Fic: SGA: Rodney McKay, Defender of the Galaxies, a Take Out snippet
Title: Rodney McKay, Defender of the Galaxies
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: For all audiences
Warnings: Extreme Schmoop
Spoilers: None
Summary: Rodney doesn't just sweet talk trashcans. Part of my Take Out 'verse AU
This one was spawned by a comment from anna_luna. Alll her fault.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
John loves the way Rodney talks to animals. His voice is kind, well, Rodney's brand of kindness which is one part scathing commentary and seventeen million parts actions speaking louder than words. John has to hide his smile all the time lest Rodney get a hint how very adorable it is (John can admit to finding stuff Rodney does endearing, but only in the privacy of his own mind).
It’s not just Folsom and Feynman, their cat, he talks to in that voice; Rodney speaks to any and all pets like that and it took awhile (especially since John is getting his mobility back) but he realized that Rodney has a relationship with most of the animals in town. Neighborhood cats run up to him, tails raised, for an ear scritch when they take their walks or call out to him from sunny sections of stone walls, wanting him to come visit. Half the time, Rodney will stomp over and tell them what lazy ingrates they are while the cats roll over and show him their bellies, squeeking with joy. John smiles to himself and wonders where the Terror of Atlantis went.
There's a town-wide doggie play date that meets in the mornings, early, that Rodney takes Folsom to ever since Rodney walked him at o'dark thirty because he was already up after a bad night with John. John knew about that because he heard all about it later, how Folsom had pulled the leash from Rodney's hand and barged in on it. Evidently Folsom had so much fun he was the next morning up at 6:00 am with leash in mouth and hopefully wagging tail. John, knowing all of them needed a little space, had promised not to cough his lungs up while Rodney walked the dog.
By the time John was able to go with them, the dogs and people alike greeted Rodney like an old friend, which made Rodney squirm a little bit, but the people didn't seem to mind Rodney's attempts at conversation (or lack thereof) and the dogs loved him, which was plain to see when he stooped to ruffle a set of fuzzy or silky ears and whispered things that made their tails wag.
Turns out that Folsom was accepted right away (John finds this out from Janey, the lady from the newsstand,) but that Rodney was a little stiff and standoffish, almost embarrassed to be there and kind of terse. (Of course he was. It was six in the morning and he'd barely had any coffee.)
Anyway, it's an innocent question John asks the lady he buys his paper from that blows Rodney's secret life wide open. One summer afternoon, back when John had gone from "almost dead" to "just pretty sick and banged up," Rodney had a spectacular, epic-length fit outside of the coffee shop when he realized that someone had tied up their dog in the sun with no water and had left him there the entire hour Rodney had been inside using the wifi.
Rodney browbeat the teenaged barista into giving him a bowl filled with water and stood over the dog as if someone was going to take it away from them. Then he lay in wait for the owner (a tourist) to arrive.
"Thought he was going to blister that man's skin clean off and take his dog away," Janey drawled.
Jack, known town-wide as The Bicycle Cop, peddled over to break up the crowd and once he found out what was going on, gave the guy a stern Unofficial Official Warning, since there was no law, per se, but there should be one. People had applauded, Jack had thanked Rodney and Rodney got all flustered and scuttled off.
Next doggie play date (they skipped weekends) Jack brought Rodney a toy deputy badge and Carol brought Folsom some handmade dog biscuits. Janey said somebody asked about the Hubble telescope and how they fixed it. "He lit up and started waving his hands around, talking about what idiots the guys at NASA were at the same time he was all excited about what they did," Janey said, giving the counter an approving thump. (After that, Janey's story implied, Rodney had been adopted into the pack.)
Sally, who was a blacksmith, made her own quiet gesture to Rodney's dog defense elsewhere - creating a wrought iron stand and outdoor bowl combo and donating it to the coffee shop - and ran into Rodney outside of the 'Roasters a day or two later, waiting while Folsom took a long drink.
She reported to Janey that Rodney had blushed, smiled as sweet a smile as she'd ever seen and placed an order for three more stands just like it, no, five; one each for the two grocery shops in town, one right by the overlook to the falls, one for the park right by the water fountain and one for himself. When Sally said that five bowls and stands heavy enough not to steal wouldn't come cheap, Rodney had gotten this look on his face and said he'd take care of it, and permission from the town and the stores to set them up.
"When Rodney came to pick them up,"Janey told John, "he had a personal check for Folsom's bowl and a bank check from some guy in Hartford. Turned out the check was from the guy who'd left his dog, hot and thirsty, outside the coffee shop. No one knows how Rodney'd found the him and made him pay up and at the time, Sally had been too gobsmacked to ask."
John had no idea about any of this, but he should have known something was up when - in October, when he was finally able to walk all the way down Water Street without getting out of breath - he mentioned the bowls outside of the shops and Rodney had blushed and started to stammer something. John’s knee and hip decided right at that moment that they’d had enough of walking and nearly buckled beneath him. Hissing with pain, John lost his train of thought.
A couple of days later, John asked Janey, who had her own bowl outside her store, about them and she glowed with affection and the obvious desire to impart some really juicy gossip. By the time she was done, John's eyebrows were up in his hairline and he was covering up his surprised, probably goofy grin with his hand.
"You better thank your lucky stars he can't see anything but you," Janey pronounced when her story was done and shoved John's money back across the counter at him, "or half the women, some of the men and most of the dogs would be begging for him to take them home." At her feet, Janey's own Lila thumped her tail in seeming agreement.
John grinned and ducked his head and limped out with the general idea of going home and kissing Rodney senseless. He had no reason to be surprised at Rodney's generosity or inventive problem-solving (or, for that matter, pound-of-flesh extracting) but still, it was pretty cool that Rodney's Defender of the Galaxies duties extended as far as their little village and its four-legged inhabitants.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
auburnnothenna says that I might be using up the fluff quotient of the universe, so to balance things out, I wrote this, which is a riff on how "The Defiant One" might have gone. Warning: multiple character deaths.
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: For all audiences
Warnings: Extreme Schmoop
Spoilers: None
Summary: Rodney doesn't just sweet talk trashcans. Part of my Take Out 'verse AU
This one was spawned by a comment from anna_luna. Alll her fault.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
John loves the way Rodney talks to animals. His voice is kind, well, Rodney's brand of kindness which is one part scathing commentary and seventeen million parts actions speaking louder than words. John has to hide his smile all the time lest Rodney get a hint how very adorable it is (John can admit to finding stuff Rodney does endearing, but only in the privacy of his own mind).
It’s not just Folsom and Feynman, their cat, he talks to in that voice; Rodney speaks to any and all pets like that and it took awhile (especially since John is getting his mobility back) but he realized that Rodney has a relationship with most of the animals in town. Neighborhood cats run up to him, tails raised, for an ear scritch when they take their walks or call out to him from sunny sections of stone walls, wanting him to come visit. Half the time, Rodney will stomp over and tell them what lazy ingrates they are while the cats roll over and show him their bellies, squeeking with joy. John smiles to himself and wonders where the Terror of Atlantis went.
There's a town-wide doggie play date that meets in the mornings, early, that Rodney takes Folsom to ever since Rodney walked him at o'dark thirty because he was already up after a bad night with John. John knew about that because he heard all about it later, how Folsom had pulled the leash from Rodney's hand and barged in on it. Evidently Folsom had so much fun he was the next morning up at 6:00 am with leash in mouth and hopefully wagging tail. John, knowing all of them needed a little space, had promised not to cough his lungs up while Rodney walked the dog.
By the time John was able to go with them, the dogs and people alike greeted Rodney like an old friend, which made Rodney squirm a little bit, but the people didn't seem to mind Rodney's attempts at conversation (or lack thereof) and the dogs loved him, which was plain to see when he stooped to ruffle a set of fuzzy or silky ears and whispered things that made their tails wag.
Turns out that Folsom was accepted right away (John finds this out from Janey, the lady from the newsstand,) but that Rodney was a little stiff and standoffish, almost embarrassed to be there and kind of terse. (Of course he was. It was six in the morning and he'd barely had any coffee.)
Anyway, it's an innocent question John asks the lady he buys his paper from that blows Rodney's secret life wide open. One summer afternoon, back when John had gone from "almost dead" to "just pretty sick and banged up," Rodney had a spectacular, epic-length fit outside of the coffee shop when he realized that someone had tied up their dog in the sun with no water and had left him there the entire hour Rodney had been inside using the wifi.
Rodney browbeat the teenaged barista into giving him a bowl filled with water and stood over the dog as if someone was going to take it away from them. Then he lay in wait for the owner (a tourist) to arrive.
"Thought he was going to blister that man's skin clean off and take his dog away," Janey drawled.
Jack, known town-wide as The Bicycle Cop, peddled over to break up the crowd and once he found out what was going on, gave the guy a stern Unofficial Official Warning, since there was no law, per se, but there should be one. People had applauded, Jack had thanked Rodney and Rodney got all flustered and scuttled off.
Next doggie play date (they skipped weekends) Jack brought Rodney a toy deputy badge and Carol brought Folsom some handmade dog biscuits. Janey said somebody asked about the Hubble telescope and how they fixed it. "He lit up and started waving his hands around, talking about what idiots the guys at NASA were at the same time he was all excited about what they did," Janey said, giving the counter an approving thump. (After that, Janey's story implied, Rodney had been adopted into the pack.)
Sally, who was a blacksmith, made her own quiet gesture to Rodney's dog defense elsewhere - creating a wrought iron stand and outdoor bowl combo and donating it to the coffee shop - and ran into Rodney outside of the 'Roasters a day or two later, waiting while Folsom took a long drink.
She reported to Janey that Rodney had blushed, smiled as sweet a smile as she'd ever seen and placed an order for three more stands just like it, no, five; one each for the two grocery shops in town, one right by the overlook to the falls, one for the park right by the water fountain and one for himself. When Sally said that five bowls and stands heavy enough not to steal wouldn't come cheap, Rodney had gotten this look on his face and said he'd take care of it, and permission from the town and the stores to set them up.
"When Rodney came to pick them up,"Janey told John, "he had a personal check for Folsom's bowl and a bank check from some guy in Hartford. Turned out the check was from the guy who'd left his dog, hot and thirsty, outside the coffee shop. No one knows how Rodney'd found the him and made him pay up and at the time, Sally had been too gobsmacked to ask."
John had no idea about any of this, but he should have known something was up when - in October, when he was finally able to walk all the way down Water Street without getting out of breath - he mentioned the bowls outside of the shops and Rodney had blushed and started to stammer something. John’s knee and hip decided right at that moment that they’d had enough of walking and nearly buckled beneath him. Hissing with pain, John lost his train of thought.
A couple of days later, John asked Janey, who had her own bowl outside her store, about them and she glowed with affection and the obvious desire to impart some really juicy gossip. By the time she was done, John's eyebrows were up in his hairline and he was covering up his surprised, probably goofy grin with his hand.
"You better thank your lucky stars he can't see anything but you," Janey pronounced when her story was done and shoved John's money back across the counter at him, "or half the women, some of the men and most of the dogs would be begging for him to take them home." At her feet, Janey's own Lila thumped her tail in seeming agreement.
John grinned and ducked his head and limped out with the general idea of going home and kissing Rodney senseless. He had no reason to be surprised at Rodney's generosity or inventive problem-solving (or, for that matter, pound-of-flesh extracting) but still, it was pretty cool that Rodney's Defender of the Galaxies duties extended as far as their little village and its four-legged inhabitants.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
auburnnothenna says that I might be using up the fluff quotient of the universe, so to balance things out, I wrote this, which is a riff on how "The Defiant One" might have gone. Warning: multiple character deaths.