Fic: Christmas Wishes
Title: Christmas Wishes
Author: emma_in_oz
Word Count: 2,000
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: Gen (but with significant glances and hand holding!)
Written for: tiranog
Beta: cupidsbow
A/N: The prompts for this fic were sad John, insecure Rodney, a Christmas wish fulfilled, snow. As well as the fic arising from these prompts, I've also included something extra for Tiranog.
Rodney loved working late in the evenings in the labs, when they were quiet and caffeine fueled his inspiration. This evening, though, he couldn't settle. He swiped angrily at the tinsel hanging crookedly off the top of his computer. Clearly his staff had too much time on their hands if they were spending it decorating.
Something was off about the labs, something beyond the bells pinned jauntily to the coffee dispenser or, even more disturbingly, the mistletoe hung by the soldering irons. Rodney wasn't sure what it was that the lab was missing, but he knew that it was a waste of his time to be waiting for John to turn up.
John dropped by the labs most evenings, nominally to help out with his gene. In actuality he pretty much just hung out. He made Ancient objects light up, and lounged about in a ridiculously cool way that Rodney had to pretend not to notice. Sometimes Rodney made him laugh. He hardly ever laughed out loud, but now and then his mouth would quirk up and for Rodney that was as good as laughter.
Rodney palmed his com to John. 'Where are you?' he said, 'You need to come down to the labs. Simpson and Kusanagi have gone nuts and the place looks like an explosion at a Christmas tree lot. I'm actually looking at a reindeer as I speak. If I go near it it might start playing -'
John cut him off. 'Not now, Rodney. This isn't a good time.'
Rodney huffed out a breath and then drew in to begin a new rant. 'What could possibly be more -'
John cut the com link.
***
Rodney hit the panel by John's door with more force than was perhaps necessary. For a long moment Rodney thought he wasn't going to answer the door, but finally it swept open and John stood there with his arms crossed. 'This isn't a good time, Rodney,' he snapped, but Rodney just stared at him.
John was upset. He had a good game face and wore it almost all the time, but Rodney had invested a lot of time in watching him and knew his immaculately cool appearance was a carefully maintained facade. John was a hard man to read but Rodney had practice, and the shadow around his eyes meant trouble.
Rodney thought John was like a cat in ways that went beyond the obvious. He was graceful and stylish like a cat. He was also picky and mean like a cat. He didn't like most people and wouldn't let them near him. Rodney had always liked cats better than dogs.
'What's wrong?'
John looked slightly taken aback but then leaned against the door frame in a way that was both graceful and deliberately distracting. 'I'm busy, all right? I'm doing my letters.'
Rodney paused for a moment and looked past John's distraction to the painfully neat pile of letters on his desk. It was a disturbingly large pile considering each one would inform someone of a death on Atlantis. 'Looks like you're done,' he said mildly.
'I really don't -'
'Obviously you don't want to go to the mess hall. I'll get some food. And booze. I'll get booze.'
John went to protest, so Rodney cut him off with a wave of his hand. 'I think you're done with this.'
John would inevitably deny that there was any problem if Rodney gave him time to talk, so he darted out the door shouting something about the selection at the salad bar.
Once he got to the mess hall his pace slowed and his mind started racing. He really wasn't the right person for this. He was well aware that he wasn't good with people. Anxiety twisted in his stomach and he added a few extra nearly-chocolate brownies as comfort food.
John should talk to someone who would be able to help him. He deserved to be in good hands, but the thing was that John excelled at slipping away from helping hands. He left his compulsory, post-mission sessions with Heightmeyer with a smile on his face and his cool intact. Rodney was pretty sure he had never used the tissues that Heightmeyer tactfully kept on her desk. He deflected personal inquiries deftly and casually. That left him in Rodney's hands. He felt considerable, unaccustomed doubt about his ability to handle this well, combined with pride that he was one of the few people who could get even this close. He decided he definitely needed to pick up some alcohol.
***
'I've decided that we can cut the crap,' he announced as he walked through the door.
John seemed taken aback, so Rodney continued with his forward momentum and thrust the tray at him. 'Here, take this.'
'Uh, thanks for the dinner, Rodney,' John said so slowly that he was virtually drawling. 'And what are you talking about?'
'We can cut the crap,' Rodney said. He cleared the desk and summoned John imperiously.
John was silent, so he continued. 'You know, the whole conversation where I ask you how you feel and you lie through your teeth and say you're fine. The one where I nag you all evening and ply you with alcohol and you finally crack under the pressure of my loquacious persuasiveness - and we both know you will - and you admit to having some actual human emotions and say that you are fucked up about writing the damn letters.' He drew a breath. 'Let's skip all that and start there.'
He pointed at John. 'What's that you say? You're unhappy because you were writing your letters? Tell me more.' He looked at John who leant back in his chair.
John said, 'Well obviously, I mean, obviously, it's hard.'
Rodney poured two drinks and made a keep-it-rolling gesture. He felt kind of twitchy but at least he had got John to say something.
'It was damn bad luck they ran into Wraith, but that's not going to be much comfort to their families.
'I mean, right now they're getting ready for Christmas. They're buying presents and complaining about standing in line and they have no idea what's about to hit them.' He rearranged the food on his plate. 'They'll find out soon enough when they get the letters telling them that their kids won't be coming home. Stupid, fucked up letters that say "sorry, everything is classified, you'll never actually get to know what happened". What kind of way is that to find out?'
Rodney put a hand on his shoulder. 'I'm, um, sorry,' he said tentatively, 'I know. I know how hard it is to write those things and I -'
John shot him a disbelieving look and Rodney babbled faster. 'I think that no matter what you write it will be crap. Or whatever I write... I'm trying to say that no one could possibly do this well. But it's still important that it's done. It's, I think, it's appreciated. It's like - it's like -'
'Spare me,' John said. 'I get it.'
Rodney huffed in displeasure and John said in much calmer tones, 'It's OK, Rodney.' He climbed clumsily to his feet and raised his glass. 'To Cupitt and Owen,' he said, 'May they not be forgotten.'
Rodney took a sip and looked down, listening to the sound of the waves rocking the city. 'To Atlantis,' he replied, raising his glass, 'To the future.'
'Well, you're just a little ray of sunshine, aren't you?' John said not unkindly.
The shadows on his face were etched less strongly and Rodney was willing to accept a little teasing for that. 'This from you,' he said primly.
A few hours later the lines on John's face had lightened still further and he had reached a state of laid back good will. Rodney had just done the squirrel impression that he had invented to amuse Lucius. He had made John laugh out loud. His head was tossed back and the column of his neck made a long line. Rodney knew he was relaxed and happy on a level that went beyond appearance. Rodney wanted to kiss him.
Something of what he was feeling must have crossed his face because John abruptly stopped laughing. There was a moment of absolute stillness, while Rodney felt a zooming in so all he could do was stare at John's quirky, beautiful face.
He had no intention of acting on his impulse, not now while John was vulnerable, not ever while it could end their friendship. He raised his hands again and made the squirrel face. He told John about Simpson's ill fated attempt to perform a cheer leading routine while under the influence. He'd even have demonstrated it himself if it had been necessary.
***
Elizabeth had gone all out organising the Christmas celebrations - the first real Christmas on Atlantis. Last year they had been too pressed by the Wraith to take time out. This year, the mess was dominated by an evergreen brought in by the botanists and decorations imported on the Daedelus or cobbled together from broken Ancient tech. The lights on the tree cast the pure, warm glow of Atlantean light across the room.
Only a skeleton crew were rostered on, and most people had taken the opportunity to come to the party. The crowd buzzed with excitement and happiness. Gifts were exchanged and home brewed alcohol was emptied into the punch. Rodney watched Kavanagh bring a cup of punch over to Simpson and Simpson greet him with a kiss, and shook his head in disbelief. He snagged a slice of cake and threw himself into conversation with Radek.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see John working the crowd, conscientiously making sure he spoke to each person. He wore his civies, but he was clearly still on duty. He circulated around Rodney all night, always close enough to see but never close enough to engage with.
For the past few days, since the night of the letters, John had been more distant than usual. He had been spending more time in the labs, but not with Rodney. He claimed he was helping out scientists without the gene, but it seemed to Rodney that every time he looked up he saw him, hovering on his personal event horizon.
John smiled at Laura and, when she went to touch his arm, slid sideways and offered her a cup of punch. He reminded Rodney of a Vegas showgirl, always smiling and distracting the eyes, never letting the audience know they weren't really getting the goods. John was careful about keeping people at bay, smiling, distracting them, and ultimately slipping away.
Rodney was beginning to think this would be another evening of John not speaking to him when Elizabeth gently tapped a fork against her glass. The ringing sound silenced the room and the crowd gradually turned towards her. John had been near her a moment earlier but he ducked out of the line of attention. Rodney lost sight of him for a moment, and then found him next to him.
Elizabeth was talking about Atlantis' achievements and the successes they had had together, but Rodney couldn't concentrate on her words because he could sense John standing very close to him and he could nearly, nearly feel the warmth of John's arm pressed against his. John, who almost never voluntarily touched anyone, brushed the back of his hand across Rodney's.
'To Atlantis,' Elizabeth said.
Across the room the toast was echoed, but John said quietly, 'To the future.'
His hand brushed against Rodney's again, and Rodney smiled at him.
'To the future.'
He took his hand in his.
Poem
Silver Christmas bells jingle, jingle.
Cold noses and toeses tingle, tingle.
John and Rodney are no longer single.
Their breath and kisses mingle, mingle.
Author: emma_in_oz
Word Count: 2,000
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: Gen (but with significant glances and hand holding!)
Written for: tiranog
Beta: cupidsbow
A/N: The prompts for this fic were sad John, insecure Rodney, a Christmas wish fulfilled, snow. As well as the fic arising from these prompts, I've also included something extra for Tiranog.
Rodney loved working late in the evenings in the labs, when they were quiet and caffeine fueled his inspiration. This evening, though, he couldn't settle. He swiped angrily at the tinsel hanging crookedly off the top of his computer. Clearly his staff had too much time on their hands if they were spending it decorating.
Something was off about the labs, something beyond the bells pinned jauntily to the coffee dispenser or, even more disturbingly, the mistletoe hung by the soldering irons. Rodney wasn't sure what it was that the lab was missing, but he knew that it was a waste of his time to be waiting for John to turn up.
John dropped by the labs most evenings, nominally to help out with his gene. In actuality he pretty much just hung out. He made Ancient objects light up, and lounged about in a ridiculously cool way that Rodney had to pretend not to notice. Sometimes Rodney made him laugh. He hardly ever laughed out loud, but now and then his mouth would quirk up and for Rodney that was as good as laughter.
Rodney palmed his com to John. 'Where are you?' he said, 'You need to come down to the labs. Simpson and Kusanagi have gone nuts and the place looks like an explosion at a Christmas tree lot. I'm actually looking at a reindeer as I speak. If I go near it it might start playing -'
John cut him off. 'Not now, Rodney. This isn't a good time.'
Rodney huffed out a breath and then drew in to begin a new rant. 'What could possibly be more -'
John cut the com link.
***
Rodney hit the panel by John's door with more force than was perhaps necessary. For a long moment Rodney thought he wasn't going to answer the door, but finally it swept open and John stood there with his arms crossed. 'This isn't a good time, Rodney,' he snapped, but Rodney just stared at him.
John was upset. He had a good game face and wore it almost all the time, but Rodney had invested a lot of time in watching him and knew his immaculately cool appearance was a carefully maintained facade. John was a hard man to read but Rodney had practice, and the shadow around his eyes meant trouble.
Rodney thought John was like a cat in ways that went beyond the obvious. He was graceful and stylish like a cat. He was also picky and mean like a cat. He didn't like most people and wouldn't let them near him. Rodney had always liked cats better than dogs.
'What's wrong?'
John looked slightly taken aback but then leaned against the door frame in a way that was both graceful and deliberately distracting. 'I'm busy, all right? I'm doing my letters.'
Rodney paused for a moment and looked past John's distraction to the painfully neat pile of letters on his desk. It was a disturbingly large pile considering each one would inform someone of a death on Atlantis. 'Looks like you're done,' he said mildly.
'I really don't -'
'Obviously you don't want to go to the mess hall. I'll get some food. And booze. I'll get booze.'
John went to protest, so Rodney cut him off with a wave of his hand. 'I think you're done with this.'
John would inevitably deny that there was any problem if Rodney gave him time to talk, so he darted out the door shouting something about the selection at the salad bar.
Once he got to the mess hall his pace slowed and his mind started racing. He really wasn't the right person for this. He was well aware that he wasn't good with people. Anxiety twisted in his stomach and he added a few extra nearly-chocolate brownies as comfort food.
John should talk to someone who would be able to help him. He deserved to be in good hands, but the thing was that John excelled at slipping away from helping hands. He left his compulsory, post-mission sessions with Heightmeyer with a smile on his face and his cool intact. Rodney was pretty sure he had never used the tissues that Heightmeyer tactfully kept on her desk. He deflected personal inquiries deftly and casually. That left him in Rodney's hands. He felt considerable, unaccustomed doubt about his ability to handle this well, combined with pride that he was one of the few people who could get even this close. He decided he definitely needed to pick up some alcohol.
***
'I've decided that we can cut the crap,' he announced as he walked through the door.
John seemed taken aback, so Rodney continued with his forward momentum and thrust the tray at him. 'Here, take this.'
'Uh, thanks for the dinner, Rodney,' John said so slowly that he was virtually drawling. 'And what are you talking about?'
'We can cut the crap,' Rodney said. He cleared the desk and summoned John imperiously.
John was silent, so he continued. 'You know, the whole conversation where I ask you how you feel and you lie through your teeth and say you're fine. The one where I nag you all evening and ply you with alcohol and you finally crack under the pressure of my loquacious persuasiveness - and we both know you will - and you admit to having some actual human emotions and say that you are fucked up about writing the damn letters.' He drew a breath. 'Let's skip all that and start there.'
He pointed at John. 'What's that you say? You're unhappy because you were writing your letters? Tell me more.' He looked at John who leant back in his chair.
John said, 'Well obviously, I mean, obviously, it's hard.'
Rodney poured two drinks and made a keep-it-rolling gesture. He felt kind of twitchy but at least he had got John to say something.
'It was damn bad luck they ran into Wraith, but that's not going to be much comfort to their families.
'I mean, right now they're getting ready for Christmas. They're buying presents and complaining about standing in line and they have no idea what's about to hit them.' He rearranged the food on his plate. 'They'll find out soon enough when they get the letters telling them that their kids won't be coming home. Stupid, fucked up letters that say "sorry, everything is classified, you'll never actually get to know what happened". What kind of way is that to find out?'
Rodney put a hand on his shoulder. 'I'm, um, sorry,' he said tentatively, 'I know. I know how hard it is to write those things and I -'
John shot him a disbelieving look and Rodney babbled faster. 'I think that no matter what you write it will be crap. Or whatever I write... I'm trying to say that no one could possibly do this well. But it's still important that it's done. It's, I think, it's appreciated. It's like - it's like -'
'Spare me,' John said. 'I get it.'
Rodney huffed in displeasure and John said in much calmer tones, 'It's OK, Rodney.' He climbed clumsily to his feet and raised his glass. 'To Cupitt and Owen,' he said, 'May they not be forgotten.'
Rodney took a sip and looked down, listening to the sound of the waves rocking the city. 'To Atlantis,' he replied, raising his glass, 'To the future.'
'Well, you're just a little ray of sunshine, aren't you?' John said not unkindly.
The shadows on his face were etched less strongly and Rodney was willing to accept a little teasing for that. 'This from you,' he said primly.
A few hours later the lines on John's face had lightened still further and he had reached a state of laid back good will. Rodney had just done the squirrel impression that he had invented to amuse Lucius. He had made John laugh out loud. His head was tossed back and the column of his neck made a long line. Rodney knew he was relaxed and happy on a level that went beyond appearance. Rodney wanted to kiss him.
Something of what he was feeling must have crossed his face because John abruptly stopped laughing. There was a moment of absolute stillness, while Rodney felt a zooming in so all he could do was stare at John's quirky, beautiful face.
He had no intention of acting on his impulse, not now while John was vulnerable, not ever while it could end their friendship. He raised his hands again and made the squirrel face. He told John about Simpson's ill fated attempt to perform a cheer leading routine while under the influence. He'd even have demonstrated it himself if it had been necessary.
***
Elizabeth had gone all out organising the Christmas celebrations - the first real Christmas on Atlantis. Last year they had been too pressed by the Wraith to take time out. This year, the mess was dominated by an evergreen brought in by the botanists and decorations imported on the Daedelus or cobbled together from broken Ancient tech. The lights on the tree cast the pure, warm glow of Atlantean light across the room.
Only a skeleton crew were rostered on, and most people had taken the opportunity to come to the party. The crowd buzzed with excitement and happiness. Gifts were exchanged and home brewed alcohol was emptied into the punch. Rodney watched Kavanagh bring a cup of punch over to Simpson and Simpson greet him with a kiss, and shook his head in disbelief. He snagged a slice of cake and threw himself into conversation with Radek.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see John working the crowd, conscientiously making sure he spoke to each person. He wore his civies, but he was clearly still on duty. He circulated around Rodney all night, always close enough to see but never close enough to engage with.
For the past few days, since the night of the letters, John had been more distant than usual. He had been spending more time in the labs, but not with Rodney. He claimed he was helping out scientists without the gene, but it seemed to Rodney that every time he looked up he saw him, hovering on his personal event horizon.
John smiled at Laura and, when she went to touch his arm, slid sideways and offered her a cup of punch. He reminded Rodney of a Vegas showgirl, always smiling and distracting the eyes, never letting the audience know they weren't really getting the goods. John was careful about keeping people at bay, smiling, distracting them, and ultimately slipping away.
Rodney was beginning to think this would be another evening of John not speaking to him when Elizabeth gently tapped a fork against her glass. The ringing sound silenced the room and the crowd gradually turned towards her. John had been near her a moment earlier but he ducked out of the line of attention. Rodney lost sight of him for a moment, and then found him next to him.
Elizabeth was talking about Atlantis' achievements and the successes they had had together, but Rodney couldn't concentrate on her words because he could sense John standing very close to him and he could nearly, nearly feel the warmth of John's arm pressed against his. John, who almost never voluntarily touched anyone, brushed the back of his hand across Rodney's.
'To Atlantis,' Elizabeth said.
Across the room the toast was echoed, but John said quietly, 'To the future.'
His hand brushed against Rodney's again, and Rodney smiled at him.
'To the future.'
He took his hand in his.
Poem
Silver Christmas bells jingle, jingle.
Cold noses and toeses tingle, tingle.
John and Rodney are no longer single.
Their breath and kisses mingle, mingle.