake," Jeannie said. She pulled him into a careful hug before leaving. The little menace waved bye! at him over Jeannie's shoulder. The movements of that small chubby arm made him think of Athosian brats and the psychedelic squiggles of their paint-stained palms--memories, sense of a time cut short, blurring into a single drip of the IV.
He didn't need to meet new people. There hadn't been time to miss the old.
*
2. Blonde
Jeannie set me up on a date, Rodney mentioned at the end of his email to Sheppard. She says to tell you hello. By the way? Still married.
All official emails were coalesced into a data stream, and that particular encrypted packet containing the exciting details of one Rodney McKay's life was transmitted to Atlantis via SGC at 9pm EST on a Friday night.
Eight days later, the server forwarded a reply from Sheppard with the subject line: how did it go? to his work email.
He didn't bother with the details, other than conceding that it was the most awkward sixty minutes of lunch conversation he'd ever endured just to put a sandwich in his mouth.
There was also an email from Elizabeth. He downloaded it to read later.
*
3. Brunette
His sister had a systematic mind. (The system in place here seemed to be hair color. Was he that shallow... Never mind.) Working by process of elimination, she might eventually arrive at the correct conclusion that Rodney really wasn't ready for the dating scene.
John sent him schematics of Asgard-inspired technology that was to be incorporated into Jumper navigation systems. He stared at the plans for a long time, after the dinner that got cut short, till 3 in the morning, guzzling down coffee and sitting with an overly good posture for hours until his back started aching.
In the morning, he sent an email with a list of changes somebody had better make to the puddle jumper's interface if they didn't want to crash and burn.
Have Zelenka look this over. He'll know what to do.
*
4. What-the-hell?
Wrong again.
Some days, he refuses to believe that he and Jeannie share genetic material. Process of utter elimination, which he'd been counting on to eventually guide her from point M (for Matchmaker) to point N for No, Nyet, Not interested, instead led to her scheduling him for coffee with Todd, the 'very nice' pediatrician.
He thought he was going to have an aneurysm; she laughed it off and apologized by baking him gingersnap cookies, then tried to coax his forgiveness by encouraging her snot-nosed daughter to wobble-carry the plate to Uncle Rodney. Kid sneezed on his knee, twice. He admitted, reluctantly, that she had a sense of humor to stump him with the coffee-date-with-Todd thing.
Jeannie looked kind of defeated. Oh, no, he thought. She couldn't have been hoping this was the one who stuck.
*
5. Redhead
The last bundled communication from the Pegasus galaxy arrived at 0600. There had been no reply from Sheppard.
Rodney went ahead and ordered the set of DVDs; the Daedalus was leaving within the week, and he knew Sheppard would need new mindless entertainment the next time he pulled a muscle playing golf.
"This is the point where I say, cut your losses."
It was poker night at the Miller's, but he could easily be referring to her continuing efforts to hook him up with strangers. (For the record, Jeannie was a terrible poker player. Truly dismal.)
"Come on, Mer. Give me something to work with."
Caleb gave his wife a patient look, and went into the kitchen to get juice for a thirsty, crayon-breaking Madison. Victory eludes those who fold early.
Feeling surprisingly pliant in the glow from their grandmother's antique lamp (which hid the crayon smears and kid drool on his khakis), he ceded. "It'd be ... nice, to meet someone not intimidated by my work."
"You mean, your huge brain."
"Yes, my huge brain. And my work. Not that I'm planning to reveal classified information at any point, but you get the idea."
Two days later, he found himself having dinner with an old classmate of Jeannie's who now worked for a defense contractor. Neither blonde nor brunette, but witty and gutsy--how they went from Pinot grigio to crème brulée, to making out in the backseat of his car, the car key digging into his ass, he wasn't quite sure. He definitely wasn't complaining.
He heard his tie slithering off and a button pop, then she'd pushed the shirt off his shoulders. He could bet money on the exact moment she froze, though she recovered smoothly.
"When you said you worked with 'ancient' technology, you weren't talking about the computers, were you?" He was wrong about her, too: he had second-degree burns still healing along one arm, but what she squinted to see was an older mark, two small concentric triangles above his heart. (They served as a reminder to never underestimate the weapons technology of Pegasus natives, though he'd apparently forgotten them.) From these and the work stuff he'd talked around, she could probably deduce a lot of things. Like he said, smart.
Pretty girl, with pretty hair, even when she was striding away in her high heels, leaving him confused and regretful and not so turned on anymore.
*
6. How was your day?
A week went by without news from Sheppard. Rodney was regretting sending him the cheesiest television shows from the 80s (that should've been the first clue his plans of mockery would backfire) when the email arrived.
Control Room sustained damage from the Replicators' beam weapon.
Elizabeth's injured.
A chartered flight and manic driving brought Rodney to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex before midnight. He grabbed a few collars and demanded an update on the situation: there'd been no communication from Atlantis all week, which Rodney would've known about if he'd either come in to work or checked in with Sam Carter. But it turned out he was among the first to hear from Atlantis--probably right after the asphyxiating crew near drained the ZPM, in exchange for a flickering skip in hyperspace that let them drift within range of a dialing planet. Now he knew as much as the Gate technician.
While he waited for the incompetents to stop panicking and the higher-ups to make themselves useful, he took over a station and opened the old email from Elizabeth. It was succinct.
Are you ready to come back?
When he'd told Jeannie he wanted someone who wouldn't be put off by his work, it's because in any relationship, the room reserved for freaking out had a maximum capacity of one person--and that room was Occupied.
It'd seemed possible to conquer almost any fear when his team counted on him. Go mano-a-mano with a stronger, faster, life-sucking species? No choice, no problem. But that was the Rodney McKay back then, bluffing away with his poker face, downplaying his fears.
The SGC gave him plenty of space and time these days. No rush, Sam Carter had said. The first thing he did while unpacking boxes of stuff from his old apartment was to get rid of the digital clocks, as if the green numbers held the key to his anxiety, the two blinking dots and the relentless forward momentum of time somehow ominous. In reality, he'd only had one dream where he was back in the hallway of the O.R. level, struggling to stand up though his skull threatened to split apart. The shockwaves from the detonation had sent the air vibrating so wildly that he couldn't hear himself screaming Beckett's name. He'd thrown himself at the lockdown barrier while Atlantis denied him entrance, again and again, until the strange, tight sensation of not fitting in his own skin finally sank in all along the battered side of his body. Then John was knocking him to the ground away from the melting metal, pressing something heavy over him.
In his drug-induced dreams, he'd believed it was Carson by his side, keeping up with his gurney and telling him not to be such a baby as they went through the wormhole together. Carson, John had explained, didn't cross the Gate until a day later, accompanied by men in dress blues and with the flag of Scotland draped over his casket.
Elizabeth was going to come through at any moment--if Rodney saw Stars and Stripes or John Sheppard with a perfect posture and a hollow look, he was done with this.
For the Stargate Program, he'd given more than anyone had the right to ask of him. He'd seen it in their eyes. If he chose to become the type of scientist he despised and not return to Atlantis, nobody would blame him.
*
7. John
They brought Elizabeth through the Gate on a gurney around 0330. She was unconscious and in bad shape. Rodney stayed by her side the entire time, holding on to her hand until they kicked him out of the operating room.
After she was out of surgery, he sat by her bed and talked to the softly bleeping machines. I'm not ready yet, he said. But I wish I'd been. I could've prevented this.
He'd been a permanent fixture in her hospital room and annoying the nurses for days when John woke him up with a light shake to his shoulder.
"Hi," he said, blinking blearily and sitting up. His back creaked. "Why are you here?"
"The situation's under control for now. There was this guy, Colonel Ellis..." John trailed off as if he couldn't be less interested in his own words. He checked Elizabeth's stats.
"She's doing okay."
"Good." The exhalation stirred the hair by Rodney's ear. He felt John's relief, deep in his bones.
John headed home after a while and took Rodney with him--pushed a towel and clean clothes into his arms and walked him into the shower. When Rodney stumbled out, more or less human again, John put him to bed in the spacious room with the guitars, the fluffy pillows and a nice-smelling duvet.
"Couch?" he wondered aloud, before falling into a deep sleep almost immediately.
*
Elizabeth avoided all gossip, as a rule, and Rodney would sooner fire his best scientists than have them stand around making crass comments, but that week he talked enough trash for the both of them, denouncing a hotshot Colonel he didn't need to meet to despise. He made Elizabeth smile despite the gauze.
She wouldn't tell Rodney more about the power struggle on Atlantis, and Rodney didn't care to dig. He simply wondered how many more days John could afford to spend on Earth.
In the mean time, he enjoyed the extra company in the evenings. It was nice to have someone who played poker like a pro.
John had a special way of making popcorn (with extra butter, cheese, and cayenne pepper), which Rodney declared to be disgusting. Jeannie liked it--of course. Rodney looked to Mr. Jeannie for the swing vote, but Caleb refused to touch the huge bowl. Rodney couldn't figure out whether he was vegetarian or vegan, or just freaked out by corn.
The days were suffused with an air of inevitability, a countdown on green LEDs continuing in the back of his mind--John did whatever he needed to do at the SGC while Rodney was careful not to abuse his privileges again--but that made the nights more precious, and Rodney clung to them.
After the Millers & kid circus departed, they got up as one, Rodney carrying the bowl and plates to the sink while John shoved the unfinished root beer back in the fridge. He reappeared in a moment, dirty mugs dangling from his fingers. "Cake by the TV," John reminded. The way they moved around each other--working quietly, flicking soap suds here or bumping elbows there--was no revelation.
Having escorted the last piece of miserable leftover to the fridge, Rodney licked the caramel sauce off his thumb and turned around to share his insights into the parallels between their friendship and that of a dating couple's. He found John watching him, the strangest look on his face.
The knife slipped from his other hand and bounced once near his toes.
"McKay!" John's voice was a low rumble. It made his stomach do flip-flops and the hair on the back of his arms stand up.
He gestured emptily, his mouth still open. "Is this ... Are we dating?"
It fit the pattern. Instead of flowers, John sent him schematics because reverse engineering the multi-layered logic of an Asgard scanner was way cooler. And instead of preparing a turkey sandwich for John, Rodney made the necessary adjustments to the Jumper's interface that would save all their collective hides. And here, in his own apartment, homemade popcorn with extra everything was more enjoyable than steak and red wine. They'd even passed the test of Long (Seriously, You-Can't-Top-This Long) Distance.
It was almost a marriage, except for the sex part and the moving in.
And except that John had turned so pale, he looked like he was going to be sick.
"No, my mistake. Never mind," Rodney quickly corrected. He grabbed the mugs in John's hands before they were dropped, and placed them under running water. John clenched his fists and had to go sit down at the table, proper like a dinner guest.
The last time Rodney had been this confident and this flat out wrong about something, he'd blown up five-sixths of a solar system and drained the warmth out of John's eyes. It had taken him almost a month before he saw one of the secret smiles John intended for him alone, when no one else got the humor. He might've used up all his second chances by now.
*
Elizabeth was angry over some unwise shifting of personnel when he stopped by. Her old fire was back, and he was glad to see it. She told him John had been called back to Atlantis that morning. Rodney nodded and sat down by the window.
"You don't look well," she said.
Indigestion, he determined. His brain had been busy contemplating the hole he'd dug himself into, deconstructing and re-analyzing past evidence to arrive at a different conclusion that would make sense. The cayenne pepper wasn't helping, still lurking in his system, making his eyes sting.
"--not saying you shouldn't be afraid." He stopped his mental calisthenics to pay attention to Elizabeth's words. "But I've seen what you can do, Rodney, and in times of crisis your quick thinking gives all of us a fighting chance. The SGC won't be able to find someone who could replace you."
"Are you going back?" he asked her.
"No," she answered without hesitation. "I wish I had reason to."
*
Some moron ringing the doorbell around one in the morning woke him from his fitful sleep. He had a good idea who it could be. What was it about wormholes that destroyed a person's ability to check the clock?
He opened the door with a grumpy "What?"
John stood there with his index finger on the doorbell, looking a little dazed that Rodney actually answered the door. Held between his thumb and loosely curled fingers were strange ... plant life. The little white wildflowers were drooping from their thin stems, but they must've been perky and fresh when John came through the Gate.
They spoke at the same time. "You brought me wilted weeds?"
"--Can I come in?"
Tired face, contrite expression. John's other hand (scraped elbow sticking up in the air) was straining with the weight of the duffle bag slung over his shoulder, so Rodney stepped aside and let him in.
The stubby bottles of Canadian beer and the new DVDs he'd brought along definitely worked in his favor.
While Rodney filled a mason jar with water for the flowers, John stood close beside him, almost chest-to-shoulder, and delivered the message: Teyla wanted Rodney to know that she and Ronon both missed his presence on Atlantis. And, the flowers from the fields--
"Wait," Rodney interrupted. "Grave what? You brought me what?"
"Gredhiar, Rodney. Gredhiar. It stands for thriving friendship."
"Oh."
"Or love."
He looked up from the white speckles dangling over the edge of the jar. John's face showed an ongoing struggle between betting it all and maintaining his distance, so Rodney made things easier by stepping closer and--tentatively--kissing him.
Rodney didn't relax until John moved, turned his head to press soft lips against Rodney's temple, stubbles scratching Rodney's ear. What he saw overlaid on the sweat-damp triangle of muscles in John's neck were white hot flashes of heat and pain, striking him to the ground like a fly. Then, remembering, he couldn't help but tense up again.
The hand that stroked over his chest was cautious, but it brought him back to the here and now. The first dip of a wet tongue in his mouth was no less startling than the memory of John's dirt-streaked fingers pulling a soaked shirt--it'd felt so mercilessly heavy--over the already raw battlefield of his arm. Nothing had ever hurt so much, and nothing seared him the same way since.
"The Replicators are gone."
"But?"
Atlantis is disintegrating, John confessed into his shoulder, muffled. I shouldn't have left at all. Need to go back soon.
Perspectives merging--a sudden understanding of all the changes John couldn't bear to speak of in Elizabeth's presence. His heartbeat, lulled by the drag of his half-assed recovery and prolonged leave on Earth, was shocked back and brought in synch again with the beat of Atlantis. With the exchange of so few words, he and John were on the same wavelength.
I get it, Rodney whispered back. Stay tonight.
In the warmth of the bedroom, John shrugged off his dusty clothes and tugged Rodney's worn and faded shirt over his head. They stared at each other--the dog tags glinting on a stretch of tanned skin doing its best to absorb what little light came through the windows; his own paleness in contrast. Not one to dwell on the unchangeable, John's eyes skimmed over the marks on his body--Healing? Good--bypassing the knot of his worries.
As simple as that.
Full disclosure: this was a guy who hadn't been too flustered when morphing into a giant blue bug. But he'd seen the worst of it, when the burns were just beginning to heal. Any visual thereafter could only be an improvement.
John's hands took over the communication then, tracing Rodney's jaw and cheeks with fingertips, letting him know he'd been missed, everyday of the past six months.
Now Rodney could detect the faint scent of the flowers--the jar knocked over and seeping into the carpet, buds opening in the darkness--as he kissed with his mouth, talked back tenderly with his touch.
In the morning, he woke up with his legs tangled with John's, the shy sweet scent of lush white petals teasing his nose, blossoms revitalized and at their most beautiful. Full bloom.
"Come back to Atlantis," John said. Return with me, live and work alongside me. A question without a time limit, taking nothing for granted because John knew all he had to offer were unrest and a city in ruins, strifeful days and long nights of rebuilding ahead of them.
Rodney wanted it; everything on this grand scale.
He clasped John's cold fingers in his own and nodded, not trusting his voice. A dozen emotions moved him--shaking him to the core while his hand held on, steady--and fear was not among them.
End.