FIC: SGA: Choosing Hope Over Logic, M/S,
Title: Choosing Hope Over Logic
Fandom: Stargate:Atlantis
Author: Beadtific
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard, pre-slash
Rating: G, oddly.
Spoilers: None, really. Set sometime S1-ish.
Summary: Lots of perfectly good reasons.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I use them for profit.
Unbeta’d. This is the thing that I wrote while I was supposed to be writing something else. ::shrugs:: I haven’t written anything in months ; I ain’t complaining.
(I've made a small shout-out to astolat's A Beautiful Lifetime Event. If you haven't read it, go now and prepare to stay up all night. It's that good and should be required McShep reading.)
Teaser
Are you talking to yourself?” Sheppard’s voice drifted down.
“No," Rodney lied.
“Then I think your hands are having a conversation without you.”
Rodney let the middle finger on his right hand answer that.
~~~
Rodney fell in love with John in the middle of a mission, which was inconvenient. First of all, falling in love? Not really part of his plan for the day, the galaxy or the next five years or so, when he really should get around to passing on his genes. The rate of his hair loss, however, indicated that he might need to revise his timetable. Women tended to like hair.
That brought his thoughts back to John Sheppard and his stupid - and apparently lovable - hair. Secondly, he thought, as he trudged his way up the hill to join the object of his ardor, he really had nowhere he could go right this moment to work out dodging this thunderbolt.
It had struck just as he was finishing up energy readings of an obviously uninteresting and uninhabited planet from a perfectly productive flat area, when Sheppard insisted that he come join the rest of the team on the crest of a hill.
“What is it?” he’d radioed up, not wanting to make the steep climb. “Coffee bushes? Ruins? Chinese food? God, the things I would do for some Szechwan.”
“Just get up here, McKay.”
So he’d gone, grumbling, sure he was going to break something, possibly his neck. About halfway to the top, John had half-turned to check his progress and smiled. Just smiled. A smile that had a curve in it that somehow made Rodney’s whole body flush and caused three months of muddled reactions to suddenly crystallize.
He would have to repress these feelings, ruthlessly, for the good of the team and the mission. (Just thinking about it made him lift his chin proudly.) Also Sheppard’s career. And posterity, you know, because of he always assumed he’d be passing on his genes in the traditional manner, though there was that Ancient database entry Zelenka had come across the other day that hinted about in-vitro reproduction and gestation straight from sampled DNA strands, bypassing the normal route completely….
Not that he was going there. He was not going anywhere with Major Lovable Hair Kirk Sheppard, thank you very much, much less fatherhood.
John did like children, though, and there was the Mensa thing, and the athletic abilities thing, the better social skills thing, and, of course, the hair.
(And the John-is-arrow-straight thing, but when had something like fundamental incompatibility stopped him? Whatever.)
“Are you talking to yourself?” Sheppard’s voice drifted down.
“No," Rodney lied.
“Thent I think your hands are having a conversation without you.”
Rodney let the middle finger on his right hand answer that.
Repression should be no problem; he’d get over it and no one would be the wiser. If he could just get away for a moment and breathe, because, god help him, Sheppard was standing there waiting on him with a half smile on his face looking like, well, Sheppard. But Rodney’s stupid, stupid heart coerced his brain into outlining John in kind of a dreamy glow, and his stupid brain was dumping chemicals into his system making him think, “home” and “love” and “please get naked.”
He reached the top, resentful, hot and grouchy. “All right,” he said, bending over to catch his breath, “what’s so important?”
Sheppard remained silent until Rodney looked up sharply in irritation. About a hundred meters away, an abandoned orchard filled the immediate horizon, at least a couple hundred trees frothing with deep red and white blooms. A gentle breeze blew in his face and he could catch the scent: sharp and sweet and kind of like almonds. He waited to sneeze. He didn’t.
“Wow,” he said sincerely.
“I sent them down to see how far it goes. Teyla says it’s a really good fruit.”
“What kind?”
Sheppard tilted his head. “The kind you eat raw or bake into a pastry. And they keep well.”
“Apples?”
“Sounds like it.”
Rodney frowned. “And you brought me up here, why?”
John shrugged, not looking at him. “Thought you might like the view,” he said, his voice a little tentative.
Rodney looked over at him, surprised at the not-bantering tone. Sheppard met his eyes for a long moment and smiled. Rodney turned away, swallowing hard.
“Well, I do like pie.”
Sheppard leaned into him, bumping shoulders. “I know you like pie.”
Rodney, trying to hide his helpless grin, bumped back.
They stood side by side, looking out into the beautiful day. Rodney’s hands had gone cold and he felt like he was stepping into a whole new universe, but he felt strangely peaceful.
“Thank you,” he said.
“It’s not a ZPM or anything,” John demurred.
“No,” Rodney said quickly, “I think it’s great. I think it’s really going to be great.”
Fandom: Stargate:Atlantis
Author: Beadtific
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard, pre-slash
Rating: G, oddly.
Spoilers: None, really. Set sometime S1-ish.
Summary: Lots of perfectly good reasons.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I use them for profit.
Unbeta’d. This is the thing that I wrote while I was supposed to be writing something else. ::shrugs:: I haven’t written anything in months ; I ain’t complaining.
(I've made a small shout-out to astolat's A Beautiful Lifetime Event. If you haven't read it, go now and prepare to stay up all night. It's that good and should be required McShep reading.)
Teaser
Are you talking to yourself?” Sheppard’s voice drifted down.
“No," Rodney lied.
“Then I think your hands are having a conversation without you.”
Rodney let the middle finger on his right hand answer that.
~~~
Rodney fell in love with John in the middle of a mission, which was inconvenient. First of all, falling in love? Not really part of his plan for the day, the galaxy or the next five years or so, when he really should get around to passing on his genes. The rate of his hair loss, however, indicated that he might need to revise his timetable. Women tended to like hair.
That brought his thoughts back to John Sheppard and his stupid - and apparently lovable - hair. Secondly, he thought, as he trudged his way up the hill to join the object of his ardor, he really had nowhere he could go right this moment to work out dodging this thunderbolt.
It had struck just as he was finishing up energy readings of an obviously uninteresting and uninhabited planet from a perfectly productive flat area, when Sheppard insisted that he come join the rest of the team on the crest of a hill.
“What is it?” he’d radioed up, not wanting to make the steep climb. “Coffee bushes? Ruins? Chinese food? God, the things I would do for some Szechwan.”
“Just get up here, McKay.”
So he’d gone, grumbling, sure he was going to break something, possibly his neck. About halfway to the top, John had half-turned to check his progress and smiled. Just smiled. A smile that had a curve in it that somehow made Rodney’s whole body flush and caused three months of muddled reactions to suddenly crystallize.
He would have to repress these feelings, ruthlessly, for the good of the team and the mission. (Just thinking about it made him lift his chin proudly.) Also Sheppard’s career. And posterity, you know, because of he always assumed he’d be passing on his genes in the traditional manner, though there was that Ancient database entry Zelenka had come across the other day that hinted about in-vitro reproduction and gestation straight from sampled DNA strands, bypassing the normal route completely….
Not that he was going there. He was not going anywhere with Major Lovable Hair Kirk Sheppard, thank you very much, much less fatherhood.
John did like children, though, and there was the Mensa thing, and the athletic abilities thing, the better social skills thing, and, of course, the hair.
(And the John-is-arrow-straight thing, but when had something like fundamental incompatibility stopped him? Whatever.)
“Are you talking to yourself?” Sheppard’s voice drifted down.
“No," Rodney lied.
“Thent I think your hands are having a conversation without you.”
Rodney let the middle finger on his right hand answer that.
Repression should be no problem; he’d get over it and no one would be the wiser. If he could just get away for a moment and breathe, because, god help him, Sheppard was standing there waiting on him with a half smile on his face looking like, well, Sheppard. But Rodney’s stupid, stupid heart coerced his brain into outlining John in kind of a dreamy glow, and his stupid brain was dumping chemicals into his system making him think, “home” and “love” and “please get naked.”
He reached the top, resentful, hot and grouchy. “All right,” he said, bending over to catch his breath, “what’s so important?”
Sheppard remained silent until Rodney looked up sharply in irritation. About a hundred meters away, an abandoned orchard filled the immediate horizon, at least a couple hundred trees frothing with deep red and white blooms. A gentle breeze blew in his face and he could catch the scent: sharp and sweet and kind of like almonds. He waited to sneeze. He didn’t.
“Wow,” he said sincerely.
“I sent them down to see how far it goes. Teyla says it’s a really good fruit.”
“What kind?”
Sheppard tilted his head. “The kind you eat raw or bake into a pastry. And they keep well.”
“Apples?”
“Sounds like it.”
Rodney frowned. “And you brought me up here, why?”
John shrugged, not looking at him. “Thought you might like the view,” he said, his voice a little tentative.
Rodney looked over at him, surprised at the not-bantering tone. Sheppard met his eyes for a long moment and smiled. Rodney turned away, swallowing hard.
“Well, I do like pie.”
Sheppard leaned into him, bumping shoulders. “I know you like pie.”
Rodney, trying to hide his helpless grin, bumped back.
They stood side by side, looking out into the beautiful day. Rodney’s hands had gone cold and he felt like he was stepping into a whole new universe, but he felt strangely peaceful.
“Thank you,” he said.
“It’s not a ZPM or anything,” John demurred.
“No,” Rodney said quickly, “I think it’s great. I think it’s really going to be great.”