Twelve Herculean Concerts of Rodney McKay
Finally - this is my undermistletoe entry - only two days late...
FANDOM - Stargate Atlantis
TITLE - Twelve Herculean Concerts of Rodney McKay
PROMPT SERIES - Disney
Pairing - Rodney McKay and John Sheppard.
Rating - slash, but PG none the less.
This is about as close to Hercules, the Disney movie as the Disney Movie is to the original Greek myth! If you look carefully you may see a slight resemblance in the plot… very carefully…!
Thanks go to svmadelyn for organising this and giving me an extra two days to get it finished. Also thanks to my hubby who had to stand in as beta because I was in such a rush to get it finished. The end was un-beta-ed due to lack of time, so please feel free to point out errors and plot holes!
Twelve Herculean Concerts of Rodney McKay
“Ladies and Gentlemen, first of all I would like to thank each and every one of you for participating in what has been a most exciting series of concerts and performances. I truly believe that we have heard, over the past month, some of the world’s future premier performers and I feel honoured to have been a part of this.”
“Oh God!” Rodney, sitting in the audience next to his sister, groaned and Jeannie kicked him.
“Shush, Mer!”
“He’s going to go on for hours and I want to hear the results!” Rodney whined.
“I am also very pleased to announce a very exciting opportunity for next year, and I hope that some of this year’s participants may try again. Dr Weir, would you like to explain?”
“Good evening everyone. My name is Elizabeth Weir and I work for the selection committee for the BBC proms in the UK. Next year we will be devoting a section of the proms to the countries of the Commonwealth, featuring composers and performers from as many of the Commonwealth countries as possible. I have been briefed to search for a young composer and a young performer from Canada and so next year this competition will form a part of the eleven series of concerts. At the end of this I shall choose two, or maybe three competitors to play in a final competition… a kind of play off. The play-off will take place in Toronto and will be attended by Prince William of Wales and his fiancée Miss Kate Middleton. The winner of this final task will perform in the Canadian Prom for the BBC, to be broadcast worldwide.”
“Oh my God!” Rodney gasped along with most of the audience. “Playing in a prom at the Royal Albert Hall! Jeannie! In London!”
“You haven’t won it yet, Mer!” Jeannie sighed, trying to hide her excitement. “Besides, Dad’ll never allow it.”
“Of course I’ll win it! I’m the best!” Rodney boasted.
“Unless of course, they don’t want a pianist.” Jeannie was used to her brother’s boasting and truly believed that Mer was a very fine pianist, but she had heard some very talented players and judges of music were very… subjective. They could choose someone that had mass appeal one minute and then turn around and choose the least likely performer. Jeannie had once entered a singing competition where the judge and the winner were obviously in a relationship, and the winner was wearing a very short skirt.
Brother and sister had tuned out of the speeches about this amazing opportunity and bla bla bla and etc. but they both tuned back in again when the judges began to critique and name the five finalists.
“Meredith McKay is a very technically perfect player,” the judge, a Eugene Bates, told the audience. “His gift lies in the fact that there is not a single wrong note in his performance and each note is depressed to the perfect degree. We have heard him playing one of the hardest pieces in the pianist’s repertoire, Rachmaninov’s third concerto, and his rendition of it was perfect… but soulless. He is one of our five finalists and we ask him to join us on the stage.”
“Soulless?” Rodney almost screeched, but Jeannie clapped her hand over his mouth and pinched him.
“Mer!” she hissed. “Don’t make a scene. Dad will forbid you from entering another competition if you make a scene. Be gracious!”
“How can I be gracious?” Rodney hissed back. “Do you know how long and hard I practised for this? Do you…?”
“Yes! Now go and don’t speak!” Jeannie commanded.
Rodney forced a smile onto his lips and went up to the stage to hear the drivel being spoken by the idiot who claimed to be able to judge music. He was obviously not good enough to play or to teach himself, so he had to criticize those who could play!
“And the winner is…. Macolm Tunney!”
Above the rapturous applause for the winner could be heard the screams of protest of one of the other finalists.
“Macolm? But he made mistakes! And his father paid for extra lessons! And he wouldn’t know good playing if he fell over it! I helped him with his performance! I didn’t make any mistakes at all!”
Eventually someone put their hands over the disappointed loser’s mouth and made him shut up.
Jeannie and Rodney waited in silence on the steps of the hall in Toronto where the competition had been held. They knew that it could be another few hours before their mother or father deigned to remember that they existed and would need a lift home. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Jeannie demanding to go, they wouldn’t have been here at all. Their father frequently denounced music as a ‘complete waste of time and resources’ while their mother would ask Meredith not to play for now as it was giving her a headache. On several occasions the piano had nearly been sold, but saved at the last minute because Jeannie liked it.
Rodney knew he was difficult and he knew that his father hated him and his mother tolerated him as long as he didn’t speak, but he didn’t want to be a physicist like his father and he wasn’t a girl like his sister. He had gone through a long period where he tried to please both of them, never speaking unless it was necessary to his mother and involving himself in science (at which he was frankly a genius), but then there was that incident with the atomic bomb and the CIA… Music was his passion and he wanted to be good at it. He wanted it with every fibre of his being.
“I heard your playing,” someone said suddenly into the silence and Rodney looked up to see that it was Dr Weir.
“Apparently I’m soulless,” he responded bitterly.
“No, but you do play clinically. I don’t mean to belittle you in any way, but I think that you could be a phenomenal player if only you had a little more… passion in your playing,” Dr Weir spoke kindly.
“More passion? I spend every waking moment I can practising! How can I be more passionate?” Rodney protested, fighting tears.
“I’m not sure that it is something that can be learned,” Dr Weir said consideringly, “but… well, if you can persuade him… and find him… try and find Radek Zelenka. He’s just about the best teacher there is for finding the good inside and the soul in a player. But, I warn you, he’s prickly and passionate and he will shout at you and call you names. He’s had many disappointments but… maybe he’ll like you.”
Dr Weir walked away and hailed a taxi, leaving two despondent teenagers on the steps.
“We don’t know how to find him,” Rodney voiced his fears.
“And we don’t know if he’ll take you on,” Jeannie agreed.
“And Dad will never allow it or pay for it,” Rodney added.
“You have to try, Mer,” Jeannie begged. “You have to!”
Rodney curved his arm around his little sister and smiled. “Thanks Jeannie.”
The next morning was not the time to bring up music ambitions. Rodney and Jeannie had had to ring their father’s lab to ask him to take them home and he was furious with Rodney (not Jeannie - never Jeannie) for disturbing him in the middle of a breakthrough.
Their mother was furious with their father for not bringing Jeannie home and making her go to bed at two in the morning! Apparently it was all Rodney’s fault.
Jeannie was just grumpy because she was tired and Rodney was still hurt from his failure the night before, so breakfast was not a happy occasion in the McKay household… as usual.
School was as awful as school always was (bullies, stupid teachers, stupid students, bullies etc), but then after school he had a piano lesson.
Mrs Ivanova gave him lessons for free because he helped her daughter with her science homework. She had been a concert pianist in Russia and had defected (without much fuss being made really) many years before. Rodney reckoned that it was as much to do with escaping her husband as defying Communism, but she always hailed him as a genius and the next great player, so he didn’t really care.
She made him practise and practise until his fingers hurt and his wrists wanted to curl up in protest. She made him caress the keys and pound them, adore them and hurt them, but mostly he just tuned her out and played as ‘passionately’ as he could, thinking all the while about finding this Zelenka.
It was all going well. Mrs Ivanova was lecturing in Russian now which meant that Rodney could happily carry on playing the woman’s Steinway without worrying about her ‘teaching’ him anything and Rodney was in the middle of Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu. He had mastered the impossible fingering and even coped with Chopin’s elastic timing, so he could relax while playing this and think only of accepting the applause at the end of his own prom.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Rodney’s fingers slipped and Mrs Ivanova said a word in Russian that Rodney suspected he shouldn’t understand.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
This time the banging was accompanied by incoherent shouting and Rodney recoiled in horror. There was no way he should be able to hear his father’s voice… not here. His father wasn’t supposed to even know where the piano teacher lived. And he sounded livid.
Rodney did a quick recap of his day and wondered what he had done now to incur the wrath of Dad, but he couldn’t think of anything new. He’d made breakfast this morning, he’d tidied his room and Jeannie’s, he’d even made his father lunch to take to the lab with him…
Suddenly there was a crash and Rodney realised that Mrs Ivanova had opened the door to the madman who claimed to have impregnated Rodney’s mother. Rodney felt an urge to hide under the Steinway, but he had no chance to do anything as his father stormed in and grabbed his arm, slapping his cheek.
“You worthless little shit! What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at home looking after Jeannie! I came home to find Jeannie all alone at home and you were out! PLAYING THE PIANO! I have told you before! Music!” he hit his son, “is” he hit him again, “a… waste… of time!”
Rodney responded with a chorus of frightened ‘Get off me’s and ‘stop’s and there may even have been a few ‘please’s in there, but in the end he was flung against the piano.
“Get home now and if I find you out of that house for even a minute that will seem like a cuddle compared to the beating you will get!” Rodney’s father snarled.
Rodney grabbed his music and ran.
He ran home, grabbed all the clothes he could find, raided his own money stash, his mother’s housekeeping and Jeannie’s college fund, shouted goodbye to his sister and ran again before his father could get home. It was stupid and he had only a vague idea of where he could go and what he could do, but he had to leave that house before… before…
The phone book in the booth at the bus station listed Dr R Zelenka as living near Hope, high up in the mountains, but at the moment finding this teacher was the nearest thing Rodney had to a plan. So he bought a ticket and settled in to wait for the next bus heading up the Trans Canada Highway.
It took four hours and a lot of staring miserably out of the window until Rodney arrived in the boring little town optimistically called ‘Hope’. He dragged his school bag and the plastic carrier bag into which he had stuffed as many pairs of socks and pants as he could find and then looked around for a taxi.
In the end he had to go to the taxi office on the main street where Joe laughed and promised to take him to see the crazy professor who lived a hermit’s existence up in the mountains.
“You’d better take chocolate with you, son! He’s a crazy old Pole!”
Rodney wasn’t quite sure what a ‘Pole’ was supposed to be, but he thought that the Czech pianist might take exception to the term in any case. Joe quoted a sum that would use up quite a bit of Jeannie’s college fund and then pointed out a superstore where Rodney could buy the chocolate.
The car ride was slightly less vomit-inducing than the bus ride, but eventually Rodney was deposited in front of a dilapidated cabin, overlooking a valley and then promptly abandoned.
For a few moments Rodney watched the dust settle from the taxi’s wheels, then he contemplated the cabin and its probable occupant.
“Who are you? What are you doing here? Go away!” a gnome with wild hair suddenly appeared behind Rodney and flailed his arms alarmingly at him.
“Are you Dr Zelenka?” Rodney asked timidly, hoping for a negative response.
“Who are you? What are you doing? I don’t teach piano anymore! Go away!”
Rodney’s heart sank. “I’m… I was looking for you… er… sir.”
“Go away!”
“I can’t. I don’t have anywhere to go!”
“Not my problem! Walk! Go away! I do not teach! I have renounced teaching! Go away!” the bespectacled man made shooing motions and made his way towards his own front door.
“Please! I’m really good!” Rodney begged.
“Oh! Really good?” Zelenka wagged his finger and advanced on Rodney, his ire causing his accent to thicken. “Then you will not stop when your fingers hurt? You will not cry when I say your playing is pitiful? You will tell me that you ‘can not do this any more’? No! You are all the same! Go away!”
“Please, at least let me play for you? I need to… I… I want to play at the Royal Albert Hall and only you can show me how to stop playing soullessly and to play with passion!”
“Passion! Pha!” Zelenka turned away and stepped into his house, fully intending to slam the door in Rodney’s face.
“But I’ve run away from home and my Dad will…” Rodney stopped himself from being too embarrassing and added sullenly, “Dr Weir said that you could teach me.”
To Rodney’s astonishment, Dr Zelenka stopped in his tracks and sighed.
“Elizabeth Weir?” the Czech didn’t turn around.
“Yes. She works for the BBC,” Rodney added.
“And she sent you to me?”
“She said that you could teach me to play with passion,” Rodney told the teacher hopefully.
“Come in,” Zelenka invited suddenly and Rodney was so surprised that for a moment he just stayed where he was. “Come!” Zelenka commanded and Rodney darted inside.
The cabin was a mess with knick-knacks and coffee cups everywhere. There was a one large room that was filled with a grand piano, leaving little room for the sofa, the desk and all the paper. Two sides of the room were completely filled with book cases holding music and books about music and there were two doors, one leading to a kitchen and the other leading to what Rodney assumed was a bedroom.
“Play!”
“Um… sorry?” Rodney asked, nervously.
“You say you are good! Play!” Zelenka demanded, waving at the piano.
“But…!”
“Don’t argue! Play!” the teacher threw himself down on his own sofa and waited with arms folded and a sour expression.
“Wh… what shall I play?” Rodney asked.
“I don’t care! Chopsticks! God save the Queen! Anything!” Zelenka snapped. “Play!”
Rodney took a seat at the piano and contemplated the keys. This was so important and he had to get it right, but… should he play the Rach 3? Or perhaps the Chopin? Or… or… his fingers started playing the Moonlight Sonata before he had consciously thought about it. It wasn’t a hard piece, but he had won a competition when he was six playing the whole thing and it just seemed right.
In the end he only played the first movement. He played it as though he were playing to Jeannie and he thought about all the things he had left behind. He thought about his mother and her drinking, his father and his pride, his teachers who shuddered when he entered the room in anticipation of his arrogant behaviour, his sister… probably the only person in the world who loved him and the notes came out so melancholy that it fitted his mood and he forgot that he was playing for a great teacher who might be able to make his dreams come true.
“Not bad,” Zelenka said in his ear and Rodney startled and stopped playing. “Now play this.”
For the next two hours Zelenka plonked music in front of Rodney and listened to him playing. Some was modern, some old, some fiendishly hard, some childish. Rodney played it all and prided himself on his excellent sight-reading skills. There weren’t many players who could read music as fast and as accurately as he could.
Finally Zelenka called a halt and ordered Rodney to sit down on the only other chair in the place, in front of the desk.
“You play accurately and you play well. You press keys down and softly when needed and hard and loud when needed, but you do not give enough of yourself. However, when you sat and played without thinking, without preparing, without showing off… then you played with your heart. Moonlight Sonata is not hard piece, but you made it beautiful and sad. You sounded like a small boy who is scared and trying to be brave… that is what you are. The rest of the time you play like you are small boy trying to be an adult!”
“Hey! I played well! I made no mistakes and I…” Rodney protested.
“…played like computer.” Radek finished Rodney’s sentence for him and raised an eyebrow.
“I played…” Rodney’s protest died. “If you don’t teach me then I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Where are your parents?”
“My Dad beat the sh… crap out of me and I ran before he could do it again,” Rodney admitted. “I took all the cash I could find and… I’m sorry, I just didn’t know… I can work for you! I can do housework and secretarial work and I can cook too!”
Zelenka was clearly surprised.
“Your parents didn’t bring you here? Where are you going to stay?” he asked.
“They hate me. They love Jeannie… my sister. She has a college fund, but I don’t! I have to work in the house, but she doesn’t. I ran away. I can’t do it anymore. I only want to play the piano and Dr Weir said that she would pick the best to play at the Royal Albert Hall.” To Rodney’s shame there were now tears falling down his face and he wrung his hands in agitation.
“I must phone your parents and tell them you are here,” Zelenka announced, getting up. “It is late and they will be sending police after me.”
“No!” Rodney protested.
“Do you not want to stay?” Zelenka asked gently. “Logically, if police arrest me then you must go away. And your sister may want to know where you are.”
“Don’t tell them where I am, please! My Dad’ll kill me! He thinks music is stupid and he wants me to be a physicist!” Rodney begged.
“How old are you anyway?” Zelenka asked as though interrogating him.
“Seventeen,” Rodney replied defiantly.
It took some persuasion, but in the end Rodney gave the teacher his home phone number and then listened as Zelenka discovered that not only was Rodney’s mother not worried (‘Who? Oh, you mean Meredith. No, he’s not here at the moment.’), but she hadn’t even noticed he was missing.
When Zelenka explained that he would be looking after the seventeen year old she sounded surprised, but accepted it happily.
Zelenka put the phone down and contemplated his miserable charge, then decided that perhaps they should eat dinner.
***
“There’s your mission!” Michael Kenmore announced in a subdued, but nonetheless dramatic voice.
John Sheppard looked down at the performer, who was taking very well deserved bows, and sighed.
“Mission?” he asked.
“You will seduce him and prevent him…” Michael instructed, but John interrupted.
“What? No!”
“You refuse?”
“He’s like sixteen!” John protested.
“Seventeen actually and you are eighteen, there is no problem here in Canada.” Michael spoke coldly.
“But… I can’t!”
“You owe me your life!” Michael reminded him menacingly.
“I know, but… how do you even know he swings my way?” John asked perhaps a little desperately.
“I know. Now, behave or else…”
“Ok!” John acceded, defeated. He stood and started making his way down the aisle, ignoring the eyes of his boss on his back. He wished with all his heart that he had never made that deal.
***
“Mer! You were wonderful!” Jeannie gushed as she threw herself at her brother.
“I know,” Rodney grinned smugly. “Not a single wrong note and all played with passion and feeling.”
“Was good, but still you need to go more softly at the adagio,” Radek critiqued.
“I would have ground to a halt!” Rodney protested.
“Softly not more slowly!” Zelenka huffed. “You do not listen!”
“Aw, come on, Radek, I played better than ever and that’s six concerts in the bag!” Rodney grinned widely and made happy gestures with his hands.
“You have not read reviews yet!” Zelenka admonished.
“Oh come on, there are reporters waiting to interview me and people want my autograph! How cool is that?” Rodney bounced. “Come on Jeannie, let’s go and face my adoring public!”
They left Zelenka cursing horribly in Czech and headed for the stage door.
On the way down, Zelenka was stopped by a strange-looking man with a crop of white hair, even though he obviously wasn’t that old, and two odd scars on his cheeks that looked like holes. He had creepy eyes that were cold and calculating and Zelenka had to suppress a shiver when the man started talking to him.
“You are the mentor of that talentless youth, McKay, are you not?” he said with a superior smirk.
“No, I am teacher of brilliant Rodney McKay!” Zelenka replied angrily.
“My boy, Malcolm has much more natural talent.”
“Tunney is yours? You teach him? You are a fool. The boy copies other people’s styles instead of finding his own,” Radek folded his arms in triumph.
“Keep your boy from winning and I will pay you handsomely,” the man offered bluntly.
“What? No! This is not about money! I have plenty. I was one of the greats and my CDs still sell well. You can not buy art!” Zelenka cried, truly offended.
The man smiled placatingly, but the smile was cruel and didn’t look genuine, even though his voice held humour.
“I was kidding. We all want our pupils to win, don’t we? Malcolm will win and he will play at the Albert Hall.”
“We shall see,” Zelenka replied firmly and he moved away from the creepy man.
After beating through the crowd of teenagers who wanted Rodney to sign their programmes (mostly rather neat and pompous children, Rodney noted sadly, all studious types like himself and not hot babes), and answering a few questions for a couple of journalists, Rodney made his way to the taxi rank, dragging his sister along with him. He was paid for some of his concerts and could now afford the occasional taxi to get them out and about.
“Hey, piano man!”
Rodney turned around and saw a gorgeous young man with hazel eyes and a slinky body, leaning against the taxi rank sign.
“Oh, hey!” Rodney blushed.
“That was some cool playing. Been playing long?” John asked, stepping nearer and using his height advantage to make himself as noticeable as possible.
He needn’t have bothered, Rodney had truly noticed.
“Yeah… s… since I was four,” Rodney stammered.
John smirked. “You’re good. You look good too.”
“Um… sorry?” Rodney couldn’t form a coherent sentence as the incredibly hot… person kept stepping closer and closer. “Are you… um… no, of course not, why would you? I mean, you’re so… and I’m really not!” he flapped his hands between them as though he could express himself better that way.
John caught his prey’s hands and held them. “No, really, you’re much better. I bet an artistic person like you can kiss like a God!”
“Um… not much experience!” Rodney exclaimed and then all coherent thought left him as John descended on him and sucked in his lips in the single hottest experience of Rodney’s life. Of course he responded! He joined in wholeheartedly with the whole lips-smacking programme. He kissed back, making the whole thing last as long as humanly possible until they both pulled apart, both looking a little dazed.
“Wow!” John said.
“Yeah!” Rodney agreed.
“Let’s do that again!” John suggested.
“No! I’m going home! I need to go home, Mer!” Jeannie broke in and it occurred to Rodney that she had been protesting quite a bit for a while now. She grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the taxi, but he couldn’t take his eyes off…
“Wait! What’s your name?” he cried as Jeannie tried to bundle him into the car, all the while muttering about brothers who would kiss anyone.
“John,” John answered. “And I’ll be there for your next performance!” he yelled as the car pulled away.
“Good performance!” John spun around, startled as his boss approached. “I think that’ll do it.”
John winced. He hadn’t really been performing as Rodney had been really quite sweet. His innocence was a real draw and John couldn’t help wishing that he could go back to being an innocent youth. “Why do you want to destroy him?” he asked, kicking a pebble on the sidewalk.
“I don’t like his father,” Michael replied with a smile that made John shiver. “My boy Macolm will win the prize and McKay will lose.”
“Macolm Tunney? What…” John began, but Michael grabbed his arm and dragged him away muttering.
“The less you know, the better.” He pulled John into his own car and threw him down on the seat. “Don’t forget, you are mine.”
“I know… sir.”
***
“Who is this John?” Zelenka asked as Rodney played through the Liszt second, managing the Allegro moderato as never before.
“He’s just… not sure really… he’s just this guy…” Rodney sighed and did a beautiful swooping run with a silly grin on his face.
“He makes you play better, but I wish to know who he is. You have a concert on Saturday and you must concentrate. Liszt is not easy piece!”
“It makes so much more sense today,” Rodney murmured dreamily, moving on to the Marziale, missing out the deciso. Suddenly there was a tinny rendition of Beethoven’s Fifth and Rodney leaped up from the piano.
“Again?” Radek demanded, scandalised. “This boy is taking you away from your rehearsing! If you do… Rodney? Listen to me! You have practise! Rodney, come back here this instant!”
Rodney ignored his teacher and took his mobile phone out into the garden. Radek had bought him the phone so that he could ring for taxis or let his teacher know where he was, but now it was a superb way of keeping in touch with John.
After the last concert, John had waited around again and had insisted on taking Rodney out for a meal. Rodney had never been taken out like this before and he was drinking it all in, enjoying every second. John was fascinating, intelligent, handsome, sophisticated and into Rodney which made him one of the best things ever to happen to Rodney.
The best part was that John didn’t stop him from talking. When he eviscerated his fellow competitors, made rude comments about the restaurant, the waiters, the food, the décor or any of the myriad of things that annoyed Rodney on a daily basis, John just lapped it up and gave as good as he got. He didn’t mind when Rodney insulted his hair or his lack of musical knowledge, and in return John was able to tease Rodney and stop him from going too far.
John didn’t treat his hypoglycaemia or his lemon allergy lightly and backed him up when he shouted at stupid waiters.
John didn’t treat him like a socially inept geek… well, he did, but he seemed to like that about Rodney!
John didn’t push him further than he was ready for. So far they had kissed… a lot and done a bit of groping, but he obviously knew that Rodney was more than inexperienced and a bit terrified of what came next.
In short, Rodney cared a lot more for John than he had ever believed possible. Being with John made him feel invincible, strong, passionate and likeable, and his piano playing had improved beyond all expectations.
It was as they were strolling out of the cinema, laughing at the ridiculous plot [John] and ranting scathingly about the impossible science [Rodney] that Rodney was jumped on by a short, wild-haired gnome who screamed at him in Czech and bundled him into a taxi. Radek had clearly followed them and was making sure that his pupil went home that night to practise for the ninth concert.
“Sorry, John!” Rodney called out of the window a lit goofily. “Gotta go!”
“Hey, don’t worry… I’ll be there to hear you play!” John shouted as the taxi pulled away.
Rodney sighed and sat back in the car seat, fishing for his wallet… which wasn’t there.
“Radek! Radek! I’ve left my wallet behind!” he panicked.
Zelenka sighed. “Driver, please take this young miscreant back for practise while I go and retrieve wallet.” He signalled for the man to pull over and got out, admonishing Rodney and making him promise that he would practise properly.
Sprinting back to the cinema and cursing his charge, Radek skidded to a halt when he saw John talking to… that white hair and those scars on his cheek - that was the creepy man who accompanied Malcolm Tunney! He was berating him about something and Radek’s heart sank. If John was in league with Malcolm and the creepy man… it would break him.
Zelenka was under no illusions. Rodney was a great pianist, but it was only since meeting John that he had been able to add passion and true feeling to his playing. Without John, Rodney would crack and would probably give up playing altogether. Radek could spot the moment, during each concert, when Rodney spotted his boyfriend as his playing became warmer, more spontaneous and definitely more lyrical. The boy was in love.
***
“No! I won’t do it anymore!” John spat angrily. “I don’t care if you destroy my plane and never let me fly again! I won’t carry on with this!”
“You’ve fallen in love!” Michael scoffed, laughing nastily. “You’ve fallen in love with the crass Canadian! You are such a fool.”
“I have not!” John argued, embarrassed.
“Don’t you remember why you sold your plane to me in the first place? Raising cash for Nancy? Who then ran off with Brad and your money? She thought you were rich, being a Sheppard and all, and thought she could take your money and run, but…”
“I know!” John interrupted angrily. “And now you own my plane and my services and I’m contracted to you for the next twenty years. I know - I got it! But I can’t do this. I can’t betray Rodney.”
“You have no choice,” Michael sneered with glittering eyes. “You will make sure that he is unable to play well at the next concert.”
“I don’t know why you care! What’s so special about the Albert Hall?” John demanded petulantly.
“The Royal Albert Hall and the Commonwealth prom is the key to my plans and you need to know nothing else.” Michael climbed into his car and John clambered in behind him, scowling but unable to think of a way out of his predicament.
If only he hadn’t fallen in… Uh! Uh! Not going there… never going there again! John curtailed his thoughts and stared miserably out of the window instead. He did not love Rodney more than flying… no way!
***
Part Two
FANDOM - Stargate Atlantis
TITLE - Twelve Herculean Concerts of Rodney McKay
PROMPT SERIES - Disney
Pairing - Rodney McKay and John Sheppard.
Rating - slash, but PG none the less.
This is about as close to Hercules, the Disney movie as the Disney Movie is to the original Greek myth! If you look carefully you may see a slight resemblance in the plot… very carefully…!
Thanks go to svmadelyn for organising this and giving me an extra two days to get it finished. Also thanks to my hubby who had to stand in as beta because I was in such a rush to get it finished. The end was un-beta-ed due to lack of time, so please feel free to point out errors and plot holes!
Twelve Herculean Concerts of Rodney McKay
“Ladies and Gentlemen, first of all I would like to thank each and every one of you for participating in what has been a most exciting series of concerts and performances. I truly believe that we have heard, over the past month, some of the world’s future premier performers and I feel honoured to have been a part of this.”
“Oh God!” Rodney, sitting in the audience next to his sister, groaned and Jeannie kicked him.
“Shush, Mer!”
“He’s going to go on for hours and I want to hear the results!” Rodney whined.
“I am also very pleased to announce a very exciting opportunity for next year, and I hope that some of this year’s participants may try again. Dr Weir, would you like to explain?”
“Good evening everyone. My name is Elizabeth Weir and I work for the selection committee for the BBC proms in the UK. Next year we will be devoting a section of the proms to the countries of the Commonwealth, featuring composers and performers from as many of the Commonwealth countries as possible. I have been briefed to search for a young composer and a young performer from Canada and so next year this competition will form a part of the eleven series of concerts. At the end of this I shall choose two, or maybe three competitors to play in a final competition… a kind of play off. The play-off will take place in Toronto and will be attended by Prince William of Wales and his fiancée Miss Kate Middleton. The winner of this final task will perform in the Canadian Prom for the BBC, to be broadcast worldwide.”
“Oh my God!” Rodney gasped along with most of the audience. “Playing in a prom at the Royal Albert Hall! Jeannie! In London!”
“You haven’t won it yet, Mer!” Jeannie sighed, trying to hide her excitement. “Besides, Dad’ll never allow it.”
“Of course I’ll win it! I’m the best!” Rodney boasted.
“Unless of course, they don’t want a pianist.” Jeannie was used to her brother’s boasting and truly believed that Mer was a very fine pianist, but she had heard some very talented players and judges of music were very… subjective. They could choose someone that had mass appeal one minute and then turn around and choose the least likely performer. Jeannie had once entered a singing competition where the judge and the winner were obviously in a relationship, and the winner was wearing a very short skirt.
Brother and sister had tuned out of the speeches about this amazing opportunity and bla bla bla and etc. but they both tuned back in again when the judges began to critique and name the five finalists.
“Meredith McKay is a very technically perfect player,” the judge, a Eugene Bates, told the audience. “His gift lies in the fact that there is not a single wrong note in his performance and each note is depressed to the perfect degree. We have heard him playing one of the hardest pieces in the pianist’s repertoire, Rachmaninov’s third concerto, and his rendition of it was perfect… but soulless. He is one of our five finalists and we ask him to join us on the stage.”
“Soulless?” Rodney almost screeched, but Jeannie clapped her hand over his mouth and pinched him.
“Mer!” she hissed. “Don’t make a scene. Dad will forbid you from entering another competition if you make a scene. Be gracious!”
“How can I be gracious?” Rodney hissed back. “Do you know how long and hard I practised for this? Do you…?”
“Yes! Now go and don’t speak!” Jeannie commanded.
Rodney forced a smile onto his lips and went up to the stage to hear the drivel being spoken by the idiot who claimed to be able to judge music. He was obviously not good enough to play or to teach himself, so he had to criticize those who could play!
“And the winner is…. Macolm Tunney!”
Above the rapturous applause for the winner could be heard the screams of protest of one of the other finalists.
“Macolm? But he made mistakes! And his father paid for extra lessons! And he wouldn’t know good playing if he fell over it! I helped him with his performance! I didn’t make any mistakes at all!”
Eventually someone put their hands over the disappointed loser’s mouth and made him shut up.
Jeannie and Rodney waited in silence on the steps of the hall in Toronto where the competition had been held. They knew that it could be another few hours before their mother or father deigned to remember that they existed and would need a lift home. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Jeannie demanding to go, they wouldn’t have been here at all. Their father frequently denounced music as a ‘complete waste of time and resources’ while their mother would ask Meredith not to play for now as it was giving her a headache. On several occasions the piano had nearly been sold, but saved at the last minute because Jeannie liked it.
Rodney knew he was difficult and he knew that his father hated him and his mother tolerated him as long as he didn’t speak, but he didn’t want to be a physicist like his father and he wasn’t a girl like his sister. He had gone through a long period where he tried to please both of them, never speaking unless it was necessary to his mother and involving himself in science (at which he was frankly a genius), but then there was that incident with the atomic bomb and the CIA… Music was his passion and he wanted to be good at it. He wanted it with every fibre of his being.
“I heard your playing,” someone said suddenly into the silence and Rodney looked up to see that it was Dr Weir.
“Apparently I’m soulless,” he responded bitterly.
“No, but you do play clinically. I don’t mean to belittle you in any way, but I think that you could be a phenomenal player if only you had a little more… passion in your playing,” Dr Weir spoke kindly.
“More passion? I spend every waking moment I can practising! How can I be more passionate?” Rodney protested, fighting tears.
“I’m not sure that it is something that can be learned,” Dr Weir said consideringly, “but… well, if you can persuade him… and find him… try and find Radek Zelenka. He’s just about the best teacher there is for finding the good inside and the soul in a player. But, I warn you, he’s prickly and passionate and he will shout at you and call you names. He’s had many disappointments but… maybe he’ll like you.”
Dr Weir walked away and hailed a taxi, leaving two despondent teenagers on the steps.
“We don’t know how to find him,” Rodney voiced his fears.
“And we don’t know if he’ll take you on,” Jeannie agreed.
“And Dad will never allow it or pay for it,” Rodney added.
“You have to try, Mer,” Jeannie begged. “You have to!”
Rodney curved his arm around his little sister and smiled. “Thanks Jeannie.”
The next morning was not the time to bring up music ambitions. Rodney and Jeannie had had to ring their father’s lab to ask him to take them home and he was furious with Rodney (not Jeannie - never Jeannie) for disturbing him in the middle of a breakthrough.
Their mother was furious with their father for not bringing Jeannie home and making her go to bed at two in the morning! Apparently it was all Rodney’s fault.
Jeannie was just grumpy because she was tired and Rodney was still hurt from his failure the night before, so breakfast was not a happy occasion in the McKay household… as usual.
School was as awful as school always was (bullies, stupid teachers, stupid students, bullies etc), but then after school he had a piano lesson.
Mrs Ivanova gave him lessons for free because he helped her daughter with her science homework. She had been a concert pianist in Russia and had defected (without much fuss being made really) many years before. Rodney reckoned that it was as much to do with escaping her husband as defying Communism, but she always hailed him as a genius and the next great player, so he didn’t really care.
She made him practise and practise until his fingers hurt and his wrists wanted to curl up in protest. She made him caress the keys and pound them, adore them and hurt them, but mostly he just tuned her out and played as ‘passionately’ as he could, thinking all the while about finding this Zelenka.
It was all going well. Mrs Ivanova was lecturing in Russian now which meant that Rodney could happily carry on playing the woman’s Steinway without worrying about her ‘teaching’ him anything and Rodney was in the middle of Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu. He had mastered the impossible fingering and even coped with Chopin’s elastic timing, so he could relax while playing this and think only of accepting the applause at the end of his own prom.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Rodney’s fingers slipped and Mrs Ivanova said a word in Russian that Rodney suspected he shouldn’t understand.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
This time the banging was accompanied by incoherent shouting and Rodney recoiled in horror. There was no way he should be able to hear his father’s voice… not here. His father wasn’t supposed to even know where the piano teacher lived. And he sounded livid.
Rodney did a quick recap of his day and wondered what he had done now to incur the wrath of Dad, but he couldn’t think of anything new. He’d made breakfast this morning, he’d tidied his room and Jeannie’s, he’d even made his father lunch to take to the lab with him…
Suddenly there was a crash and Rodney realised that Mrs Ivanova had opened the door to the madman who claimed to have impregnated Rodney’s mother. Rodney felt an urge to hide under the Steinway, but he had no chance to do anything as his father stormed in and grabbed his arm, slapping his cheek.
“You worthless little shit! What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at home looking after Jeannie! I came home to find Jeannie all alone at home and you were out! PLAYING THE PIANO! I have told you before! Music!” he hit his son, “is” he hit him again, “a… waste… of time!”
Rodney responded with a chorus of frightened ‘Get off me’s and ‘stop’s and there may even have been a few ‘please’s in there, but in the end he was flung against the piano.
“Get home now and if I find you out of that house for even a minute that will seem like a cuddle compared to the beating you will get!” Rodney’s father snarled.
Rodney grabbed his music and ran.
He ran home, grabbed all the clothes he could find, raided his own money stash, his mother’s housekeeping and Jeannie’s college fund, shouted goodbye to his sister and ran again before his father could get home. It was stupid and he had only a vague idea of where he could go and what he could do, but he had to leave that house before… before…
The phone book in the booth at the bus station listed Dr R Zelenka as living near Hope, high up in the mountains, but at the moment finding this teacher was the nearest thing Rodney had to a plan. So he bought a ticket and settled in to wait for the next bus heading up the Trans Canada Highway.
It took four hours and a lot of staring miserably out of the window until Rodney arrived in the boring little town optimistically called ‘Hope’. He dragged his school bag and the plastic carrier bag into which he had stuffed as many pairs of socks and pants as he could find and then looked around for a taxi.
In the end he had to go to the taxi office on the main street where Joe laughed and promised to take him to see the crazy professor who lived a hermit’s existence up in the mountains.
“You’d better take chocolate with you, son! He’s a crazy old Pole!”
Rodney wasn’t quite sure what a ‘Pole’ was supposed to be, but he thought that the Czech pianist might take exception to the term in any case. Joe quoted a sum that would use up quite a bit of Jeannie’s college fund and then pointed out a superstore where Rodney could buy the chocolate.
The car ride was slightly less vomit-inducing than the bus ride, but eventually Rodney was deposited in front of a dilapidated cabin, overlooking a valley and then promptly abandoned.
For a few moments Rodney watched the dust settle from the taxi’s wheels, then he contemplated the cabin and its probable occupant.
“Who are you? What are you doing here? Go away!” a gnome with wild hair suddenly appeared behind Rodney and flailed his arms alarmingly at him.
“Are you Dr Zelenka?” Rodney asked timidly, hoping for a negative response.
“Who are you? What are you doing? I don’t teach piano anymore! Go away!”
Rodney’s heart sank. “I’m… I was looking for you… er… sir.”
“Go away!”
“I can’t. I don’t have anywhere to go!”
“Not my problem! Walk! Go away! I do not teach! I have renounced teaching! Go away!” the bespectacled man made shooing motions and made his way towards his own front door.
“Please! I’m really good!” Rodney begged.
“Oh! Really good?” Zelenka wagged his finger and advanced on Rodney, his ire causing his accent to thicken. “Then you will not stop when your fingers hurt? You will not cry when I say your playing is pitiful? You will tell me that you ‘can not do this any more’? No! You are all the same! Go away!”
“Please, at least let me play for you? I need to… I… I want to play at the Royal Albert Hall and only you can show me how to stop playing soullessly and to play with passion!”
“Passion! Pha!” Zelenka turned away and stepped into his house, fully intending to slam the door in Rodney’s face.
“But I’ve run away from home and my Dad will…” Rodney stopped himself from being too embarrassing and added sullenly, “Dr Weir said that you could teach me.”
To Rodney’s astonishment, Dr Zelenka stopped in his tracks and sighed.
“Elizabeth Weir?” the Czech didn’t turn around.
“Yes. She works for the BBC,” Rodney added.
“And she sent you to me?”
“She said that you could teach me to play with passion,” Rodney told the teacher hopefully.
“Come in,” Zelenka invited suddenly and Rodney was so surprised that for a moment he just stayed where he was. “Come!” Zelenka commanded and Rodney darted inside.
The cabin was a mess with knick-knacks and coffee cups everywhere. There was a one large room that was filled with a grand piano, leaving little room for the sofa, the desk and all the paper. Two sides of the room were completely filled with book cases holding music and books about music and there were two doors, one leading to a kitchen and the other leading to what Rodney assumed was a bedroom.
“Play!”
“Um… sorry?” Rodney asked, nervously.
“You say you are good! Play!” Zelenka demanded, waving at the piano.
“But…!”
“Don’t argue! Play!” the teacher threw himself down on his own sofa and waited with arms folded and a sour expression.
“Wh… what shall I play?” Rodney asked.
“I don’t care! Chopsticks! God save the Queen! Anything!” Zelenka snapped. “Play!”
Rodney took a seat at the piano and contemplated the keys. This was so important and he had to get it right, but… should he play the Rach 3? Or perhaps the Chopin? Or… or… his fingers started playing the Moonlight Sonata before he had consciously thought about it. It wasn’t a hard piece, but he had won a competition when he was six playing the whole thing and it just seemed right.
In the end he only played the first movement. He played it as though he were playing to Jeannie and he thought about all the things he had left behind. He thought about his mother and her drinking, his father and his pride, his teachers who shuddered when he entered the room in anticipation of his arrogant behaviour, his sister… probably the only person in the world who loved him and the notes came out so melancholy that it fitted his mood and he forgot that he was playing for a great teacher who might be able to make his dreams come true.
“Not bad,” Zelenka said in his ear and Rodney startled and stopped playing. “Now play this.”
For the next two hours Zelenka plonked music in front of Rodney and listened to him playing. Some was modern, some old, some fiendishly hard, some childish. Rodney played it all and prided himself on his excellent sight-reading skills. There weren’t many players who could read music as fast and as accurately as he could.
Finally Zelenka called a halt and ordered Rodney to sit down on the only other chair in the place, in front of the desk.
“You play accurately and you play well. You press keys down and softly when needed and hard and loud when needed, but you do not give enough of yourself. However, when you sat and played without thinking, without preparing, without showing off… then you played with your heart. Moonlight Sonata is not hard piece, but you made it beautiful and sad. You sounded like a small boy who is scared and trying to be brave… that is what you are. The rest of the time you play like you are small boy trying to be an adult!”
“Hey! I played well! I made no mistakes and I…” Rodney protested.
“…played like computer.” Radek finished Rodney’s sentence for him and raised an eyebrow.
“I played…” Rodney’s protest died. “If you don’t teach me then I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Where are your parents?”
“My Dad beat the sh… crap out of me and I ran before he could do it again,” Rodney admitted. “I took all the cash I could find and… I’m sorry, I just didn’t know… I can work for you! I can do housework and secretarial work and I can cook too!”
Zelenka was clearly surprised.
“Your parents didn’t bring you here? Where are you going to stay?” he asked.
“They hate me. They love Jeannie… my sister. She has a college fund, but I don’t! I have to work in the house, but she doesn’t. I ran away. I can’t do it anymore. I only want to play the piano and Dr Weir said that she would pick the best to play at the Royal Albert Hall.” To Rodney’s shame there were now tears falling down his face and he wrung his hands in agitation.
“I must phone your parents and tell them you are here,” Zelenka announced, getting up. “It is late and they will be sending police after me.”
“No!” Rodney protested.
“Do you not want to stay?” Zelenka asked gently. “Logically, if police arrest me then you must go away. And your sister may want to know where you are.”
“Don’t tell them where I am, please! My Dad’ll kill me! He thinks music is stupid and he wants me to be a physicist!” Rodney begged.
“How old are you anyway?” Zelenka asked as though interrogating him.
“Seventeen,” Rodney replied defiantly.
It took some persuasion, but in the end Rodney gave the teacher his home phone number and then listened as Zelenka discovered that not only was Rodney’s mother not worried (‘Who? Oh, you mean Meredith. No, he’s not here at the moment.’), but she hadn’t even noticed he was missing.
When Zelenka explained that he would be looking after the seventeen year old she sounded surprised, but accepted it happily.
Zelenka put the phone down and contemplated his miserable charge, then decided that perhaps they should eat dinner.
***
“There’s your mission!” Michael Kenmore announced in a subdued, but nonetheless dramatic voice.
John Sheppard looked down at the performer, who was taking very well deserved bows, and sighed.
“Mission?” he asked.
“You will seduce him and prevent him…” Michael instructed, but John interrupted.
“What? No!”
“You refuse?”
“He’s like sixteen!” John protested.
“Seventeen actually and you are eighteen, there is no problem here in Canada.” Michael spoke coldly.
“But… I can’t!”
“You owe me your life!” Michael reminded him menacingly.
“I know, but… how do you even know he swings my way?” John asked perhaps a little desperately.
“I know. Now, behave or else…”
“Ok!” John acceded, defeated. He stood and started making his way down the aisle, ignoring the eyes of his boss on his back. He wished with all his heart that he had never made that deal.
***
“Mer! You were wonderful!” Jeannie gushed as she threw herself at her brother.
“I know,” Rodney grinned smugly. “Not a single wrong note and all played with passion and feeling.”
“Was good, but still you need to go more softly at the adagio,” Radek critiqued.
“I would have ground to a halt!” Rodney protested.
“Softly not more slowly!” Zelenka huffed. “You do not listen!”
“Aw, come on, Radek, I played better than ever and that’s six concerts in the bag!” Rodney grinned widely and made happy gestures with his hands.
“You have not read reviews yet!” Zelenka admonished.
“Oh come on, there are reporters waiting to interview me and people want my autograph! How cool is that?” Rodney bounced. “Come on Jeannie, let’s go and face my adoring public!”
They left Zelenka cursing horribly in Czech and headed for the stage door.
On the way down, Zelenka was stopped by a strange-looking man with a crop of white hair, even though he obviously wasn’t that old, and two odd scars on his cheeks that looked like holes. He had creepy eyes that were cold and calculating and Zelenka had to suppress a shiver when the man started talking to him.
“You are the mentor of that talentless youth, McKay, are you not?” he said with a superior smirk.
“No, I am teacher of brilliant Rodney McKay!” Zelenka replied angrily.
“My boy, Malcolm has much more natural talent.”
“Tunney is yours? You teach him? You are a fool. The boy copies other people’s styles instead of finding his own,” Radek folded his arms in triumph.
“Keep your boy from winning and I will pay you handsomely,” the man offered bluntly.
“What? No! This is not about money! I have plenty. I was one of the greats and my CDs still sell well. You can not buy art!” Zelenka cried, truly offended.
The man smiled placatingly, but the smile was cruel and didn’t look genuine, even though his voice held humour.
“I was kidding. We all want our pupils to win, don’t we? Malcolm will win and he will play at the Albert Hall.”
“We shall see,” Zelenka replied firmly and he moved away from the creepy man.
After beating through the crowd of teenagers who wanted Rodney to sign their programmes (mostly rather neat and pompous children, Rodney noted sadly, all studious types like himself and not hot babes), and answering a few questions for a couple of journalists, Rodney made his way to the taxi rank, dragging his sister along with him. He was paid for some of his concerts and could now afford the occasional taxi to get them out and about.
“Hey, piano man!”
Rodney turned around and saw a gorgeous young man with hazel eyes and a slinky body, leaning against the taxi rank sign.
“Oh, hey!” Rodney blushed.
“That was some cool playing. Been playing long?” John asked, stepping nearer and using his height advantage to make himself as noticeable as possible.
He needn’t have bothered, Rodney had truly noticed.
“Yeah… s… since I was four,” Rodney stammered.
John smirked. “You’re good. You look good too.”
“Um… sorry?” Rodney couldn’t form a coherent sentence as the incredibly hot… person kept stepping closer and closer. “Are you… um… no, of course not, why would you? I mean, you’re so… and I’m really not!” he flapped his hands between them as though he could express himself better that way.
John caught his prey’s hands and held them. “No, really, you’re much better. I bet an artistic person like you can kiss like a God!”
“Um… not much experience!” Rodney exclaimed and then all coherent thought left him as John descended on him and sucked in his lips in the single hottest experience of Rodney’s life. Of course he responded! He joined in wholeheartedly with the whole lips-smacking programme. He kissed back, making the whole thing last as long as humanly possible until they both pulled apart, both looking a little dazed.
“Wow!” John said.
“Yeah!” Rodney agreed.
“Let’s do that again!” John suggested.
“No! I’m going home! I need to go home, Mer!” Jeannie broke in and it occurred to Rodney that she had been protesting quite a bit for a while now. She grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the taxi, but he couldn’t take his eyes off…
“Wait! What’s your name?” he cried as Jeannie tried to bundle him into the car, all the while muttering about brothers who would kiss anyone.
“John,” John answered. “And I’ll be there for your next performance!” he yelled as the car pulled away.
“Good performance!” John spun around, startled as his boss approached. “I think that’ll do it.”
John winced. He hadn’t really been performing as Rodney had been really quite sweet. His innocence was a real draw and John couldn’t help wishing that he could go back to being an innocent youth. “Why do you want to destroy him?” he asked, kicking a pebble on the sidewalk.
“I don’t like his father,” Michael replied with a smile that made John shiver. “My boy Macolm will win the prize and McKay will lose.”
“Macolm Tunney? What…” John began, but Michael grabbed his arm and dragged him away muttering.
“The less you know, the better.” He pulled John into his own car and threw him down on the seat. “Don’t forget, you are mine.”
“I know… sir.”
***
“Who is this John?” Zelenka asked as Rodney played through the Liszt second, managing the Allegro moderato as never before.
“He’s just… not sure really… he’s just this guy…” Rodney sighed and did a beautiful swooping run with a silly grin on his face.
“He makes you play better, but I wish to know who he is. You have a concert on Saturday and you must concentrate. Liszt is not easy piece!”
“It makes so much more sense today,” Rodney murmured dreamily, moving on to the Marziale, missing out the deciso. Suddenly there was a tinny rendition of Beethoven’s Fifth and Rodney leaped up from the piano.
“Again?” Radek demanded, scandalised. “This boy is taking you away from your rehearsing! If you do… Rodney? Listen to me! You have practise! Rodney, come back here this instant!”
Rodney ignored his teacher and took his mobile phone out into the garden. Radek had bought him the phone so that he could ring for taxis or let his teacher know where he was, but now it was a superb way of keeping in touch with John.
After the last concert, John had waited around again and had insisted on taking Rodney out for a meal. Rodney had never been taken out like this before and he was drinking it all in, enjoying every second. John was fascinating, intelligent, handsome, sophisticated and into Rodney which made him one of the best things ever to happen to Rodney.
The best part was that John didn’t stop him from talking. When he eviscerated his fellow competitors, made rude comments about the restaurant, the waiters, the food, the décor or any of the myriad of things that annoyed Rodney on a daily basis, John just lapped it up and gave as good as he got. He didn’t mind when Rodney insulted his hair or his lack of musical knowledge, and in return John was able to tease Rodney and stop him from going too far.
John didn’t treat his hypoglycaemia or his lemon allergy lightly and backed him up when he shouted at stupid waiters.
John didn’t treat him like a socially inept geek… well, he did, but he seemed to like that about Rodney!
John didn’t push him further than he was ready for. So far they had kissed… a lot and done a bit of groping, but he obviously knew that Rodney was more than inexperienced and a bit terrified of what came next.
In short, Rodney cared a lot more for John than he had ever believed possible. Being with John made him feel invincible, strong, passionate and likeable, and his piano playing had improved beyond all expectations.
It was as they were strolling out of the cinema, laughing at the ridiculous plot [John] and ranting scathingly about the impossible science [Rodney] that Rodney was jumped on by a short, wild-haired gnome who screamed at him in Czech and bundled him into a taxi. Radek had clearly followed them and was making sure that his pupil went home that night to practise for the ninth concert.
“Sorry, John!” Rodney called out of the window a lit goofily. “Gotta go!”
“Hey, don’t worry… I’ll be there to hear you play!” John shouted as the taxi pulled away.
Rodney sighed and sat back in the car seat, fishing for his wallet… which wasn’t there.
“Radek! Radek! I’ve left my wallet behind!” he panicked.
Zelenka sighed. “Driver, please take this young miscreant back for practise while I go and retrieve wallet.” He signalled for the man to pull over and got out, admonishing Rodney and making him promise that he would practise properly.
Sprinting back to the cinema and cursing his charge, Radek skidded to a halt when he saw John talking to… that white hair and those scars on his cheek - that was the creepy man who accompanied Malcolm Tunney! He was berating him about something and Radek’s heart sank. If John was in league with Malcolm and the creepy man… it would break him.
Zelenka was under no illusions. Rodney was a great pianist, but it was only since meeting John that he had been able to add passion and true feeling to his playing. Without John, Rodney would crack and would probably give up playing altogether. Radek could spot the moment, during each concert, when Rodney spotted his boyfriend as his playing became warmer, more spontaneous and definitely more lyrical. The boy was in love.
***
“No! I won’t do it anymore!” John spat angrily. “I don’t care if you destroy my plane and never let me fly again! I won’t carry on with this!”
“You’ve fallen in love!” Michael scoffed, laughing nastily. “You’ve fallen in love with the crass Canadian! You are such a fool.”
“I have not!” John argued, embarrassed.
“Don’t you remember why you sold your plane to me in the first place? Raising cash for Nancy? Who then ran off with Brad and your money? She thought you were rich, being a Sheppard and all, and thought she could take your money and run, but…”
“I know!” John interrupted angrily. “And now you own my plane and my services and I’m contracted to you for the next twenty years. I know - I got it! But I can’t do this. I can’t betray Rodney.”
“You have no choice,” Michael sneered with glittering eyes. “You will make sure that he is unable to play well at the next concert.”
“I don’t know why you care! What’s so special about the Albert Hall?” John demanded petulantly.
“The Royal Albert Hall and the Commonwealth prom is the key to my plans and you need to know nothing else.” Michael climbed into his car and John clambered in behind him, scowling but unable to think of a way out of his predicament.
If only he hadn’t fallen in… Uh! Uh! Not going there… never going there again! John curtailed his thoughts and stared miserably out of the window instead. He did not love Rodney more than flying… no way!
***
Part Two