SGA fic: It's Complicated
I signed up for the Totally Unofficial Someecard Challenge, in which hackthis assigned someecards.com e-cards as prompts. Here's mine. And here is my story.
Title: It's Complicated [Off-site mirror here]
Fandom, Pairing: Stargate: Atlantis, McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Word count: ~2,500
Spoilers: Set around season 2, with passing references to minor bits of information we find out in 3x15 "The Game" and 4x13 "Quarantine."
I
"I am never going anywhere without a transporter again," McKay panted for the ninety-ninth time, apparently having found his third wind. "Even on Earth. I'm not going back to Earth until they install moving sidewalks where the stationery sidewalks used to be, because I have officially walked enough for one lifetime."
Concentrating on breathing normally and looking unwinded and badass, John glanced down the stairwell at him with a look of "I don't know what you're talking about, I'm fine," but Rodney was too wrapped up in his own complaints to notice. "You should have flown me to the top."
"I should've," agreed John. "You could have climbed down through the skylight."
"Oh, fine, fine."
John paused to let Rodney to catch up, fiddling absently with the laptop case against his hip. The only reward for his consideration was that Rodney swatted at his hands as soon as he was within reach. "Be careful with that! It's not yours!"
"You were the one who made me--" John shook his head as Rodney passed him up the stairs. "I can't even believe you sometimes."
"I can't believe I didn't send an unimportant underling on this mission of torture. Preferably someone who has deeply hurt me in some way. The Swedish biologist who drank my coffee. Or the, you know, that little blonde one who wrote the Atlantis version of Facebook. See, and it still didn't work, because damned if I know her name. What are the chances she would have blown up the entire spire in a wrongheaded attempt at transporter repair? Like, fifty, sixty percent? That's an acceptable risk. Wait, this isn't your top secret weight loss plan for me, is it?"
"Hey, I'm not the one who volunteered."
"Stop trying to pass me. I want you there in case I fall. And I didn't volunteer. I mean, yes, I volunteered you, but--"
"In my world, jumping out of your seat yelling 'First dibs on the undiscovered tech' counts as volunteering," said John, turning to look down over the rail, because it was weird walking with a faceful of Rodney's ass. Was he supposed to look at it, or what? He wondered if Rodney had made John walk behind him on purpose. If he'd chosen him for this mission on purpose--dragging him out away from everyone else for nefarious lovemaking purposes. If so, he was an idiot, and this was exactly why John had had reservations about getting into this whole fuckbuddy arrangement to begin with: as soon as they started making sex-based decisions, they were just asking to be found out.
"Well, your world is a stupid world," Rodney was saying. "I'm surprised they even got around to draining the flood before we left. Why not send the chief scientist and military commander of the expedition swimming up the disused spire for theoretical and probably irreparable equipment? I bet it's something stupid. For all this, we had better find six or seven ZPMs. It's probably something really stupid."
"Ancient ab rocker," suggested John.
"Ancient electric toothbrush," said Rodney.
"Ancient sea monkeys."
"Ancient salad spinner."
"Ancient cotton candy machine. That would be kind of cool, actually."
"Ancient egg slicer... I'm getting hungry."
John agreeably handed him an MRE from his vest pocket.
Between the food and the excitement of reaching solid ground and immediately walking into a room filled with gadgets which blinked to life as they entered, Rodney got his fourth wind. He slid a tablet out of his pack and hunkered down for some serious fiddling.
John stood by and watched, but it was starting to look like this was one of those things that would take awhile. He shifted and then sat down.
He didn't realize his vacant staring had taken the form of staring at Rodney until Rodney looked up and very abruptly demanded, "Are you making bedroom eyes at me?"
"What? No!"
"Because if you are, I--"
"I'm just staring into space," said John.
"Right. Good." Rodney turned back to the device, now a jumble of parts. "If you're just going to sit there you could make yourself useful and touch things."
Once John had lit up all the unidentified devices he could, his presence was apparently neither required nor noticed. So Rodney had just chosen him as an escort for his shiny genes. Well, good. John wandered off and made a circuit of the floor. There wasn't much else of interest.
"I think the transporter panel is on the next level," he said, coming back in the Room of How Do You Keep A Scientist Occupied.
"Great," said Rodney, not looking up. "When I feel like climbing more stairs, I'll let you know."
"What's this?" asked John, poking at Rodney's project in what he hoped was an irritating way.
"A signal enhancer," said Rodney happily. "We'll be able to connect to the network on the mainland!"
"Because that's just what you need."
"It is, actually. It means I'll be able to solve all the city's problems from the comfort of my next beach vacation."
"It means you'll never get a vacation."
"Oh, go sit down and be good."
John bored holes in Rodney's skull with his eyes until Rodney finally looked up. "Did you want something?"
"I'm making eyes at you now," John informed him.
"Oh. Right," said Rodney cheerfully, putting down his ludicrously tiny screwdrivers and leaning forward with a hand on the side of John's face. John slipped his arms around Rodney's waist and kissed his parted lips.
II
Rodney collapsed onto the pillow (balled-up jackets) and enjoyed about half a second of afterglow before crying "Oh!" and popping up again to go hunch over his tablet. John stretched and considered taking a nap. But the floor was hard and dirty, and it hadn't mattered in the face of sex, but it was getting uncomfortable now. He put on his T-shirt and looked around for something to play with or shoot.
He frowned when his eye fell on the abandoned laptop. He picked it up and waved it in Rodney's peripheral vision. "Aren't you using this?"
"Hm?"
"This. Using it."
Rodney spared him a glance. "No."
"Jeez, McKay. You make me haul it up a million stories--"
"So? You're a strapping lad. It's good for you. Check your email or something."
"You suck," said John. But he had nothing better to do, so he shrugged and logged on. John hadn't checked his email in so long there was a message from Kavanaugh.
From: Kavanaugh, Derek
To: Atlantis-All
Subject: Unnecessary Messages
Atlantis staff,
Please refrain from sending messages to ALL USERS when they only pertain to certain individuals. We have a variety of user groups to choose from for a reason. Thank you for your cooperation.
Rodney had sent him several messages updating him on the status of game night. It was gratifying that Rodney hadn't actually stood him up that one time, but the guy had never caught on that John didn't reply to emails? He decided it was better late than never.
From: Sheppard, John
To: McKay, Rodney
Subject: Re: Game Night
McKay, Rodney wrote:
>>I'll be like an hour late, so don't invade
>>my coal mines. I'll bring Tab.
>>Rodney
but mckay, i'm deathly allergic! i hope you receive this in time!!
"Ha ha," said Rodney a moment later, not looking up.
There was another message from Rodney, but it was a global mailing of the kind Kavanaugh hated, simply reading "You've got to be kidding me." John found the reason.
From: Weir, Elizabeth
To: Atlantis-All
Subject: Getting to know you :)
Hello Atlantis,
Rodney McKay has just informed me that Cissie Ferrarella, one of our enterprising new programmers, has written a database to help us get to know each other.
John could just imagine how that conversation had gone down.
I think this is a wonderful idea, particularly considering all of the new team members who have joined us from Earth and from around Pegasus!
She'd added that part because of Ronon, probably, although John sincerely doubted that Ronon had been inspired by this diplomatically inclusive email to log on to the Atlantis Facebook.
I encourage everyone, especially the senior staff, to create profiles on Facegate. :)
"Facegate?" John repeated aloud, incredulous.
"God, I know," moaned Rodney.
"It sounds like a presidential scandal."
Rodney snorted.
Annoyingly, Facegate made John fill out a profile before he could see anyone else's. His name and photograph were already provided. It asked for a nickname, and he perversely typed, "sheppard."
He answered the next two questions seriously:
Rank, if applicable: lt. col.
Role on Atlantis: military commander
But the spirit of perversity overwhelmed him when it got more personal than that, and he pulled the dropdown menus to their limits.
Born: 1899
Height: 8'11" or taller
Weight: 400 lbs or heavier
Sex:
He debated whether he was committed enough to the cause of nontruth to choose "female," and was delighted to find the "unspecified" option. He liked the idea going to the trouble to select "unspecified" on an optional question. He wished he could do it for every one, and be aggressively uninformative.
He settled for being plain old uninformative and not filling out the creepy stalker computer dating fields. After "General Interests" he wrote "yes please," and then decided he was done.
Filled with a sense of accomplishment, he searched for Ronon, and was alarmed to discover a profile.
Name: Ronon Dex
Rank, if applicable: not sure
Role on Atlantis: shoot things (kill things)
The clarification was strangely charming.
Sex: Male
Interested In: Women
Relationship Status: It's Complicated
How was it complicated? John realized he didn't know much of anything about Ronon's personal life. Probably for the best.
General Interests: i like cheese
Favorite Book: eternal torment of dirden, destroyer of worlds (satedan mystery)
Favorite Movie: DIE HARD
John was struck with a flash of insight. When he'd asked Ronon why he kept muttering threateningly at Chuck in the gateroom, Ronon had complained, "He's always changing his favorite movie."
Unsure how to respond, John had asked, "So?"
"Favorite is favorite," said Ronon firmly. Ronon was very committed to his favorites. After John showed him Die Hard, Ronon had refused to waste his time with any other movie, including the Die Hard sequels. Which, actually, was a good move on his part.
Teyla didn't have a profile beyond the standard name and photograph, and Elizabeth's was predictably earnest and boring. John found Rodney's.
The picture struck him first--a soft-lit photo of a young man with deep-set eyes and boyish, messy hair bent over a piano. Was that really him? John looked up. Rodney was bent over his work in the same way. In the flutter of his long lashes and the curve of his lips, John saw traces of the young prodigy, and he smiled, admiring the man he had become.
Name: Rodney McKay
Nickname: God
Rank, if applicable: See previous
Role on Atlantis: See previous
Sex: Male
Interested in: Men, Women
Oh, Jesus. Of course it was Rodney's choice to put what he want--he was civilian, and Canadian, and all that--but John still felt vaguely outed. John was suddenly afraid to scroll down and see what Rodney had put as his relationship status. "Single," of course. Had to be. God, he hoped it wasn't "It's Complicated." Though both accurate and vague, even that level of public acknowledgement of the arrangement between them felt wrong, like they were just asking to be found out. But Rodney wasn't an idiot. Of course he'd have put "Single." John took a breath and scrolled down.
Relationship Status: Married
to: John Sheppard
III
"Obviously it's been hacked!" Rodney shouted, struggling to unwrap John's clawlike hold from his shoulder. "Did you get a confirmation request? I think not! Look, look, do you think for 'favorite music' I would put the single word 'AVRIL'? Come on, now."
"I..." He hadn't gotten that far. He relaxed his grip a little.
"Look, they replaced my picture with Glenn Gould. Everyone's going to know it's been tampered with."
"But who did it?"
"How should I know? I doubt it's hard. She must have put almost no security on the thing. Just forget it," said Rodney, putting a hand on John's shoulder, which John shrugged off. "It's a stupid joke, but it's an obvious one, so no harm done. Nobody cares what's on Facegate."
John shook his head at the screen. "Why would... do people think...?"
"No. No!" Rodney shook his head emphatically. "It's--no. It wouldn't--they're just saying we're around each other a lot. It wouldn't be funny if they really thought--you know."
John didn't follow his logic, but he was too impatiently angry to do the work of unravelling it. "I could get in real trouble, you know!"
Rodney groaned. "I've been saying this is a stupid idea from the beginning. Here, give me that."
John let Rodney take the laptop away from him. Then, letting out a long breath, he left the room.
He burned up some energy running up the stairs. The room with the transporter controls was near the top of the spire, in a large room circled with windows. John leaned his forehead against the thick glass and stared out at the sky.
He didn't look up when, some time later, Rodney reached the top of the stairs and placed the laptop down beside him. "I rolled back to a saved copy of the database and tightened security. That woman's code is truly the product of a disordered mind."
John continued his silent lookout, not responding, even though he could still feel Rodney's eyes on him. But he was mistaken, because when he finally turned around, Rodney was across the room, working on the transporter controls.
John picked up the laptop to check out what he had really written. The standard ID photo was up, the unflattering one where he was snapping at whoever was behind the camera. The stuff about being God was the same, as was the casual bisexuality, but under "Relationship Status" Rodney had "Single."
Well, good.
He frowned at it.
Interested In: Men, Women
Relationship Status: Single
"You shouldn't put down that you're single," said John.
Rodney squinted into the control box. "Okay, I'll bite. Why not?"
"It's unprofessional. You may as well write 'come and get it.'"
Rodney looked up then, and examined John thoughtfully for a moment. "All right," he said. "Go ahead and change it. I'll be done here in a second."
John logged in as Rodney and opened up his profile. He hovered over the pulldown, fully intending to scroll up to "(Select Status:)"; but with all the options spread before him, he found himself tabbing down.
Relationship Status: In A Relationship
He hit "save" and closed the laptop just as Rodney was clicking the last crystal into place. He pushed the panel, and a set of doors in the column in the center of the room whooshed open.
"And we're in business," Rodney grinned, standing up.
John joined him in the transporter.
"Hey," he said suddenly, "how do you slice an egg, anyway?"
"Huh? Oh. It has to be hard-boiled."
The doors enclosed them, and John leaned in.
The End
Title: It's Complicated [Off-site mirror here]
Fandom, Pairing: Stargate: Atlantis, McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Word count: ~2,500
Spoilers: Set around season 2, with passing references to minor bits of information we find out in 3x15 "The Game" and 4x13 "Quarantine."
I
"I am never going anywhere without a transporter again," McKay panted for the ninety-ninth time, apparently having found his third wind. "Even on Earth. I'm not going back to Earth until they install moving sidewalks where the stationery sidewalks used to be, because I have officially walked enough for one lifetime."
Concentrating on breathing normally and looking unwinded and badass, John glanced down the stairwell at him with a look of "I don't know what you're talking about, I'm fine," but Rodney was too wrapped up in his own complaints to notice. "You should have flown me to the top."
"I should've," agreed John. "You could have climbed down through the skylight."
"Oh, fine, fine."
John paused to let Rodney to catch up, fiddling absently with the laptop case against his hip. The only reward for his consideration was that Rodney swatted at his hands as soon as he was within reach. "Be careful with that! It's not yours!"
"You were the one who made me--" John shook his head as Rodney passed him up the stairs. "I can't even believe you sometimes."
"I can't believe I didn't send an unimportant underling on this mission of torture. Preferably someone who has deeply hurt me in some way. The Swedish biologist who drank my coffee. Or the, you know, that little blonde one who wrote the Atlantis version of Facebook. See, and it still didn't work, because damned if I know her name. What are the chances she would have blown up the entire spire in a wrongheaded attempt at transporter repair? Like, fifty, sixty percent? That's an acceptable risk. Wait, this isn't your top secret weight loss plan for me, is it?"
"Hey, I'm not the one who volunteered."
"Stop trying to pass me. I want you there in case I fall. And I didn't volunteer. I mean, yes, I volunteered you, but--"
"In my world, jumping out of your seat yelling 'First dibs on the undiscovered tech' counts as volunteering," said John, turning to look down over the rail, because it was weird walking with a faceful of Rodney's ass. Was he supposed to look at it, or what? He wondered if Rodney had made John walk behind him on purpose. If he'd chosen him for this mission on purpose--dragging him out away from everyone else for nefarious lovemaking purposes. If so, he was an idiot, and this was exactly why John had had reservations about getting into this whole fuckbuddy arrangement to begin with: as soon as they started making sex-based decisions, they were just asking to be found out.
"Well, your world is a stupid world," Rodney was saying. "I'm surprised they even got around to draining the flood before we left. Why not send the chief scientist and military commander of the expedition swimming up the disused spire for theoretical and probably irreparable equipment? I bet it's something stupid. For all this, we had better find six or seven ZPMs. It's probably something really stupid."
"Ancient ab rocker," suggested John.
"Ancient electric toothbrush," said Rodney.
"Ancient sea monkeys."
"Ancient salad spinner."
"Ancient cotton candy machine. That would be kind of cool, actually."
"Ancient egg slicer... I'm getting hungry."
John agreeably handed him an MRE from his vest pocket.
Between the food and the excitement of reaching solid ground and immediately walking into a room filled with gadgets which blinked to life as they entered, Rodney got his fourth wind. He slid a tablet out of his pack and hunkered down for some serious fiddling.
John stood by and watched, but it was starting to look like this was one of those things that would take awhile. He shifted and then sat down.
He didn't realize his vacant staring had taken the form of staring at Rodney until Rodney looked up and very abruptly demanded, "Are you making bedroom eyes at me?"
"What? No!"
"Because if you are, I--"
"I'm just staring into space," said John.
"Right. Good." Rodney turned back to the device, now a jumble of parts. "If you're just going to sit there you could make yourself useful and touch things."
Once John had lit up all the unidentified devices he could, his presence was apparently neither required nor noticed. So Rodney had just chosen him as an escort for his shiny genes. Well, good. John wandered off and made a circuit of the floor. There wasn't much else of interest.
"I think the transporter panel is on the next level," he said, coming back in the Room of How Do You Keep A Scientist Occupied.
"Great," said Rodney, not looking up. "When I feel like climbing more stairs, I'll let you know."
"What's this?" asked John, poking at Rodney's project in what he hoped was an irritating way.
"A signal enhancer," said Rodney happily. "We'll be able to connect to the network on the mainland!"
"Because that's just what you need."
"It is, actually. It means I'll be able to solve all the city's problems from the comfort of my next beach vacation."
"It means you'll never get a vacation."
"Oh, go sit down and be good."
John bored holes in Rodney's skull with his eyes until Rodney finally looked up. "Did you want something?"
"I'm making eyes at you now," John informed him.
"Oh. Right," said Rodney cheerfully, putting down his ludicrously tiny screwdrivers and leaning forward with a hand on the side of John's face. John slipped his arms around Rodney's waist and kissed his parted lips.
II
Rodney collapsed onto the pillow (balled-up jackets) and enjoyed about half a second of afterglow before crying "Oh!" and popping up again to go hunch over his tablet. John stretched and considered taking a nap. But the floor was hard and dirty, and it hadn't mattered in the face of sex, but it was getting uncomfortable now. He put on his T-shirt and looked around for something to play with or shoot.
He frowned when his eye fell on the abandoned laptop. He picked it up and waved it in Rodney's peripheral vision. "Aren't you using this?"
"Hm?"
"This. Using it."
Rodney spared him a glance. "No."
"Jeez, McKay. You make me haul it up a million stories--"
"So? You're a strapping lad. It's good for you. Check your email or something."
"You suck," said John. But he had nothing better to do, so he shrugged and logged on. John hadn't checked his email in so long there was a message from Kavanaugh.
From: Kavanaugh, Derek
To: Atlantis-All
Subject: Unnecessary Messages
Atlantis staff,
Please refrain from sending messages to ALL USERS when they only pertain to certain individuals. We have a variety of user groups to choose from for a reason. Thank you for your cooperation.
Rodney had sent him several messages updating him on the status of game night. It was gratifying that Rodney hadn't actually stood him up that one time, but the guy had never caught on that John didn't reply to emails? He decided it was better late than never.
From: Sheppard, John
To: McKay, Rodney
Subject: Re: Game Night
McKay, Rodney wrote:
>>I'll be like an hour late, so don't invade
>>my coal mines. I'll bring Tab.
>>Rodney
but mckay, i'm deathly allergic! i hope you receive this in time!!
"Ha ha," said Rodney a moment later, not looking up.
There was another message from Rodney, but it was a global mailing of the kind Kavanaugh hated, simply reading "You've got to be kidding me." John found the reason.
From: Weir, Elizabeth
To: Atlantis-All
Subject: Getting to know you :)
Hello Atlantis,
Rodney McKay has just informed me that Cissie Ferrarella, one of our enterprising new programmers, has written a database to help us get to know each other.
John could just imagine how that conversation had gone down.
I think this is a wonderful idea, particularly considering all of the new team members who have joined us from Earth and from around Pegasus!
She'd added that part because of Ronon, probably, although John sincerely doubted that Ronon had been inspired by this diplomatically inclusive email to log on to the Atlantis Facebook.
I encourage everyone, especially the senior staff, to create profiles on Facegate. :)
"Facegate?" John repeated aloud, incredulous.
"God, I know," moaned Rodney.
"It sounds like a presidential scandal."
Rodney snorted.
Annoyingly, Facegate made John fill out a profile before he could see anyone else's. His name and photograph were already provided. It asked for a nickname, and he perversely typed, "sheppard."
He answered the next two questions seriously:
Rank, if applicable: lt. col.
Role on Atlantis: military commander
But the spirit of perversity overwhelmed him when it got more personal than that, and he pulled the dropdown menus to their limits.
Born: 1899
Height: 8'11" or taller
Weight: 400 lbs or heavier
Sex:
He debated whether he was committed enough to the cause of nontruth to choose "female," and was delighted to find the "unspecified" option. He liked the idea going to the trouble to select "unspecified" on an optional question. He wished he could do it for every one, and be aggressively uninformative.
He settled for being plain old uninformative and not filling out the creepy stalker computer dating fields. After "General Interests" he wrote "yes please," and then decided he was done.
Filled with a sense of accomplishment, he searched for Ronon, and was alarmed to discover a profile.
Name: Ronon Dex
Rank, if applicable: not sure
Role on Atlantis: shoot things (kill things)
The clarification was strangely charming.
Sex: Male
Interested In: Women
Relationship Status: It's Complicated
How was it complicated? John realized he didn't know much of anything about Ronon's personal life. Probably for the best.
General Interests: i like cheese
Favorite Book: eternal torment of dirden, destroyer of worlds (satedan mystery)
Favorite Movie: DIE HARD
John was struck with a flash of insight. When he'd asked Ronon why he kept muttering threateningly at Chuck in the gateroom, Ronon had complained, "He's always changing his favorite movie."
Unsure how to respond, John had asked, "So?"
"Favorite is favorite," said Ronon firmly. Ronon was very committed to his favorites. After John showed him Die Hard, Ronon had refused to waste his time with any other movie, including the Die Hard sequels. Which, actually, was a good move on his part.
Teyla didn't have a profile beyond the standard name and photograph, and Elizabeth's was predictably earnest and boring. John found Rodney's.
The picture struck him first--a soft-lit photo of a young man with deep-set eyes and boyish, messy hair bent over a piano. Was that really him? John looked up. Rodney was bent over his work in the same way. In the flutter of his long lashes and the curve of his lips, John saw traces of the young prodigy, and he smiled, admiring the man he had become.
Name: Rodney McKay
Nickname: God
Rank, if applicable: See previous
Role on Atlantis: See previous
Sex: Male
Interested in: Men, Women
Oh, Jesus. Of course it was Rodney's choice to put what he want--he was civilian, and Canadian, and all that--but John still felt vaguely outed. John was suddenly afraid to scroll down and see what Rodney had put as his relationship status. "Single," of course. Had to be. God, he hoped it wasn't "It's Complicated." Though both accurate and vague, even that level of public acknowledgement of the arrangement between them felt wrong, like they were just asking to be found out. But Rodney wasn't an idiot. Of course he'd have put "Single." John took a breath and scrolled down.
Relationship Status: Married
to: John Sheppard
III
"Obviously it's been hacked!" Rodney shouted, struggling to unwrap John's clawlike hold from his shoulder. "Did you get a confirmation request? I think not! Look, look, do you think for 'favorite music' I would put the single word 'AVRIL'? Come on, now."
"I..." He hadn't gotten that far. He relaxed his grip a little.
"Look, they replaced my picture with Glenn Gould. Everyone's going to know it's been tampered with."
"But who did it?"
"How should I know? I doubt it's hard. She must have put almost no security on the thing. Just forget it," said Rodney, putting a hand on John's shoulder, which John shrugged off. "It's a stupid joke, but it's an obvious one, so no harm done. Nobody cares what's on Facegate."
John shook his head at the screen. "Why would... do people think...?"
"No. No!" Rodney shook his head emphatically. "It's--no. It wouldn't--they're just saying we're around each other a lot. It wouldn't be funny if they really thought--you know."
John didn't follow his logic, but he was too impatiently angry to do the work of unravelling it. "I could get in real trouble, you know!"
Rodney groaned. "I've been saying this is a stupid idea from the beginning. Here, give me that."
John let Rodney take the laptop away from him. Then, letting out a long breath, he left the room.
He burned up some energy running up the stairs. The room with the transporter controls was near the top of the spire, in a large room circled with windows. John leaned his forehead against the thick glass and stared out at the sky.
He didn't look up when, some time later, Rodney reached the top of the stairs and placed the laptop down beside him. "I rolled back to a saved copy of the database and tightened security. That woman's code is truly the product of a disordered mind."
John continued his silent lookout, not responding, even though he could still feel Rodney's eyes on him. But he was mistaken, because when he finally turned around, Rodney was across the room, working on the transporter controls.
John picked up the laptop to check out what he had really written. The standard ID photo was up, the unflattering one where he was snapping at whoever was behind the camera. The stuff about being God was the same, as was the casual bisexuality, but under "Relationship Status" Rodney had "Single."
Well, good.
He frowned at it.
Interested In: Men, Women
Relationship Status: Single
"You shouldn't put down that you're single," said John.
Rodney squinted into the control box. "Okay, I'll bite. Why not?"
"It's unprofessional. You may as well write 'come and get it.'"
Rodney looked up then, and examined John thoughtfully for a moment. "All right," he said. "Go ahead and change it. I'll be done here in a second."
John logged in as Rodney and opened up his profile. He hovered over the pulldown, fully intending to scroll up to "(Select Status:)"; but with all the options spread before him, he found himself tabbing down.
Relationship Status: In A Relationship
He hit "save" and closed the laptop just as Rodney was clicking the last crystal into place. He pushed the panel, and a set of doors in the column in the center of the room whooshed open.
"And we're in business," Rodney grinned, standing up.
John joined him in the transporter.
"Hey," he said suddenly, "how do you slice an egg, anyway?"
"Huh? Oh. It has to be hard-boiled."
The doors enclosed them, and John leaned in.
The End