SGA: The Best Things in Life Are Free (2/8)
The Best Things in Life are Free
High School AU, part deux.
Rated: R
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay (eventually)
As always, blame thanks goes to reccea for the beta. Also, the ordering around and the extra love.
Part One
The Best Things in Life Are Free, Part Two
by Smitty
John got to school early the next morning and laid in wait for Rodney. He had some serious work to do before he could even try to pass Rodney off as cool to his friends.
Rodney walked by John's hiding place with a huge smile on his face, completely oblivious of his surroundings. He was alone, which made the smile mystifying but John's job a lot easier.
John grabbed Rodney's arm as he went by and dragged him behind the low brick wall. Rodney put up a minimum of resistance that faded as soon as he saw John.
"Why didn't you just call my name or start walking beside me, or something cool?" he asked, looking betrayed and wow, had the guy never heard of a poker face?
"Because we need to do some work first," John said, taking in Rodney's chinos, "Mr. Fantastic" shirt, and flat hair.
"Huh, what? What do you mean by -- "
"First off," John said, finding the seam where Rodney's right sleeve met the shoulder and pulling. The stitches broke with a satisfying sound. Rodney squeaked.
"What are you doing?" he demanded. "I really like this shirt."
"Yeah, I can see why," John muttered, dragging the tail out from Rodney's pants and letting it hang over the belt. He tore off the second sleeve and thought that for a geek, Rodney's arms really weren't anything to laugh at. He wondered if Rodney could throw a football. "Ok, look." He tossed the sleeve at Rodney, who caught it and fumbled it into his pocket. John's backpack was at his feet and he'd thrown his bottle of Dep on top of his books.
"Wait, what...what is that?" Rodney asked, shying back.
"It's hair gel," John said, squirting a dime-sized dollop on his palm and rubbing his hands together. "Ok, now...don't take this the wrong way or anything." He reached out and scrubbed his hands through Rodney's hair, then took his time spiking up not-actually-random pieces.
"What -- what -- what are you doing?" Rodney sputtered, glaring up at John like a wet cat. John tried very hard not to smile at the image.
"I'm fixing your hair," he said, tweaking one last piece between his fingertips.
Rodney made a sound that indicated how utterly put out he was and John got a mean sense of satisfaction by rubbing his hand hard up the back of Rodney's head, sending all the hair the other direction.
"Great, now I look like I stuck my finger in a socket," Rodney griped.
"You haven't even looked in a mirror," John said cheerfully, shaking out the flannel shirt Rodney had stuffed between the straps of his backpack and tossing it at him. "Tie that around your waist.
"I figured it looks like yours," Rodney said, and John raised his eyebrows automatically.
"My hair is cool," he said. "My hair is the epitome of cool. And don't put that backpack on. One strap, if you have to have it over your shoulder."
"One -- I'll wind up with an irreversible back injury before I can vote! My spine will develop a curvature that will eventually lead to a lifetime of discomfort on rainy days and prescription mattresses."
"So switch off which side," John said, picking up Rodney's backpack and thrusting it at him. "And geez, try to carry around less than six books, would you?" He vaulted over the low wall and started to walk toward the school.
Rodney caught up with him just before the stairs and started babbling nervously. "So this'll be my first time walking down the cool hallway. On purpose, I mean. Because when I first moved here I had no idea and I figured it was just a quick way to get to homeroom because I was already late -- "
"Rodney," John interrupted. "Relax. We're friends, remember? Best friends. No one's going to stuff you in a locker. I promise."
Rodney's gelled head bobbed. "Ok, yes. Good, that's the deal after all."
It was 8:30 in the morning and John was already exhausted.
"Hey," he said to the cluster near his locker. He spun the combination lock, found the number easily, and jerked his locker open. They responded with various degrees of apathy and he pretended not to listen to hard to see if Teyla said anything.
"Hi!" Rodney greeted everyone. "Rodney. Rodney McKay."
"Didn't you do my homework for summer school?" Mitch asked, scratching his head.
"Er, yes. That was me. I mean, that was the old me -- "
"You guys know Rod -- " Okay, that was even worse. "Rodney. Right?" John said, cutting into the awkwardness as smoothly as he could. "He's cool."
Mitch and Dex exchanged glances. Clearly they did not agree with John's assessment of Rodney but they just cast amused glances toward him and shrugged. "Cool," Dex said, nodding solemnly.
"Hey, whatever Shep says is fine by me," Aiden Ford said, punching Rodney in the shoulder.
"Ow! Hey, I have very fair skin," Rodney said. "And I bruise really easily."
John slammed his locker shut to drown out Rodney and bared his teeth in the best imitation of a grin he could muster. "So," he said stiffly. "I think we're late for class."
"Oh, my God," Rodney sighed, lying on his back and lowering the triangle of drippy cheese into his mouth, "if my blood sugar was any lower, I'd be dead. That's all I'm saying."
"Why didn't you eat lunch?" John asked, sprawled on his own couch, watching Rodney inhale the pizza.
"Too nervous," Rodney explained, closing his mouth over the tip and just reveling in the hot greasy taste of tomato sauce and cheese. "Mm, this is fantastic." He bit off the piece, chewed and swallowed. He thought maybe he could feel the chemical balance of his blood return to normal. "Let me give you a few bucks for it."
"Nah, don't worry about it," John said, taking a bite of pizza himself. "Dad has a deal with the pizza shop down the street, so I can eat while he's gone. Just leave me a slice or two for breakfast tomorrow and he'll be home tomorrow night."
Rodney sat up. "So your dad isn't even around?"
John shook his head. "He's some big deal NATO whatever. He's gotta go a lot of places."
Rodney didn't know what had happened to John's mother, but he knew that she never lived in the house next to his own. "So, what?" he asked. "Your dad just leaves you here all on your own? With pizza?"
John shrugged. "I'm seventeen," he pointed out. "I can pretty much feed and clothe myself for three days."
"Yeah, but." Rodney looked around. He'd almost said, But don't you get lonely? but Rodney wouldn't be lonely. Rodney would love to have the house to himself for three days. No lectures from his father or stupid question from his mother or torturous whining and teasing from Jeannie. "Why don't you ever have any parties over here?"
John cast him a look. "Air Force Colonel," he said. "My dad would kick my ass."
"Oh." The house was nice, if a little spare. Manly. Blue. "Are you going to get in trouble for having me over?"
"No." John didn't elaborate, just picked up another slice of pizza and started eating it.
Rodney felt awkward. He glanced around the living room and his eyes fell on John's backpack and the books spilling out. "You're reading War and Peace?" he asked in frantic need to make conversation.
"For English class," John said. He smiled a little. "I'm on page seventeen."
"A little slow, aren't you?" Rodney said without thinking about it, squinting at the book.
"I'm right on schedule." With that, John seemed to unbend a little. He scooted up on the couch so his head was higher than his knees and hooked his elbow on the back as he chewed thoughtfully. "You read a lot?"
"Sure," Rodney said. "Have you read Heinlein? Asimov?"
"Tom Clancy?" John tried.
The name sounded vaguely familiar to Rodney but he wasn't sure why. "Nope. Douglas? Douglas is a genius."
John made a face. "Coonts?"
"Dean?"
"Stephen. Flight of the Intruder?"
Rodney shook his head and settled back on the couch to eat more pizza.
"You like sports at all?" John asked dubiously.
"Hockey!" Rodney volunteered despite still having a mouthful of pizza. He chewed quickly and swallowed even though his mother wasn't there to correct him.
"Not a real sport," John muttered under his breath and through a bite of pizza but Rodney understood him anyway. "Football?"
Rodney wavered. This getting to know John thing was failing spectacularly and unless he pulled something out of his ass, and soon, this was going to be the longest four weeks ever. "Cheerleaders," he said.
"Yeah, the cheerleaders are great," John said with a smile that looked as relieved as Rodney's. "Hey, my dad rented Back to the Future before he left -- "
"Oh, don't even get me started on that movie," Rodney exclaimed around yet another bite of pizza. John didn't seem capable of saying something that required response when his mouth was empty and he didn't seem capable of not saying something inflammatory when Rodney's mouth was full.
"What?" John asked, mystified. "I liked that movie."
"Right. Well, let me assure you that in no way, shape, or form, can one manipulate black hole technology through both space and time using a power source as esoteric as plutonium-fueled nuclear fusion and it's further ridiculous to suggest that one can use electricity to create anywhere near the power capacity of a reaction -- "
"I thought the car just needed to get up to 88 miles per hour," John interrupted. "Electricity could do that."
"Right, but the flux capacitor, whatever that's supposed to be, apparently needs nuclear power to run the first two trips and yet can bounce on back to 1985 with nothing but a lightning strike."
"So I guess you don't want to watch it again?" John asked, jerking his thumb toward the entertainment system. The corner of his mouth twitched up and the corner of his eyes crinkled.
"Oh. Well," Rodney conceded, "If you have it." A thought occurred to him. "Oh, don't tell me -- "
"We had the DeLorean before the movie came out," John said as he got up from the couch and picked up the plastic video box.
"Hm," Rodney said, sitting back and picking up another piece of pizza. "Thank goodness for small favors."
John flipped his skateboard up into his hand and rang the McKays' doorbell. He lived right next door to the guy. There was no reason they couldn't go to school together. Besides, Rodney was completely entertaining. The entire rant the day before about the implausibility of the flux capacitor had brought on periodic fits of laughter until he went to bed.
The door was flung open and John found himself shifting his gaze down to see Jeannie McKay gazing up at him adoringly.
"John!" she exclaimed. "Isn't this a surprise!"
"Hi, Jeannie," he said with a self-conscious smile. "Rodney almost ready for school?"
Jeannie nearly achieved flight through vibration, she was so pleased. "Why don't you come in?" she said graciously, opening the screen door.
"That's ok," he started to say before he found himself hustled into the foyer and down the hallway. Apparently Jeannie had the same ability to take over as her brother did. "Um, hi," he said, blinking dumbly in the sun-bright kitchen in the back of the house. Three people stared at him. No, he corrected, two people and a newspaper stared at him. Rodney stood at the counter, his backpack on his back -- by both straps, John realized with a sigh -- and a Pop-Tart stuffed in his mouth. A blonde woman in her robe and slippers, holding a rag was dabbing at his cheek. "I'm John Sheppard," he explained, trying to slide backward but Jeannie was in his way. "I live next door? I was just checking to see if Rodney was ready to go." He let his voice trail off toward the end when it was clear that everyone but the newspaper was staring at him in bewilderment.
"Yeah, yeah, all set," Rodney said quickly, pulling away from his mother. "Thanks, Mom, I gotta go." He shot John a thoroughly humiliated look, grabbed a brown paper sack off the counter and pushed by his mother and then his sister. "Are we going or what?" he called to John, already halfway out the door.
"Yeah, sure," John replied, navigating Jeannie while waving to Mrs. McKay. "Nice to meet you!" he called for good measure as he followed Rodney out into the sunny morning.
"I didn't know you were coming by," Rodney said. It would have been snappy if he hadn't been so obviously anxious.
"Sorry," John said. "Guess I should have called first." He shrugged, not displeased with the outcome. "I figured you live right next door. No reason to travel alone." He dropped his skateboard to the ground and stepped on it, using the other foot to push himself down the street.
"You're going to crack your head open one of these days," Rodney said, mussing his own hair self-consciously.
"I know what I'm doing," John murmured, letting the board slow enough for Rodney to catch up, and then reaching out to pluck at his hair.
"Would you stop that? You have some perverse fascination with my hair," Rodney snapped, lifting his hands to fix whatever damage John had wrought.
"Hey, it's your investment," John said, minding where he was going because he really wasn't into concussions. "You wanted to be my best buddy and learn how to be cool."
Rodney sighed. "Okay, fine," he said, stopping and ducking his head down.
John stopped and blinked at him. Rodney looked like he was stepping up to the guillotine rather than letting John spike his hair. "You look dumb like that," he said lightly, twisting bits of hair between his fingertips anyway. "There, we cool?"
Rodney lifted his head and looked at John with a sad sort of longing that made John frown. "You're cool, I'm fine," he said.
"You're getting there," John said kindly.
"Thanks," Rodney said, turning and walking off. John watched him trudge down the street for a minute, then put his foot on the ground and pushed off after him.
Rodney slid into his college-level physics class three minutes late and straddled the empty chair Radek had saved for him. "What'd I miss?" he hissed.
"Where were you?" Radek demanded in much too loud a whisper to escape notice.
"Shh," Rodney hissed as Mr. Simmons turned around and raised an eyebrow.
"Well, Mr. McKay, nice of you to join us."
"Yeah, well, it's a pleasure to be here," Rodney said, flipping open his book.
"With that attitude, even your grades won't carry you through any sort of undergraduate program, let alone higher education," Mr. Simmons sneered.
"And I'd be a lot more worried about that instead of how little I'm getting out of this class, except, wait, you're the one who's supposed to be teaching me physics," Rodney shot back. He'd worry about getting in trouble except that they'd done this every day that year and nothing had happened. People, Rodney thought with some disgust, were completely stupid.
"Difficult to teach an absent student," Simmons said, turning back to the board. He launched back into his explanation of Coulomb's force. Rodney had read about it the summer before and had already sat through two of Mr. Simmons' insufficient lectures on the subject.
"How goes your brilliant plan?" Radek whispered, slouching in his seat.
"Shut up," Rodney whispered back. He glanced around and leaned in. "It's going fine. John...is not a complete gorilla. For a football player."
"Oh, so he is good enough to take up all your time and your money?" Radek sounded pissy. Rodney rolled his eyes.
"Ok, look," he whispered, leaning over, "I know I haven't been around at all, but don't get your panties in a twist about it. I've been learning how to be cool. And I will pass this knowledge on to you. When, you know, I have time."
"Panties in a twist?" Radek hissed back. "What does that mean?"
"Oh, John said it the other day," Rodney said, feeling the rush of explaining something new. "It's when you get all uptight and completely, totally unreasonably irritated about something that's totally not worth worrying about. Like you're doing."
Radek hunched over his notebook, scribbling too fast to actually be taking notes and muttering under his breath in Czech. Rodney leaned back, smiling. He was going to have this 'cool' thing down in no time at all.
John found Rodney in the cafeteria at lunch.
"C'mon," he said, catching Rodney's arm and steering him out of the lunch line. "We have things to do."
"We have lunch to eat!" Rodney replied with a longing look at the food line. "Unless you've forgotten the delicate state of my blood sugar?"
"We'll get something while we're out," John said, shouldering open the side door near the gym and pushing Rodney into the sunlight.
"How will people figure out that I'm cool when I'm not eating lunch with you?" Rodney demanded.
"Because you're cutting class with me," John said, checking casually for cars before jogging across the street. "We're probably not going to make it back by the end of lunch."
"What?" Rodney sounded more horrified than usual. "I can't skip class! You can't ask me to risk my academic career for some adolescent pre-criminal folly you're planning -- what are you planning, anyway?"
"We're picking up my dad's car," John said. "What class are you going to miss?"
"Study hall," Rodney said.
John stopped and turned to look at Rodney. "You're telling me," he said slowly, "that with that great big brain of yours, your academic career is going to come crashing to a halt because you missed study hall?"
"Of course not." The corners of Rodney's mouth turned down, which somehow made the corners of John's mouth turn up.
"Part of being cool," he said, squeezing Rodney's shoulder, "is knowing the difference between what other people think is true and what you know is true." Rodney gave him a quizzical look and he dropped his hand. "Besides," he said lightly. "I know you want to ride in the DeLorean."
Rodney's eyes glazed over a little and John knew that he had won.
On Wednesday, Rodney waited on his porch for John to come out of his house. His parents were revisiting argument #615 and Jeannie was scowling darkly at him, so he figured he'd spare John -- and himself -- the pain.
All in all, it showed no sign of being anything other than an ordinary day until Rodney took a shortcut down the cool hallway and managed to get tackled for reasons other than locker entrapment.
"McKay!" Rodney stumbled as John grabbed his shoulders and pushed him out of the crowd.
"You could just wave next time," he snapped
"Yeah, but then I don't get to listen to you bitch," John said with a twitch of his eyebrows. "Look, Mitch is having a party at his place on Saturday night so meet me after school in front of the bike racks and we'll head over to the mall."
Rodney squinted at John, trying to track the logical progression of cause and effect in that sentence and then decided that logic really had very little to do with it.
"Why are we going to the mall?"
"Because you need something to wear."
Rodney winced. He had some money left over from tutoring but not a lot.
"C'mon, it won't be that bad." John clapped him on the arm. "Four o'clock, ok?"
"Don't you have football practice?" Rodney tried.
"Just a weigh-in."
"I have a meeting!"
"Skip it!"
"I'm the president of the club!"
"Then cancel it!"
Rodney huffed. "If you think I'm going to cancel a very important meeting of the Future Physicists of America club to hang around the mall with you and your ruffian friends so we can look good for a party -- is Mitch the lobotomized one? -- then you -- "
"Rodney. You're not even an American citizen. How are you the president of the Future Physicists of America club? And what are you doing that's so important anyway?"
Rodney scowled. He was already regretting telling John about the Canadian thing. "We're planning a party for Heisenberg's birthday."
"When's the party?"
"Why, you want to crash it?" Rodney sneered. "It's in December."
"Rodney. Meet me at four."
"Fine," Rodney grumbled. "Should I electrocute myself along the way so that I can fit in?"
John pointed one finger at Rodney as he walked backwards down the hall. "Don't forget," he called. "Those ruffian friends of mine are going to make you cool."
Rodney sighed, but he wound up cutting his meeting short and went out to the bike racks at four. John was showing off, sliding his skateboard along the top of one of the mostly-empty racks and twisting off, spinning in the air before landing on the grass. The crowd gathered around him made sounds of enthusiasm. Rodney rolled his eyes. John hammed it up for them a little more, then nodded and popped his skateboard up into his hand.
"You ready?" he asked Rodney as the crowd drifted off and Rodney found the several yards of distance between them filled with grass instead of people.
"Sure," Rodney said, walking toward John and the street. "You know you're going to crack your head open."
"Yeah, you told me yesterday, thanks," John said. "What'd I tell you about the backpack?" He reached out and tugged one strap down Rodney's shoulder and Rodney obediently shrugged out of it.
"Where's everyone else?" Rodney asked, realizing belatedly that it was just him and John.
"Just us today," John said. "We're all supposed to be doing homework so we can play on Friday."
"And you're going to lose the game for us by taking me shopping instead of finishing your homework?" Rodney sniped.
"My grades are fine," John said stiffly. "I'm here to hold up my end of the deal."
"I haven't been given a swirlie all week," Rodney said. "I have no complaints."
"Right, which is why I hear you complaining non-stop," John said, raising his eyebrows.
"I'm staying in practice," Rodney said with dignity. "I wouldn't want to go soft while you're coddling me."
"That would be a shame," John agreed, holding open the outer door to of the mall.
"We're not girlfriends," Rodney said half an hour later, from under a pile of jeans and shirts. "There's really no need to dress me."
"There is if you hold any hope of getting a girlfriend," John called from somewhere off to his right and behind some denim jackets.
"These are too tight," Rodney said twenty minutes after that when he hopped out of the dressing room wearing stonewashed jeans that pinched.
"Depends on how slutty a girlfriend you're looking for," John said, raising one eyebrow and regarding Rodney worriedly. "Go try something else."
"I think we should go back to my house and play Impossible Mission," Rodney said after another ten minutes of changing in and out of clothes.
"Sure," John said. "As soon as you're done here."
Rodney huffed and went back inside the dressing room.
Ninety minutes and three stores later, John pronounced him acceptable to be seen in public and Rodney was counting out ones on the store counter.
"I got it," John said, leaning on the desk and sliding over a credit card.
"What are you doing?" Rodney asked, irritated. He might not have a lot of money left over, but he had enough.
"It's my dad's credit card," John said casually. "I figure he'll never know the difference and it's going toward a good cause."
"Making me cool is now a charity project?" Rodney asked. He considered being disgusted but the idea was vaguely intriguing. "Hey, wait a minute!"
John made a face at him that clearly asked, What?
"If you had your dad's credit card, why didn't you just use that for the car repairs?"
John rolled his eyes. "Because," he said quietly as the clerk rang up Rodney's purchases, "he's not even going to blink at fifty dollars of clothes. A thousand dollars to the auto body shop is kind of noticeable. Especially when he specifically told me not to touch the car."
"Oh. Right." Rodney glanced at the trendy clothes disappearing into plastic bags. "Is he home now?"
"Yeah," John said. "Got in last night. If he's noticed anything about the car, he hasn't said."
"Well, that's good," Rodney said, feeling oddly tired and cranky. The clerk handed him his bags and John signed the receipt.
"You want to get something to eat?" John asked as they passed the food court and lovely smells hung in the air.
"Yeah, I'm starving," Rodney said. "What time is it?" He struggled with his bags to check his watch.
"Quarter of seven," John said.
"What?" Rodney nearly tripped over his bags.
"Quarter of seven," John repeated. He raised an eyebrow. "You need to be somewhere?"
"Yes!" Rodney fumbled the bags into his other hand and started digging in his pocket for change. "Is there a pay phone around here?"
John nodded at the wall next to Chinese food booth. Rodney thrust the bags at him and went to call home.
"Rodney!" his mother exclaimed when she answered. "Where are you? We were worried sick!"
"You sound like a nag," he heard his father say in the background. "The boy's seventeen. Give him a break."
"You missed dinner," his mother snapped. "I had no idea where you were."
"Look, I had things to do," Rodney said. He hated it when his parents used him as an excuse to fight and he was starting to get a headache. "I'm sorry I'm late, I'll grab something when I get home."
"It'll be cold," his mother said. "You'll have to warm it up."
"That's fine," he said. "I like cold leftovers."
"If you're not home in fifteen minutes, you're grounded, young man," his mother said, and Rodney could hear his father yelling at her as he hung up the phone.
Fifteen minutes wasn't a lot of time, but they would be too busy screaming at each other when he walked in that being a little late wouldn't matter.
"I gotta go," he said to John as he turned around.
John held out a soft pretzel and peered at him curiously from under a flop of brown hair. "You in trouble?" he asked.
"Kinda," Rodney answered, taking the pretzel gratefully. It was bland but the salt was harsh on his tongue and he started feeling better almost immediately. "I'm supposed to be home for dinner at six every night. I just forgot. It'll be ok."
"Ok," John said, and the look on his face gave Rodney the sinking feeling that he had heard Rodney's parents arguing over the phone.
"Don't you have to be home for dinner?" Rodney asked snidely to cover his embarrassment.
John shrugged artlessly. "If Dad's home, he usually makes something around eight. He works late a lot. It depends on if I'm home, too." He shrugged again. "We don't have much of a schedule anymore."
"Must be nice," Rodney said, wondering what it would be like to have so much freedom.
"Yeah," John said vaguely. "Come on." He grinned wickedly at Rodney. "I'll walk you home."
"We are not girlfriends!"
John let himself into his house and blinked at the lighted hallway.
"Hi, Dad," he said to the empty hall.
"In here," his father called from the general vicinity of the kitchen.
John dropped his backpack on the floor inside the door and went to find his dad. "Smells good," he said. "What's cooking?"
"Chili," Colonel Sheppard said proudly. "I grabbed a loaf from the BX, too, so we can have garlic bread." He nodded toward the French bread sitting on the sideboard.
John crossed the room and pulled it out of its paper sack, grabbing a knife from the block and a cutting board. "I have a game on Friday," he said, hacking the bread into broad, diagonal slices. "So I won't be home until late."
"Yeah, I saw on the schedule," the Colonel said. "I should be able to make it."
"Yeah?" John's dad never made it to his games. He was usually out of town or on duty.
"I figured it would be nice to see you play once more before you go off to college," Colonel Sheppard said dryly. "I somehow missed five-foot-eight through six-oh. I'm waiting to come home and find out you're taller than me."
John rolled his eyes and grinned a little. He opened the fridge door and pulled out the butter. "I wish," he said as he slathered butter on the bread and shook garlic flakes over the slices.
"Chili's up," Colonel Sheppard said when the butter had broiled on the garlic bread. He filled bowls and set them on the table with extra onions and cheese and John rescued the bread before it charred. "So what surprises am I going to find waiting for me when I talk to the vice-principal?" he asked when they'd dug into the chili and bread and declared it edible.
John shook his head and shrugged, indicating that his mouth was full.
"Nice try," his father said. "You've got to swallow some time."
John shrugged and did so. "Depends on how much they know," he said casually. His father had once made the mistake of telling him that if he couldn't behave, to at least try not to get caught.
"John," his father warned.
"Can I have a beer?" John asked, to change the subject.
Colonel Sheppard looked flummoxed and like he was going to refuse and then he shrugged and sagged back against his seat. "Oh, go ahead." He tipped back his own bottle in resignation.
"Really?" John asked, already halfway across the kitchen to retrieve a beer from the fridge.
"I'm sure you do it when I'm not here," Colonel Sheppard sighed. "This probably makes me the worst father ever...."
"No," John said, thinking of the yelling he'd heard coming from the McKay's house when Rodney had opened the door. "I think there's probably someone out there who makes their kids completely miserable."
"I keep you around for my ego, you know," Colonel Sheppard said, helping himself to more garlic bread.
"And so you can cheer for one winning team," John offered, which turned the dinner conversation to sports and away from other sketchy topics like John's physics grade.
After he helped his father clean up, he went to his room and paged through what homework he did have. He'd done most of it in study hall and he could put off the reading until he was ready to go to bed. He slid the window up and stepped onto the roof. It was a little windy and cooler than it had been, but even at ten o'clock at night, October in Arizona was far from unpleasant. He lay on his back and stared up into the sky, wondering if he was going to spend his entire life never being home.
He wanted to fly. There was no question there. Maybe it was better, he thought, dropping his head to the side, than being home all the time and being miserable. He glanced over at the McKay's house and saw a dark shape on the roof.
There was only one person that could be and he sat up before calling over.
"Rodney! Hey, McKay!"
The shape sat up quickly and leaned into the patch of moonlight.
"Hey," Rodney's voice carried through the still, dry air.
John moved over a little. "You get dinner?"
"Yeah." Rodney quirked a grin. "I think corned beef hash is actually better cold."
"That's disgusting," John said, wrinkling his nose. "Are you grounded?"
Rodney shook his head, his face bobbing in and out of shadows. "Nah, they didn't even look at the clock when I came in."
John nodded and didn't know what else to say. "Hey," he finally called back. "We've got like, six gallons of chili in here, seriously, so next week you should come over one night when my dad's gone and we'll have some."
"Yeah?" Rodney sounded hopeful to John and he nodded back. "That sounds, uh -- "
He stopped talking and the sound of shrill twelve-year-old echoed out of the open window. He winced and shrugged, waving at the window. "Ok, I have to go kill her now. I'll see you tomorrow."
John nodded and waved a little as Rodney disappeared back into the bedroom window. He lay back on the roof and began to calculate the days until he left town and started his career in the Air Force.
Part Three
High School AU, part deux.
Rated: R
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay (eventually)
As always, blame thanks goes to reccea for the beta. Also, the ordering around and the extra love.
Part One
The Best Things in Life Are Free, Part Two
by Smitty
John got to school early the next morning and laid in wait for Rodney. He had some serious work to do before he could even try to pass Rodney off as cool to his friends.
Rodney walked by John's hiding place with a huge smile on his face, completely oblivious of his surroundings. He was alone, which made the smile mystifying but John's job a lot easier.
John grabbed Rodney's arm as he went by and dragged him behind the low brick wall. Rodney put up a minimum of resistance that faded as soon as he saw John.
"Why didn't you just call my name or start walking beside me, or something cool?" he asked, looking betrayed and wow, had the guy never heard of a poker face?
"Because we need to do some work first," John said, taking in Rodney's chinos, "Mr. Fantastic" shirt, and flat hair.
"Huh, what? What do you mean by -- "
"First off," John said, finding the seam where Rodney's right sleeve met the shoulder and pulling. The stitches broke with a satisfying sound. Rodney squeaked.
"What are you doing?" he demanded. "I really like this shirt."
"Yeah, I can see why," John muttered, dragging the tail out from Rodney's pants and letting it hang over the belt. He tore off the second sleeve and thought that for a geek, Rodney's arms really weren't anything to laugh at. He wondered if Rodney could throw a football. "Ok, look." He tossed the sleeve at Rodney, who caught it and fumbled it into his pocket. John's backpack was at his feet and he'd thrown his bottle of Dep on top of his books.
"Wait, what...what is that?" Rodney asked, shying back.
"It's hair gel," John said, squirting a dime-sized dollop on his palm and rubbing his hands together. "Ok, now...don't take this the wrong way or anything." He reached out and scrubbed his hands through Rodney's hair, then took his time spiking up not-actually-random pieces.
"What -- what -- what are you doing?" Rodney sputtered, glaring up at John like a wet cat. John tried very hard not to smile at the image.
"I'm fixing your hair," he said, tweaking one last piece between his fingertips.
Rodney made a sound that indicated how utterly put out he was and John got a mean sense of satisfaction by rubbing his hand hard up the back of Rodney's head, sending all the hair the other direction.
"Great, now I look like I stuck my finger in a socket," Rodney griped.
"You haven't even looked in a mirror," John said cheerfully, shaking out the flannel shirt Rodney had stuffed between the straps of his backpack and tossing it at him. "Tie that around your waist.
"I figured it looks like yours," Rodney said, and John raised his eyebrows automatically.
"My hair is cool," he said. "My hair is the epitome of cool. And don't put that backpack on. One strap, if you have to have it over your shoulder."
"One -- I'll wind up with an irreversible back injury before I can vote! My spine will develop a curvature that will eventually lead to a lifetime of discomfort on rainy days and prescription mattresses."
"So switch off which side," John said, picking up Rodney's backpack and thrusting it at him. "And geez, try to carry around less than six books, would you?" He vaulted over the low wall and started to walk toward the school.
Rodney caught up with him just before the stairs and started babbling nervously. "So this'll be my first time walking down the cool hallway. On purpose, I mean. Because when I first moved here I had no idea and I figured it was just a quick way to get to homeroom because I was already late -- "
"Rodney," John interrupted. "Relax. We're friends, remember? Best friends. No one's going to stuff you in a locker. I promise."
Rodney's gelled head bobbed. "Ok, yes. Good, that's the deal after all."
It was 8:30 in the morning and John was already exhausted.
"Hey," he said to the cluster near his locker. He spun the combination lock, found the number easily, and jerked his locker open. They responded with various degrees of apathy and he pretended not to listen to hard to see if Teyla said anything.
"Hi!" Rodney greeted everyone. "Rodney. Rodney McKay."
"Didn't you do my homework for summer school?" Mitch asked, scratching his head.
"Er, yes. That was me. I mean, that was the old me -- "
"You guys know Rod -- " Okay, that was even worse. "Rodney. Right?" John said, cutting into the awkwardness as smoothly as he could. "He's cool."
Mitch and Dex exchanged glances. Clearly they did not agree with John's assessment of Rodney but they just cast amused glances toward him and shrugged. "Cool," Dex said, nodding solemnly.
"Hey, whatever Shep says is fine by me," Aiden Ford said, punching Rodney in the shoulder.
"Ow! Hey, I have very fair skin," Rodney said. "And I bruise really easily."
John slammed his locker shut to drown out Rodney and bared his teeth in the best imitation of a grin he could muster. "So," he said stiffly. "I think we're late for class."
"Oh, my God," Rodney sighed, lying on his back and lowering the triangle of drippy cheese into his mouth, "if my blood sugar was any lower, I'd be dead. That's all I'm saying."
"Why didn't you eat lunch?" John asked, sprawled on his own couch, watching Rodney inhale the pizza.
"Too nervous," Rodney explained, closing his mouth over the tip and just reveling in the hot greasy taste of tomato sauce and cheese. "Mm, this is fantastic." He bit off the piece, chewed and swallowed. He thought maybe he could feel the chemical balance of his blood return to normal. "Let me give you a few bucks for it."
"Nah, don't worry about it," John said, taking a bite of pizza himself. "Dad has a deal with the pizza shop down the street, so I can eat while he's gone. Just leave me a slice or two for breakfast tomorrow and he'll be home tomorrow night."
Rodney sat up. "So your dad isn't even around?"
John shook his head. "He's some big deal NATO whatever. He's gotta go a lot of places."
Rodney didn't know what had happened to John's mother, but he knew that she never lived in the house next to his own. "So, what?" he asked. "Your dad just leaves you here all on your own? With pizza?"
John shrugged. "I'm seventeen," he pointed out. "I can pretty much feed and clothe myself for three days."
"Yeah, but." Rodney looked around. He'd almost said, But don't you get lonely? but Rodney wouldn't be lonely. Rodney would love to have the house to himself for three days. No lectures from his father or stupid question from his mother or torturous whining and teasing from Jeannie. "Why don't you ever have any parties over here?"
John cast him a look. "Air Force Colonel," he said. "My dad would kick my ass."
"Oh." The house was nice, if a little spare. Manly. Blue. "Are you going to get in trouble for having me over?"
"No." John didn't elaborate, just picked up another slice of pizza and started eating it.
Rodney felt awkward. He glanced around the living room and his eyes fell on John's backpack and the books spilling out. "You're reading War and Peace?" he asked in frantic need to make conversation.
"For English class," John said. He smiled a little. "I'm on page seventeen."
"A little slow, aren't you?" Rodney said without thinking about it, squinting at the book.
"I'm right on schedule." With that, John seemed to unbend a little. He scooted up on the couch so his head was higher than his knees and hooked his elbow on the back as he chewed thoughtfully. "You read a lot?"
"Sure," Rodney said. "Have you read Heinlein? Asimov?"
"Tom Clancy?" John tried.
The name sounded vaguely familiar to Rodney but he wasn't sure why. "Nope. Douglas? Douglas is a genius."
John made a face. "Coonts?"
"Dean?"
"Stephen. Flight of the Intruder?"
Rodney shook his head and settled back on the couch to eat more pizza.
"You like sports at all?" John asked dubiously.
"Hockey!" Rodney volunteered despite still having a mouthful of pizza. He chewed quickly and swallowed even though his mother wasn't there to correct him.
"Not a real sport," John muttered under his breath and through a bite of pizza but Rodney understood him anyway. "Football?"
Rodney wavered. This getting to know John thing was failing spectacularly and unless he pulled something out of his ass, and soon, this was going to be the longest four weeks ever. "Cheerleaders," he said.
"Yeah, the cheerleaders are great," John said with a smile that looked as relieved as Rodney's. "Hey, my dad rented Back to the Future before he left -- "
"Oh, don't even get me started on that movie," Rodney exclaimed around yet another bite of pizza. John didn't seem capable of saying something that required response when his mouth was empty and he didn't seem capable of not saying something inflammatory when Rodney's mouth was full.
"What?" John asked, mystified. "I liked that movie."
"Right. Well, let me assure you that in no way, shape, or form, can one manipulate black hole technology through both space and time using a power source as esoteric as plutonium-fueled nuclear fusion and it's further ridiculous to suggest that one can use electricity to create anywhere near the power capacity of a reaction -- "
"I thought the car just needed to get up to 88 miles per hour," John interrupted. "Electricity could do that."
"Right, but the flux capacitor, whatever that's supposed to be, apparently needs nuclear power to run the first two trips and yet can bounce on back to 1985 with nothing but a lightning strike."
"So I guess you don't want to watch it again?" John asked, jerking his thumb toward the entertainment system. The corner of his mouth twitched up and the corner of his eyes crinkled.
"Oh. Well," Rodney conceded, "If you have it." A thought occurred to him. "Oh, don't tell me -- "
"We had the DeLorean before the movie came out," John said as he got up from the couch and picked up the plastic video box.
"Hm," Rodney said, sitting back and picking up another piece of pizza. "Thank goodness for small favors."
John flipped his skateboard up into his hand and rang the McKays' doorbell. He lived right next door to the guy. There was no reason they couldn't go to school together. Besides, Rodney was completely entertaining. The entire rant the day before about the implausibility of the flux capacitor had brought on periodic fits of laughter until he went to bed.
The door was flung open and John found himself shifting his gaze down to see Jeannie McKay gazing up at him adoringly.
"John!" she exclaimed. "Isn't this a surprise!"
"Hi, Jeannie," he said with a self-conscious smile. "Rodney almost ready for school?"
Jeannie nearly achieved flight through vibration, she was so pleased. "Why don't you come in?" she said graciously, opening the screen door.
"That's ok," he started to say before he found himself hustled into the foyer and down the hallway. Apparently Jeannie had the same ability to take over as her brother did. "Um, hi," he said, blinking dumbly in the sun-bright kitchen in the back of the house. Three people stared at him. No, he corrected, two people and a newspaper stared at him. Rodney stood at the counter, his backpack on his back -- by both straps, John realized with a sigh -- and a Pop-Tart stuffed in his mouth. A blonde woman in her robe and slippers, holding a rag was dabbing at his cheek. "I'm John Sheppard," he explained, trying to slide backward but Jeannie was in his way. "I live next door? I was just checking to see if Rodney was ready to go." He let his voice trail off toward the end when it was clear that everyone but the newspaper was staring at him in bewilderment.
"Yeah, yeah, all set," Rodney said quickly, pulling away from his mother. "Thanks, Mom, I gotta go." He shot John a thoroughly humiliated look, grabbed a brown paper sack off the counter and pushed by his mother and then his sister. "Are we going or what?" he called to John, already halfway out the door.
"Yeah, sure," John replied, navigating Jeannie while waving to Mrs. McKay. "Nice to meet you!" he called for good measure as he followed Rodney out into the sunny morning.
"I didn't know you were coming by," Rodney said. It would have been snappy if he hadn't been so obviously anxious.
"Sorry," John said. "Guess I should have called first." He shrugged, not displeased with the outcome. "I figured you live right next door. No reason to travel alone." He dropped his skateboard to the ground and stepped on it, using the other foot to push himself down the street.
"You're going to crack your head open one of these days," Rodney said, mussing his own hair self-consciously.
"I know what I'm doing," John murmured, letting the board slow enough for Rodney to catch up, and then reaching out to pluck at his hair.
"Would you stop that? You have some perverse fascination with my hair," Rodney snapped, lifting his hands to fix whatever damage John had wrought.
"Hey, it's your investment," John said, minding where he was going because he really wasn't into concussions. "You wanted to be my best buddy and learn how to be cool."
Rodney sighed. "Okay, fine," he said, stopping and ducking his head down.
John stopped and blinked at him. Rodney looked like he was stepping up to the guillotine rather than letting John spike his hair. "You look dumb like that," he said lightly, twisting bits of hair between his fingertips anyway. "There, we cool?"
Rodney lifted his head and looked at John with a sad sort of longing that made John frown. "You're cool, I'm fine," he said.
"You're getting there," John said kindly.
"Thanks," Rodney said, turning and walking off. John watched him trudge down the street for a minute, then put his foot on the ground and pushed off after him.
Rodney slid into his college-level physics class three minutes late and straddled the empty chair Radek had saved for him. "What'd I miss?" he hissed.
"Where were you?" Radek demanded in much too loud a whisper to escape notice.
"Shh," Rodney hissed as Mr. Simmons turned around and raised an eyebrow.
"Well, Mr. McKay, nice of you to join us."
"Yeah, well, it's a pleasure to be here," Rodney said, flipping open his book.
"With that attitude, even your grades won't carry you through any sort of undergraduate program, let alone higher education," Mr. Simmons sneered.
"And I'd be a lot more worried about that instead of how little I'm getting out of this class, except, wait, you're the one who's supposed to be teaching me physics," Rodney shot back. He'd worry about getting in trouble except that they'd done this every day that year and nothing had happened. People, Rodney thought with some disgust, were completely stupid.
"Difficult to teach an absent student," Simmons said, turning back to the board. He launched back into his explanation of Coulomb's force. Rodney had read about it the summer before and had already sat through two of Mr. Simmons' insufficient lectures on the subject.
"How goes your brilliant plan?" Radek whispered, slouching in his seat.
"Shut up," Rodney whispered back. He glanced around and leaned in. "It's going fine. John...is not a complete gorilla. For a football player."
"Oh, so he is good enough to take up all your time and your money?" Radek sounded pissy. Rodney rolled his eyes.
"Ok, look," he whispered, leaning over, "I know I haven't been around at all, but don't get your panties in a twist about it. I've been learning how to be cool. And I will pass this knowledge on to you. When, you know, I have time."
"Panties in a twist?" Radek hissed back. "What does that mean?"
"Oh, John said it the other day," Rodney said, feeling the rush of explaining something new. "It's when you get all uptight and completely, totally unreasonably irritated about something that's totally not worth worrying about. Like you're doing."
Radek hunched over his notebook, scribbling too fast to actually be taking notes and muttering under his breath in Czech. Rodney leaned back, smiling. He was going to have this 'cool' thing down in no time at all.
John found Rodney in the cafeteria at lunch.
"C'mon," he said, catching Rodney's arm and steering him out of the lunch line. "We have things to do."
"We have lunch to eat!" Rodney replied with a longing look at the food line. "Unless you've forgotten the delicate state of my blood sugar?"
"We'll get something while we're out," John said, shouldering open the side door near the gym and pushing Rodney into the sunlight.
"How will people figure out that I'm cool when I'm not eating lunch with you?" Rodney demanded.
"Because you're cutting class with me," John said, checking casually for cars before jogging across the street. "We're probably not going to make it back by the end of lunch."
"What?" Rodney sounded more horrified than usual. "I can't skip class! You can't ask me to risk my academic career for some adolescent pre-criminal folly you're planning -- what are you planning, anyway?"
"We're picking up my dad's car," John said. "What class are you going to miss?"
"Study hall," Rodney said.
John stopped and turned to look at Rodney. "You're telling me," he said slowly, "that with that great big brain of yours, your academic career is going to come crashing to a halt because you missed study hall?"
"Of course not." The corners of Rodney's mouth turned down, which somehow made the corners of John's mouth turn up.
"Part of being cool," he said, squeezing Rodney's shoulder, "is knowing the difference between what other people think is true and what you know is true." Rodney gave him a quizzical look and he dropped his hand. "Besides," he said lightly. "I know you want to ride in the DeLorean."
Rodney's eyes glazed over a little and John knew that he had won.
On Wednesday, Rodney waited on his porch for John to come out of his house. His parents were revisiting argument #615 and Jeannie was scowling darkly at him, so he figured he'd spare John -- and himself -- the pain.
All in all, it showed no sign of being anything other than an ordinary day until Rodney took a shortcut down the cool hallway and managed to get tackled for reasons other than locker entrapment.
"McKay!" Rodney stumbled as John grabbed his shoulders and pushed him out of the crowd.
"You could just wave next time," he snapped
"Yeah, but then I don't get to listen to you bitch," John said with a twitch of his eyebrows. "Look, Mitch is having a party at his place on Saturday night so meet me after school in front of the bike racks and we'll head over to the mall."
Rodney squinted at John, trying to track the logical progression of cause and effect in that sentence and then decided that logic really had very little to do with it.
"Why are we going to the mall?"
"Because you need something to wear."
Rodney winced. He had some money left over from tutoring but not a lot.
"C'mon, it won't be that bad." John clapped him on the arm. "Four o'clock, ok?"
"Don't you have football practice?" Rodney tried.
"Just a weigh-in."
"I have a meeting!"
"Skip it!"
"I'm the president of the club!"
"Then cancel it!"
Rodney huffed. "If you think I'm going to cancel a very important meeting of the Future Physicists of America club to hang around the mall with you and your ruffian friends so we can look good for a party -- is Mitch the lobotomized one? -- then you -- "
"Rodney. You're not even an American citizen. How are you the president of the Future Physicists of America club? And what are you doing that's so important anyway?"
Rodney scowled. He was already regretting telling John about the Canadian thing. "We're planning a party for Heisenberg's birthday."
"When's the party?"
"Why, you want to crash it?" Rodney sneered. "It's in December."
"Rodney. Meet me at four."
"Fine," Rodney grumbled. "Should I electrocute myself along the way so that I can fit in?"
John pointed one finger at Rodney as he walked backwards down the hall. "Don't forget," he called. "Those ruffian friends of mine are going to make you cool."
Rodney sighed, but he wound up cutting his meeting short and went out to the bike racks at four. John was showing off, sliding his skateboard along the top of one of the mostly-empty racks and twisting off, spinning in the air before landing on the grass. The crowd gathered around him made sounds of enthusiasm. Rodney rolled his eyes. John hammed it up for them a little more, then nodded and popped his skateboard up into his hand.
"You ready?" he asked Rodney as the crowd drifted off and Rodney found the several yards of distance between them filled with grass instead of people.
"Sure," Rodney said, walking toward John and the street. "You know you're going to crack your head open."
"Yeah, you told me yesterday, thanks," John said. "What'd I tell you about the backpack?" He reached out and tugged one strap down Rodney's shoulder and Rodney obediently shrugged out of it.
"Where's everyone else?" Rodney asked, realizing belatedly that it was just him and John.
"Just us today," John said. "We're all supposed to be doing homework so we can play on Friday."
"And you're going to lose the game for us by taking me shopping instead of finishing your homework?" Rodney sniped.
"My grades are fine," John said stiffly. "I'm here to hold up my end of the deal."
"I haven't been given a swirlie all week," Rodney said. "I have no complaints."
"Right, which is why I hear you complaining non-stop," John said, raising his eyebrows.
"I'm staying in practice," Rodney said with dignity. "I wouldn't want to go soft while you're coddling me."
"That would be a shame," John agreed, holding open the outer door to of the mall.
"We're not girlfriends," Rodney said half an hour later, from under a pile of jeans and shirts. "There's really no need to dress me."
"There is if you hold any hope of getting a girlfriend," John called from somewhere off to his right and behind some denim jackets.
"These are too tight," Rodney said twenty minutes after that when he hopped out of the dressing room wearing stonewashed jeans that pinched.
"Depends on how slutty a girlfriend you're looking for," John said, raising one eyebrow and regarding Rodney worriedly. "Go try something else."
"I think we should go back to my house and play Impossible Mission," Rodney said after another ten minutes of changing in and out of clothes.
"Sure," John said. "As soon as you're done here."
Rodney huffed and went back inside the dressing room.
Ninety minutes and three stores later, John pronounced him acceptable to be seen in public and Rodney was counting out ones on the store counter.
"I got it," John said, leaning on the desk and sliding over a credit card.
"What are you doing?" Rodney asked, irritated. He might not have a lot of money left over, but he had enough.
"It's my dad's credit card," John said casually. "I figure he'll never know the difference and it's going toward a good cause."
"Making me cool is now a charity project?" Rodney asked. He considered being disgusted but the idea was vaguely intriguing. "Hey, wait a minute!"
John made a face at him that clearly asked, What?
"If you had your dad's credit card, why didn't you just use that for the car repairs?"
John rolled his eyes. "Because," he said quietly as the clerk rang up Rodney's purchases, "he's not even going to blink at fifty dollars of clothes. A thousand dollars to the auto body shop is kind of noticeable. Especially when he specifically told me not to touch the car."
"Oh. Right." Rodney glanced at the trendy clothes disappearing into plastic bags. "Is he home now?"
"Yeah," John said. "Got in last night. If he's noticed anything about the car, he hasn't said."
"Well, that's good," Rodney said, feeling oddly tired and cranky. The clerk handed him his bags and John signed the receipt.
"You want to get something to eat?" John asked as they passed the food court and lovely smells hung in the air.
"Yeah, I'm starving," Rodney said. "What time is it?" He struggled with his bags to check his watch.
"Quarter of seven," John said.
"What?" Rodney nearly tripped over his bags.
"Quarter of seven," John repeated. He raised an eyebrow. "You need to be somewhere?"
"Yes!" Rodney fumbled the bags into his other hand and started digging in his pocket for change. "Is there a pay phone around here?"
John nodded at the wall next to Chinese food booth. Rodney thrust the bags at him and went to call home.
"Rodney!" his mother exclaimed when she answered. "Where are you? We were worried sick!"
"You sound like a nag," he heard his father say in the background. "The boy's seventeen. Give him a break."
"You missed dinner," his mother snapped. "I had no idea where you were."
"Look, I had things to do," Rodney said. He hated it when his parents used him as an excuse to fight and he was starting to get a headache. "I'm sorry I'm late, I'll grab something when I get home."
"It'll be cold," his mother said. "You'll have to warm it up."
"That's fine," he said. "I like cold leftovers."
"If you're not home in fifteen minutes, you're grounded, young man," his mother said, and Rodney could hear his father yelling at her as he hung up the phone.
Fifteen minutes wasn't a lot of time, but they would be too busy screaming at each other when he walked in that being a little late wouldn't matter.
"I gotta go," he said to John as he turned around.
John held out a soft pretzel and peered at him curiously from under a flop of brown hair. "You in trouble?" he asked.
"Kinda," Rodney answered, taking the pretzel gratefully. It was bland but the salt was harsh on his tongue and he started feeling better almost immediately. "I'm supposed to be home for dinner at six every night. I just forgot. It'll be ok."
"Ok," John said, and the look on his face gave Rodney the sinking feeling that he had heard Rodney's parents arguing over the phone.
"Don't you have to be home for dinner?" Rodney asked snidely to cover his embarrassment.
John shrugged artlessly. "If Dad's home, he usually makes something around eight. He works late a lot. It depends on if I'm home, too." He shrugged again. "We don't have much of a schedule anymore."
"Must be nice," Rodney said, wondering what it would be like to have so much freedom.
"Yeah," John said vaguely. "Come on." He grinned wickedly at Rodney. "I'll walk you home."
"We are not girlfriends!"
John let himself into his house and blinked at the lighted hallway.
"Hi, Dad," he said to the empty hall.
"In here," his father called from the general vicinity of the kitchen.
John dropped his backpack on the floor inside the door and went to find his dad. "Smells good," he said. "What's cooking?"
"Chili," Colonel Sheppard said proudly. "I grabbed a loaf from the BX, too, so we can have garlic bread." He nodded toward the French bread sitting on the sideboard.
John crossed the room and pulled it out of its paper sack, grabbing a knife from the block and a cutting board. "I have a game on Friday," he said, hacking the bread into broad, diagonal slices. "So I won't be home until late."
"Yeah, I saw on the schedule," the Colonel said. "I should be able to make it."
"Yeah?" John's dad never made it to his games. He was usually out of town or on duty.
"I figured it would be nice to see you play once more before you go off to college," Colonel Sheppard said dryly. "I somehow missed five-foot-eight through six-oh. I'm waiting to come home and find out you're taller than me."
John rolled his eyes and grinned a little. He opened the fridge door and pulled out the butter. "I wish," he said as he slathered butter on the bread and shook garlic flakes over the slices.
"Chili's up," Colonel Sheppard said when the butter had broiled on the garlic bread. He filled bowls and set them on the table with extra onions and cheese and John rescued the bread before it charred. "So what surprises am I going to find waiting for me when I talk to the vice-principal?" he asked when they'd dug into the chili and bread and declared it edible.
John shook his head and shrugged, indicating that his mouth was full.
"Nice try," his father said. "You've got to swallow some time."
John shrugged and did so. "Depends on how much they know," he said casually. His father had once made the mistake of telling him that if he couldn't behave, to at least try not to get caught.
"John," his father warned.
"Can I have a beer?" John asked, to change the subject.
Colonel Sheppard looked flummoxed and like he was going to refuse and then he shrugged and sagged back against his seat. "Oh, go ahead." He tipped back his own bottle in resignation.
"Really?" John asked, already halfway across the kitchen to retrieve a beer from the fridge.
"I'm sure you do it when I'm not here," Colonel Sheppard sighed. "This probably makes me the worst father ever...."
"No," John said, thinking of the yelling he'd heard coming from the McKay's house when Rodney had opened the door. "I think there's probably someone out there who makes their kids completely miserable."
"I keep you around for my ego, you know," Colonel Sheppard said, helping himself to more garlic bread.
"And so you can cheer for one winning team," John offered, which turned the dinner conversation to sports and away from other sketchy topics like John's physics grade.
After he helped his father clean up, he went to his room and paged through what homework he did have. He'd done most of it in study hall and he could put off the reading until he was ready to go to bed. He slid the window up and stepped onto the roof. It was a little windy and cooler than it had been, but even at ten o'clock at night, October in Arizona was far from unpleasant. He lay on his back and stared up into the sky, wondering if he was going to spend his entire life never being home.
He wanted to fly. There was no question there. Maybe it was better, he thought, dropping his head to the side, than being home all the time and being miserable. He glanced over at the McKay's house and saw a dark shape on the roof.
There was only one person that could be and he sat up before calling over.
"Rodney! Hey, McKay!"
The shape sat up quickly and leaned into the patch of moonlight.
"Hey," Rodney's voice carried through the still, dry air.
John moved over a little. "You get dinner?"
"Yeah." Rodney quirked a grin. "I think corned beef hash is actually better cold."
"That's disgusting," John said, wrinkling his nose. "Are you grounded?"
Rodney shook his head, his face bobbing in and out of shadows. "Nah, they didn't even look at the clock when I came in."
John nodded and didn't know what else to say. "Hey," he finally called back. "We've got like, six gallons of chili in here, seriously, so next week you should come over one night when my dad's gone and we'll have some."
"Yeah?" Rodney sounded hopeful to John and he nodded back. "That sounds, uh -- "
He stopped talking and the sound of shrill twelve-year-old echoed out of the open window. He winced and shrugged, waving at the window. "Ok, I have to go kill her now. I'll see you tomorrow."
John nodded and waved a little as Rodney disappeared back into the bedroom window. He lay back on the roof and began to calculate the days until he left town and started his career in the Air Force.
Part Three