Outnumbered Like the Alamo (AU, John/Rodney, Radek/Elizabeth) [1/2]
Title: Outnumbered Like the Alamo
Author: cinaed
Pairing(s): John/Rodney pre-slash, Radek/Elizabeth UST
Rating/Spoilers: PG-13, violence and spoilers for "McKay and Mrs. Miller"
Summary: God, if he survived this and got to go home, he was never, ever buying a present for Jeannie again, not even if his parents threatened to disown him. (Nutcracker AU)
Author's Notes: Thanks go out to duckduck for looking this over for me. The story was supposed to be written for ras_elased uh, one or two Christmases ago. Sorry about the wait, ras_elased!
Length: 14,800 words
Part One
I'm a soldier on a battlefield
Got an army on the battlefield
Outnumbered like the Alamo
I don't even want to go
- "This is War" by Ben Kweller
Really, Rodney didn’t see why his parents had expected him to get Jeannie a Christmas present. For one thing, he was a dirt-poor university student who could barely afford to buy himself vital things like, oh, food. For another, he had no idea what she even wanted for Christmas, and his parents had been too irritated with him to offer up a single hint of her likes and dislikes.
They were totally overreacting, of course. Especially since they had actually kicked him out of the house and told him not to come back until he had a present for her. He still wasn't sure if they were really serious about that. They’d certainly seemed serious when they’d shoved him outside and locked the door, completely ignoring the fact that it was snowing and he was only wearing a T-shirt, fleece jacket, and jeans.
Maybe Jeannie still liked dolls. Twelve-year-old girls still liked dolls, right? He eyed the nearest window display, which was filled with rather creepy-looking porcelain dolls. Then he caught sight of the price tags on said-creepy dolls and snorted. Who would willingly pay that much for a doll?
People bumped into him, and he glared venomously. Sure, it was Christmas Eve and everyone was probably frantically finishing up their shopping because they were irresponsible idiots who’d waited until the last possible minute, but they didn’t have to invade his personal space. Honestly.
It started to snow harder, snowflakes lingering on his hair and shoulders as the chilly afternoon air made him shiver. Really, did his parents think him freezing his ass off would be an incentive to get Jeannie something nice? They could have at least let him grab a warmer coat. Zipping his fleece jacket up to his neck in a vain attempt to feel warmer, he sighed and resumed his trek through the slush, glancing at every window display and finding nothing, just other dolls that cost more than a decent bottle of wine.
It was getting dark and he’d missed the family’s annual torture session -- cleverly disguised as a tradition of going to the Christmas Eve Mass (even though they weren’t even Catholic) -- when he finally spotted a shop whose dolls didn’t have ridiculous prices, judging by the two on display. All right, the dolls weren’t porcelain, they were more of the cloth or wood persuasion, but hey, they were dolls. That had to count for something.
The shop was smaller than most, and devoid of customers, so that made it all the more inviting as Rodney ducked inside. He winced a little, his chilled face itching at the sudden shift from freezing cold to warmth. He carefully clenched and unclenched his fingers until they stopped feeling so stiff, hating the cold with every fiber of his being.
A bell next to the door jingled, announcing his entrance, and the old man behind the counter looked up and smiled. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?” the old man asked genially, and then a white eyebrow rose and he suggested with a hint of mischief in his voice, “A tissue, perhaps?”
“Um,” Rodney said, blinking. It was only when the old man gestured that he realized his nose was running. “Oh, yeah. Definitely a good plan.” He accepted the tissue the chuckling man offered him, and then added, “I’m actually looking for a doll for my sister.”
“Well, the dolls are right over there,” the man informed him, a glint of amusement lingering in his gaze as he pointed toward the far corner of the shop. “Take your time, and let me know if you have any questions.”
“Right, right,” Rodney muttered, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, because he planned on buying the first doll that didn’t scare the shit out of him, hoping Jeannie liked it, and getting home in time for the traditional eggnog toast before everyone went to bed.
He was glancing through the selection when something caught his eye. He couldn’t quite keep from smirking, or from commenting under his breath, “A nutcracker isn’t actually a doll.”
Huh. Though actually-- If he got Jeannie something shitty like a nutcracker -- a not-doll doll that proved he just really sucked at the whole gift deal -- his parents might give up and let him just give her money next Christmas.
Rodney eyed the nutcracker for a moment. It didn’t look new or even particularly well made, judging by the way the sleeve was slightly chipped on one arm, making the red sleeve seem lopsided, and the muddy brown shade of its eyes. Weren’t nutcrackers supposed to have blue or green eyes? Anything but brown, really. And Rodney also thought he remembered most nutcrackers having a beard, but this one’s maker had been apparently too lazy to glue one on the nutcracker.
When he picked it up, the wood was grainy and rough against his fingers, the paint unevenly textured, as though the maker had just given his creation a few hasty swipes of a paintbrush and then tossed the nutcracker carelessly aside. Rodney was surprised when he didn’t immediately get a splinter just from fiddling with the stupid thing.
Still, the mouth opened and closed, so it could break nuts, and it was the cheapest doll there, so it’d do quite well. Rodney smirked to himself. He couldn’t wait to see Jeannie’s expression when she realized that this was her Christmas present. Of course, he wasn’t looking forward to the moment where she hit him in the arm and he was forced to give her some money to buy herself a decent present. Her expression would be worth the bruise. Probably.
The shopkeeper blinked at him when he brought the nutcracker to the counter. “You actually want that?” There was an odd note to his voice, as though he suspected that Rodney was joking. “That’s…been in my store for years and no one’s even glanced at it.”
That’s probably because it’s a piece of crap, Rodney wanted to say, but he just shrugged and pulled out his wallet, handing a couple of crumpled bills to the old man. “It caught my eye.”
“Caught your eye,” the shopkeeper repeated slowly. A strange expression flitted across his face, one that Rodney couldn’t quite define (and couldn’t really be bothered to, because honestly, he wasn’t ever going to see this man again, so it didn’t matter).
“Yes, yes,” Rodney said with a roll of his eyes and resisted the urge to snap his fingers as the shopkeeper slowly counted out his change. Finally, he was back out on the street, trudging through the snow and heading toward his car with the nutcracker under one arm.
Someone jostled him, hard enough that he lurched and almost stepped off the sidewalk and into incoming traffic. He turned to glare. “Hey!” As the guy ducked back into the holiday crowd without so much as an apologetic look, Rodney scowled and muttered, “Merry fucking Christmas to you too.”
Then he frowned, because something was vaguely off. It took only a second to figure out why: his wallet was gone. His wallet, with his student ID, his lone credit card, the number of that girl in his Quantum Physics class who was blonde and smart and seemed amused rather than irritated by him--
“Hey! Hey!” The guy glanced back at him when Rodney started yelling. Then the guy bolted, Rodney plunging into the crowd after him. “Get back here, you--” He lunged, fingers catching on the hood of the thief’s jacket, and somehow he managed to yank the guy off balance. “Give me back my wallet, and maybe I won’t press charges--”
The guy turned and Rodney had a second to think, Huh, he’s just some stupid kid, before the thief’s fist swung and connected with Rodney’s jaw. His head snapped back painfully -- he swore he could almost hear it crack -- and he was falling, everything spinning out of focus around him, blurring into pastel watercolors. Then his head struck the sidewalk and everything went black.
***
***
The first sense that came back to him was touch, in that he felt the snow settling feather-soft onto his face, the snowflakes catching on his eyelashes and melting when they landed on his uncovered skin. He was lying on snow as well; he could feel it beneath his hands. He wasn't cold though, and even only one-fifth of the way conscious, Rodney knew that was a bad sign.
He struggled to open his eyes, to regain his sight, and after a moment his eyelids obeyed his commands. He found himself staring into a sky that was darkening, no, almost bruising its way into a dark, dark blue. There was an ache at the back of his head, a dull throbbing that ebbed and flowed with its intensity. He winced even as he moved his fingers and toes, trying to coax his heavy limbs into moving or at the very least getting him up into a sitting position so that the snow didn’t bury him.
Unfortunately, his body didn’t seem to want to cooperate, eyes sliding shut on their own, and it seemed odd how Rodney could feel the darkness shift, how there was a difference between the black beneath his eyelids and the black of his impending unconsciousness. He was so fascinated by its sheer subtlety that he almost didn’t hear the crunching of snow beneath boots, that it took a moment for him to even process the sound.
He felt someone’s hand, the warmth of callused fingertips pressing gently against his throat in search for a pulse, the flat of that someone’s palm brushing snow off his cheeks and forehead, and struggled to open his eyes again. They opened a crack, not enough to see anything more than smudges of color, but thankfully enough that whoever was touching him inhaled sharply and said, “Ronon, he’s awake,” and then, “You know, falling asleep during a snowstorm is not a good plan.”
Rodney tried to get his lips to work, but they wouldn’t quite cooperate either, too numb to work properly. He wasn't certain how much of his slurred, “Not sleeping, was unconscious,” was actually coherent. He attempted to force his eyes to open wider, enough that the smudges would solidify into a face, all to no avail, and instead his eyes fluttered shut again.
“Stay awake,” someone muttered, voice sharp with urgency, “stay awake,” and then strong arms lifted Rodney from the ground, the inside of his head spinning like he was on a tilt-a-whirl as he slid back into unconsciousness.
***
***
The next time he woke up, the first sense to return was sound: the soft footfalls of someone moving near him; the quiet murmuring of voices so low that Rodney couldn’t quite make out the words, though the overall tone was one of concern; the sound of his own slow, steady heartbeat in his ears.
He opened his eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar trio clustered around his bed and taking in their odd, old-fashioned clothing even as he started to sit upright. What, had the thief’s punch knocked him into the nineteenth century rather than last week?
As soon as he opened his eyes, the noise level rose and sentences like “He’s awake,” and “How are you feeling?” filled his ears. An anxious-looking man with piercing blue eyes and a thick accent that sounded almost Irish or maybe Scottish directed the latter at him.
“I feel,” Rodney began, and frowned at the scratchy quality of his voice. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Fine. I feel fine.” And he did feel fine, for someone who had apparently almost frozen to death because people couldn’t take a second from their last minute shopping to check on him. His bones ached a little, as did the back of his head, but he wasn't feeling queasy and he could feel all his extremities, so that meant no frostbite and no concussion. Rodney looked around and frowned, taking in the stone walls, the three dozen or more empty beds filling the large room, and the utter lack of whatever machines they usually had next to one’s bedside in a hospital. “What kind of hospital is this?”
The man who’d asked how he was feeling smiled gently. “This is the infirmary, lad. Do you remember what happened to you?”
“Yes, because I for one would like to know why you were sleeping in the middle of a snowstorm,” one of the other men drawled, and Rodney frowned at him. The man raised an eyebrow in response and looked almost amused at the scowl. He rested against the foot of the bed in a relaxed lean, one corner of his mouth curved upwards and a hint of amusement in his hazel eyes, the epitome of casual.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” Rodney corrected him. “I was unconscious because someone decided to punch me into last Thursday.” He paused, frowned. “Or is that ‘punch me into next Thursday’? I can never remember. Oh well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. The guy knocked me unconscious and apparently everyone else was too busy doing holiday shopping to notice me on the sidewalk--”
“Holiday?” This came from Mr. Obvious -- Mr. Obvious and Gigantic, that is - who’d commented on him being awake. He towered over the bed, dressed in the same nineteenth century clothes as the other two, but his hair was done in dreadlocks that were definitely not of the late 1800s. Or maybe they were. Rodney had never paid much attention in his history classes. Just memorized the names and the dates and counted the hours until he could focus on his major and be done with utterly useless courses like history and literature.
Rodney blinked at him. “Yes, holiday. Christmas.” At their blank looks, he rolled his eyes. Yes, let’s tease the injured man who almost froze to death in the snow. They were all hilarious. “You know, Christmas, with Santa Claus and his flying reindeer and the whole improbable story of how he can fly around the world in a single night, delivering gifts to children? That Christmas?”
They continued to stare blankly at him for a moment, and then the anxious-looking one reached out and pressed a hand to his forehead, fingers cold and smooth. “You do have a rather nasty bump on your head. Can you tell me who you are and what today’s date is?”
Narrowing his eyes, Rodney jerked his head away from the cool touch and snapped, “Rodney. Rodney McKay, and today is Christmas Eve, otherwise known as December 24th. Unless I’ve been unconscious for several hours, in which case it’s probably Christmas.” He scowled at them. “Where’s the doctor? And has anyone called my parents? I hope they’re happy that kicking me out to get Jeannie’s present resulted in my getting assaulted--” He stopped, eyes widening. “Her present. Did someone bring it with the ambulance? Please tell me someone didn’t just leave it on the side of the road. I mean, I paid for that stupid nutcracker--”
The blue-eyed man touched him again, this time on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and there was a deep frown on his lips and a furrow between his eyes. “Lad, you have to understand, you’re not making much sense to us,” he said, voice soft, as though Rodney was some upset child who needed to be soothed. “Christmas? Santa Claus? December? Today’s the fifth day of Winterfrost.”
“Winterfrost,” Rodney echoed, rolling his eyes. Really, what kind of name was that? “Look, it wasn’t funny when you played dumb about Christmas, and it’s not funny now with your stupid new name for December. Have you contacted my parents? They’re probably wondering where I am, and I-- I--” Want to go home or at the very least far, far away from these freaks who seemed to have something against Christmas and December.
“Do you remember where you’re from, Rodney? The town, or perhaps the province?”
“When not at the university, I live in the city of Vancouver, which is in the province of British Columbia,” Rodney said, carefully enunciating every syllable in each word because these people were clearly idiots. Their expressions were still blank. “For the love of -- Canada. Don’t make me sing the damn national anthem.”
At Canada, though, something seemed to click, judging by the interested look the giant directed towards him, not to mention the way the color leeched from the worried-looking man’s face and how the smirk slid off the hazel-eyed man’s lips to be replaced by an intensely focused look.
In fact, those hazel eyes now bore into him, the gaze sharp and assessing, and then the man said slowly, “Carson, bring Elizabeth here. Ronon, Radek is in his laboratory,” and even as the two men nodded and headed for the door, Rodney wondered at the sudden sense of dread that clenched his stomach at the hazel-eyed man’s serious tone.
“How have you people heard of Canada, but not Vancouver or Christmas?” he demanded, masking his unease with irritation. “They pretty much go hand-in-hand. Well, Vancouver does at least. There are definitely people who don’t celebrate Christmas, hell, I wish I wasn’t forced to celebrate Christmas, seeing as buying a present for my sister is what got me into this mess in the first place, but my parents insisted, not even caring that I have no money to spend on presents, and so--”
Some of the tension in the other man’s frame eased while Rodney spoke, and now the man regarded him curiously. “Do you even breathe?”
“Excuse me? Of course I do,” Rodney snapped, offended. “What kind of stupid question is that?”
“A perfectly reasonable one, since you never seem to take a breath,” the man said mildly, eyebrows rising and a small smirk playing on his lips. He leaned against the foot of the bed again and added, “I’m John, by the way. John Sheppard.”
Rodney stared for a moment, wondering if this John Sheppard actually expected him to care. “Well, John,” he began, putting as much sarcasm and scorn behind the name as possible, “perhaps you’d care to enlighten me on why everyone became so…intense when I mentioned Canada. It was like I’d said I was from -- from, well, some terrible place, I’m sure I’ll think of an example later, but anyway, I’d like a reason for why the one guy looked about ready to vomit.”
Unfortunately, John didn’t take offense at his tone; if anything, the smirk widened. “It’s a long story. And I think Elizabeth would prefer if I let Radek explain.” He kept leaning, although now it was more of a slouch than anything else, all loose limbs and irritating smirk, and Rodney couldn’t help but glare at him, because just watching John slouch made Rodney’s back twinge in sympathy.
He folded his arms against his chest, still glaring. “Well, ‘Radek’ needs to hurry up, get here, and start explaining, before I decide to just get up and check myself out of this pitiful excuse for a hospital. I mean, you people don’t even have any machines. What if my heart suddenly stopped? You wouldn’t know, and--”
“Breathe,” John interrupted him to sweetly suggest, and Rodney was trying to kill him with a mere look when the door opened and the giant came in, a tiny man with a scarecrow’s nest for hair trailing behind him.
The latter looked as irritated as Rodney felt and shoved his glasses up from where they were dangling precariously off the tip of his nose before he blinked at Rodney and said with a thick accent that sounded vaguely European, “So, you are apparently the one who spoke of Canada?”
“Yes, I did, seeing as that’s where I live,” Rodney said, with an eye-roll for emphasis.
The man looked unimpressed and turned towards John. “So, John, you interrupt my work merely to drag me here to listen to the ravings of a madman? I must remind you that I do not bother you while you are training or on patrol.”
“Excuse me?” Rodney snapped, incredulous, but John shrugged easily, looking unperturbed.
“Don’t look at me, Radek. We were patrolling outside the palace walls and he was just on the ground, getting buried in the snowstorm. He finally woke up, and has been talking about the weirdest things ever since. Christmas. December. Santa -- Santa something.”
“Claus,” Rodney and Radek interjected, voices overlapping, and Radek blinked and then peered a little more closely at him, blue eyes narrowing.
Rodney raised an expectant eyebrow and scowled back. “John here said you’d explain why my mentioning Canada is such a big deal, so explain. Now.”
Radek just frowned for a moment and then said quietly, fiddling with his glasses and looking a little uneasy, “I think, perhaps, that we should wait for--”
“For me?” a warm, slightly amused voice asked from the doorway. The voice belonged to a dark-haired woman smiled at the group, the corners of her green eyes crinkling with amusement. She entered the room with a quiet sort of confidence, the anxious-looking man flanking her and looking even more apprehensive. Her green gaze sharpened when it landed on Rodney, and the woman -- Elizabeth, apparently -- said, “Please, Radek, if you would explain the situation to Mister McKay here.”
“Oh, ah, of course,” Radek said. When Rodney glanced at him, he looked flustered, a dark flush staining his cheeks, and his gaze was everywhere Elizabeth wasn’t. After a long moment, Radek finally looked at him, some of the redness fading from his face, his flustered expression shifting to an odd mixture of determination, embarrassment, and exasperation. “Mister McKay--”
“Rodney. Or just McKay,” he couldn’t help but interrupt because seriously, he was twenty-one, not forty. The only people who called him Mister were telemarketers and occasionally his professors.
Radek blinked at him for a moment, and then took off his glasses, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Very well, Rodney, if you are from Canada, as Ronon says you claim to be, then you are now a very far way from home. This is the realm of Lantea.”
“Lantea,” Rodney repeated flatly. They all nodded. “Never heard of it.”
Radek almost smiled at that. “You wouldn’t. It is not on any of your maps, just as Canada is not on any of ours. You see, it is said that about two hundred years ago, several children exploring a cave found a device that acted as a, a sort of gateway to another world.” He held up a hand before Rodney could even start forming protests at his absurd statement, smiling a little wryly as though recognizing the ridiculousness of his own words. “I personally believe that if such a device actually existed, which I very much doubt it did, it was left behind by an earlier, more advanced race. Using the portal, Lanteans were able to journey to a realm called Canada, and these Canadians could also venture into Lantea--”
Even though Radek’s hand was still held up to ward off protests, Rodney couldn't help but snap, “Wait, wait, wait. So you’re telling me that this portal connected two universes? And you expect me to take this, take you, seriously?”
Radek sighed. “I am as skeptical as you are. However, most Lanteans believe in this portal--” He paused and nodded towards the others in the room, who were apparently members of the ‘most Lanteans’ category. “--and I am a foremost expert on the legends regarding the portal and Canada. As I was saying, about sixty years ago, a great enemy appeared and began ravaging Lantea and other neighboring kingdoms. Lantea, which controlled the gateway to Canada, felt it was best to shut down the gateway between our two worlds in case we were overrun, so that Canada and the rest of that world would not be destroyed as well.” His expression darkened. “However, the gatekeeper at the time, a man by the name of Vanadalin Zelenka, disagreed with the Council’s decision. It is said he used magic--” Here, Radek paused to make a face of utter disgust. “--to create several miniature gateways to Lantea. He claimed to be following a, a prophecy that foretold a man coming through one of these small portals who would help end the war.”
“And you expect me to believe all this,” Rodney said in the ensuing silence. He could only hope that his tone conveyed his utter, total, absolute disbelief. “That some magical portal transported me from Canada to here?”
Radek raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think that this is an elaborate jest at your expense? That five total strangers would concoct this elaborate legend of the portal just to mock you?”
“Well, no,” Rodney admitted, frowning, his stomach twisting unhappily, because a practical joke would be far, far better than the alternative, but he really couldn’t see anyone disliking him to this extent. Well, all right, he could, but everyone he could think of would be too lazy or too stupid to pull off a stunt like this. Still, a portal to another world? “But another universe, it’s--”
“Highly unlikely,” Radek supplied with a put-upon sigh. “Yes, I think so too, but if you are from Canada and not simply mad, then it seems my -- that Vanadalin Zelenka perhaps did use ‘magic’ to create several gateways from Canada to Lantea.”
“Well, I didn’t walk through any magical gateways,” Rodney snapped. “I hit my head on the sidewalk and woke up here, and I’m not thinking that the sidewalk was exactly a portal, because otherwise you’d have a lot more people in your infirmary.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Did you touch anything else just before you were knocked unconscious?”
“Well, the guy who punched me, for one, but other than that, just the stupid nutcracker I bought for my sister.” Again with the blank looks, but then again, Rodney supposed that nutcrackers went hand-in-hand with Christmas. “A nutcracker, it’s a doll -- a doll-like thing that’s dressed as a, a British solider, I guess, and it breaks nuts in its mouth. It wasn’t even well-made, but it was cheap and right there and I needed a present for Jeannie, so--”
“So you bought the least expensive thing you could find,” John concluded with a knowing smirk, and Rodney scowled.
“Well, yes, but only because then my parents would see I’m horrible with gifts and just let me give Jeannie money so she can buy something she actually likes. I mean, how am I supposed to know what twelve-year-old girls like?”
Radek frowned thoughtfully. “What did this nutcracker look like, exactly?”
“Like a British-- like a soldier, with a red coat and a fluffy black hat. It wasn’t well made at all, one of the arms was chipped so the sleeve looked lopsided, and the paint was of poor quality, and it didn’t have a beard or anything--” He paused, a thought striking him. “Wait, this ‘prophecy’ said that someone from Canada would come and help stop the war. You, you haven’t been fighting a war for sixty years….”
The look on everyone’s face was answer enough, the temperature in the room seeming to suddenly drop a few degrees, and he swallowed. Sixty years. He couldn’t imagine that, couldn’t imagine being born in the middle of a war and dying with no hope for peace in sight. How could they even--
“Canada was at war as well when my grandfather sealed the portal. I take it yours has ended?” Elizabeth said, and Rodney blinked at her for a moment before doing the math in his head.
“Oh yes, World War Two ended back before I was born. There have been other, smaller wars, of course,” he informed her, still thinking, Sixty years, “but the war’s been over for…a long time.” He didn’t try to explain the war on terrorism, mostly because he didn’t understand it himself most of the time.
“It seems that King Janus did the right thing then, Your Majesty,” Radek said softly, inclining his head in a respectful nod towards Elizabeth even as Rodney gawked.
“Your Majesty?” he repeated, almost but not quite squeaking. All right, his voice did go a little high from surprise, but still, he didn’t squeak as everyone smiled.
Even the anxious-looking one, Carson, looked a little amused at his surprise. “We probably should have done proper introductions. This is Queen Elizabeth, ruler of Lantea and duchess of Atlantis, which is the main province. I’m Carson Beckett, the queen’s doctor--”
“Yes, yes, introductions are good, but if he is from Canada, then--” Radek interrupted, eyes suddenly gleaming. “The developments in science during these past sixty years, what they must have accomplished without war slowing down their advancements….” There was an almost hungry look on his face, an eagerness that Rodney recognized as the hunger for scientific knowledge. “My father built the first train and helped to design the railroad system for the Genii, which has helped the war effort tremendously, and together Father and I created the temephone--”
“Temephone?”
“Yes, the communication devices--”
Radek gestured vaguely towards his ear, and Rodney said, “Oh, telephones. Telephones, not temephones.”
Radek made a dismissive gesture, as though the misnaming were inconsequential (and Rodney supposed it was, when push came to shove), and asked, “So, what other types of inventions have you created since the portal was closed? I have been trying to design an, an airplane, I believe you called it, but there has been no time to really design one and make it fly, not with--”
“And there must have been plenty of advancements in weapons,” Ronon interrupted meaningfully.
Rodney made a face, thinking of the atomic bomb and newest missiles and tanks, of the fact that bombs could now be made small enough to fit inside a suitcase. “Yes, there were, though I doubt you have the equipment necessary to build them.” He certainly didn’t see any uranium lying around.
He looked at Elizabeth and supposed that she did have the bearing of a queen, all quiet confidence and a stubborn chin. After a moment, he said awkwardly, “So, this prophecy--”
“Supposedly says that a visitor from Canada would help us defeat the Mice,” Elizabeth informed him.
“The Mice,” he repeated.
“They’ve never told us if they have a name, so that’s what we call them,” John said, shrugging.
“Mice,” Rodney said again. He could feel his lips twitch upward, and wondered if it was too late to pinch himself and see if he’s dreaming. After all, mice?
Ronon shrugged. “They’re mice, six feet tall. What else would you call them?”
“I--” Six feet tall? Definitely dreaming. He had to be, because, honestly, six-foot tall mice. While different universes were improbable, giant mice were simply unbelievable. He folded his arms against his chest and said, “Er, right. Mice. And you, uh, expect me to be able to help you defeat these…giant mice. Me.” He bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from smirking.
John stared at him, frowning, and when he spoke, there was a coolness to his voice that earned a few askance glances. “Ronon, is Stephen still alive? I don’t think our Canadian guest here believes us about the Mice.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think he needs a demonstration.”
***
***
“Okay,” Rodney said weakly, staring at the Mouse, which looked more eight feet tall than six, with wicked-looking teeth and claws that had seemed much less threatening on the Mouse’s tiny cousin. The Mouse made a low, furious noise, baring its teeth at Rodney, and he resisted the urge to take a step away from the cell. “This is definitely a convincing demonstration.”
When he looked at John, the amused glint was back in the man’s eyes, and he was leaning again, this time against the wall of the prison. “This is who -- what we’re up against. Guns work wonders on them, but you’re pretty much doomed if they get in too close and it’s hand-to-hand.”
“And you expect me to be able to help you defeat them,” Rodney said slowly, a sinking feeling in his gut. Elizabeth already explained, tone apologetic and conciliatory, how she couldn’t possibly hope to convince the Council to open the portal and send him back home with the war still on. He was trapped here until the Mice were defeated.
John shrugged. “That’s what the prophecy says. Personally, I think you just chose the wrong gift for your sister.” He straightened. “Well, Radek’s probably foaming at the mouth, wanting to talk to you about your world’s new inventions. I’ll take you over to his laboratory, and maybe you two can figure out a weapon that will wipe out the Mice entirely.”
“And then the war will be over and I can go home,” Rodney said, and John half-grinned.
“Then you can go home.”
“I can certainly try to help build something of the sort, but I don’t see how much help I’m going to be. Oh sure, I know almost everything about everything, I’m a genius after all, but I’m still only in university. I’ve only ever built that atomic bomb in sixth grade, and you probably don’t have the materials and it wasn’t even a working model anyway. And I don’t know that much about other weapons, like guns or tanks, I mean, I’m Canadian, not American….”
Rodney spent the next few minutes explaining why exactly he was going to be fairly useless in this war as John led him through the labyrinth that was the palace of Queen Elizabeth of Lantea. As he did so, he couldn’t help but study the man beside him, finding that John Sheppard did everything casual. His half-lope, half-swagger was easy, his graceful movement seemingly unconscious, and he kept shooting Rodney these small, slightly amused smiles that turned his hazel eyes all the more green. He looked even more amused with every point that Rodney made in regard to his uselessness.
Radek’s eyes were bright and his smile slightly manic when John handed Rodney over to him. “Ah, good, I have so much to ask you about. For example--” And then Radek began tossing question after question at him, and Rodney barely noticed when John waved and escaped from the laboratory.
It wasn’t until a blond woman poked her head into the laboratory and said, “Sir, we’re having a bit of trouble with the latest gun. Could I have a moment?” that Rodney had a chance to breathe and actually look around Radek’s laboratory, which was large and yet still full of clutter, books and scraps of paper covering every available surface.
Most of the scraps of paper had equations or sketches on them. As Rodney slowly investigated, he discovered numerous sketches, some of the trains Radek and his father must have designed, others of inventions Rodney couldn’t begin to guess at. After a while, he found a sketch that looked very similar to the first drawings of the Wright brothers’ airplanes. Well, Radek had mentioned that he was designing an airplane; if this was his design, then he was well on his way toward flight.
“So you have seen my idea for an airplane,” Radek said quietly from behind him, and took the paper from Rodney’s hand. Rodney repressed a startled jump but not a twitch at Radek’s sudden appearance, and Radek looked momentarily apologetic. Then he glanced down at the paper, his expression taking on an almost wistful smile. “We do not have time to build ‘frivolous’ machines such as planes, not during war, but afterward, afterward when there is peace, I shall build an airplane, and Her Majesty will be able to view all of Lantea from above, to see her entire kingdom and all her people.”
His voice was painfully earnest, and looking at him, Rodney wondered how long Radek had been carrying a torch for the queen; obviously quite some time. “So, you designed the telephone.”
Radek smiled and gave a slight shrug. “Well, my father did, using stories -- stories Vanadalin once told him. I merely helped. The temephone, the telephone, I mean, has proven very useful in warning of attacks. Far less civilian casualties.”
“So, this Vanadalin. What happened to him? After all, the Council couldn’t have been happy that he disobeyed their orders.”
Radek’s smile slipped from his face at the question and he looked tense, expression drawn and distant. “Not happy at all. He and his family were banished from the kingdom and threatened on pain of death if they stepped foot in Lantea ever again. He died in the service of the Genii when one of his experiments went wrong.”
“Experiments?”
“Besides being the gatekeeper, Vanadalin was also an inventor,” Radek said with a wry twist to his lips. “If he created the miniature gateway that brought you here, it was through his skill as an inventor, not by a magic spell like others would have you believe. He was -- brilliant. Very mad, very foolish, but undeniably brilliant.”
“Sir?” It was the blond woman again, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, but the new rifle is still jamming. We thought if you could take a look at it--”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Radek said, and then gestured for Rodney to follow him, smiling wanly and adding with a trace of bitterness, “Until the war is over, I am afraid I cannot play the mad inventor like Vanadalin, tinkering to my heart’s delight and doing as I please, all consequences be damned. For now, I must build weapons.”
Radek lead him outside to the shooting range, where it was early morning (and Rodney couldn't help but wonder what his parents were thinking right now, whether they believed he was sulking and skipping Christmas morning, whether they even cared).
The sun dyed the sky pale oranges and pinks, tinted the few clouds in the sky the same pastel shades. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground. Remembering the way the snow had fallen on his face and caught in his eyelashes, how he’d been almost buried alive, Rodney couldn’t quite keep from shivering. It didn’t matter that he wore several layers, both his fleece jacket and a thick coat that someone in the palace had provided; he could still feel the snow on his skin.
He was startled to see John and an unfamiliar woman outside as well and blinked at them. They were a little ways away from where the blonde and Radek were huddled together, deep in conversation, hands gesturing wildly at the target and the rifle that a bored-looking soldier held.
Rather than guns, John and the woman actually wielded sticks, circling each other and looking wary and focused as their breath billowed from their lips in the crisp morning air. They both moved with fluid grace, and Rodney couldn’t help but stare at the breathtaking image they made, the morning sun accentuating every curve, every muscle on their lean frames. They were like Greek statues come to life, the perfection of bronze turned into the perfection of flesh.
Even as he watched, the woman suddenly twisted and lunged, John seeming to almost dance out of reach. John and the woman were sleeveless, and Rodney could see the muscles rippling in John’s arms, sweat trickling down his neck and staining his shirt. If they were cold, neither showed any sign of discomfort, both wearing small, grim smiles that didn’t reach their watchful eyes.
John lunged, and this time it was the woman who avoided the blow, long brown strands swirling around her head as she sidestepped the lunge and hit his wrist, hard, the sound of wood striking skin making Rodney wince on John’s behalf. A second later, John was on his knees, the woman’s sticks trapping his neck and forcing him to tilt his head up at her.
He grinned, a tad ruefully. “I concede.”
The woman didn’t smile, just nodded and took a step back, leaving John still on his knees, an image that shouldn’t make Rodney’s mouth dry, but it did, made his mouth drier than the Sahara, and he had to swallow a few times before any moisture returned to his mouth.
“You are improving,” she said gravely, voice clear, concise.
John’s grin widened. “And yet you still get me on my knees every time,” he said, finally getting up from his knees and grabbing his sticks as he did so. His face was flushed, both from the cold and the exercise, and even as Rodney watched, he rotated the wrist she’d struck with a slight wince and stretched, muscles rippling under that smooth, slightly tanned skin. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Of course,” the woman said in the same grave voice as before, but a flicker of a smile appeared on her lips and she bent a little, pressing their foreheads together in a unique embrace, and Rodney thought, Of course. Of course they’re together.
He ignored the odd, disappointed clench of his stomach. Why should he care that this universe upheld the same ‘beautiful people belong with other beautiful people’ law that his did? He wasn’t going to be in Lantea forever.
John noticed him and grinned, twirling one of the sticks like a baton. “Enjoy the sight of Teyla getting me on my knees?” he drawled, and Rodney almost choked on air, his cheeks heating.
“What? No, I--” But of course John couldn’t have meant that suggestively. He had no way of knowing what Rodney had been thinking during the sparring match. He swallowed, forced the heat from his face, fumbled for something to say, and came up with a lame, “So sticks are, uh, apparently good weapons against, against the Mice then?”
“When a Mouse has knocked your gun from your hand, being able to use whatever is at hand might save your life,” the woman -- Teyla -- said, turning her slight smile upon him. He felt his ears warm ever so slightly. “You must be Rodney McKay of Canada.”
“That’s me,” he said awkwardly, and after a moment’s hesitation, thrust his hand out. Her grip was firm, her hand callused. “Teyla, wasn’t it?”
“Teyla Emmagan of Athos. I serve as an advisor to the queen, when not training John,” she informed him, and now he was close enough to see that her eyes gleamed with good-natured humor. “I could teach you to fight, if you wish it.”
Teach him how to fight? Rodney had a sudden image of being sprawled on the ground, face-first in snow while Teyla and John smirked at his total ineptitude. “Oh, uh, thanks but I think I’ll pass. I’ve heard enough about the Amazons to know--” At her raised eyebrow, he added hastily, “Oh, uh, Amazons. Back in ancient times, they were fierce female warriors who were said to be as strong as men-- which was a compliment back in those days, because that, that was before gender equality, you see, so women were seen as inferior to men, and Amazons were the only women equal in strength, so, um--”
“So being referred to as an Amazon should be considered a compliment,” Teyla interrupted him smoothly, and there was definitely amusement in her eyes as he wisely clamped his mouth shut and nodded that yes, it should be seen as a compliment and definitely, definitely not an insult. “Thank you for the compliment, Rodney McKay. If you ever do wish to learn how to fight, I would be most happy to train you.”
“And you’ll, uh, definitely be the one I ask,” Rodney muttered, forcing back the warmth from his face. He glanced over, but Radek was still waving his hands at the blonde, both appearing frustrated as the soldier continued to look bored.
When he looked back, John was watching him, a slight smile on his face. “What?” he snapped, resisting the urge to run a hand over his face and hair to figure out what John was amused about.
John just shrugged. “Nothing,” he said, irritatingly casual, and grinned at Rodney’s glare. He raised an eyebrow. “You might end up being stuck in Lantea for a while. If that’s true, you have to learn to fight in case of an attack.”
Rodney snorted. “If there’s an attack, I’ll be hiding in the nearest closet,” he informed the other man. “I’ve never held a gun in my life, and I never plan to. That’s why I’m a scientist, not a soldier.”
“And if a Mouse should discover the closet you are hiding in?” Teyla asked, eyebrows raised and a slight frown on her face.
He stared. “Well, I’ll be dead. Obviously.”
“You’ll get beginner’s training, both from Teyla and me,” John said, and Rodney looked at him like he’d grown two heads. John smiled a little at his expression, but there was a certain firmness in his voice that brooked for no argument as he added, “One of my duties is keeping everyone in the palace alive during an attack. That means making certain everyone has some self-defense training, and everyone includes you.”
“I don’t need--” Rodney started to sputter, but then his mouth and vocabulary dried up as John patted him on the shoulder and said in a consolatory tone, “Don’t worry. They’ll be private lessons. No one will be around to see Teyla knock you into the dirt.”
“Oh yes, thank you for preserving my dignity,” he finally got out after a few desperate swallows, twisting his face into an irritated scowl and glaring at the other man. “I’ll be sure to thank you for the numerous bruises as well.”
“You’re welcome,” John said sweetly, and then nodded towards Teyla. “Well, I need to go see how Evan and Ronon are stdoing with the new soldiers.”
She smiled at him, the sun making her face shine golden and beautiful. “Until tomorrow then.”
John smiled back, and then looked at Rodney. “Meet me out here an hour before supper. And if you pretend to lose track of time in Radek’s laboratory, I’ll come hunting for you.”
“I don’t like you,” Rodney informed him, and John laughed and walked away. He looked at Teyla, who wore an amused look. “I really don’t.”
Part Two
Author: cinaed
Pairing(s): John/Rodney pre-slash, Radek/Elizabeth UST
Rating/Spoilers: PG-13, violence and spoilers for "McKay and Mrs. Miller"
Summary: God, if he survived this and got to go home, he was never, ever buying a present for Jeannie again, not even if his parents threatened to disown him. (Nutcracker AU)
Author's Notes: Thanks go out to duckduck for looking this over for me. The story was supposed to be written for ras_elased uh, one or two Christmases ago. Sorry about the wait, ras_elased!
Length: 14,800 words
Part One
I'm a soldier on a battlefield
Got an army on the battlefield
Outnumbered like the Alamo
I don't even want to go
- "This is War" by Ben Kweller
Really, Rodney didn’t see why his parents had expected him to get Jeannie a Christmas present. For one thing, he was a dirt-poor university student who could barely afford to buy himself vital things like, oh, food. For another, he had no idea what she even wanted for Christmas, and his parents had been too irritated with him to offer up a single hint of her likes and dislikes.
They were totally overreacting, of course. Especially since they had actually kicked him out of the house and told him not to come back until he had a present for her. He still wasn't sure if they were really serious about that. They’d certainly seemed serious when they’d shoved him outside and locked the door, completely ignoring the fact that it was snowing and he was only wearing a T-shirt, fleece jacket, and jeans.
Maybe Jeannie still liked dolls. Twelve-year-old girls still liked dolls, right? He eyed the nearest window display, which was filled with rather creepy-looking porcelain dolls. Then he caught sight of the price tags on said-creepy dolls and snorted. Who would willingly pay that much for a doll?
People bumped into him, and he glared venomously. Sure, it was Christmas Eve and everyone was probably frantically finishing up their shopping because they were irresponsible idiots who’d waited until the last possible minute, but they didn’t have to invade his personal space. Honestly.
It started to snow harder, snowflakes lingering on his hair and shoulders as the chilly afternoon air made him shiver. Really, did his parents think him freezing his ass off would be an incentive to get Jeannie something nice? They could have at least let him grab a warmer coat. Zipping his fleece jacket up to his neck in a vain attempt to feel warmer, he sighed and resumed his trek through the slush, glancing at every window display and finding nothing, just other dolls that cost more than a decent bottle of wine.
It was getting dark and he’d missed the family’s annual torture session -- cleverly disguised as a tradition of going to the Christmas Eve Mass (even though they weren’t even Catholic) -- when he finally spotted a shop whose dolls didn’t have ridiculous prices, judging by the two on display. All right, the dolls weren’t porcelain, they were more of the cloth or wood persuasion, but hey, they were dolls. That had to count for something.
The shop was smaller than most, and devoid of customers, so that made it all the more inviting as Rodney ducked inside. He winced a little, his chilled face itching at the sudden shift from freezing cold to warmth. He carefully clenched and unclenched his fingers until they stopped feeling so stiff, hating the cold with every fiber of his being.
A bell next to the door jingled, announcing his entrance, and the old man behind the counter looked up and smiled. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?” the old man asked genially, and then a white eyebrow rose and he suggested with a hint of mischief in his voice, “A tissue, perhaps?”
“Um,” Rodney said, blinking. It was only when the old man gestured that he realized his nose was running. “Oh, yeah. Definitely a good plan.” He accepted the tissue the chuckling man offered him, and then added, “I’m actually looking for a doll for my sister.”
“Well, the dolls are right over there,” the man informed him, a glint of amusement lingering in his gaze as he pointed toward the far corner of the shop. “Take your time, and let me know if you have any questions.”
“Right, right,” Rodney muttered, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, because he planned on buying the first doll that didn’t scare the shit out of him, hoping Jeannie liked it, and getting home in time for the traditional eggnog toast before everyone went to bed.
He was glancing through the selection when something caught his eye. He couldn’t quite keep from smirking, or from commenting under his breath, “A nutcracker isn’t actually a doll.”
Huh. Though actually-- If he got Jeannie something shitty like a nutcracker -- a not-doll doll that proved he just really sucked at the whole gift deal -- his parents might give up and let him just give her money next Christmas.
Rodney eyed the nutcracker for a moment. It didn’t look new or even particularly well made, judging by the way the sleeve was slightly chipped on one arm, making the red sleeve seem lopsided, and the muddy brown shade of its eyes. Weren’t nutcrackers supposed to have blue or green eyes? Anything but brown, really. And Rodney also thought he remembered most nutcrackers having a beard, but this one’s maker had been apparently too lazy to glue one on the nutcracker.
When he picked it up, the wood was grainy and rough against his fingers, the paint unevenly textured, as though the maker had just given his creation a few hasty swipes of a paintbrush and then tossed the nutcracker carelessly aside. Rodney was surprised when he didn’t immediately get a splinter just from fiddling with the stupid thing.
Still, the mouth opened and closed, so it could break nuts, and it was the cheapest doll there, so it’d do quite well. Rodney smirked to himself. He couldn’t wait to see Jeannie’s expression when she realized that this was her Christmas present. Of course, he wasn’t looking forward to the moment where she hit him in the arm and he was forced to give her some money to buy herself a decent present. Her expression would be worth the bruise. Probably.
The shopkeeper blinked at him when he brought the nutcracker to the counter. “You actually want that?” There was an odd note to his voice, as though he suspected that Rodney was joking. “That’s…been in my store for years and no one’s even glanced at it.”
That’s probably because it’s a piece of crap, Rodney wanted to say, but he just shrugged and pulled out his wallet, handing a couple of crumpled bills to the old man. “It caught my eye.”
“Caught your eye,” the shopkeeper repeated slowly. A strange expression flitted across his face, one that Rodney couldn’t quite define (and couldn’t really be bothered to, because honestly, he wasn’t ever going to see this man again, so it didn’t matter).
“Yes, yes,” Rodney said with a roll of his eyes and resisted the urge to snap his fingers as the shopkeeper slowly counted out his change. Finally, he was back out on the street, trudging through the snow and heading toward his car with the nutcracker under one arm.
Someone jostled him, hard enough that he lurched and almost stepped off the sidewalk and into incoming traffic. He turned to glare. “Hey!” As the guy ducked back into the holiday crowd without so much as an apologetic look, Rodney scowled and muttered, “Merry fucking Christmas to you too.”
Then he frowned, because something was vaguely off. It took only a second to figure out why: his wallet was gone. His wallet, with his student ID, his lone credit card, the number of that girl in his Quantum Physics class who was blonde and smart and seemed amused rather than irritated by him--
“Hey! Hey!” The guy glanced back at him when Rodney started yelling. Then the guy bolted, Rodney plunging into the crowd after him. “Get back here, you--” He lunged, fingers catching on the hood of the thief’s jacket, and somehow he managed to yank the guy off balance. “Give me back my wallet, and maybe I won’t press charges--”
The guy turned and Rodney had a second to think, Huh, he’s just some stupid kid, before the thief’s fist swung and connected with Rodney’s jaw. His head snapped back painfully -- he swore he could almost hear it crack -- and he was falling, everything spinning out of focus around him, blurring into pastel watercolors. Then his head struck the sidewalk and everything went black.
***
***
The first sense that came back to him was touch, in that he felt the snow settling feather-soft onto his face, the snowflakes catching on his eyelashes and melting when they landed on his uncovered skin. He was lying on snow as well; he could feel it beneath his hands. He wasn't cold though, and even only one-fifth of the way conscious, Rodney knew that was a bad sign.
He struggled to open his eyes, to regain his sight, and after a moment his eyelids obeyed his commands. He found himself staring into a sky that was darkening, no, almost bruising its way into a dark, dark blue. There was an ache at the back of his head, a dull throbbing that ebbed and flowed with its intensity. He winced even as he moved his fingers and toes, trying to coax his heavy limbs into moving or at the very least getting him up into a sitting position so that the snow didn’t bury him.
Unfortunately, his body didn’t seem to want to cooperate, eyes sliding shut on their own, and it seemed odd how Rodney could feel the darkness shift, how there was a difference between the black beneath his eyelids and the black of his impending unconsciousness. He was so fascinated by its sheer subtlety that he almost didn’t hear the crunching of snow beneath boots, that it took a moment for him to even process the sound.
He felt someone’s hand, the warmth of callused fingertips pressing gently against his throat in search for a pulse, the flat of that someone’s palm brushing snow off his cheeks and forehead, and struggled to open his eyes again. They opened a crack, not enough to see anything more than smudges of color, but thankfully enough that whoever was touching him inhaled sharply and said, “Ronon, he’s awake,” and then, “You know, falling asleep during a snowstorm is not a good plan.”
Rodney tried to get his lips to work, but they wouldn’t quite cooperate either, too numb to work properly. He wasn't certain how much of his slurred, “Not sleeping, was unconscious,” was actually coherent. He attempted to force his eyes to open wider, enough that the smudges would solidify into a face, all to no avail, and instead his eyes fluttered shut again.
“Stay awake,” someone muttered, voice sharp with urgency, “stay awake,” and then strong arms lifted Rodney from the ground, the inside of his head spinning like he was on a tilt-a-whirl as he slid back into unconsciousness.
***
***
The next time he woke up, the first sense to return was sound: the soft footfalls of someone moving near him; the quiet murmuring of voices so low that Rodney couldn’t quite make out the words, though the overall tone was one of concern; the sound of his own slow, steady heartbeat in his ears.
He opened his eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar trio clustered around his bed and taking in their odd, old-fashioned clothing even as he started to sit upright. What, had the thief’s punch knocked him into the nineteenth century rather than last week?
As soon as he opened his eyes, the noise level rose and sentences like “He’s awake,” and “How are you feeling?” filled his ears. An anxious-looking man with piercing blue eyes and a thick accent that sounded almost Irish or maybe Scottish directed the latter at him.
“I feel,” Rodney began, and frowned at the scratchy quality of his voice. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Fine. I feel fine.” And he did feel fine, for someone who had apparently almost frozen to death because people couldn’t take a second from their last minute shopping to check on him. His bones ached a little, as did the back of his head, but he wasn't feeling queasy and he could feel all his extremities, so that meant no frostbite and no concussion. Rodney looked around and frowned, taking in the stone walls, the three dozen or more empty beds filling the large room, and the utter lack of whatever machines they usually had next to one’s bedside in a hospital. “What kind of hospital is this?”
The man who’d asked how he was feeling smiled gently. “This is the infirmary, lad. Do you remember what happened to you?”
“Yes, because I for one would like to know why you were sleeping in the middle of a snowstorm,” one of the other men drawled, and Rodney frowned at him. The man raised an eyebrow in response and looked almost amused at the scowl. He rested against the foot of the bed in a relaxed lean, one corner of his mouth curved upwards and a hint of amusement in his hazel eyes, the epitome of casual.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” Rodney corrected him. “I was unconscious because someone decided to punch me into last Thursday.” He paused, frowned. “Or is that ‘punch me into next Thursday’? I can never remember. Oh well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. The guy knocked me unconscious and apparently everyone else was too busy doing holiday shopping to notice me on the sidewalk--”
“Holiday?” This came from Mr. Obvious -- Mr. Obvious and Gigantic, that is - who’d commented on him being awake. He towered over the bed, dressed in the same nineteenth century clothes as the other two, but his hair was done in dreadlocks that were definitely not of the late 1800s. Or maybe they were. Rodney had never paid much attention in his history classes. Just memorized the names and the dates and counted the hours until he could focus on his major and be done with utterly useless courses like history and literature.
Rodney blinked at him. “Yes, holiday. Christmas.” At their blank looks, he rolled his eyes. Yes, let’s tease the injured man who almost froze to death in the snow. They were all hilarious. “You know, Christmas, with Santa Claus and his flying reindeer and the whole improbable story of how he can fly around the world in a single night, delivering gifts to children? That Christmas?”
They continued to stare blankly at him for a moment, and then the anxious-looking one reached out and pressed a hand to his forehead, fingers cold and smooth. “You do have a rather nasty bump on your head. Can you tell me who you are and what today’s date is?”
Narrowing his eyes, Rodney jerked his head away from the cool touch and snapped, “Rodney. Rodney McKay, and today is Christmas Eve, otherwise known as December 24th. Unless I’ve been unconscious for several hours, in which case it’s probably Christmas.” He scowled at them. “Where’s the doctor? And has anyone called my parents? I hope they’re happy that kicking me out to get Jeannie’s present resulted in my getting assaulted--” He stopped, eyes widening. “Her present. Did someone bring it with the ambulance? Please tell me someone didn’t just leave it on the side of the road. I mean, I paid for that stupid nutcracker--”
The blue-eyed man touched him again, this time on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and there was a deep frown on his lips and a furrow between his eyes. “Lad, you have to understand, you’re not making much sense to us,” he said, voice soft, as though Rodney was some upset child who needed to be soothed. “Christmas? Santa Claus? December? Today’s the fifth day of Winterfrost.”
“Winterfrost,” Rodney echoed, rolling his eyes. Really, what kind of name was that? “Look, it wasn’t funny when you played dumb about Christmas, and it’s not funny now with your stupid new name for December. Have you contacted my parents? They’re probably wondering where I am, and I-- I--” Want to go home or at the very least far, far away from these freaks who seemed to have something against Christmas and December.
“Do you remember where you’re from, Rodney? The town, or perhaps the province?”
“When not at the university, I live in the city of Vancouver, which is in the province of British Columbia,” Rodney said, carefully enunciating every syllable in each word because these people were clearly idiots. Their expressions were still blank. “For the love of -- Canada. Don’t make me sing the damn national anthem.”
At Canada, though, something seemed to click, judging by the interested look the giant directed towards him, not to mention the way the color leeched from the worried-looking man’s face and how the smirk slid off the hazel-eyed man’s lips to be replaced by an intensely focused look.
In fact, those hazel eyes now bore into him, the gaze sharp and assessing, and then the man said slowly, “Carson, bring Elizabeth here. Ronon, Radek is in his laboratory,” and even as the two men nodded and headed for the door, Rodney wondered at the sudden sense of dread that clenched his stomach at the hazel-eyed man’s serious tone.
“How have you people heard of Canada, but not Vancouver or Christmas?” he demanded, masking his unease with irritation. “They pretty much go hand-in-hand. Well, Vancouver does at least. There are definitely people who don’t celebrate Christmas, hell, I wish I wasn’t forced to celebrate Christmas, seeing as buying a present for my sister is what got me into this mess in the first place, but my parents insisted, not even caring that I have no money to spend on presents, and so--”
Some of the tension in the other man’s frame eased while Rodney spoke, and now the man regarded him curiously. “Do you even breathe?”
“Excuse me? Of course I do,” Rodney snapped, offended. “What kind of stupid question is that?”
“A perfectly reasonable one, since you never seem to take a breath,” the man said mildly, eyebrows rising and a small smirk playing on his lips. He leaned against the foot of the bed again and added, “I’m John, by the way. John Sheppard.”
Rodney stared for a moment, wondering if this John Sheppard actually expected him to care. “Well, John,” he began, putting as much sarcasm and scorn behind the name as possible, “perhaps you’d care to enlighten me on why everyone became so…intense when I mentioned Canada. It was like I’d said I was from -- from, well, some terrible place, I’m sure I’ll think of an example later, but anyway, I’d like a reason for why the one guy looked about ready to vomit.”
Unfortunately, John didn’t take offense at his tone; if anything, the smirk widened. “It’s a long story. And I think Elizabeth would prefer if I let Radek explain.” He kept leaning, although now it was more of a slouch than anything else, all loose limbs and irritating smirk, and Rodney couldn’t help but glare at him, because just watching John slouch made Rodney’s back twinge in sympathy.
He folded his arms against his chest, still glaring. “Well, ‘Radek’ needs to hurry up, get here, and start explaining, before I decide to just get up and check myself out of this pitiful excuse for a hospital. I mean, you people don’t even have any machines. What if my heart suddenly stopped? You wouldn’t know, and--”
“Breathe,” John interrupted him to sweetly suggest, and Rodney was trying to kill him with a mere look when the door opened and the giant came in, a tiny man with a scarecrow’s nest for hair trailing behind him.
The latter looked as irritated as Rodney felt and shoved his glasses up from where they were dangling precariously off the tip of his nose before he blinked at Rodney and said with a thick accent that sounded vaguely European, “So, you are apparently the one who spoke of Canada?”
“Yes, I did, seeing as that’s where I live,” Rodney said, with an eye-roll for emphasis.
The man looked unimpressed and turned towards John. “So, John, you interrupt my work merely to drag me here to listen to the ravings of a madman? I must remind you that I do not bother you while you are training or on patrol.”
“Excuse me?” Rodney snapped, incredulous, but John shrugged easily, looking unperturbed.
“Don’t look at me, Radek. We were patrolling outside the palace walls and he was just on the ground, getting buried in the snowstorm. He finally woke up, and has been talking about the weirdest things ever since. Christmas. December. Santa -- Santa something.”
“Claus,” Rodney and Radek interjected, voices overlapping, and Radek blinked and then peered a little more closely at him, blue eyes narrowing.
Rodney raised an expectant eyebrow and scowled back. “John here said you’d explain why my mentioning Canada is such a big deal, so explain. Now.”
Radek just frowned for a moment and then said quietly, fiddling with his glasses and looking a little uneasy, “I think, perhaps, that we should wait for--”
“For me?” a warm, slightly amused voice asked from the doorway. The voice belonged to a dark-haired woman smiled at the group, the corners of her green eyes crinkling with amusement. She entered the room with a quiet sort of confidence, the anxious-looking man flanking her and looking even more apprehensive. Her green gaze sharpened when it landed on Rodney, and the woman -- Elizabeth, apparently -- said, “Please, Radek, if you would explain the situation to Mister McKay here.”
“Oh, ah, of course,” Radek said. When Rodney glanced at him, he looked flustered, a dark flush staining his cheeks, and his gaze was everywhere Elizabeth wasn’t. After a long moment, Radek finally looked at him, some of the redness fading from his face, his flustered expression shifting to an odd mixture of determination, embarrassment, and exasperation. “Mister McKay--”
“Rodney. Or just McKay,” he couldn’t help but interrupt because seriously, he was twenty-one, not forty. The only people who called him Mister were telemarketers and occasionally his professors.
Radek blinked at him for a moment, and then took off his glasses, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Very well, Rodney, if you are from Canada, as Ronon says you claim to be, then you are now a very far way from home. This is the realm of Lantea.”
“Lantea,” Rodney repeated flatly. They all nodded. “Never heard of it.”
Radek almost smiled at that. “You wouldn’t. It is not on any of your maps, just as Canada is not on any of ours. You see, it is said that about two hundred years ago, several children exploring a cave found a device that acted as a, a sort of gateway to another world.” He held up a hand before Rodney could even start forming protests at his absurd statement, smiling a little wryly as though recognizing the ridiculousness of his own words. “I personally believe that if such a device actually existed, which I very much doubt it did, it was left behind by an earlier, more advanced race. Using the portal, Lanteans were able to journey to a realm called Canada, and these Canadians could also venture into Lantea--”
Even though Radek’s hand was still held up to ward off protests, Rodney couldn't help but snap, “Wait, wait, wait. So you’re telling me that this portal connected two universes? And you expect me to take this, take you, seriously?”
Radek sighed. “I am as skeptical as you are. However, most Lanteans believe in this portal--” He paused and nodded towards the others in the room, who were apparently members of the ‘most Lanteans’ category. “--and I am a foremost expert on the legends regarding the portal and Canada. As I was saying, about sixty years ago, a great enemy appeared and began ravaging Lantea and other neighboring kingdoms. Lantea, which controlled the gateway to Canada, felt it was best to shut down the gateway between our two worlds in case we were overrun, so that Canada and the rest of that world would not be destroyed as well.” His expression darkened. “However, the gatekeeper at the time, a man by the name of Vanadalin Zelenka, disagreed with the Council’s decision. It is said he used magic--” Here, Radek paused to make a face of utter disgust. “--to create several miniature gateways to Lantea. He claimed to be following a, a prophecy that foretold a man coming through one of these small portals who would help end the war.”
“And you expect me to believe all this,” Rodney said in the ensuing silence. He could only hope that his tone conveyed his utter, total, absolute disbelief. “That some magical portal transported me from Canada to here?”
Radek raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think that this is an elaborate jest at your expense? That five total strangers would concoct this elaborate legend of the portal just to mock you?”
“Well, no,” Rodney admitted, frowning, his stomach twisting unhappily, because a practical joke would be far, far better than the alternative, but he really couldn’t see anyone disliking him to this extent. Well, all right, he could, but everyone he could think of would be too lazy or too stupid to pull off a stunt like this. Still, a portal to another world? “But another universe, it’s--”
“Highly unlikely,” Radek supplied with a put-upon sigh. “Yes, I think so too, but if you are from Canada and not simply mad, then it seems my -- that Vanadalin Zelenka perhaps did use ‘magic’ to create several gateways from Canada to Lantea.”
“Well, I didn’t walk through any magical gateways,” Rodney snapped. “I hit my head on the sidewalk and woke up here, and I’m not thinking that the sidewalk was exactly a portal, because otherwise you’d have a lot more people in your infirmary.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Did you touch anything else just before you were knocked unconscious?”
“Well, the guy who punched me, for one, but other than that, just the stupid nutcracker I bought for my sister.” Again with the blank looks, but then again, Rodney supposed that nutcrackers went hand-in-hand with Christmas. “A nutcracker, it’s a doll -- a doll-like thing that’s dressed as a, a British solider, I guess, and it breaks nuts in its mouth. It wasn’t even well-made, but it was cheap and right there and I needed a present for Jeannie, so--”
“So you bought the least expensive thing you could find,” John concluded with a knowing smirk, and Rodney scowled.
“Well, yes, but only because then my parents would see I’m horrible with gifts and just let me give Jeannie money so she can buy something she actually likes. I mean, how am I supposed to know what twelve-year-old girls like?”
Radek frowned thoughtfully. “What did this nutcracker look like, exactly?”
“Like a British-- like a soldier, with a red coat and a fluffy black hat. It wasn’t well made at all, one of the arms was chipped so the sleeve looked lopsided, and the paint was of poor quality, and it didn’t have a beard or anything--” He paused, a thought striking him. “Wait, this ‘prophecy’ said that someone from Canada would come and help stop the war. You, you haven’t been fighting a war for sixty years….”
The look on everyone’s face was answer enough, the temperature in the room seeming to suddenly drop a few degrees, and he swallowed. Sixty years. He couldn’t imagine that, couldn’t imagine being born in the middle of a war and dying with no hope for peace in sight. How could they even--
“Canada was at war as well when my grandfather sealed the portal. I take it yours has ended?” Elizabeth said, and Rodney blinked at her for a moment before doing the math in his head.
“Oh yes, World War Two ended back before I was born. There have been other, smaller wars, of course,” he informed her, still thinking, Sixty years, “but the war’s been over for…a long time.” He didn’t try to explain the war on terrorism, mostly because he didn’t understand it himself most of the time.
“It seems that King Janus did the right thing then, Your Majesty,” Radek said softly, inclining his head in a respectful nod towards Elizabeth even as Rodney gawked.
“Your Majesty?” he repeated, almost but not quite squeaking. All right, his voice did go a little high from surprise, but still, he didn’t squeak as everyone smiled.
Even the anxious-looking one, Carson, looked a little amused at his surprise. “We probably should have done proper introductions. This is Queen Elizabeth, ruler of Lantea and duchess of Atlantis, which is the main province. I’m Carson Beckett, the queen’s doctor--”
“Yes, yes, introductions are good, but if he is from Canada, then--” Radek interrupted, eyes suddenly gleaming. “The developments in science during these past sixty years, what they must have accomplished without war slowing down their advancements….” There was an almost hungry look on his face, an eagerness that Rodney recognized as the hunger for scientific knowledge. “My father built the first train and helped to design the railroad system for the Genii, which has helped the war effort tremendously, and together Father and I created the temephone--”
“Temephone?”
“Yes, the communication devices--”
Radek gestured vaguely towards his ear, and Rodney said, “Oh, telephones. Telephones, not temephones.”
Radek made a dismissive gesture, as though the misnaming were inconsequential (and Rodney supposed it was, when push came to shove), and asked, “So, what other types of inventions have you created since the portal was closed? I have been trying to design an, an airplane, I believe you called it, but there has been no time to really design one and make it fly, not with--”
“And there must have been plenty of advancements in weapons,” Ronon interrupted meaningfully.
Rodney made a face, thinking of the atomic bomb and newest missiles and tanks, of the fact that bombs could now be made small enough to fit inside a suitcase. “Yes, there were, though I doubt you have the equipment necessary to build them.” He certainly didn’t see any uranium lying around.
He looked at Elizabeth and supposed that she did have the bearing of a queen, all quiet confidence and a stubborn chin. After a moment, he said awkwardly, “So, this prophecy--”
“Supposedly says that a visitor from Canada would help us defeat the Mice,” Elizabeth informed him.
“The Mice,” he repeated.
“They’ve never told us if they have a name, so that’s what we call them,” John said, shrugging.
“Mice,” Rodney said again. He could feel his lips twitch upward, and wondered if it was too late to pinch himself and see if he’s dreaming. After all, mice?
Ronon shrugged. “They’re mice, six feet tall. What else would you call them?”
“I--” Six feet tall? Definitely dreaming. He had to be, because, honestly, six-foot tall mice. While different universes were improbable, giant mice were simply unbelievable. He folded his arms against his chest and said, “Er, right. Mice. And you, uh, expect me to be able to help you defeat these…giant mice. Me.” He bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from smirking.
John stared at him, frowning, and when he spoke, there was a coolness to his voice that earned a few askance glances. “Ronon, is Stephen still alive? I don’t think our Canadian guest here believes us about the Mice.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think he needs a demonstration.”
***
***
“Okay,” Rodney said weakly, staring at the Mouse, which looked more eight feet tall than six, with wicked-looking teeth and claws that had seemed much less threatening on the Mouse’s tiny cousin. The Mouse made a low, furious noise, baring its teeth at Rodney, and he resisted the urge to take a step away from the cell. “This is definitely a convincing demonstration.”
When he looked at John, the amused glint was back in the man’s eyes, and he was leaning again, this time against the wall of the prison. “This is who -- what we’re up against. Guns work wonders on them, but you’re pretty much doomed if they get in too close and it’s hand-to-hand.”
“And you expect me to be able to help you defeat them,” Rodney said slowly, a sinking feeling in his gut. Elizabeth already explained, tone apologetic and conciliatory, how she couldn’t possibly hope to convince the Council to open the portal and send him back home with the war still on. He was trapped here until the Mice were defeated.
John shrugged. “That’s what the prophecy says. Personally, I think you just chose the wrong gift for your sister.” He straightened. “Well, Radek’s probably foaming at the mouth, wanting to talk to you about your world’s new inventions. I’ll take you over to his laboratory, and maybe you two can figure out a weapon that will wipe out the Mice entirely.”
“And then the war will be over and I can go home,” Rodney said, and John half-grinned.
“Then you can go home.”
“I can certainly try to help build something of the sort, but I don’t see how much help I’m going to be. Oh sure, I know almost everything about everything, I’m a genius after all, but I’m still only in university. I’ve only ever built that atomic bomb in sixth grade, and you probably don’t have the materials and it wasn’t even a working model anyway. And I don’t know that much about other weapons, like guns or tanks, I mean, I’m Canadian, not American….”
Rodney spent the next few minutes explaining why exactly he was going to be fairly useless in this war as John led him through the labyrinth that was the palace of Queen Elizabeth of Lantea. As he did so, he couldn’t help but study the man beside him, finding that John Sheppard did everything casual. His half-lope, half-swagger was easy, his graceful movement seemingly unconscious, and he kept shooting Rodney these small, slightly amused smiles that turned his hazel eyes all the more green. He looked even more amused with every point that Rodney made in regard to his uselessness.
Radek’s eyes were bright and his smile slightly manic when John handed Rodney over to him. “Ah, good, I have so much to ask you about. For example--” And then Radek began tossing question after question at him, and Rodney barely noticed when John waved and escaped from the laboratory.
It wasn’t until a blond woman poked her head into the laboratory and said, “Sir, we’re having a bit of trouble with the latest gun. Could I have a moment?” that Rodney had a chance to breathe and actually look around Radek’s laboratory, which was large and yet still full of clutter, books and scraps of paper covering every available surface.
Most of the scraps of paper had equations or sketches on them. As Rodney slowly investigated, he discovered numerous sketches, some of the trains Radek and his father must have designed, others of inventions Rodney couldn’t begin to guess at. After a while, he found a sketch that looked very similar to the first drawings of the Wright brothers’ airplanes. Well, Radek had mentioned that he was designing an airplane; if this was his design, then he was well on his way toward flight.
“So you have seen my idea for an airplane,” Radek said quietly from behind him, and took the paper from Rodney’s hand. Rodney repressed a startled jump but not a twitch at Radek’s sudden appearance, and Radek looked momentarily apologetic. Then he glanced down at the paper, his expression taking on an almost wistful smile. “We do not have time to build ‘frivolous’ machines such as planes, not during war, but afterward, afterward when there is peace, I shall build an airplane, and Her Majesty will be able to view all of Lantea from above, to see her entire kingdom and all her people.”
His voice was painfully earnest, and looking at him, Rodney wondered how long Radek had been carrying a torch for the queen; obviously quite some time. “So, you designed the telephone.”
Radek smiled and gave a slight shrug. “Well, my father did, using stories -- stories Vanadalin once told him. I merely helped. The temephone, the telephone, I mean, has proven very useful in warning of attacks. Far less civilian casualties.”
“So, this Vanadalin. What happened to him? After all, the Council couldn’t have been happy that he disobeyed their orders.”
Radek’s smile slipped from his face at the question and he looked tense, expression drawn and distant. “Not happy at all. He and his family were banished from the kingdom and threatened on pain of death if they stepped foot in Lantea ever again. He died in the service of the Genii when one of his experiments went wrong.”
“Experiments?”
“Besides being the gatekeeper, Vanadalin was also an inventor,” Radek said with a wry twist to his lips. “If he created the miniature gateway that brought you here, it was through his skill as an inventor, not by a magic spell like others would have you believe. He was -- brilliant. Very mad, very foolish, but undeniably brilliant.”
“Sir?” It was the blond woman again, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, but the new rifle is still jamming. We thought if you could take a look at it--”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Radek said, and then gestured for Rodney to follow him, smiling wanly and adding with a trace of bitterness, “Until the war is over, I am afraid I cannot play the mad inventor like Vanadalin, tinkering to my heart’s delight and doing as I please, all consequences be damned. For now, I must build weapons.”
Radek lead him outside to the shooting range, where it was early morning (and Rodney couldn't help but wonder what his parents were thinking right now, whether they believed he was sulking and skipping Christmas morning, whether they even cared).
The sun dyed the sky pale oranges and pinks, tinted the few clouds in the sky the same pastel shades. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground. Remembering the way the snow had fallen on his face and caught in his eyelashes, how he’d been almost buried alive, Rodney couldn’t quite keep from shivering. It didn’t matter that he wore several layers, both his fleece jacket and a thick coat that someone in the palace had provided; he could still feel the snow on his skin.
He was startled to see John and an unfamiliar woman outside as well and blinked at them. They were a little ways away from where the blonde and Radek were huddled together, deep in conversation, hands gesturing wildly at the target and the rifle that a bored-looking soldier held.
Rather than guns, John and the woman actually wielded sticks, circling each other and looking wary and focused as their breath billowed from their lips in the crisp morning air. They both moved with fluid grace, and Rodney couldn’t help but stare at the breathtaking image they made, the morning sun accentuating every curve, every muscle on their lean frames. They were like Greek statues come to life, the perfection of bronze turned into the perfection of flesh.
Even as he watched, the woman suddenly twisted and lunged, John seeming to almost dance out of reach. John and the woman were sleeveless, and Rodney could see the muscles rippling in John’s arms, sweat trickling down his neck and staining his shirt. If they were cold, neither showed any sign of discomfort, both wearing small, grim smiles that didn’t reach their watchful eyes.
John lunged, and this time it was the woman who avoided the blow, long brown strands swirling around her head as she sidestepped the lunge and hit his wrist, hard, the sound of wood striking skin making Rodney wince on John’s behalf. A second later, John was on his knees, the woman’s sticks trapping his neck and forcing him to tilt his head up at her.
He grinned, a tad ruefully. “I concede.”
The woman didn’t smile, just nodded and took a step back, leaving John still on his knees, an image that shouldn’t make Rodney’s mouth dry, but it did, made his mouth drier than the Sahara, and he had to swallow a few times before any moisture returned to his mouth.
“You are improving,” she said gravely, voice clear, concise.
John’s grin widened. “And yet you still get me on my knees every time,” he said, finally getting up from his knees and grabbing his sticks as he did so. His face was flushed, both from the cold and the exercise, and even as Rodney watched, he rotated the wrist she’d struck with a slight wince and stretched, muscles rippling under that smooth, slightly tanned skin. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Of course,” the woman said in the same grave voice as before, but a flicker of a smile appeared on her lips and she bent a little, pressing their foreheads together in a unique embrace, and Rodney thought, Of course. Of course they’re together.
He ignored the odd, disappointed clench of his stomach. Why should he care that this universe upheld the same ‘beautiful people belong with other beautiful people’ law that his did? He wasn’t going to be in Lantea forever.
John noticed him and grinned, twirling one of the sticks like a baton. “Enjoy the sight of Teyla getting me on my knees?” he drawled, and Rodney almost choked on air, his cheeks heating.
“What? No, I--” But of course John couldn’t have meant that suggestively. He had no way of knowing what Rodney had been thinking during the sparring match. He swallowed, forced the heat from his face, fumbled for something to say, and came up with a lame, “So sticks are, uh, apparently good weapons against, against the Mice then?”
“When a Mouse has knocked your gun from your hand, being able to use whatever is at hand might save your life,” the woman -- Teyla -- said, turning her slight smile upon him. He felt his ears warm ever so slightly. “You must be Rodney McKay of Canada.”
“That’s me,” he said awkwardly, and after a moment’s hesitation, thrust his hand out. Her grip was firm, her hand callused. “Teyla, wasn’t it?”
“Teyla Emmagan of Athos. I serve as an advisor to the queen, when not training John,” she informed him, and now he was close enough to see that her eyes gleamed with good-natured humor. “I could teach you to fight, if you wish it.”
Teach him how to fight? Rodney had a sudden image of being sprawled on the ground, face-first in snow while Teyla and John smirked at his total ineptitude. “Oh, uh, thanks but I think I’ll pass. I’ve heard enough about the Amazons to know--” At her raised eyebrow, he added hastily, “Oh, uh, Amazons. Back in ancient times, they were fierce female warriors who were said to be as strong as men-- which was a compliment back in those days, because that, that was before gender equality, you see, so women were seen as inferior to men, and Amazons were the only women equal in strength, so, um--”
“So being referred to as an Amazon should be considered a compliment,” Teyla interrupted him smoothly, and there was definitely amusement in her eyes as he wisely clamped his mouth shut and nodded that yes, it should be seen as a compliment and definitely, definitely not an insult. “Thank you for the compliment, Rodney McKay. If you ever do wish to learn how to fight, I would be most happy to train you.”
“And you’ll, uh, definitely be the one I ask,” Rodney muttered, forcing back the warmth from his face. He glanced over, but Radek was still waving his hands at the blonde, both appearing frustrated as the soldier continued to look bored.
When he looked back, John was watching him, a slight smile on his face. “What?” he snapped, resisting the urge to run a hand over his face and hair to figure out what John was amused about.
John just shrugged. “Nothing,” he said, irritatingly casual, and grinned at Rodney’s glare. He raised an eyebrow. “You might end up being stuck in Lantea for a while. If that’s true, you have to learn to fight in case of an attack.”
Rodney snorted. “If there’s an attack, I’ll be hiding in the nearest closet,” he informed the other man. “I’ve never held a gun in my life, and I never plan to. That’s why I’m a scientist, not a soldier.”
“And if a Mouse should discover the closet you are hiding in?” Teyla asked, eyebrows raised and a slight frown on her face.
He stared. “Well, I’ll be dead. Obviously.”
“You’ll get beginner’s training, both from Teyla and me,” John said, and Rodney looked at him like he’d grown two heads. John smiled a little at his expression, but there was a certain firmness in his voice that brooked for no argument as he added, “One of my duties is keeping everyone in the palace alive during an attack. That means making certain everyone has some self-defense training, and everyone includes you.”
“I don’t need--” Rodney started to sputter, but then his mouth and vocabulary dried up as John patted him on the shoulder and said in a consolatory tone, “Don’t worry. They’ll be private lessons. No one will be around to see Teyla knock you into the dirt.”
“Oh yes, thank you for preserving my dignity,” he finally got out after a few desperate swallows, twisting his face into an irritated scowl and glaring at the other man. “I’ll be sure to thank you for the numerous bruises as well.”
“You’re welcome,” John said sweetly, and then nodded towards Teyla. “Well, I need to go see how Evan and Ronon are stdoing with the new soldiers.”
She smiled at him, the sun making her face shine golden and beautiful. “Until tomorrow then.”
John smiled back, and then looked at Rodney. “Meet me out here an hour before supper. And if you pretend to lose track of time in Radek’s laboratory, I’ll come hunting for you.”
“I don’t like you,” Rodney informed him, and John laughed and walked away. He looked at Teyla, who wore an amused look. “I really don’t.”
Part Two