[SGA fic] The Best Things in Life are Free (7b/8)
Part 7b exceeded the LJ character limit (oh, the shame!) so I split it into part 7b and 7c. There is no part 7d - part 8 will be posted when it’s finished.
As always, many thanks to reccea for being a superhero, even if a thwarted one. Love and cookies to control_freak80, who is letting me post this from her computer, and to miss_porcupine and lilac_way for cheerleading.
The Best Things in Life Are Free
by Smitty
SGA HS AU
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Eventually McKay/Sheppard
Part Seven-A
Part Seven-B
"We should play a game," Radek offered when Jeannie whined about having to wait for the kickoff and Rodney's blood pressure shot up another five points. He'd finally given in to her pleas to tag along with him to a football game when Radek volunteered to walk her home afterward, negating Rodney's excuse of going straight to the subsequent party. "Do you know what a prime number is?"
"Since I was like, two," Jeannie said, rolling her eyes.
"Then I will say a number and you will tell me if that number is prime or is not prime," Radek went on, nonplussed. After all, he'd been dealing with Rodney for years and for some inexplicable reason, Radek seemed to get along with Jeannie better than Rodney did. Probably even better than Radek got along with his own sister, although Rodney had only met her once. His only lasting impressions were that she was very pretty and very impatient.
"That sounds pretty easy," Jeannie said suspiciously.
"I will use hard numbers," Radek promised.
"Don't go easy on her," Rodney said, scanning the field where the players were warming up. "She does share some of my genetic sequences, you know."
"Please shut up and stare at the cheerleaders," Radek said. "We are playing." He turned his attention to Jeannie. "Forty-one."
Jeannie's lips moved silently as she considered the number. Rodney glanced over at her and then turned back to the field. Forty-one was easy.
"Prime!" she decided.
"Very good! Now you ask me." Radek smiled at her.
"Umm, seventy…three."
"Seventy-three is also prime," Radek said. "How about…fifty-seven?"
"Prime?"
"Hello, try dividing by three," Rodney said. John was in the end zone, lobbing passes to Ford and Stackhouse down the field. Teyla was on the sidelines with the rest of the cheerleaders, shaking her pom-poms. As he watched, she lifted one and waved it and it took him a minute to realize she was waving at him. He smiled and waved back tentatively, as if someone was going to come kick his ass for assuming Teyla was waving at him. But she was and if that wasn't the weirdest part of the whole thing, Laura Cadman, Jeannette Simpson, and Katie Brown were walking up the bleacher steps and they were waving at him, too.
"Shush," Radek said. "Go back to being popular. We will be nerds right here now. Fifty-seven is three times nineteen," he said. "Let us try another. One hundred and twenty-one."
"That one's not prime," Jeannie said as if it were obvious -- which it was, Rodney thought as he stood up to greet the girls. "Also, it's my turn."
"Hi," Rodney said to Laura. He was determined to be cool, because she was going to the dance with some other guy and he didn't want her to think he was pining or anything. Not that it mattered, because it wasn't like he didn't have a date and even if he was only technically kind of using Vala for the experience he'd need later, Laura didn't need to know that. But Katie was there and it would probably be bad form to brag in front of her after how badly everything on that end had gone and well, Rodney was starting to think that this popular thing was really more stress than it was worth.
"Hey," Laura said cheerfully. "Anyone sitting here?" She raised her eyebrows at the empty bench in front of them.
"No, sit down, be my guest," Rodney said. "Uh, you know Radek, right? And this is my sister, Jeannie."
"Hi!" Jeannie said, beaming at the older girls. "I'm Jeannie McKay."
"Hi, Jeannie," Laura said. "I'm Laura, this is Jeannette, and this is Katie."
"Oh!" Jeannie said, her face lighting up as Jeannette and Katie said hi. "Are you the one who -- "
Rodney slapped a hand over Jeannie's mouth. "Oh, hey!" he said. "They're getting ready for the kickoff."
Everyone shifted their attention to the field to watch John and the captain of the opposing team meet at the middle for the coin flip. Jeannie tried to bite Rodney's palm, and he waited until she actually got some skin between her teeth before jerking his hand away. "Shut up," he whispered to her as John elected to receive and took his position on the sidelines.
The Genii kicker drove the ball high and deep into the end zone. Markham, the kick returner, caught the ball high on his chest, looked down the field at the stampeding pack bearing down at him, and took a knee for a touchback.
The offensive line jogged out on the field and took position for a snap.
"Go Ronon!" Jeannette yelled, waving a school pennant.
"It's a snap," Rodney said, "not a touchdown." Jeannette turned around glared at him and Radek kicked him in the calf. "Ow, what was that for?"
"Come on, John!" Katie yelled, clapping her hands.
This time Rodney didn't say anything, just rolled his eyes. John at least had an actual role in this play and he'd be cheering himself if it wouldn't be so…obvious.
Ronon snapped the ball to John, who tucked the ball up next to his shoulder and ran several steps backward. He scanned the field for less than two seconds and then whipped out a pass, hard and fast toward Ford, running up the right side.
But the pass was too low, Rodney could tell from the stands. John had released too late and one of the Genii players cut in front of Ford and snagged the ball out of the air. He sprinted for the end zone and was brought down by Ronon and Mitch immediately on the twenty-two.
The referee blew his whistle and gestured for a change in possession. A groan rose from the stands, discontent murmurs and sighs echoing around Rodney. He peered between Laura and Jeannette's shoulders and saw John rip his helmet off on the sidelines. Rodney was too far away to see his face very well, but there was a better than average probability that John was pissed off and blaming himself for giving the Genii the ball so close to their own goal.
Sure enough, the Genii scored in two plays and neatly kicked in the extra point.
"I thought we were supposed to play easy teams on Homecoming," Rodney said, his eyes fixed on the field as the offensive line moved into position. John was yanking at his helmet and talking to Ronon. "So we could win and be all happy."
"We'll win," Laura said positively. "It's one touchdown. And we've always beaten the Genii."
"First time for everything," Rodney mumbled, remembering an accidental run-in with that team's defensive backs the year before.
"They are indeed very large, this team," Radek said doubtfully.
"Maybe we just need to make some noise!" Katie -- who had never made noise in her life -- suggested, and immediately started yelling encouragements at John. Jeannette joined in, entreating Ronon to do terrible, violent things to the Genii linebackers. Laura, who had a hell of a set of lungs on her, chimed in, and Jeannie, not to be outdone by the other girls, added her voice to the mix.
Rodney and Radek exchanged puzzled glances, shrugged, and settled back to watch the girls watch the game.
It soon became clear that the Genii were bigger, stronger, and meaner. John threw pass after pass and handed off the ball time and time again, but only Ronon seemed able to cut any path through the Genii defense. Every time he jogged off the field, John looked more and more tired and with four minutes left in the second quarter, they were down by thirteen points. Rodney wondered what he would say to John afterward, at the party. He wanted to say something comforting and wise, something that would make John smile and talk to him again, make him go back to being just the way he was before. But even on the field he seemed tense and short-tempered, off his game just enough that everyone else felt it, too.
"Rodney," Jeannie asked, breaking him out of his reverie by yanking on his jacket sleeve. "I'm thirsty, can I have a Coke?"
"Yeah, okay," Rodney said, more because he wanted a Coke and because his butt was going numb from sitting still on the hard metal bleachers. "You want anything else? Popcorn? Soft pretzel?"
Jeannie shook her head and pulled out her little purse.
Rodney watched her count out change and sighed. "No, seriously, I will buy you a drink and a snack if you want it. Stop it with the quarter counting. I'm going to get something to eat. Anyone else need anything?"
Katie wanted a soda and Radek was hungry for a hot dog -- Radek tended to eat like he had a tapeworm and never gained an ounce -- and Jeannie finally decided on a soft pretzel. Rodney collected the money and shoved it in his pocket before taking the steps down to the field level. The concession stands were under the bleachers with the port-a-potties and Rodney took the long way around to avoid the stench. Just before he turned the corner that would take the field out of sight, he glanced back to see if the offense was doing anything interesting.
His breath choked up in his throat as he got a clear view of the field positions and he rushed for the chain link fence circling the field.
Football may never have been Rodney's particular area of expertise, but it didn't take a genius to see what was coming.
John never saw it coming. One second he was scanning for a receiver with minimal heat, the next he was flat on his back, feeling the impact of a dozen bodies landing on top of him.
He grunted and directed murderous thoughts toward Ronon.
As the weight eased off, John realized that his jaw hurt like a bitch and his mouth was filled with coppery blood. Someone rolled off his arm and John felt around for his mouthguard. It was dangling from his facemask, but further exploration confirmed that all his teeth were intact.
"You okay?"
John squinted up at Ronon Dex looming over him.
"That hurt," he said, lifting his head.
Ronon leaned down, wrapped John's jersey in his fist, and lifted John to his feet.
"You're bleeding," Ronon said.
"Yeah, no shit," John replied.
The defense was taking the field, so John made his way off, dabbing blood out of his mouth to find himself faced with a frantic Rodney McKay.
"Oh, my God, are you all right? No, you're not, you're bleeding!"
"Rodney, what are you doing here?" John asked, edging around the flailing hands to get to the bench.
"I'm making sure you didn't break your neck!" Rodney nearly shouted.
"You're not supposed to be down here," John said, his words garbled around the swelling.
"You all right?" Carson Beckett, the team manager, asked John, handing him a flexible cold pack.
"Yeah," John said, aware of Rodney hovering beside him. "Bit my lip or something."
"Let me see." Carson thumbed John's chin down and directed a penlight into his mouth.
John saw Rodney peering over Carson's shoulder and had the irrational urge to hit him.
"I'm fine," he said, pulling his head back.
"Suit yourself," Carson said. He handed John a scrap of clean white gauze. "Blot with that. You need to stop bleeding before Coach'll let you back on the field."
John nodded his comprehension and blotted. The gauze tasted awful and came away spotted with blood.
"Who's supposed to be guarding him?" Rodney was demanding. "What's wrong with you people? How hard is it to keep your quarterback from getting sacked?"
Just the word 'sack' made John groan. Rodney vanished, ostensibly to go tell the football players how to play their game.
"You okay, Shep?" Ford asked, materializing at his side. "That looked like a nasty hit."
"Yeah, I'm fine." John cracked his neck and felt a little better. "Go drag Rodney off Ronon before Ronon snaps him like a twig."
Ford chuckled. "Yeah, no problem." He went off and John ducked his head, pressed the gauze back into the cut. He could hear Ronon's rumble and Rodney's high-pitched distress and Ford's calming voice. Eventually he saw a familiar pair of shoes hesitate in front of him and a tentative voice ask,
"Hey, are you okay?"
John glanced up and growled, "Rodney...."
"Look, you're not stupid and it would be a shame for you to lose valuable brain cells to an asinine game," Rodney started.
"McKay!" John barked. "Get back in the stands! Now!"
Rodney stared at him.
"Now," John said. When Rodney didn't move, he stood up and leaned close to Rodney's ear, his voice dampened to the rest of the field by the cheering accompanying an interception. "Get off the field and stop making me want to kiss you," he muttered. "It's fucking up my concentration." He stepped back, still glaring at Rodney, and put on his helmet. He tossed the bloody gauze in the nearest trash container and jogged out onto the field.
"Hey! Hey, McKay!"
"Huh, what?" Rodney blinked out of his shock. Ford was peering at him from under thick eyebrows. He looked concerned.
"You gotta get off the field before Coach sees you," Ford said, snapping the chinstrap of his helmet. He clapped Rodney on the shoulder. "Don't mind Sheppard," he said kindly. "He can be kind of a jerk when we're down. He doesn't like to lose."
"But -- " Rodney said, but Ford was already on the field and ducking into his position. John still looked angry when he turned his head and snapped something at Ford.
Rodney stepped back two paces and stumbled over some equipment piled on the ground. He turned and rushed off the sidelines, awkward in his haste.
It was stupid, stupid because Rodney knew John wanted to kiss him, John had kissed him, but Rodney had to unzip his jacket anyway and wave some air onto his flushed face.
On the field, the whistle blew to signal half-time and people started to stir from their seats. Rodney got in line at the food stands to beat the crowds. His jeans chafed uncomfortably when he had to dig the money out of his pocket and all he could do was think of the smell of John, the faint warmth of aftershave under sweat and dirt and eye black grease. He gathered up the food and started making his way back to the bleachers where he'd left his sister and friends.
"Rodney!"
The voice was too deep to be a student -- except maybe Ronon who had apparently gone through puberty at the age of six, but he was on the field -- so Rodney straightened up automatically as he turned around, drinks and pretzels snugged tight against his chest. "Colonel Sheppard," he said, surprised. At least that took care of one problem -- there was nothing that killed an erection like facing the father of its source. "I thought you were out of town."
"Just got in," the Colonel said. He was wearing his blue uniform and had a lightweight blue jacket zipped halfway up over his uniform shirt. "I came straight here. How's John doing out there?"
Rodney figured the Colonel didn't want to know that John was stinking up the field because Rodney wouldn't have sex with him, so he just said, "We're down by a couple of touchdowns. John took a pretty hard hit a couple minutes ago." Even that small fact felt like a betrayal.
The Colonel grimaced. "His mother always said he was too small to play football," he said. "We never listened to her."
"He's okay," Rodney said quickly. It was the first time he'd heard the Colonel refer to Mrs. Sheppard and he glanced at the older man's face, but if there was anything there to see, he'd missed it. "I mean, he's bleeding and he's probably going to have a pretty spectacular bruise, but he doesn't seem to be too mentally impaired or anything."
The corner of the Colonel's mouth quirked up in a grin. "Well, that's a relief," he said. "Is it crowded up there? Let me give you a hand with those," he added, taking two of the sodas from Rodney and walking off toward the stairs to the bleachers.
"Well, you can sit with us, um, I mean, if you want to," Rodney said doubtfully.
"Great!" the Colonel replied. "Lead the way."
"This is, uh, Colonel Sheppard," Rodney said when he got back to where Jeannie and Radek and the girls were waiting for him. "John's dad."
Laura Cadman shot to her feet. "Sir," she said, and everyone stared at her.
The Colonel grinned. "You're Hack Cadman's little girl, huh?" he asked, taking her hand. "Laura? Not a day goes by that we don't hear about you."
Laura blushed and said, "Yes, sir," as Jeannette and Radek howled with laughter and Katie giggled, blushing, behind her hand.
The Colonel made a point of learning everyone's name and shaking their hands, and then he sat down between Rodney and Jeannie. "You must be Jeannie McKay," he said, tugging on Jeannie's ponytail just like John had done earlier that week. Jeannie beamed.
Rodney ate his own pretzel and drank his Coke and cheered with the rest of the crowd when Stackhouse picked up forty yards in the third quarter and Ronon carried it over the line. But so far, that had been the only score in the second half of the game. The defensive line held the Genii to only about eighty yards total, but John threw more incomplete passes than good ones, and was taken down hard when he tried to run the ball himself. He finally started handing off the ball to Ronon, who would pick up a half dozen yards on a good play. It was slow going and just plain not enough with the Genii throwing long passes far into the fourth quarter. Everyone was starting to look dejected and Jeannie was leaning sleepily on the Colonel's side, the same way she leaned on Rodney when it was past her bedtime.
"I can't believe we're going to lose Homecoming," Jeannette said dejectedly, as the clock was running down. "Go, Ronon!" she yelled for good measure as half the Genii defensive line piled on Ronon.
"It is not looking good," Radek agreed, leaning his chin on his hand.
"One good play," Colonel Sheppard said, elbows resting on his knees as he studied the field intently. "All they need is one good play."
Rodney looked at the clock and shook his head. Thirty-eight seconds left in the game. That wasn't nearly enough time.
"There's no time left, Shep," Mitch said, adjusting his cup while he was blocked from the bleachers by the rest of the huddle. "Look at the clock."
John glanced guiltily at the timekeeper on the scoreboard, even though he knew just how long they had. Thirty-eight seconds. That wasn't enough time to do much of anything. "All right," he said, shrugging his shoulders to settle his pads. "In that case, just run for the end zone."
"Just run for the endzone?" Ford echoed doubtfully.
"You do your job," John said, putting out his hand, palm down. The other players slowly pressed their hands over his. "And I'll do mine." He offered a smile that was just beyond fake and backed out of the huddle to take his position.
He fit the mouthguard against his teeth and bit down. The Genii defensive line was barely even tense and why would they be? They thought they had this all sewn up. They were six points ahead and John was on the sixty-yard line. The guy who had sacked John, a dark, pock-marked kid with a hooked nose, sneered at him, and John made a face right back. If for no other reason, he wanted to beat that guy, watch him slump in defeat, and that image kept John sharp and bright with adrenaline.
The whistle barked clear and loudly a few yards away.
Ronon snapped the ball neatly into John's hands. John ran back into position, set his feet, pulled his arm back and threw. It wasn't arc-perfect like he'd shown Rodney that day in his back yard, but hard, with everything he had, the words running through his head --
Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee --
He danced backward, even though, now that the ball was released, he was of no interest to the other team.
Padded bodies in bright jerseys raced down the field, jockeying for position, but John kept his eyes steady on the football, spinning brown and white against the dark sky and bright pinpricks of white light.
He saw it reach its apex, watched it angle downward, and felt the hush of the crowd as the ball tumbled down, down…
…Into Aiden Ford's reaching hands.
John gasped, air rushing out of his body as the bleachers erupted in riotous cheers. Ronon grabbed him and lifted him clean off the ground. In seconds, John was in the air, on Ronon's shoulders and Mitch's, and they were carrying him off the field. Special teams had gone in and kicked the extra point clean through the posts.
They had won.
"Did you see that?" the Colonel shouted over the eruption of cheers and whistles and cowbells shaking the stands and deafening Rodney. The fans were waving pompoms and school pennants and throwing peanuts and popcorn. It was utter, gleeful, chaos.
Rodney nodded enthusiastically, trying to see around people. He could barely see the field, could see the knot of football players, the colors of their jerseys jumbled together, each one indistinguishable from the next. He craned his neck to see the numbers on their backs, to find John in the pile.
It didn't take as long as Rodney had expected. John was boosted up and into sight, supported on the shoulders of his teammates. Ford, too, but Rodney only had eyes for John.
"C'mon, let's get down there," Colonel Sheppard said, putting one hand on Rodney's shoulder to hold him back as Jeannie and Radek stepped into the aisle of the bleachers ahead of them.
The Colonel's hand was large and heavy, reminding Rodney of John's casual punches to his shoulder and the way John's fingers lined up between the laces of a football. He wondered what Colonel Sheppard would say if he knew John had kissed Rodney and invited him inside. He wondered what his own father would think. Dr. McKay's hands were always full, but at least he wouldn't be angry or disappointed.
Colonel Sheppard moved easily through the crowd of students and parents, the silver eagles on his shoulders gleaming in the near-daylight glare of the stadium lighting. Rodney trailed him down to the trampled grass and dirt surrounding the field, glancing around for John or anyone else he might know. Several kids whose names he might have known said hello and waved or tapped him on the shoulder. It felt spooky and surreal, like he was trapped in his own Outer Limits episode where a Pod-Rodney was suddenly popular and liked by his peers. It felt wrong, but still sort of good, like sneaking a look at the skin magazines in the drugstore, like scoring an A on a test he had spent maybe a grand total of five minutes studying for. He turned to tell the Colonel he had to give Radek and Jeannie a ride or some other invented excuse and found himself face-to-face with John, who looked sweaty, grimy, bloodied, and bruised. The side of his face and his lip were starting to swell but he was grinning like he was feeling no pain at all.
"Did you see that?" he burst out, his inflection an exact echo of his father's.
"That was incredible," Rodney agreed, his excitement reignited by John's. "When you threw the -- and Ford caught it and -- "
John's expression shifted and he straightened his back, helmet dangling, forgotten, from his fingertips.
"What?" Rodney asked, baffled, until he realized that the Colonel had stepped up behind him. "Oh." He moved out of the way and the Colonel cuffed John on the back of the head and pulled him into a rough hug.
"Dad," John complained, muffled against the shoulder of his father's uniform.
"Just like Flutie," the Colonel boomed, still beaming with pride. "That was a great play, Johnny."
John turned his head toward Rodney and blushed when they made eye contact. He lifted his eyebrows in the universal, Parents, what can you do? gesture, but he couldn't seem to keep the smile off his face. Rodney beamed right back and thought that maybe this was what perfect meant.
The entire room paused to cheer when John walked into Mitch's house.
"It was a lucky throw," he said, accepting an open beer from Mitch and slinging an arm around Ford's neck. "Ford here did all the legwork." He took a long drink from the can and looked around the room. There were people there he'd never seen at an after-party before, along with a handful of last year's graduates, Jack O'Neill and Elizabeth among them. Simon, John noticed with displeasure, was also there, standing against the wall with is hands shoved in his pockets. John released Ford and wandered away from the main crowd, away from Elizabeth and her shiny new boyfriend, and went looking for Rodney.
The painless ache in his shoulder from the hard throw, the pride in his father's face, Rodney's excited grin, all mixed together in his memory and pushed a smile onto John's face. He was on top of the world, and nothing was going to bring him down. Maybe even Rodney, who really was an idiot when he thought too much, would kick back a little and agree to go out to -- well, no, they should really go back -- no, his house was out with his dad home. Fine, so they weren't going to be making out that night, but surely Rodney had realized by now --
John paused in the doorway of Mitch's recreation room. Rodney was sitting on the pool table, legs dangling off the side, with some dark-haired girl standing between them. She wore an Academy of the Holy Potentia sweater and as he watched, she stole a sip of Rodney's drink and giggled. Rodney grinned in return and leaned down to whisper something in her ear.
Fuck. John turned away and pressed his forehead to the wall just out of sight of the rec room doorway. He was breathing heavily and so he tipped his head back and poured the rest of his beer down his throat, swallowing as he went.
His thoughts collapsed in a jumbled heap of, no, and, but wait and, you have a crush on me and most of all, why and how can I make you understand? He pushed off the wall and went into the kitchen.
"'Nother beer?" someone asked him.
"Nah, gimme something good," John said, finding a bottle of whiskey on the table. He sloshed some in a plastic cup, filling it to the top indentation, just like he would if it were beer.
"That's a lot of JD," someone else said, peering over his shoulder. John caught a flash of red hair and thought, Laura Cadman.
"Yeah," he said, taking the first swallow off the top of the cup and feeling the whiskey shudder its way down his throat. "I think I deserve it."
Rodney was feeling pretty confident in the endurance of his popularity. Girls who weren't even from his school were hanging on his every word! This new girl, Allina, turned out to go to the all-girls Catholic school down the block, Academy of the Holy Potentia, and Rodney thought she looked quite fetching in her short denim Gap skirt and penny loafers. She wasn't stupid, either, he realized delightedly as she asked him intelligent questions about his plans for the statewide science fair. The actual event wasn't until April but Rodney had learned early on that a little planning meant time to recover from abject disaster.
He was on his second cup of beer and considering sharing the whole story about building the nuke in sixth grade -- well, the parts that weren't too classified, anyway -- when Elizabeth Weir tapped him on the shoulder.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said, not sounding terribly sorry at all, "but do you have a minute? I'd like to talk to you."
"Ah, yeah, of course," Rodney said, suddenly feeling the beer in his stomach. Elizabeth had been intimidating before he had started identifying her as 'John's ex.' He had a feeling this wasn't going to go well for him.
He trailed Elizabeth out to the porch where she shut the door, muffling the noise from the party, and folded her arms around herself as if she was cold. She probably was, Rodney realized, in short sleeves in the cool night air. It wasn't terribly cold, but she should have a sweater.
"I've got a fleece jacket in the car if you're cold," he offered, feeling lame.
"I'm fine, thank you," Elizabeth said with a genuine smile. "I wanted to talk to you about John."
"Ah. Yes. Well." Rodney fought the urge to fidget. "Contrary to what you may have heard, it's not that we spend all that much time together so really, it's not like I know -- "
"You answered his phone," Elizabeth said wryly. "Believe me, I know better than anyone that John's not much for talking. But he's been really…he just hasn't sounded like the John I know, the last few times I've called. Is there something going on?"
"Going on?" Rodney repeated. "Why would anything be going on?"
"Rodney," Elizabeth managed to make the word sound like an admonishment, but she was smiling. "I'm not asking if he's in trouble. I'm just worried about him. Is it his father? School? He never says he's having trouble but I know he hates Mr. Simmons."
"Well, obviously," Rodney agreed. "Simmons is an ass and John's not having problems in his class because I'm helping him and he's not stupid, but Simmons can't seem to latch his feeble mind around the idea that a football player might not actually be brain dead. If he's having problems with his dad, I don't know anything about it. I mean, that whole thing is a little weird but, heh, you should see my family. And I don't know what the thing was with Teyla. I have to say, I think she dumped him but -- I wasn't supposed to mention that, was I?" He winced and braced for the wrath of Elizabeth.
"What? That he was seeing someone else?" Rodney peeked in time to see Elizabeth raise one eyebrow. "He didn't tell me, but I can guess when that was going on. She dumped him two weeks ago?"
"Three," Rodney said weakly.
Elizabeth bit her lip and looked slightly confused. "Okay," she said, sounding doubtful. "Maybe that's it, then."
"He -- didn't seem terribly broken up about it," Rodney said, and then wanted to kick himself. If he played his cards right, he could cover for John without raising Elizabeth's suspicions.
"This is John we're talking about," Elizabeth said so wryly that Rodney suddenly liked her a lot. "He doesn't seem terribly broken up about much of anything."
"Huh," Rodney said, thinking of the way John had yelled at him in the car, and the stony silence that had dominated at their meetings since that night. "No, no, I guess not."
Elizabeth ran one hand through her hair. "I just," she started. "I don't know what to say to him. I mean, I knew we'd drift apart, I expected that. I just -- he's been acting so funny lately." She sounded bereft and Rodney actually started to feel a little bad about not being able to tell her what was going on.
"Look," he said, stuffing both hands into his pockets. "I haven't really -- "
The front door opened and Laura Cadman stepped out onto the porch. "'Scuse me," she said. "Hi, Elizabeth. Um, Rodney? You know, far be it from me to monitor someone else's alcohol tolerance, but John's been drinking kind of a lot, and he's getting a little...sloppy."
"John?" Elizabeth interrupted, looking surprised. "Drunk?"
"Oh, for crying out -- yes, where is he? I'll do it," Rodney told Laura. His heart beat a little faster in his chest as he remembered John asking him to stay and wondering what he would say this time. Then he remembered that the Colonel was in town and realized he couldn't take John home. Maybe if he drove around for a while --
"I'll take him home," Elizabeth said, stepping in front of Rodney. "You stay and have fun. We've got to talk anyway."
"But -- " Rodney started, but neither Elizabeth nor Laura were listening. "That's my job," he finished, but no one was around to hear.
"Here," John heard Elizabeth say to Simon as she tossed him her keys. "Take my car back to the house. I'll meet you there after I drop John off."
"I'll follow you," Simon said.
"Don't," Elizabeth ordered and John was selfishly glad to hear that tone in her voice. "I'm two blocks away and I want to make sure he's okay before I leave."
"He's a big boy -- " Simon started.
"He's still in high school," Elizabeth hissed.
"Hey," John protested. "I'm a big boy -- "
"Get in the car," Elizabeth snapped. "You're wasted."
Elizabeth was angry. John hadn't seen her that mad more than a handful of times and never at him. So he raised his eyebrows at Simon, who refused to look at him, and slid into Nova's passenger seat. He leaned his head back against the stiff leather seat and glanced at the ceiling. He'd been here three weeks ago when he'd been finger-fucking Teyla and thinking of Rodney and nothing since then had been the same. The car didn't even seem like the same place without the smell of sex and Teyla's body over his and the radio playing too softly to identify the song.
Elizabeth opened the driver's side door and got in. She jacked the seat forward to accommodate for her shorter legs and tugged the seatbelt across her body. John rolled his head to the side to apologize to her but instead he said, "Your boyfriend's a real dick."
"Yeah, well, so is my ex," Elizabeth muttered, starting the engine and putting the car in gear.
John knew that she meant him but he was too loose to feel particularly insulted. He glanced out the window and watched the houses and street signs go by and he watched the reflection of Elizabeth's face. Her mouth twitched and frowned and she concentrated very hard on getting them back to John's house, a place she'd been a hundred times before. Her teeth pressed at her bottom lip and John remembered the way she'd tasted, Tic-Tacs and lip gloss.
"You're not the same guy I said goodbye to three months ago," Elizabeth finally said. "What is going on with you?"
John turned his head toward her and saw the little creases of frustration in her forehead.
"What's going on with you?" he asked. "You barely have time to answer your phone, you cut your hair, and you're dating that, that, hippie!"
"We broke up when I went away because this would happen," Elizabeth said, her voice tight. She pulled into John's driveway and turned off the engine. "People change when they go to college, John. They grow up."
"Is that what you're doing?" John asked, a little more belligerently than he meant. "Growing up?"
"You'll understand when you go off to the Academy," Elizabeth said. "When you're on your own like that, you learn things about yourself you'd never even guess."
What, like kissing guys makes me hot? John just barely managed not to ask. Aloud, he said, "And you found out that long-haired, judgmental, beatniks make great boyfriends?"
"You should cut Simon a little slack," she said with a lot less righteous indignation than John expected from her.
"What?" John sputtered, outrage coursing through him. "I should cut him some slack? He practically walked up and called me a babykiller!"
Elizabeth sighed. "John, you have to understand. His father was in Vietnam -- "
"My father was in Vietnam," John spat back, not inclined to understand in the least. "My father flew dozens of missions and won the Purple Heart and the Distinguished Flying Cross in Vietnam."
"It was different," Elizabeth insisted. "He was in the air, he was an officer -- John, Simon's dad was a grunt in the Army. He was on the ground getting shot at. By the time he got home, every little thing made him jump and he kept expecting to see -- " Her voice broke. "He kept expecting to see horrible things. So he drank a lot. And that made him a mean, old, bitter man. I know your father, John, and he's a good man. Simon's father isn't."
"He was a soldier," John said stiffly.
"I don't think you really understand what war is like," Elizabeth said.
"What, and you do?" John snapped, not bothering to keep his voice from carrying outside his slightly open window. He tried not to think of that hazy time when he was five, those eleven awful days when the military wives on base were always in their house, always trying to pet his hair down, even the ones he didn't know. When the television was always on and he didn't have to go to school, and then, finally, they took their first trip to Germany and John pressed his nose to the airplane window and his mother said, We're going to see your daddy, John.
"What do you do, go look for ground wars to fight on the weekends?" he snapped. "When you're not going out to foreign restaurants?"
"That's not what I'm saying," Elizabeth protested. "I think you know what happens in war, I just don't think you understand how badly it screws people up. I think you look at your fast airplanes and your air to ground missiles and your distant explosions and you don't know what it's like to have your best friend ripped apart by a grenade or see the guy next to you take a bullet in the face. It messes people up. It makes them drink. And…and do crazy things."
"That's their choice," John said. "It doesn't have to be mine."
"I hope it's not," Elizabeth said. "I just hope the alternative isn't worse."
Her voice broke on the last word and that's when the Colonel knocked on the car window.
John and Elizabeth both jumped at the sound. John collapsed back in his seat with an, "Oh, crap," and a dizzy, sick feeling in his stomach.
"Colonel Sheppard," Elizabeth said, the nervousness in her voice new. "I'm sorry, I was just -- "
"It's okay, Elizabeth," the Colonel said evenly. "I'm going to take John inside now."
Elizabeth nodded and John closed his eyes, banged his head against the leather headrest, and thought of every curse he knew, in alphabetical order, as his father came around the car and opened the door.
"Up and at 'em, cowboy," the Colonel said, steadying John as he got out of the car. John, embarrassed by the cowboy bit, made a half-hearted attempt to shake off his guiding hand. But the Colonel's grip just tightened in warning. "You drive home," he said to Elizabeth, who had been getting out of the car. "John will get it in the morning when he comes over to apologize."
"I can walk," Elizabeth said with the edge of what John was coming to think of as her 'college girl' voice.
"It's after midnight," the Colonel said. "You'll drive that car home." A quick smile softened his words. "It's good to see you again, Elizabeth," he said. "I'm sorry it's not under better circumstances."
Elizabeth nodded, her gaze torn between the Colonel and John. "Me, too," she said. "Thank you." And she got in the car and started the engine.
John didn't look at his father as he marched inside. Nothing had gone right that week, nothing until that spectacular pass, and here he was, back in the doghouse with everyone over something entirely stupid. He missed Rodney, had been missing him for the past two weeks, but especially badly that night. No rooftop talks, not tonight, even though there was never much talking anyway. It was just being up there that mattered.
"I don't ever want to hear you speak to Elizabeth, or any woman, the way you did tonight," Colonel Sheppard said when the door closed behind them.
"You weren't there," John said, trying not to slur his words. He had sobered up a little on the ride home, trying to catch up with Elizabeth when they argued. "She's got this boyfriend. He's a real pr -- " John cut himself off before he actually said, 'prick' and thought fast. " -- putz. You didn't hear the things he said."
"There's no excuse for not being a gentleman, John," his father said. "You overindulged, your judgment is impaired, and you started running at the mouth without thinking. Tomorrow you're going over there to apologize to Elizabeth and you will keep yourself civil, boyfriend or not."
"You don't understand," John said, his voice rising.
"I do," the Colonel said firmly. "And so will you, come morning. C'mon. Get to bed."
John licked his lips. They were dry, like the rest of his mouth. He knew better than to fight his father on this thing, but he couldn't help but feel that he'd lost his last ally. "Yes, sir," he said quietly and turned around and walked to his room before his father could admonish him for his sardonic tone.
He knew better than to go out on the roof -- it was fairly flat but he wasn't keen on the idea of walking off the edge by accident. After a few minutes spent staring at his ceiling, he leaned over and opened the bottom drawer of his nightstand. The picture of him and Elizabeth at Homecoming -- their first date, after she'd kissed him while they were planning the dance -- was framed in simple silver. John rubbed his thumb down the edge of the photograph, over Elizabeth's long hair and simple white dress. His own hair was flopped over his eyes, unruly and sloppy. He looked entirely comfortable in his suit, and they both beamed at the camera, excited to be there, excited to be together.
John replaced the picture in his drawer and rolled over. He wasn't sure he recognized either of the people in the shot. His own face, at least, wasn't the one who stared back at him in the mirror.
Part Seven-C
As always, many thanks to reccea for being a superhero, even if a thwarted one. Love and cookies to control_freak80, who is letting me post this from her computer, and to miss_porcupine and lilac_way for cheerleading.
The Best Things in Life Are Free
by Smitty
SGA HS AU
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Eventually McKay/Sheppard
Part Seven-A
Part Seven-B
"We should play a game," Radek offered when Jeannie whined about having to wait for the kickoff and Rodney's blood pressure shot up another five points. He'd finally given in to her pleas to tag along with him to a football game when Radek volunteered to walk her home afterward, negating Rodney's excuse of going straight to the subsequent party. "Do you know what a prime number is?"
"Since I was like, two," Jeannie said, rolling her eyes.
"Then I will say a number and you will tell me if that number is prime or is not prime," Radek went on, nonplussed. After all, he'd been dealing with Rodney for years and for some inexplicable reason, Radek seemed to get along with Jeannie better than Rodney did. Probably even better than Radek got along with his own sister, although Rodney had only met her once. His only lasting impressions were that she was very pretty and very impatient.
"That sounds pretty easy," Jeannie said suspiciously.
"I will use hard numbers," Radek promised.
"Don't go easy on her," Rodney said, scanning the field where the players were warming up. "She does share some of my genetic sequences, you know."
"Please shut up and stare at the cheerleaders," Radek said. "We are playing." He turned his attention to Jeannie. "Forty-one."
Jeannie's lips moved silently as she considered the number. Rodney glanced over at her and then turned back to the field. Forty-one was easy.
"Prime!" she decided.
"Very good! Now you ask me." Radek smiled at her.
"Umm, seventy…three."
"Seventy-three is also prime," Radek said. "How about…fifty-seven?"
"Prime?"
"Hello, try dividing by three," Rodney said. John was in the end zone, lobbing passes to Ford and Stackhouse down the field. Teyla was on the sidelines with the rest of the cheerleaders, shaking her pom-poms. As he watched, she lifted one and waved it and it took him a minute to realize she was waving at him. He smiled and waved back tentatively, as if someone was going to come kick his ass for assuming Teyla was waving at him. But she was and if that wasn't the weirdest part of the whole thing, Laura Cadman, Jeannette Simpson, and Katie Brown were walking up the bleacher steps and they were waving at him, too.
"Shush," Radek said. "Go back to being popular. We will be nerds right here now. Fifty-seven is three times nineteen," he said. "Let us try another. One hundred and twenty-one."
"That one's not prime," Jeannie said as if it were obvious -- which it was, Rodney thought as he stood up to greet the girls. "Also, it's my turn."
"Hi," Rodney said to Laura. He was determined to be cool, because she was going to the dance with some other guy and he didn't want her to think he was pining or anything. Not that it mattered, because it wasn't like he didn't have a date and even if he was only technically kind of using Vala for the experience he'd need later, Laura didn't need to know that. But Katie was there and it would probably be bad form to brag in front of her after how badly everything on that end had gone and well, Rodney was starting to think that this popular thing was really more stress than it was worth.
"Hey," Laura said cheerfully. "Anyone sitting here?" She raised her eyebrows at the empty bench in front of them.
"No, sit down, be my guest," Rodney said. "Uh, you know Radek, right? And this is my sister, Jeannie."
"Hi!" Jeannie said, beaming at the older girls. "I'm Jeannie McKay."
"Hi, Jeannie," Laura said. "I'm Laura, this is Jeannette, and this is Katie."
"Oh!" Jeannie said, her face lighting up as Jeannette and Katie said hi. "Are you the one who -- "
Rodney slapped a hand over Jeannie's mouth. "Oh, hey!" he said. "They're getting ready for the kickoff."
Everyone shifted their attention to the field to watch John and the captain of the opposing team meet at the middle for the coin flip. Jeannie tried to bite Rodney's palm, and he waited until she actually got some skin between her teeth before jerking his hand away. "Shut up," he whispered to her as John elected to receive and took his position on the sidelines.
The Genii kicker drove the ball high and deep into the end zone. Markham, the kick returner, caught the ball high on his chest, looked down the field at the stampeding pack bearing down at him, and took a knee for a touchback.
The offensive line jogged out on the field and took position for a snap.
"Go Ronon!" Jeannette yelled, waving a school pennant.
"It's a snap," Rodney said, "not a touchdown." Jeannette turned around glared at him and Radek kicked him in the calf. "Ow, what was that for?"
"Come on, John!" Katie yelled, clapping her hands.
This time Rodney didn't say anything, just rolled his eyes. John at least had an actual role in this play and he'd be cheering himself if it wouldn't be so…obvious.
Ronon snapped the ball to John, who tucked the ball up next to his shoulder and ran several steps backward. He scanned the field for less than two seconds and then whipped out a pass, hard and fast toward Ford, running up the right side.
But the pass was too low, Rodney could tell from the stands. John had released too late and one of the Genii players cut in front of Ford and snagged the ball out of the air. He sprinted for the end zone and was brought down by Ronon and Mitch immediately on the twenty-two.
The referee blew his whistle and gestured for a change in possession. A groan rose from the stands, discontent murmurs and sighs echoing around Rodney. He peered between Laura and Jeannette's shoulders and saw John rip his helmet off on the sidelines. Rodney was too far away to see his face very well, but there was a better than average probability that John was pissed off and blaming himself for giving the Genii the ball so close to their own goal.
Sure enough, the Genii scored in two plays and neatly kicked in the extra point.
"I thought we were supposed to play easy teams on Homecoming," Rodney said, his eyes fixed on the field as the offensive line moved into position. John was yanking at his helmet and talking to Ronon. "So we could win and be all happy."
"We'll win," Laura said positively. "It's one touchdown. And we've always beaten the Genii."
"First time for everything," Rodney mumbled, remembering an accidental run-in with that team's defensive backs the year before.
"They are indeed very large, this team," Radek said doubtfully.
"Maybe we just need to make some noise!" Katie -- who had never made noise in her life -- suggested, and immediately started yelling encouragements at John. Jeannette joined in, entreating Ronon to do terrible, violent things to the Genii linebackers. Laura, who had a hell of a set of lungs on her, chimed in, and Jeannie, not to be outdone by the other girls, added her voice to the mix.
Rodney and Radek exchanged puzzled glances, shrugged, and settled back to watch the girls watch the game.
It soon became clear that the Genii were bigger, stronger, and meaner. John threw pass after pass and handed off the ball time and time again, but only Ronon seemed able to cut any path through the Genii defense. Every time he jogged off the field, John looked more and more tired and with four minutes left in the second quarter, they were down by thirteen points. Rodney wondered what he would say to John afterward, at the party. He wanted to say something comforting and wise, something that would make John smile and talk to him again, make him go back to being just the way he was before. But even on the field he seemed tense and short-tempered, off his game just enough that everyone else felt it, too.
"Rodney," Jeannie asked, breaking him out of his reverie by yanking on his jacket sleeve. "I'm thirsty, can I have a Coke?"
"Yeah, okay," Rodney said, more because he wanted a Coke and because his butt was going numb from sitting still on the hard metal bleachers. "You want anything else? Popcorn? Soft pretzel?"
Jeannie shook her head and pulled out her little purse.
Rodney watched her count out change and sighed. "No, seriously, I will buy you a drink and a snack if you want it. Stop it with the quarter counting. I'm going to get something to eat. Anyone else need anything?"
Katie wanted a soda and Radek was hungry for a hot dog -- Radek tended to eat like he had a tapeworm and never gained an ounce -- and Jeannie finally decided on a soft pretzel. Rodney collected the money and shoved it in his pocket before taking the steps down to the field level. The concession stands were under the bleachers with the port-a-potties and Rodney took the long way around to avoid the stench. Just before he turned the corner that would take the field out of sight, he glanced back to see if the offense was doing anything interesting.
His breath choked up in his throat as he got a clear view of the field positions and he rushed for the chain link fence circling the field.
Football may never have been Rodney's particular area of expertise, but it didn't take a genius to see what was coming.
John never saw it coming. One second he was scanning for a receiver with minimal heat, the next he was flat on his back, feeling the impact of a dozen bodies landing on top of him.
He grunted and directed murderous thoughts toward Ronon.
As the weight eased off, John realized that his jaw hurt like a bitch and his mouth was filled with coppery blood. Someone rolled off his arm and John felt around for his mouthguard. It was dangling from his facemask, but further exploration confirmed that all his teeth were intact.
"You okay?"
John squinted up at Ronon Dex looming over him.
"That hurt," he said, lifting his head.
Ronon leaned down, wrapped John's jersey in his fist, and lifted John to his feet.
"You're bleeding," Ronon said.
"Yeah, no shit," John replied.
The defense was taking the field, so John made his way off, dabbing blood out of his mouth to find himself faced with a frantic Rodney McKay.
"Oh, my God, are you all right? No, you're not, you're bleeding!"
"Rodney, what are you doing here?" John asked, edging around the flailing hands to get to the bench.
"I'm making sure you didn't break your neck!" Rodney nearly shouted.
"You're not supposed to be down here," John said, his words garbled around the swelling.
"You all right?" Carson Beckett, the team manager, asked John, handing him a flexible cold pack.
"Yeah," John said, aware of Rodney hovering beside him. "Bit my lip or something."
"Let me see." Carson thumbed John's chin down and directed a penlight into his mouth.
John saw Rodney peering over Carson's shoulder and had the irrational urge to hit him.
"I'm fine," he said, pulling his head back.
"Suit yourself," Carson said. He handed John a scrap of clean white gauze. "Blot with that. You need to stop bleeding before Coach'll let you back on the field."
John nodded his comprehension and blotted. The gauze tasted awful and came away spotted with blood.
"Who's supposed to be guarding him?" Rodney was demanding. "What's wrong with you people? How hard is it to keep your quarterback from getting sacked?"
Just the word 'sack' made John groan. Rodney vanished, ostensibly to go tell the football players how to play their game.
"You okay, Shep?" Ford asked, materializing at his side. "That looked like a nasty hit."
"Yeah, I'm fine." John cracked his neck and felt a little better. "Go drag Rodney off Ronon before Ronon snaps him like a twig."
Ford chuckled. "Yeah, no problem." He went off and John ducked his head, pressed the gauze back into the cut. He could hear Ronon's rumble and Rodney's high-pitched distress and Ford's calming voice. Eventually he saw a familiar pair of shoes hesitate in front of him and a tentative voice ask,
"Hey, are you okay?"
John glanced up and growled, "Rodney...."
"Look, you're not stupid and it would be a shame for you to lose valuable brain cells to an asinine game," Rodney started.
"McKay!" John barked. "Get back in the stands! Now!"
Rodney stared at him.
"Now," John said. When Rodney didn't move, he stood up and leaned close to Rodney's ear, his voice dampened to the rest of the field by the cheering accompanying an interception. "Get off the field and stop making me want to kiss you," he muttered. "It's fucking up my concentration." He stepped back, still glaring at Rodney, and put on his helmet. He tossed the bloody gauze in the nearest trash container and jogged out onto the field.
"Hey! Hey, McKay!"
"Huh, what?" Rodney blinked out of his shock. Ford was peering at him from under thick eyebrows. He looked concerned.
"You gotta get off the field before Coach sees you," Ford said, snapping the chinstrap of his helmet. He clapped Rodney on the shoulder. "Don't mind Sheppard," he said kindly. "He can be kind of a jerk when we're down. He doesn't like to lose."
"But -- " Rodney said, but Ford was already on the field and ducking into his position. John still looked angry when he turned his head and snapped something at Ford.
Rodney stepped back two paces and stumbled over some equipment piled on the ground. He turned and rushed off the sidelines, awkward in his haste.
It was stupid, stupid because Rodney knew John wanted to kiss him, John had kissed him, but Rodney had to unzip his jacket anyway and wave some air onto his flushed face.
On the field, the whistle blew to signal half-time and people started to stir from their seats. Rodney got in line at the food stands to beat the crowds. His jeans chafed uncomfortably when he had to dig the money out of his pocket and all he could do was think of the smell of John, the faint warmth of aftershave under sweat and dirt and eye black grease. He gathered up the food and started making his way back to the bleachers where he'd left his sister and friends.
"Rodney!"
The voice was too deep to be a student -- except maybe Ronon who had apparently gone through puberty at the age of six, but he was on the field -- so Rodney straightened up automatically as he turned around, drinks and pretzels snugged tight against his chest. "Colonel Sheppard," he said, surprised. At least that took care of one problem -- there was nothing that killed an erection like facing the father of its source. "I thought you were out of town."
"Just got in," the Colonel said. He was wearing his blue uniform and had a lightweight blue jacket zipped halfway up over his uniform shirt. "I came straight here. How's John doing out there?"
Rodney figured the Colonel didn't want to know that John was stinking up the field because Rodney wouldn't have sex with him, so he just said, "We're down by a couple of touchdowns. John took a pretty hard hit a couple minutes ago." Even that small fact felt like a betrayal.
The Colonel grimaced. "His mother always said he was too small to play football," he said. "We never listened to her."
"He's okay," Rodney said quickly. It was the first time he'd heard the Colonel refer to Mrs. Sheppard and he glanced at the older man's face, but if there was anything there to see, he'd missed it. "I mean, he's bleeding and he's probably going to have a pretty spectacular bruise, but he doesn't seem to be too mentally impaired or anything."
The corner of the Colonel's mouth quirked up in a grin. "Well, that's a relief," he said. "Is it crowded up there? Let me give you a hand with those," he added, taking two of the sodas from Rodney and walking off toward the stairs to the bleachers.
"Well, you can sit with us, um, I mean, if you want to," Rodney said doubtfully.
"Great!" the Colonel replied. "Lead the way."
"This is, uh, Colonel Sheppard," Rodney said when he got back to where Jeannie and Radek and the girls were waiting for him. "John's dad."
Laura Cadman shot to her feet. "Sir," she said, and everyone stared at her.
The Colonel grinned. "You're Hack Cadman's little girl, huh?" he asked, taking her hand. "Laura? Not a day goes by that we don't hear about you."
Laura blushed and said, "Yes, sir," as Jeannette and Radek howled with laughter and Katie giggled, blushing, behind her hand.
The Colonel made a point of learning everyone's name and shaking their hands, and then he sat down between Rodney and Jeannie. "You must be Jeannie McKay," he said, tugging on Jeannie's ponytail just like John had done earlier that week. Jeannie beamed.
Rodney ate his own pretzel and drank his Coke and cheered with the rest of the crowd when Stackhouse picked up forty yards in the third quarter and Ronon carried it over the line. But so far, that had been the only score in the second half of the game. The defensive line held the Genii to only about eighty yards total, but John threw more incomplete passes than good ones, and was taken down hard when he tried to run the ball himself. He finally started handing off the ball to Ronon, who would pick up a half dozen yards on a good play. It was slow going and just plain not enough with the Genii throwing long passes far into the fourth quarter. Everyone was starting to look dejected and Jeannie was leaning sleepily on the Colonel's side, the same way she leaned on Rodney when it was past her bedtime.
"I can't believe we're going to lose Homecoming," Jeannette said dejectedly, as the clock was running down. "Go, Ronon!" she yelled for good measure as half the Genii defensive line piled on Ronon.
"It is not looking good," Radek agreed, leaning his chin on his hand.
"One good play," Colonel Sheppard said, elbows resting on his knees as he studied the field intently. "All they need is one good play."
Rodney looked at the clock and shook his head. Thirty-eight seconds left in the game. That wasn't nearly enough time.
"There's no time left, Shep," Mitch said, adjusting his cup while he was blocked from the bleachers by the rest of the huddle. "Look at the clock."
John glanced guiltily at the timekeeper on the scoreboard, even though he knew just how long they had. Thirty-eight seconds. That wasn't enough time to do much of anything. "All right," he said, shrugging his shoulders to settle his pads. "In that case, just run for the end zone."
"Just run for the endzone?" Ford echoed doubtfully.
"You do your job," John said, putting out his hand, palm down. The other players slowly pressed their hands over his. "And I'll do mine." He offered a smile that was just beyond fake and backed out of the huddle to take his position.
He fit the mouthguard against his teeth and bit down. The Genii defensive line was barely even tense and why would they be? They thought they had this all sewn up. They were six points ahead and John was on the sixty-yard line. The guy who had sacked John, a dark, pock-marked kid with a hooked nose, sneered at him, and John made a face right back. If for no other reason, he wanted to beat that guy, watch him slump in defeat, and that image kept John sharp and bright with adrenaline.
The whistle barked clear and loudly a few yards away.
Ronon snapped the ball neatly into John's hands. John ran back into position, set his feet, pulled his arm back and threw. It wasn't arc-perfect like he'd shown Rodney that day in his back yard, but hard, with everything he had, the words running through his head --
Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee --
He danced backward, even though, now that the ball was released, he was of no interest to the other team.
Padded bodies in bright jerseys raced down the field, jockeying for position, but John kept his eyes steady on the football, spinning brown and white against the dark sky and bright pinpricks of white light.
He saw it reach its apex, watched it angle downward, and felt the hush of the crowd as the ball tumbled down, down…
…Into Aiden Ford's reaching hands.
John gasped, air rushing out of his body as the bleachers erupted in riotous cheers. Ronon grabbed him and lifted him clean off the ground. In seconds, John was in the air, on Ronon's shoulders and Mitch's, and they were carrying him off the field. Special teams had gone in and kicked the extra point clean through the posts.
They had won.
"Did you see that?" the Colonel shouted over the eruption of cheers and whistles and cowbells shaking the stands and deafening Rodney. The fans were waving pompoms and school pennants and throwing peanuts and popcorn. It was utter, gleeful, chaos.
Rodney nodded enthusiastically, trying to see around people. He could barely see the field, could see the knot of football players, the colors of their jerseys jumbled together, each one indistinguishable from the next. He craned his neck to see the numbers on their backs, to find John in the pile.
It didn't take as long as Rodney had expected. John was boosted up and into sight, supported on the shoulders of his teammates. Ford, too, but Rodney only had eyes for John.
"C'mon, let's get down there," Colonel Sheppard said, putting one hand on Rodney's shoulder to hold him back as Jeannie and Radek stepped into the aisle of the bleachers ahead of them.
The Colonel's hand was large and heavy, reminding Rodney of John's casual punches to his shoulder and the way John's fingers lined up between the laces of a football. He wondered what Colonel Sheppard would say if he knew John had kissed Rodney and invited him inside. He wondered what his own father would think. Dr. McKay's hands were always full, but at least he wouldn't be angry or disappointed.
Colonel Sheppard moved easily through the crowd of students and parents, the silver eagles on his shoulders gleaming in the near-daylight glare of the stadium lighting. Rodney trailed him down to the trampled grass and dirt surrounding the field, glancing around for John or anyone else he might know. Several kids whose names he might have known said hello and waved or tapped him on the shoulder. It felt spooky and surreal, like he was trapped in his own Outer Limits episode where a Pod-Rodney was suddenly popular and liked by his peers. It felt wrong, but still sort of good, like sneaking a look at the skin magazines in the drugstore, like scoring an A on a test he had spent maybe a grand total of five minutes studying for. He turned to tell the Colonel he had to give Radek and Jeannie a ride or some other invented excuse and found himself face-to-face with John, who looked sweaty, grimy, bloodied, and bruised. The side of his face and his lip were starting to swell but he was grinning like he was feeling no pain at all.
"Did you see that?" he burst out, his inflection an exact echo of his father's.
"That was incredible," Rodney agreed, his excitement reignited by John's. "When you threw the -- and Ford caught it and -- "
John's expression shifted and he straightened his back, helmet dangling, forgotten, from his fingertips.
"What?" Rodney asked, baffled, until he realized that the Colonel had stepped up behind him. "Oh." He moved out of the way and the Colonel cuffed John on the back of the head and pulled him into a rough hug.
"Dad," John complained, muffled against the shoulder of his father's uniform.
"Just like Flutie," the Colonel boomed, still beaming with pride. "That was a great play, Johnny."
John turned his head toward Rodney and blushed when they made eye contact. He lifted his eyebrows in the universal, Parents, what can you do? gesture, but he couldn't seem to keep the smile off his face. Rodney beamed right back and thought that maybe this was what perfect meant.
The entire room paused to cheer when John walked into Mitch's house.
"It was a lucky throw," he said, accepting an open beer from Mitch and slinging an arm around Ford's neck. "Ford here did all the legwork." He took a long drink from the can and looked around the room. There were people there he'd never seen at an after-party before, along with a handful of last year's graduates, Jack O'Neill and Elizabeth among them. Simon, John noticed with displeasure, was also there, standing against the wall with is hands shoved in his pockets. John released Ford and wandered away from the main crowd, away from Elizabeth and her shiny new boyfriend, and went looking for Rodney.
The painless ache in his shoulder from the hard throw, the pride in his father's face, Rodney's excited grin, all mixed together in his memory and pushed a smile onto John's face. He was on top of the world, and nothing was going to bring him down. Maybe even Rodney, who really was an idiot when he thought too much, would kick back a little and agree to go out to -- well, no, they should really go back -- no, his house was out with his dad home. Fine, so they weren't going to be making out that night, but surely Rodney had realized by now --
John paused in the doorway of Mitch's recreation room. Rodney was sitting on the pool table, legs dangling off the side, with some dark-haired girl standing between them. She wore an Academy of the Holy Potentia sweater and as he watched, she stole a sip of Rodney's drink and giggled. Rodney grinned in return and leaned down to whisper something in her ear.
Fuck. John turned away and pressed his forehead to the wall just out of sight of the rec room doorway. He was breathing heavily and so he tipped his head back and poured the rest of his beer down his throat, swallowing as he went.
His thoughts collapsed in a jumbled heap of, no, and, but wait and, you have a crush on me and most of all, why and how can I make you understand? He pushed off the wall and went into the kitchen.
"'Nother beer?" someone asked him.
"Nah, gimme something good," John said, finding a bottle of whiskey on the table. He sloshed some in a plastic cup, filling it to the top indentation, just like he would if it were beer.
"That's a lot of JD," someone else said, peering over his shoulder. John caught a flash of red hair and thought, Laura Cadman.
"Yeah," he said, taking the first swallow off the top of the cup and feeling the whiskey shudder its way down his throat. "I think I deserve it."
Rodney was feeling pretty confident in the endurance of his popularity. Girls who weren't even from his school were hanging on his every word! This new girl, Allina, turned out to go to the all-girls Catholic school down the block, Academy of the Holy Potentia, and Rodney thought she looked quite fetching in her short denim Gap skirt and penny loafers. She wasn't stupid, either, he realized delightedly as she asked him intelligent questions about his plans for the statewide science fair. The actual event wasn't until April but Rodney had learned early on that a little planning meant time to recover from abject disaster.
He was on his second cup of beer and considering sharing the whole story about building the nuke in sixth grade -- well, the parts that weren't too classified, anyway -- when Elizabeth Weir tapped him on the shoulder.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said, not sounding terribly sorry at all, "but do you have a minute? I'd like to talk to you."
"Ah, yeah, of course," Rodney said, suddenly feeling the beer in his stomach. Elizabeth had been intimidating before he had started identifying her as 'John's ex.' He had a feeling this wasn't going to go well for him.
He trailed Elizabeth out to the porch where she shut the door, muffling the noise from the party, and folded her arms around herself as if she was cold. She probably was, Rodney realized, in short sleeves in the cool night air. It wasn't terribly cold, but she should have a sweater.
"I've got a fleece jacket in the car if you're cold," he offered, feeling lame.
"I'm fine, thank you," Elizabeth said with a genuine smile. "I wanted to talk to you about John."
"Ah. Yes. Well." Rodney fought the urge to fidget. "Contrary to what you may have heard, it's not that we spend all that much time together so really, it's not like I know -- "
"You answered his phone," Elizabeth said wryly. "Believe me, I know better than anyone that John's not much for talking. But he's been really…he just hasn't sounded like the John I know, the last few times I've called. Is there something going on?"
"Going on?" Rodney repeated. "Why would anything be going on?"
"Rodney," Elizabeth managed to make the word sound like an admonishment, but she was smiling. "I'm not asking if he's in trouble. I'm just worried about him. Is it his father? School? He never says he's having trouble but I know he hates Mr. Simmons."
"Well, obviously," Rodney agreed. "Simmons is an ass and John's not having problems in his class because I'm helping him and he's not stupid, but Simmons can't seem to latch his feeble mind around the idea that a football player might not actually be brain dead. If he's having problems with his dad, I don't know anything about it. I mean, that whole thing is a little weird but, heh, you should see my family. And I don't know what the thing was with Teyla. I have to say, I think she dumped him but -- I wasn't supposed to mention that, was I?" He winced and braced for the wrath of Elizabeth.
"What? That he was seeing someone else?" Rodney peeked in time to see Elizabeth raise one eyebrow. "He didn't tell me, but I can guess when that was going on. She dumped him two weeks ago?"
"Three," Rodney said weakly.
Elizabeth bit her lip and looked slightly confused. "Okay," she said, sounding doubtful. "Maybe that's it, then."
"He -- didn't seem terribly broken up about it," Rodney said, and then wanted to kick himself. If he played his cards right, he could cover for John without raising Elizabeth's suspicions.
"This is John we're talking about," Elizabeth said so wryly that Rodney suddenly liked her a lot. "He doesn't seem terribly broken up about much of anything."
"Huh," Rodney said, thinking of the way John had yelled at him in the car, and the stony silence that had dominated at their meetings since that night. "No, no, I guess not."
Elizabeth ran one hand through her hair. "I just," she started. "I don't know what to say to him. I mean, I knew we'd drift apart, I expected that. I just -- he's been acting so funny lately." She sounded bereft and Rodney actually started to feel a little bad about not being able to tell her what was going on.
"Look," he said, stuffing both hands into his pockets. "I haven't really -- "
The front door opened and Laura Cadman stepped out onto the porch. "'Scuse me," she said. "Hi, Elizabeth. Um, Rodney? You know, far be it from me to monitor someone else's alcohol tolerance, but John's been drinking kind of a lot, and he's getting a little...sloppy."
"John?" Elizabeth interrupted, looking surprised. "Drunk?"
"Oh, for crying out -- yes, where is he? I'll do it," Rodney told Laura. His heart beat a little faster in his chest as he remembered John asking him to stay and wondering what he would say this time. Then he remembered that the Colonel was in town and realized he couldn't take John home. Maybe if he drove around for a while --
"I'll take him home," Elizabeth said, stepping in front of Rodney. "You stay and have fun. We've got to talk anyway."
"But -- " Rodney started, but neither Elizabeth nor Laura were listening. "That's my job," he finished, but no one was around to hear.
"Here," John heard Elizabeth say to Simon as she tossed him her keys. "Take my car back to the house. I'll meet you there after I drop John off."
"I'll follow you," Simon said.
"Don't," Elizabeth ordered and John was selfishly glad to hear that tone in her voice. "I'm two blocks away and I want to make sure he's okay before I leave."
"He's a big boy -- " Simon started.
"He's still in high school," Elizabeth hissed.
"Hey," John protested. "I'm a big boy -- "
"Get in the car," Elizabeth snapped. "You're wasted."
Elizabeth was angry. John hadn't seen her that mad more than a handful of times and never at him. So he raised his eyebrows at Simon, who refused to look at him, and slid into Nova's passenger seat. He leaned his head back against the stiff leather seat and glanced at the ceiling. He'd been here three weeks ago when he'd been finger-fucking Teyla and thinking of Rodney and nothing since then had been the same. The car didn't even seem like the same place without the smell of sex and Teyla's body over his and the radio playing too softly to identify the song.
Elizabeth opened the driver's side door and got in. She jacked the seat forward to accommodate for her shorter legs and tugged the seatbelt across her body. John rolled his head to the side to apologize to her but instead he said, "Your boyfriend's a real dick."
"Yeah, well, so is my ex," Elizabeth muttered, starting the engine and putting the car in gear.
John knew that she meant him but he was too loose to feel particularly insulted. He glanced out the window and watched the houses and street signs go by and he watched the reflection of Elizabeth's face. Her mouth twitched and frowned and she concentrated very hard on getting them back to John's house, a place she'd been a hundred times before. Her teeth pressed at her bottom lip and John remembered the way she'd tasted, Tic-Tacs and lip gloss.
"You're not the same guy I said goodbye to three months ago," Elizabeth finally said. "What is going on with you?"
John turned his head toward her and saw the little creases of frustration in her forehead.
"What's going on with you?" he asked. "You barely have time to answer your phone, you cut your hair, and you're dating that, that, hippie!"
"We broke up when I went away because this would happen," Elizabeth said, her voice tight. She pulled into John's driveway and turned off the engine. "People change when they go to college, John. They grow up."
"Is that what you're doing?" John asked, a little more belligerently than he meant. "Growing up?"
"You'll understand when you go off to the Academy," Elizabeth said. "When you're on your own like that, you learn things about yourself you'd never even guess."
What, like kissing guys makes me hot? John just barely managed not to ask. Aloud, he said, "And you found out that long-haired, judgmental, beatniks make great boyfriends?"
"You should cut Simon a little slack," she said with a lot less righteous indignation than John expected from her.
"What?" John sputtered, outrage coursing through him. "I should cut him some slack? He practically walked up and called me a babykiller!"
Elizabeth sighed. "John, you have to understand. His father was in Vietnam -- "
"My father was in Vietnam," John spat back, not inclined to understand in the least. "My father flew dozens of missions and won the Purple Heart and the Distinguished Flying Cross in Vietnam."
"It was different," Elizabeth insisted. "He was in the air, he was an officer -- John, Simon's dad was a grunt in the Army. He was on the ground getting shot at. By the time he got home, every little thing made him jump and he kept expecting to see -- " Her voice broke. "He kept expecting to see horrible things. So he drank a lot. And that made him a mean, old, bitter man. I know your father, John, and he's a good man. Simon's father isn't."
"He was a soldier," John said stiffly.
"I don't think you really understand what war is like," Elizabeth said.
"What, and you do?" John snapped, not bothering to keep his voice from carrying outside his slightly open window. He tried not to think of that hazy time when he was five, those eleven awful days when the military wives on base were always in their house, always trying to pet his hair down, even the ones he didn't know. When the television was always on and he didn't have to go to school, and then, finally, they took their first trip to Germany and John pressed his nose to the airplane window and his mother said, We're going to see your daddy, John.
"What do you do, go look for ground wars to fight on the weekends?" he snapped. "When you're not going out to foreign restaurants?"
"That's not what I'm saying," Elizabeth protested. "I think you know what happens in war, I just don't think you understand how badly it screws people up. I think you look at your fast airplanes and your air to ground missiles and your distant explosions and you don't know what it's like to have your best friend ripped apart by a grenade or see the guy next to you take a bullet in the face. It messes people up. It makes them drink. And…and do crazy things."
"That's their choice," John said. "It doesn't have to be mine."
"I hope it's not," Elizabeth said. "I just hope the alternative isn't worse."
Her voice broke on the last word and that's when the Colonel knocked on the car window.
John and Elizabeth both jumped at the sound. John collapsed back in his seat with an, "Oh, crap," and a dizzy, sick feeling in his stomach.
"Colonel Sheppard," Elizabeth said, the nervousness in her voice new. "I'm sorry, I was just -- "
"It's okay, Elizabeth," the Colonel said evenly. "I'm going to take John inside now."
Elizabeth nodded and John closed his eyes, banged his head against the leather headrest, and thought of every curse he knew, in alphabetical order, as his father came around the car and opened the door.
"Up and at 'em, cowboy," the Colonel said, steadying John as he got out of the car. John, embarrassed by the cowboy bit, made a half-hearted attempt to shake off his guiding hand. But the Colonel's grip just tightened in warning. "You drive home," he said to Elizabeth, who had been getting out of the car. "John will get it in the morning when he comes over to apologize."
"I can walk," Elizabeth said with the edge of what John was coming to think of as her 'college girl' voice.
"It's after midnight," the Colonel said. "You'll drive that car home." A quick smile softened his words. "It's good to see you again, Elizabeth," he said. "I'm sorry it's not under better circumstances."
Elizabeth nodded, her gaze torn between the Colonel and John. "Me, too," she said. "Thank you." And she got in the car and started the engine.
John didn't look at his father as he marched inside. Nothing had gone right that week, nothing until that spectacular pass, and here he was, back in the doghouse with everyone over something entirely stupid. He missed Rodney, had been missing him for the past two weeks, but especially badly that night. No rooftop talks, not tonight, even though there was never much talking anyway. It was just being up there that mattered.
"I don't ever want to hear you speak to Elizabeth, or any woman, the way you did tonight," Colonel Sheppard said when the door closed behind them.
"You weren't there," John said, trying not to slur his words. He had sobered up a little on the ride home, trying to catch up with Elizabeth when they argued. "She's got this boyfriend. He's a real pr -- " John cut himself off before he actually said, 'prick' and thought fast. " -- putz. You didn't hear the things he said."
"There's no excuse for not being a gentleman, John," his father said. "You overindulged, your judgment is impaired, and you started running at the mouth without thinking. Tomorrow you're going over there to apologize to Elizabeth and you will keep yourself civil, boyfriend or not."
"You don't understand," John said, his voice rising.
"I do," the Colonel said firmly. "And so will you, come morning. C'mon. Get to bed."
John licked his lips. They were dry, like the rest of his mouth. He knew better than to fight his father on this thing, but he couldn't help but feel that he'd lost his last ally. "Yes, sir," he said quietly and turned around and walked to his room before his father could admonish him for his sardonic tone.
He knew better than to go out on the roof -- it was fairly flat but he wasn't keen on the idea of walking off the edge by accident. After a few minutes spent staring at his ceiling, he leaned over and opened the bottom drawer of his nightstand. The picture of him and Elizabeth at Homecoming -- their first date, after she'd kissed him while they were planning the dance -- was framed in simple silver. John rubbed his thumb down the edge of the photograph, over Elizabeth's long hair and simple white dress. His own hair was flopped over his eyes, unruly and sloppy. He looked entirely comfortable in his suit, and they both beamed at the camera, excited to be there, excited to be together.
John replaced the picture in his drawer and rolled over. He wasn't sure he recognized either of the people in the shot. His own face, at least, wasn't the one who stared back at him in the mirror.
Part Seven-C