fic: Brats [gen, Stargate Atlantis]
Title: Brats
Characters: team, mostly Rodney, and a smidge of John/Teyla.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: HUGE Teyla spoilers for Season Four. So if you don't want to know, don't read!
Rodney is never, ever bringing chocolate off world again, especially if he isn’t the one who will be eating it. Stupid kids and their faulty electromagnetic shields.
“All children,” he declares tiredly, glancing at the two members of his team present, “are brats. Complete and utter brats.”
Teyla turns and levels him with a look that says she’d rather like to spear him with a tree branch. Ronon actually scoots away from him, out of her line of vision.
It takes Rodney all of five seconds and a quick glance at her huge belly to figure out why she is suddenly so upset.
“Oh, God - I forgot - ” Teyla’s stare turns incredulous, silently demanding to know how the hell he forgot she was six and a half months pregnant, and Rodney hurries to recover. “I mean, I don’t think your kid is going to be a brat because you’re a very well rounded and cool tempered individual and you’re going to be a great mom, really. It’s highly unlikely that your child will be waving grubby hands at me, begging for chocolate, but with Sheppard around as a bad influence he - or she! - could have some bratty tendencies. The hair, for instance, and an absurd need for attention and a hero complex and…uh…”
Rodney trails off, helpless.
Teyla simply rolls her eyes and waddles away, probably off to look for Lt. Colonel Protective Asshole (who is most likely playing with the native children and eating Rodney’s chocolate, damn him) and tattle on him so Sheppard can whack Rodney with a log instead since she isn’t supposed to do any strenuous labor. She’s not even technically supposed to go off world, but she had been going stir crazy and threatened, for the tenth time this month, to kill Sheppard for knocking her up if he wouldn’t let her go with them.
Rodney figures he’s going to be the one on the chopping block soon enough.
“Shit,” he says, glancing at Ronon who still hasn’t scooted back to his earlier seat, “I just dug myself a grave, didn’t I?”
“I’m so not sitting by you when Sheppard gets back,” Ronon replies with all the finesse of a twelve-year-old girl and gets up to go wander in the woods.
Damn him and his abnormal sense of self-preservation.
“Brats,” Rodney mutters to the trees, putting his face in his hands, “All humans are utter brats.”