TEAM PEACE: Writing on the Wall, "Late for the Arrival"
Title: Late for the Arrival
Author: deltacephei ( interview)
Team: Peace
Prompt: Writing on the Wall
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: It was no secret that people weren't Rodney's strong suit. This was probably the reason why he hadn't caught on before. The proverbial clue bus had rolled by four times before realization finally hit him like an expertly delivered kick to the head.
Notes: A big thank you for the beta to snarkydame, for one, and especially to tacittype (for making me work).
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Rodney prided himself on being an attentive person. Well, not all of the time. Just when it came to the really important things.
For example, he had noticed the 'may cause brain damage' tag in the Ancients' data base after only one near-fatal incident with indexed technology. (When Carstairs, or Connors, or whatever his name was, tried to get the Ancient equivalent of a laser scalpel to display three-dimensional images of geological formations. The moron trashed an entire lab and almost fried his brain in the process. The latter wouldn't have been too much of a loss, obviously.)
Also, Rodney had cultivated a healthy respect for inexplicably beeping equipment. Beeps were never a good sign, especially when getting faster and/or louder, and certainly when combined with the emission of a green glow.
Technology was usually nice enough to give clear cues. People were much more difficult to decipher and react to. Unless they were part of Rodney's staff and about to blow something up. Rodney's reaction to that was pretty much Pavlovian by now.
It was no secret that people weren't Rodney's strong suit. This was probably the reason why he hadn't caught on before.
The proverbial clue bus had rolled by four times, each time with a bigger, more colorful, and less mistakable sign plastered to its side, before realization finally hit Rodney like an expertly delivered kick to the head.
It had been pathetic, really.
The Tiny Sticker
Elizabeth had sent the team out on a first contact mission with the Araians. It soon turned into a negotiation for a trade deal - blankets and medical supplies for some kind of fruit that Teyla was familiar with.
Their hosts' representatives, a married couple in their sixties, served the fruit during the welcoming ceremony, which involved candles, a round table, and some tea to go with the friendly chit-chat. The tea smelt so disgusting that Rodney only pretended to drink it.
"Durids," Teyla said, surprised, weighing one of the brown, orange-sized fruit in her hand. "I have not had one of those in years."
"Have some now," Nera-ya said, "we can spare them." She pushed the bowl closer to Rodney, Sheppard and Ford. "Please, try one."
"They are very healthful," Nera-yu said, nodding earnestly, and bit into one.
Rodney eyed the bowl suspiciously. The fruit were dark brown. "No, thanks," he said. "I'll pass."
"They're good," Nera-ya insisted.
"They could kill me," Rodney pointed out.
Nera-yu straightened in his chair. "Excuse me? Are you suggesting--"
"He's not suggesting anything," Sheppard cut in and glared at Rodney. "He's got allergies. Certain kinds of food can harm him."
"Like fruit," Rodney emphasized, in case that wasn't clear.
"Yes," Sheppard said. "Like fruit. Anyway, he's sorry for implying that you --"
Rodney leaned closer to him. "I did not imply anything!" he hissed into Sheppard's ear. "It's not my fault if people interpret--"
Sheppard turned his head, meeting Rodney's eyes with a look of forced patience. "McKay," he said warningly, with a 'shut the hell up' unmistakably lying in there somewhere.
"Okay, fine," Rodney huffed. "You try it first, and if it only tastes vaguely of lemon--"
"Yes, I'll warn you," Sheppard said with a not quite suppressed sigh.
Rodney noticed Nera-ya and her husband watching them, eyes darting between Rodney and Sheppard, then sharing a fond smile. What the hell were they smiling about?
"Dr McKay, I assure you," Teyla said, "the durid tastes nothing like your orange juice."
"You can say that again," Ford muttered, carefully chewing on his first bite. He set the rest of his fruit down on the table.
"Very healthful," Nera-ya repeated, looking at them expectantly.
Sheppard moved to take a fruit from the bowl. Ford hastily shoved his own into Sheppard's hand. "Here, sir. You can have this one. I don't mind sharing. If you don't mind. Sir."
"Thanks, Ford," Sheppard said with narrowed eyes. He took a bite, and then his face turned strangely blank. But he gave an approving nod. "It's ok, Rodney."
Rodney tried it, and it was far from okay. The squishy texture inside, the bitterness-- It was completely disgusting. It certainly didn't justify the endless ordeal that followed, namely the traditional ceremony to establish trade relations.
After an entirely too long day of monotonous, pre-scripted dialogues in a windowless ceremonial chamber, complete with clichéd candles and incense, they were finally allowed to get up from the hard stone floor.
"We have prepared rooms for you," Nera-ya said, smiling. "So that we will be able to continue our negotiations in the morning," she added.
Oh joy, Rodney didn't mutter, because Sheppard shoved a pre-emptive elbow into his ribs. The dark look Rodney shot in Sheppard's direction was cut short by a sneeze. Damn incense.
This pointless shindig had already eaten up ten hours of Rodney's precious time, and he sure hadn't been imagining the way Sheppard's own eyes had first reddened and watered, and then glazed over completely. So Sheppard had better keep his criticism to himself.
Nera-yu linked his arm through his wife's, struggling at first when their long, billowy robes got entangled. "We do hope you will find the accommodations to your satisfaction," he said, cheerfully.
"I am certain that we will." Teyla inclined her head at them politely.
"Thank you, negotiator." Nera-ya bowed as well.
"I wasn't aware that Teyla's got an official title now," Rodney said over his shoulder at Sheppard, while they were following their hosts through a maze of corridors. "When did that happen? And when do I get mine?"
"What? 'Chief of the scientists' isn't good enough for you, doc?" Ford asked, looking at Rodney sideways with a grin that was just this side of cheeky.
"Oh, ha ha," Rodney huffed. "Ninety per cent of the people we meet are completely ignorant of the general concept of science, let alone the respect and admiration my profession deserves. Me especially, of course, being the genius that I am."
"Of course," Sheppard said, deadpan, and he maybe even rolled his eyes. Rodney couldn't tell, since Sheppard was the one on their six.
They stopped to drop off Ford and Teyla in their adjoining single bedrooms. Glimpsing past Teyla, Rodney could see that there were even mattresses on the beds in the otherwise not-at-all furnished rooms, which was a huge boost for his mood. So his bed wasn't going to have a prescription mattress, but it would certainly beat the bare floor or wooden bunk that Rodney had been expecting.
"The location of your quarters is a little more-- remote," Nera-ya announced and winked at them. Or did she just blink weirdly? Rodney frowned. It was a completely disturbing move, coming from a woman of sixty-odd years. It was like being winked at by his mother.
Maybe the winking had a completely different meaning here. Maybe it subtly communicated, 'Even though I'm acting sweet and lovely, I secretly hate your guts', or, 'Heee, you won't even see it coming'.
Nera-yu exchanged a no less disturbing grin with his wife and led the way.
"What do you mean, remote?" Sheppard asked, alarmed. Rodney could relate. He was feeling slightly alarmed himself. 'Slightly' meaning 'very much', of course.
"Oh, you'll see," Nera-yu said, his voice as light and non-threatening as it could possibly be.
Sheppard had drawn level with Rodney and obviously didn't find the tone reassuring, either, judging by the way he made to reach for a sidearm that wasn't there. If Teyla hadn't vouched for the Araians, their demand that everyone give up their weapons would have ended the mission right at the gate. In hindsight, that wouldn't have been such a bad thing, Rodney decided.
Nera-ya kept introducing people to them, basically everyone they met in the hallways. And she obviously loved reciting information about their palace, its history and architecture, as if reading it from a tourist guide. Nera-yu praised the tapestries, sculptures, and paintings they passed on their way with the enthusiasm of a true admirer. Rodney would have gladly lived on without hearing in detail about their torture chambers in the cellar ("Long out of use, of course") and the painting techniques of their self-sacrificing blood artists ("Never enough to cause any damage, but a sacrifice nonetheless").
Unfortunately, Rodney had lost track of their location inside the palace about three turns into their journey that morning. He started to take special care in memorizing the way now, so they would at least be able to find Ford and Teyla again. Depending on Sheppard's sense of direction would only get them hopelessly lost. Again.
Finally, their hosts (soon-to-be kidnappers?) stopped in front of a double door. "Here we are," Nera-ya said, unnecessarily, and pulled the doors open. There were no locks on them, except for the bolt on the inside, Rodney noted with cautious relief. No doubt Sheppard had seen it, too.
The room had a window and was just big enough to hold the bed and a small washing basin in the corner. The bed was huge, though.
"Oh, nice," Rodney said and walked over to the window. (No bars, nice garden view, picture-perfect sunset in the background.) He threw his pack on the bed in passing. "This is my room?"
"This is your room," Nera-yu said, sounding puzzled. He gave the 'your' a strange enough emphasis that Rodney turned around. Nera-yu was gesturing at Sheppard and Rodney both.
Sheppard looked at their hosts, at the huge bed, at Rodney, then at their hosts again, eyes widening, and yes, Rodney got it, too. Suddenly the winking and the weird smiles from before were making a lot of sense.
Nera-ya took in their blank expressions. "You did not expect us to separate you for the night, did you? We are an open-minded people," she said, sounding genuinely offended.
"It is only the strength of your bond that is important to us," Nera-yu explained, matter-of-factly. "This has been our way for many generations."
"Er," Sheppard said. "How--"
"Oh, word travels," Nera-ya interrupted him, waving a hand dismissively. "No matter your experiences in other places, you will be treated with respect here - all the more for the intensity of the bond you share."
"The bond we share?" Rodney repeated, because, seriously, What?
Sheppard was frowning at their hosts, either in concentration or in a 'does not compute' kind of confusion. The distinction wasn't easy to make when it came to Sheppard.
"We're not--" Rodney began, but Sheppard cut him off.
"Complaining. We're not complaining. The room is great, and we're kind of tired, so if it would be possible for us to--"
"Of course," Nera-yu said and slowly backed towards the door. "You will be woken in time for breakfast."
"Remember, no one else is staying on this corridor," Nera-ya reminded them. She winked at Rodney again and closed the double-doors behind her.
Rodney stood and blinked.
Sheppard cleared his throat and went to drop his pack on the other side of their bed without looking at Rodney once. Their bed, Rodney thought.
"Word travels?" Rodney said, when his brain had finally caught up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Beats me," Sheppard said and started to rummage through his things.
"Maybe people share a bed around here all the time. I mean for other reasons than to--" Rodney trailed off and wished he had never started that sentence.
Sheppard looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
"Okay, right," Rodney said, flustered. "But where did they get the idea that I-- that we--?"
"I don't know. Relax, McKay," Sheppard said and pulled his toothbrush from the zipped bag he kept it in. "It's probably a cultural thing. Some kind of misunderstanding."
"Right." Rodney jumped at the explanation. "A misunderstanding! Exactly!" He took the three steps to meet Sheppard at the washing basin. "Cultural differences between these people and whoever they've been talking to. There's always the language barrier, too. Translators are never a reliable source of--" He watched Sheppard wet his toothbrush with water from the canteen, then carefully apply toothpaste. He started brushing his teeth, looking altogether calm and unfazed. "Wait," Rodney interrupted himself. "You're okay with this?"
"I wouldn't say 'okay', exactly," Sheppard said around the toothbrush. "But they seem to like the idea a lot, and we need the supplies. So we're going to play along. It's not like they're asking for a kinky sex ritual or something."
Rodney pointed a warning finger at him. "Don't say things like that!"
Sheppard spit out the toothpaste. "What? You believe in jinxes all of the sudden?"
"Of course not! But you might give them ideas!"
Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Relax, McKay," he advised again, but this time it sounded more like an order. "Tomorrow's not going to be any different from today. Just keep up your mediocre work with the locals."
"Excuse me?" Rodney said, offended. "My mediocre work?"
The discussion that followed served as a distraction for Rodney, right until the point where they were both lying still under the single cover. Staring up into the darkness, Rodney realized that this had been its purpose from the beginning. He started to fidget.
Sheppard sighed. "You could get into your sleeping bag," he said.
"Are you out of your mind? It's at least twenty-five degrees in here. I'd be drenched in sweat before I could fall asleep. But-- You could sleep on the floor?" Rodney suggested hopefully.
"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that," Sheppard said and shook his head, possibly in disbelief. It made his pillow rustle rhythmically. "Our tents are much smaller than this bed. And nothing is further from my mind than molesting you in your sleep. Or at all. I can assure you," Sheppard said dryly.
And that almost sounded like an insult. "Right. Then. Goodnight," Rodney said shortly.
"Goodnight." The cover moved and the mattress dipped while Sheppard was shifting to find a comfortable position. He was snoring in under a minute.
Even though the bed felt as huge from the inside as it had looked from the outside - Ford and Teyla would have easily fit in with them, and wow, was this a thought Rodney really didn't need to have, ever - Rodney nearly fell over the edge three times during the night, trying hard not to accidentally drift over to Sheppard's side of the bed.
Naturally, Rodney didn't sleep much and wasn't in the best of moods the next morning. At the breakfast table Nera-ya dropped a comment that expressed her sympathy with Rodney, who apparently hadn't gotten any the night before. Which prompted Ford and Teyla to exchange confused glances, Sheppard to choke on his tea, and Rodney to almost bang his head on the table, right into his bowl of wannabe-cereal with not-quite-milk.
At least it brought Rodney the satisfaction of seeing Sheppard a little ruffled by the whole gay-for-a-day deal.
The Eye-Catching Poster
The newest addition to Rodney's staff, Peterson, was more of an asset to the team than anyone could have hoped for.
The Daedalus dropped him off on her last run after their exile to Earth and relocation to Atlantis. A few people had decided to stay home, which meant that they had to break in new personnel. It wasn't a pleasant task, but someone had to do it. That someone was Zelenka, of course.
Peterson had been a pleasant surprise. He was a generally competent electrical engineer, didn't ask too many stupid questions, and had yet to damage any invaluable equipment, even though he was already three weeks into his eighteen-month stay.
If Rodney had the chance to put together his perfect employee from the materials at hand, in a creepy Frankenstein sort of way, Zelenka would provide the brains, Simpson the skilled hands, Miko the work ethic, and Peterson his healthy common sense.
It also helped that he always brought Rodney coffee whenever he brewed himself a pot. Usually, he didn't talk much on those occasions, just put the cup down on Rodney's workbench and maybe said 'Good morning'. But not today. Apparently, he had something important to tell. Rodney managed to look up and tune in just in time.
"It's just a small party to say thanks for the warm welcome. On Friday night. You can of course bring your colonel," Peterson said, and then, "Ouch!" He rubbed his side and glared at Simpson, who had suddenly appeared next to him. She made a short abortive gesture and glared right back.
"What?" Rodney said, eyes darting between the two of them.
"The colonel of your team, I mean. Not-- um." Peterson trailed off.
"Colonel Sheppard is invited, too," Simpson clarified and grabbed Peterson by the arm.
Rodney picked up the coffee cup and inhaled the rich aroma. "I'll ask if he wants to come. Will there be food? And beer? Sheppard will be there if there's beer."
"Yes, there'll be beer and lots of food," Peterson assured him while he was quickly pulled away by Simpson. "See you then." He gave a short wave.
They almost ran into Sheppard on their way out. Peterson attempted to pick up a conversation, starting with a friendly greeting, but Simpson practically dragged him past Sheppard.
Sheppard watched them with one eyebrow raised, until they were out the door. "What was that all about?" he asked and set a cupcake down on Rodney's keyboard.
Rodney should have been scandalized by such disregard for the safety of technical equipment, but, hey, dessert. "No idea," he said and picked up the cake. "But you just got invited to a party. On Friday night."
"A party? What party?" Sheppard rested his hip against Rodney's workbench and crossed his arms.
"Peterson said something about a thanks for the welcome?" Rodney answered through a mouthful of cupcake, blowing powdery sugar in every direction.
"Peterson?" Sheppard pointedly wiped some sugar from his uniform jacket. "The guy just now? Why would he invite me? I've seen him maybe three times, and that includes today."
"What do I know? Maybe he wants to get on your good side. He's a bit of a kiss ass. Which is not a bad trait in an employee. I'm not complaining."
"Of course you're not."
Rodney wasn't entirely sure if Sheppard was being serious or not, so he let the comment slide. "Anyway, I told Peterson you'd be there."
"Really? How nice of you to do that," Sheppard said, and this time the biting sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable. "And what if I have plans?"
Rodney rolled his eyes. "You do have plans. With me. The game? Geldar? Remember? We'll just go to a party and plunder a buffet instead."
Sheppard deflated a little. "You could have asked me first."
"There'll be beer," Rodney pointed out.
"Well." Sheppard paused. "In that case."
"Thought so," Rodney said smugly.
"It's kinda scary how well you know me," Sheppard said jokingly. "Now tell me more about that simulation you're going to run for me today."
"You mean the one that is designed to model jumper flight maneuvers above the speed of sound in atmospheric disturbances? The one that is supposed to wait until after the city-wide diagnostic of our communications system is finished? And you thought bribery would work with me, huh?"
"Baked goods usually do the trick," Sheppard admitted, grinning.
"Congratulations. You have me completely figured out," Rodney said, but he got to work.
The Spotlighted Billboard
"Maybe you should go and take a look yourself," Zelenka concluded. It was the final sentence of a longer monologue that Rodney hadn't been keeping track of.
"I don't think so," Rodney said. Anything that was suggested by Zelenka without any kind of urgency wasn't worth thinking twice about.
"Take the colonel," Zelenka added.
"Huh?" Rodney looked up from his simulation. "Sheppard? Why? Where?"
Zelenka sighed and shoved a tablet and a tool kit into Rodney's hands. "Take these. Go to the east tower. The restroom on the lowest floor."
"What? Why would I want to pay a visit to the anthropologists' public toilet? Could you possibly suggest anything less enjoyable than that for my lunch break?" Rodney snapped.
"If you had listened to me, you would know, " Zelenka chided and tapped his earpiece. "Colonel Sheppard, please meet Dr McKay at the transporter near his lab."
Rodney glared, but Zelenka just shrugged. "You were not making progress, anyway," he pointed out.
Unfortunately, that was true. Even less fortunately, his curiosity was tickled. Rodney scowled. He grabbed an energy bar from the top drawer of his desk and activated his earpiece.
"Ronon?" he said and waited. If Ronon was currently busy beating someone up, he probably wouldn't answer. Although-- It depended on whether Ronon needed both hands to keep his opponent pinned down on the mat or if one was sufficient.
"Yeah," Ronon said, sounding a little out of breath.
"Oh good, you're there. Zelenka just requested lessons in hand-to-hand combat." Rodney flashed a quick smile in Zelenka's direction. "He says he really needs exercise. With lots of sweating and all that."
"Sure." There was a muffled thump in the background. "Tell him tomorrow morning at five."
Rodney signed off. "Tomorrow at five," he gleefully informed Zelenka and headed out, savoring the I'm-trying-not-to-care-but-I'm-failing look on Zelenka's face.
* * * * *
"Hey," Sheppard said as he sauntered down the hallway towards Rodney. "What's so important that it couldn't wait until I finished lunch?"
"Ask Zelenka," Rodney said and stepped into the transporter. "I think he's mad at me for-- something. I don't know. I don't care."
Sheppard followed him in. "Where are we going? Hey, did you finally find the holodeck that was mentioned in the Ancient database?"
Rodney touched his finger to the screen to indicate their intended destination. The doors closed behind them. "You mean the Landscape Simulation Unit."
There was that familiar tug behind his belly button when the transporter activated, and yes, Rodney knew how ridiculous that sounded to anyone who had read Harry Potter, but that was what it felt like to him. Just him, apparently. He had mentioned it once in their first year, and Sheppard was still teasing him mercilessly about it.
The transporter doors opened again and Rodney led the way. "If we ever lay eyes on it, the LSU won't be anything like a holodeck, anyway," he pointed out.
"That's a shame," Sheppard said.
"I know." Rodney sighed. To find an actual holodeck-- That would be the best thing since chocolate flavored energy bars had been included in their regular supply shipments. Holographic, life-like, almost real images of people. Of anyone he could imagine, really.
Sheppard looked at him sideways. "You're thinking about holographic sex slaves, aren't you?"
"No," Rodney said immediately.
"Uh-huh," Sheppard said with a little half-smile, clearly not buying the firm denial. "So, where are we going?" he asked again.
Rodney hesitated at a junction, then turned left. "You'll like it: a public restroom." He held up a hand to stop Sheppard from asking the obvious question. "I don't know why. I told you, it seems that I've managed to piss off Zelenka somehow."
"Really?" Sheppard said, and was that sarcasm in his voice? "Let me guess: He talked and you didn't listen? And you pride yourself on your leadership skills."
Definitely sarcasm, Rodney decided and retorted, "Says the guy who once thought that, 'Um. Come back alive,' would make an inspiring motivational speech for a possible suicide mission."
"It's good advice," Sheppard pointed out.
"The best," Rodney deadpanned. "And how is this suddenly my fault again? Why is everything always my fault?"
Sheppard bumped his shoulder against Rodney's. "It's a natural law?"
Rodney didn't even dignify that with an answer. They turned a corner and Rodney stopped in front of a nondescript door. "Here. This is it," Rodney said and palmed the control.
"Great," Sheppard muttered and followed Rodney through the door. "Hey, did I say thank you yet, Rodney? Because you always take me to the nicest--" He stopped and stared.
At least that was what Rodney thought Sheppard was doing, because Rodney was busy staring himself.
They were inside a restroom alright. But instead of the blank gray walls that made Ancient architecture exceptionally boring everywhere else, these walls were covered in writing, from floor to ceiling, all around. The mirrors above the row of sinks to the left were still clear of it, but Rodney was willing to bet that the inside of the stalls on the right was as densely packed with scribbled words as the outside. And no, he was not going to think about how the similarities between Earth facilities and Ancient ones still freaked him out.
"Wow. Half of these are written in Ancient," Sheppard said and took a slow turn. "Your scientists really are a nerdy bunch."
Rodney tore his eyes away from a line of particularly big Ancient letters on the wall opposite him to glare at Sheppard. "How come they're our scientists when their collective incompetence saves our asses by sheer dumb luck, but when they commit acts of vandalism, they're suddenly my scientists?"
"But honey," Sheppard said, smiling toothily, "you're the one who's home with the kids all the time."
Rodney would have glared harder, but that never worked on Sheppard. "Funny," he said instead and took another, more purposeful look around. He found the reason why Zelenka had sent them there. A power conduit had blown, leaving a blackened hole in the wall next to the door, the burned and frayed insides spilling out.
"Zelenka could have sent Miko to fix this, the bastard," Rodney grumbled, but got down on his knees, laid the tablet down next to him and opened the tool kit.
"Oh, that's the problem," Sheppard said, assessing the damage over Rodney's shoulder. "Doesn't look like a big deal."
"It isn't. Hence my irritation about Zelenka sending me down here to fix it."
"More importantly, what am I doing here?" Sheppard wanted to know.
Rodney started sorting through the single strands of an optical data cable that had been blown apart by the burst of electricity. "I'm going to need a second pair of hands later on," he said absently.
"And Zelenka thought I'd be the person best qualified for the job?"
Rodney snorted. "Er, no. That can't be it." He selected a pair of tweezers from the kit.
"Well," Sheppard said dryly. "Then it's probably because I'm least likely to strangle you before the repairs are finished. Even though my patience is stretching a little thin already."
"Uh-huh," Rodney agreed, not really listening. "I'm trying to concentrate here. So if you could--" He made a shooing gesture over his shoulder.
"Right," Sheppard said. "You don't mind if I borrow this, do you." He picked up the tablet, not waiting for confirmation.
For a few minutes Rodney was able to work efficiently, then Sheppard said, out of the blue, "I don't think we started this graffiti thing. This looks old."
Rodney turned around. Sheppard was inspecting the row of big Ancient letters that dominated the wall opposite the door.
"What, like-- Ancient graffiti?" Rodney asked.
"Yeah." Sheppard tilted his head thoughtfully at the writing.
Rodney could relate. He was in the middle of adjusting his mental image of the Ancients, too.
"What does it say?" Rodney asked. "You translated it, right?"
"I'm working on it." Sheppard started to enter Ancient characters into the translation software on the tablet, but then he looked up. "Wait. You need translation? I thought you can read Ancient?"
Rodney rose, brushing non-existent dust from his trousers. "Excuse me for limiting my language studies to vocabulary with scientific significance. Ancient slang wasn't really high on my list of priorities up to now." He looked over Sheppard's shoulder as Sheppard continued working. It was a painfully slow process. "Oh, this is going to take ages. Let me--"
"Hey," Sheppard said and pulled the tablet away, out of reach from Rodney's grabbing hand. "I'm almost done."
"That's what they always say."
"Here." Sheppard touched his finger to the button 'translate', and the translation popped up.
"Oh, I'd forgotten about that," Rodney said.
"'Go *censored* yourself'?" Sheppard read, disbelieving. "It doesn't translate naughty words?"
"Oh, it translates them just fine. It just doesn't display them," Rodney said. "Thanks to-- you know. That guy. Long hair, wears those ugly Hawaiian shirts. The IT linguist who wrote the program. He's very-- religious or something. And apparently he's queasy about dirty words. A weird trait in a linguist, if you ask me."
"Wait a minute," Sheppard said, shaking his head. "Did we really just discover an Ancient writing that says, 'Go fuck yourself'? An Ancient writing? Go fuck yourself?"
"Looks like it." Rodney felt a grin spread across his face.
It was echoed by Sheppard. "I'm starting to like them a lot better," he said. "And there's a lot of this Ancient stuff around."
"But unfortunately, I need that back now," Rodney said and pulled the tablet from Sheppard's grip. "I wasn't planning on staying down here all afternoon, you know."
"Okay." Sheppard shrugged. "There's plenty to read here in English, too. Here." He pointed and read, amused, "The Wraith: Out of sight, but never out of bleach."
"As long as you're entertained," Rodney said, rolling his eyes, and left Sheppard to it. He fully intended to focus on getting the job done as quickly as possible, but now that Sheppard had pointed the first one out to him, Rodney couldn't help but checking out the wall around the blast hole for more graffiti lines.
Just above Rodney's eye level there was a little exchange:
I want &pi!
Here, have a piece: 8979323846
It made him grin, because, well, &pi.
And next to this someone had laid out a novel approach to fighting for your life in the Pegasus galaxy:
Anti-aging cream: The ultimate anti-Wraith weapon, y/n?
Rodney shook his head, torn between amusement and annoyance about the things his staff wasted their time with. And that thought brought him back to the task at hand. When Sheppard interrupted his concentration again, Rodney had almost finished reconnecting the cable.
"Okay, whoever wrote this has never been within an arm's reach of a Wraith."
"What?" Rodney asked and turned around, none too pleased about the interruption.
Sheppard stepped out of Rodney's line of sight. The words were big enough for Rodney to read, even from the other side of the room:
Fighting the Wraith is getting old fast
"Still, it's almost funny," Sheppard commented.
Rodney heard the unspoken, 'If you haven't been there,' loud and clear, and he could only agree with the sentiment.
He turned back to his Gordian knot of cable strands and managed to put the continuing silence to good use. He had almost gotten to the part where he needed Sheppard to give him a hand when he heard a weird sound. Rodney needed a moment to identify it as Sheppard's laughter. Sheppard rarely laughed out loud. That, plus the fact that Sheppard obviously tried to suppress it, made Rodney instantly suspicious. He stood and stealthily advanced to peek over Sheppard's shoulder at whatever it was that had him in stitches.
McKay's First Law
A body persists its state of rest unless acted upon by an external force.
(Really. Ask him about this.)
"That is not funny!" Rodney sputtered. Sheppard just laughed harder.
"Not funny," Rodney repeated and crossed his arms.
"Look," Sheppard said, grinning. "Here's the second one. You'll like that a lot better."
Rodney's look, in equal parts doubtful and disapproving, set Sheppard off again. Rodney sent him another glare for good measure and read:
McKay's Second Law
The armed forces equal heavy weaponry multiplied by stupidity.
(Really. Ask ANYONE about this.)
"Okay, yes," Rodney conceded, "this one is funny. And it's true, too." And now he wanted to read number three. There had to be three, just like Newton intended. "Where's the third law? There should be a third." His eyes swept the wall, looking for writing in a similar style (curly) and color (blue).
All of the sudden, Sheppard stopped laughing, his eyes fixed on three lines of curly blue writing. Rodney closed in.
McKay's Third Law
Every attraction finds its equal and opposite attraction.
(Really. Ask JS about this.)
He read the lines twice, frowning. "Who is JS?" He couldn't think of a single woman on the expedition with the initials JS. Which was a tragedy, because said woman was obviously not-so-secretly pining away for him.
Sheppard just stared at him for a moment - a stare of the incredulous 'I can't believe you're this dense' variety, which Rodney got to see surprisingly often from him. It was then that Rodney spotted the bright red words right next to the third law:
It's Sheppard's job to watch McKay's six ass
"What?" Rodney yelped. "Oh no. Nonono. Not again."
He had the faint hope that maybe he got it wrong, that he had read wrong, that maybe JS wasn't actually supposed to be John Sheppard, but there was more.
"Does this say 'Rodney loves John' in Ancient?" Sheppard asked slowly, tilting his head at three rows of carefully drawn Ancient letters inside a heart.
Rodney knew his own name in Ancient writing when he saw it, just like everyone else in Atlantis. "Oh my god. It does! What are we, pre-schoolers?" Rodney asked, his voice getting shriller. He double-checked with the translation program, just to be sure. "We're not-- How-- This is the second time this happened! Where do people get the idea that we-- that we-- Why?"
"I don't know, Rodney," Sheppard said, exasperated. "Look. It's no big deal. It's just graffiti. Think of it as a harmless joke. That's probably how it was meant."
"A harmless joke," Rodney repeated flatly. "Right. This one, too? John Sheppard only ever gets down on his knees for Wraith queens and Rodney McKay? Yes, this is very funny. I see what you mean," he said acidly. He had never felt less like laughing.
Sheppard looked a little uneasy now, too. "Okay," he amended. "Make that tasteless jokes."
Rodney did a double-take. "That is all you have to say? Anyone could come down here and read this, get the idea in their head that we're-- Actually, someone must have come down here and written this! Someone from Atlantis!"
"Calm down, okay?" Sheppard said. "I don't think anyone seriously believes that we're--" He gestured vaguely.
"Oh, you don't think, huh?" Rodney narrowed his eyes at John. "Well, one thing's for sure, wherever they got the idea, it wasn't me," he said and drew himself up to full height in front of Sheppard. He knew he wasn't the least bit intimidating, not even with the accusing finger pointed straight at Sheppard's nose. "Your hair really is the only thing I can think of that could spark such assumptions!"
"What?" Sheppard asked, disbelieving. "What is this weird fascination you've got with my hair? My hair doesn't have anything to do with anything! Let me spell this out for you once again: It does this-- the--" - he gestured at it - "all on its own."
"Oh, please," Rodney said, snorting, which prompted Sheppard to take a menacing step closer. "Your careful hair-do practically screams--" Rodney trailed off when he noticed that Sheppard's attention had wandered elsewhere. He followed Sheppard's eyes to the row of mirrors on the wall.
Rodney and Sheppard were staring back at him, no more than a bare inch between them, Sheppard's hand tight on Rodney's biceps, Rodney's fingers gripping the material of Sheppard's sleeve in turn.
God, were they always in each others' space like that? Did they always get this close, did they usually get physical?
"Oh," Rodney said. "I never realized."
Sheppard released him and took a hasty step backwards. He rubbed his neck uncomfortably.
"Um. Is this what we do?" Rodney asked.
"Apparently," Sheppard said.
"That explains it, then," Rodney said, sort of relieved. "Well, this is easy to fix. We just keep--" Rodney gestured between them.
"An appropriate distance?" Sheppard finished.
"Exactly. Shouldn't be a problem." And Rodney demonstrated by stepping further away from Sheppard.
"Right. No problem," Sheppard agreed, sounding distant already.
"Um. I-- Miko can finish this later. I have to--" Rodney said and indicated the general direction of the door.
Sheppard nodded, even though Rodney didn't specify what exactly it was that he had to do. "Me too," he said.
Rodney collected the tools and Sheppard picked up the tablet and they walked back to the transporter in silence, at least a three feet distance between them at all times. They rode back up and parted ways.
"See you," Sheppard said and handed Rodney the tablet.
Rodney took it, not meeting Sheppard's eyes. "Er, yeah," he answered and walked away, fast.
* * * * *
They kept an appropriate distance.
The tactic worked, as far as Rodney could tell.
But it was only now - because they were consciously avoiding too much and too close contact - that Rodney realized how often he had spent time with Sheppard, and how often they had touched before. The occasional shoulder squeeze, a hand on his arm, their elbows brushing together on top of the table and their knees bumping together beneath it. Just small touches, noticable only because they weren't happening anymore.
"Are you two fighting?" Zelenka asked one day, frowning, when Sheppard came to a stop on the other side of the workbench instead of approaching to look over Rodney's shoulder like he had done countless times before.
"No, we're not fighting," Rodney said irritably.
"Everything's fine," Sheppard emphasized at Zelenka's doubtful look.
Zelenka looked from Sheppard to Rodney and back. "You're absolutely sure you're not fighting?"
"Seriously," Rodney said and turned to Sheppard. "We let him save Atlantis heroically just once, and suddenly he's Mr I-know-everything-better-than-you-do. Figures."
"Fine," Zelenka said, raising his hands in defeat. "Forget I asked."
Which Rodney would have done, except that Ronon asked the exact same question a couple of days later at the breakfast table, when Rodney didn't sit down next to or opposite Sheppard for the third day in a row.
It was ridiculous. They weren't fighting. They had just been-- seeing a little less of each other lately. They kept an appropriate distance.
Nothing had changed, really.
Except-- Video games just weren't any fun when the computer was the only opponent around to beat.
The Flashing Neon Sign
Sam was sitting behind her desk, head bowed over a report, when Rodney entered her office.
"You wanted to see me?" he said.
She looked up and smiled. It looked a little forced, but maybe that was just Rodney's imagination.
"Yes. Rodney. Have a seat."
The door slid shut behind him. With her finger still on the remote control for the door, Sam shrugged at his questioning look. "I wouldn't want to be interrupted."
Rodney sat down. "Is this about our funding again? I told you, I'm not going to cut Simpson's budget anymore than I already have. Her research is essential for the--"
"Rodney," Sam cut him off and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. It was a cute little nervous gesture she had taken to since her hair had grown out. She took a deep breath. "This isn't something I would normally speak up about, and I'll be keeping it short. It's none of my business who you choose to--" she visibly steeled herself-- "enter a relationship with."
"Huh?" was all Rodney had the presence of mind to say. Sure, he tended to be oblivious of such things, but he would certainly have remembered if he had acquired a new girlfriend recently. "What--"
Sam raised a hand. "Please, let me finish," she said. "I'm not going to ask you to end it, if that's what you're afraid of. I'm not blind. I can see that it-- works. For some unfathomable reason. But you need to get your act together. I understand what you're trying to do, that you don't want to raise suspicion. But you're going overboard. You're trying too hard. A number of people know about your relationship and will continue to cover for you, but someone new or narrow-minded, or someone holding a grudge might notice and put two and two together."
"Seriously," Rodney said, staring at her. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Rodney," Sam said crossly. "Obviously I can't have this talk with John, so work with me here."
Somewhere in the course of this conversation - right after the first sentence, actually - Rodney had completely lost track of it. "What does Sheppard have to do with my--"
"I'm prepared not to ask, Rodney," Sam interrupted him. She sounded increasingly irritated, and Rodney didn't have the faintest idea why. "But that doesn't mean that no one else will tell. So if you could dial down your 'we're really just friends' act a few notches, that would be great. Before anyone else figures it out?"
Finally, finally, the pieces slotted together in Rodney's mind. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out.
"Talk it through with John," Sam advised. "I don't want to be forced to have this discussion again." She hit the remote control and the door hissed open behind Rodney.
When he was still sitting motionlessly ten seconds later, just staring at her, she said firmly, "That's it, Rodney. You can go."
Entirely on autopilot, he stood and walked from her office, across the gangway, down the stairs, through the gate room, down the corridor, and into the nearest transporter.
Sam, too, he thought. Sam, too, again and again, like his brain was stuck in a feedback loop. Sam! Was there anyone left in this galaxy who didn't think he was getting it on with John Sheppard?
Rodney's steps became faster as his heart rate increased.
How dare anyone make assumptions? Had they lost their minds? What was it about the idea that made it so appealing that everyone was willing to get on board with it?
John's door wasn't locked, so Rodney just stormed in, his momentum carrying him all the way through the room.
John practically jumped from his bed and threw the book he'd been reading aside. "Rodney? Is there a problem?"
Rodney just grabbed John by the shoulders and pressed their lips together, quickly and efficiently.
"Umph," Sheppard said, eyes wide.
Rodney let go immediately after and stepped back. "There!" he yelled. "Happy now?"
John blinked. "About what?" he asked very slowly.
"Not you!" Rodney said and waved his hand. "Everyone! The universe!"
"Rodney?" John asked, in his humor-the-crazy-local-with-the-spear voice. "Have you been making fun of Jones in the toxicology lab again?"
"What? No! Why? I'm not poisoned! Or drugged!"
"No?" John asked and got closer, carefully, possibly to get a close look at Rodney's pupils. "Because you're acting kinda--"
"High-strung?" Rodney finished and batted John's hand away as it reached out to him. "No surprise there, I am high-strung!"
"I was going to say 'crazy'."
"Hey!" Rodney said indignantly.
"Well, what am I supposed to think?" John shot back. "You walk in here and just--" He gestured between them.
Rodney needed a moment to remind himself that, yes, he had indeed just waltzed into John's quarters and planted one on him. Just like that.
"It's not something you'd usually do, Rodney," John pointed out, entirely too calm about this whole thing.
"Well, not according to the rest of the universe," Rodney said heatedly. "According to the rest of the universe, I do it on a daily basis. That and more. Even Sam thinks that we're going at it!"
"Wait," John said, suddenly not that calm anymore. "What?"
"She suggested we drop the 'just friends' act, because it's obvious that we're really just trying to hide our secret love affair! Which is apparently not secret at all, because half this city full of gossiping washerwomen knows about it!"
"Colonel Carter?" John sounded more surprised than anything else. "You're kidding me."
"I'm not! That's the point!"
"Okay. Just--" John rubbed his neck, frowning down at the floor. When he met Rodney's eyes again, his look was calculating all of the sudden. "How did you get from 'outraged' to 'in the mood for kissing' in such a short span of time, anyway?"
And wow, there was a question Rodney wasn't prepared to answer. He had the sudden urge to run, to turn around and flee as fast as his legs would carry him.
"It didn't seem like a bad idea at the time," Rodney said defensively. To be perfectly true, he hadn't thought about it at all, had never reached a decision or formed a plan at any point. And he really, really didn't want to talk about this anymore. He wanted to forget this whole thing had ever happened.
Rodney searched for a suitable distraction, a new topic, anything to say, but unfortunately the only thing he could come up with was, "How was it, anyway?"
"How was it?"John repeated. He looked-- amused now, and that was just wrong. "I was too surprised to notice much of anything. You tell me."
"Me? I, um," Rodney said. "It was-- over quickly."
There was a strangely loaded pause, then John asked, "Too quickly?"
Before Rodney had managed to fully process the question, John took a step towards him. And another one.
Rodney backed away. "What are you doing?"
"Providing more data," Sheppard said, and then he moved, fast.
The kiss was over just as quickly as the first one had been, but it was completely different in every other respect: Less force, less pressure, less yelling afterwards.
Rodney was acutely aware of John's hands, one still on his neck, the other on his cheek. John's breath was warm against his lips, his eyes were dark and defiant. And challenging, underneath.
It was then that everything came back to Rodney all at once - the tiny hints, the huge pointers, them, where they had started, who they had become. "I'm such an idiot," he said. "There are no words to describe all the ways in which I am a complete moron."
It left him wide open for a sarcastic comeback, but John just leaned in again, for a real kiss, a once-in-a-lifetime, set-to-a-symphony, time-dilating, mind-blowing kind of touch of lips against lips, tongue against tongue.
Rodney was panting by the time they parted. He realized with something between surprise and satisfaction that his one hand was playing with John's hair while the other had wandered down to the small of his back.
"Yep. You're a moron," John said, brushing his stubbled cheek against Rodney's. It felt weird, completely weird, but good. Exciting, even.
"I can't argue with you right now," Rodney said distractedly, breathing the words right into John's ear, and tried for that stubbly friction again. John started licking and kissing Rodney's neck, working his way up to Rodney's mouth. It felt fantastic. So good, in fact, that Rodney was distracted from the distraction.
"Later," John said and pressed a quick kiss to Rodney's lips. He stroked his thumb along Rodney's collarbone. "We'll have time for that later. Right?" It sounded like an actual question.
Rodney held John's eyes for a moment. "Yes," he said. "Of course. What, you thought I'd stop arguing with you just because we're--" he searched for the right word and gave up, setting with, "--a thing? If that's what you think you'll be getting out of this--"
John grinned and cut him off with another kiss. For once Rodney didn't mind being interrupted.
(The Beginning In) The End
"It really is a pleasure to see you again," Nera-ya said for the seventh time, after the greeting ceremony was over. "It's been so long."
"Almost five years," John answered, also for the seventh time, even though Nera-yu had politely expressed his confusion about the word 'year' when John had mentioned it first. "It's great to be here again."
It really was. Because the Araians were still nice and friendly, and they had excellent food (if you didn't count the disgusting fruit they'd been trading to Atlantis since their first year). Good food was always a big plus in Rodney's book.
It would have been exactly Rodney's kind of mission, if the Araians hadn't still been so keen on incense and monotone speeches. Rodney had hoped for the best, despite Lorne's warnings, but he had been tragically disappointed. And the damn incense still made him sneeze.
"We can prepare a room for you," Nera-yu offered and put an arm around his wife's shoulder.
"If you want to rest for a while," Nera-ya added and winked at Rodney.
This time, Rodney was almost tempted to wink back. "Good idea," he said instead. "I could, um, rest."
John raised an eyebrow at him. Rodney had learned to interpret that particular look as a kind of fond exasperation, with an air of disbelief.
"The same as last time, then?" Nera-ya asked.
"Not quite," Rodney said. "But yes, thanks."
* * * * *
Poll
Author: deltacephei ( interview)
Team: Peace
Prompt: Writing on the Wall
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: It was no secret that people weren't Rodney's strong suit. This was probably the reason why he hadn't caught on before. The proverbial clue bus had rolled by four times before realization finally hit him like an expertly delivered kick to the head.
Notes: A big thank you for the beta to snarkydame, for one, and especially to tacittype (for making me work).
Once you've read the story, please take a moment to vote in the poll below. Ratings go from 1 (low) to 9 (high), so all you need to do is enter a single number in that range into each text entry box. You'll be able to see the Prompt and Team (Genre) information in the header above.
More details about the voting procedure can be found here.
Rodney prided himself on being an attentive person. Well, not all of the time. Just when it came to the really important things.
For example, he had noticed the 'may cause brain damage' tag in the Ancients' data base after only one near-fatal incident with indexed technology. (When Carstairs, or Connors, or whatever his name was, tried to get the Ancient equivalent of a laser scalpel to display three-dimensional images of geological formations. The moron trashed an entire lab and almost fried his brain in the process. The latter wouldn't have been too much of a loss, obviously.)
Also, Rodney had cultivated a healthy respect for inexplicably beeping equipment. Beeps were never a good sign, especially when getting faster and/or louder, and certainly when combined with the emission of a green glow.
Technology was usually nice enough to give clear cues. People were much more difficult to decipher and react to. Unless they were part of Rodney's staff and about to blow something up. Rodney's reaction to that was pretty much Pavlovian by now.
It was no secret that people weren't Rodney's strong suit. This was probably the reason why he hadn't caught on before.
The proverbial clue bus had rolled by four times, each time with a bigger, more colorful, and less mistakable sign plastered to its side, before realization finally hit Rodney like an expertly delivered kick to the head.
It had been pathetic, really.
The Tiny Sticker
Elizabeth had sent the team out on a first contact mission with the Araians. It soon turned into a negotiation for a trade deal - blankets and medical supplies for some kind of fruit that Teyla was familiar with.
Their hosts' representatives, a married couple in their sixties, served the fruit during the welcoming ceremony, which involved candles, a round table, and some tea to go with the friendly chit-chat. The tea smelt so disgusting that Rodney only pretended to drink it.
"Durids," Teyla said, surprised, weighing one of the brown, orange-sized fruit in her hand. "I have not had one of those in years."
"Have some now," Nera-ya said, "we can spare them." She pushed the bowl closer to Rodney, Sheppard and Ford. "Please, try one."
"They are very healthful," Nera-yu said, nodding earnestly, and bit into one.
Rodney eyed the bowl suspiciously. The fruit were dark brown. "No, thanks," he said. "I'll pass."
"They're good," Nera-ya insisted.
"They could kill me," Rodney pointed out.
Nera-yu straightened in his chair. "Excuse me? Are you suggesting--"
"He's not suggesting anything," Sheppard cut in and glared at Rodney. "He's got allergies. Certain kinds of food can harm him."
"Like fruit," Rodney emphasized, in case that wasn't clear.
"Yes," Sheppard said. "Like fruit. Anyway, he's sorry for implying that you --"
Rodney leaned closer to him. "I did not imply anything!" he hissed into Sheppard's ear. "It's not my fault if people interpret--"
Sheppard turned his head, meeting Rodney's eyes with a look of forced patience. "McKay," he said warningly, with a 'shut the hell up' unmistakably lying in there somewhere.
"Okay, fine," Rodney huffed. "You try it first, and if it only tastes vaguely of lemon--"
"Yes, I'll warn you," Sheppard said with a not quite suppressed sigh.
Rodney noticed Nera-ya and her husband watching them, eyes darting between Rodney and Sheppard, then sharing a fond smile. What the hell were they smiling about?
"Dr McKay, I assure you," Teyla said, "the durid tastes nothing like your orange juice."
"You can say that again," Ford muttered, carefully chewing on his first bite. He set the rest of his fruit down on the table.
"Very healthful," Nera-ya repeated, looking at them expectantly.
Sheppard moved to take a fruit from the bowl. Ford hastily shoved his own into Sheppard's hand. "Here, sir. You can have this one. I don't mind sharing. If you don't mind. Sir."
"Thanks, Ford," Sheppard said with narrowed eyes. He took a bite, and then his face turned strangely blank. But he gave an approving nod. "It's ok, Rodney."
Rodney tried it, and it was far from okay. The squishy texture inside, the bitterness-- It was completely disgusting. It certainly didn't justify the endless ordeal that followed, namely the traditional ceremony to establish trade relations.
After an entirely too long day of monotonous, pre-scripted dialogues in a windowless ceremonial chamber, complete with clichéd candles and incense, they were finally allowed to get up from the hard stone floor.
"We have prepared rooms for you," Nera-ya said, smiling. "So that we will be able to continue our negotiations in the morning," she added.
Oh joy, Rodney didn't mutter, because Sheppard shoved a pre-emptive elbow into his ribs. The dark look Rodney shot in Sheppard's direction was cut short by a sneeze. Damn incense.
This pointless shindig had already eaten up ten hours of Rodney's precious time, and he sure hadn't been imagining the way Sheppard's own eyes had first reddened and watered, and then glazed over completely. So Sheppard had better keep his criticism to himself.
Nera-yu linked his arm through his wife's, struggling at first when their long, billowy robes got entangled. "We do hope you will find the accommodations to your satisfaction," he said, cheerfully.
"I am certain that we will." Teyla inclined her head at them politely.
"Thank you, negotiator." Nera-ya bowed as well.
"I wasn't aware that Teyla's got an official title now," Rodney said over his shoulder at Sheppard, while they were following their hosts through a maze of corridors. "When did that happen? And when do I get mine?"
"What? 'Chief of the scientists' isn't good enough for you, doc?" Ford asked, looking at Rodney sideways with a grin that was just this side of cheeky.
"Oh, ha ha," Rodney huffed. "Ninety per cent of the people we meet are completely ignorant of the general concept of science, let alone the respect and admiration my profession deserves. Me especially, of course, being the genius that I am."
"Of course," Sheppard said, deadpan, and he maybe even rolled his eyes. Rodney couldn't tell, since Sheppard was the one on their six.
They stopped to drop off Ford and Teyla in their adjoining single bedrooms. Glimpsing past Teyla, Rodney could see that there were even mattresses on the beds in the otherwise not-at-all furnished rooms, which was a huge boost for his mood. So his bed wasn't going to have a prescription mattress, but it would certainly beat the bare floor or wooden bunk that Rodney had been expecting.
"The location of your quarters is a little more-- remote," Nera-ya announced and winked at them. Or did she just blink weirdly? Rodney frowned. It was a completely disturbing move, coming from a woman of sixty-odd years. It was like being winked at by his mother.
Maybe the winking had a completely different meaning here. Maybe it subtly communicated, 'Even though I'm acting sweet and lovely, I secretly hate your guts', or, 'Heee, you won't even see it coming'.
Nera-yu exchanged a no less disturbing grin with his wife and led the way.
"What do you mean, remote?" Sheppard asked, alarmed. Rodney could relate. He was feeling slightly alarmed himself. 'Slightly' meaning 'very much', of course.
"Oh, you'll see," Nera-yu said, his voice as light and non-threatening as it could possibly be.
Sheppard had drawn level with Rodney and obviously didn't find the tone reassuring, either, judging by the way he made to reach for a sidearm that wasn't there. If Teyla hadn't vouched for the Araians, their demand that everyone give up their weapons would have ended the mission right at the gate. In hindsight, that wouldn't have been such a bad thing, Rodney decided.
Nera-ya kept introducing people to them, basically everyone they met in the hallways. And she obviously loved reciting information about their palace, its history and architecture, as if reading it from a tourist guide. Nera-yu praised the tapestries, sculptures, and paintings they passed on their way with the enthusiasm of a true admirer. Rodney would have gladly lived on without hearing in detail about their torture chambers in the cellar ("Long out of use, of course") and the painting techniques of their self-sacrificing blood artists ("Never enough to cause any damage, but a sacrifice nonetheless").
Unfortunately, Rodney had lost track of their location inside the palace about three turns into their journey that morning. He started to take special care in memorizing the way now, so they would at least be able to find Ford and Teyla again. Depending on Sheppard's sense of direction would only get them hopelessly lost. Again.
Finally, their hosts (soon-to-be kidnappers?) stopped in front of a double door. "Here we are," Nera-ya said, unnecessarily, and pulled the doors open. There were no locks on them, except for the bolt on the inside, Rodney noted with cautious relief. No doubt Sheppard had seen it, too.
The room had a window and was just big enough to hold the bed and a small washing basin in the corner. The bed was huge, though.
"Oh, nice," Rodney said and walked over to the window. (No bars, nice garden view, picture-perfect sunset in the background.) He threw his pack on the bed in passing. "This is my room?"
"This is your room," Nera-yu said, sounding puzzled. He gave the 'your' a strange enough emphasis that Rodney turned around. Nera-yu was gesturing at Sheppard and Rodney both.
Sheppard looked at their hosts, at the huge bed, at Rodney, then at their hosts again, eyes widening, and yes, Rodney got it, too. Suddenly the winking and the weird smiles from before were making a lot of sense.
Nera-ya took in their blank expressions. "You did not expect us to separate you for the night, did you? We are an open-minded people," she said, sounding genuinely offended.
"It is only the strength of your bond that is important to us," Nera-yu explained, matter-of-factly. "This has been our way for many generations."
"Er," Sheppard said. "How--"
"Oh, word travels," Nera-ya interrupted him, waving a hand dismissively. "No matter your experiences in other places, you will be treated with respect here - all the more for the intensity of the bond you share."
"The bond we share?" Rodney repeated, because, seriously, What?
Sheppard was frowning at their hosts, either in concentration or in a 'does not compute' kind of confusion. The distinction wasn't easy to make when it came to Sheppard.
"We're not--" Rodney began, but Sheppard cut him off.
"Complaining. We're not complaining. The room is great, and we're kind of tired, so if it would be possible for us to--"
"Of course," Nera-yu said and slowly backed towards the door. "You will be woken in time for breakfast."
"Remember, no one else is staying on this corridor," Nera-ya reminded them. She winked at Rodney again and closed the double-doors behind her.
Rodney stood and blinked.
Sheppard cleared his throat and went to drop his pack on the other side of their bed without looking at Rodney once. Their bed, Rodney thought.
"Word travels?" Rodney said, when his brain had finally caught up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Beats me," Sheppard said and started to rummage through his things.
"Maybe people share a bed around here all the time. I mean for other reasons than to--" Rodney trailed off and wished he had never started that sentence.
Sheppard looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
"Okay, right," Rodney said, flustered. "But where did they get the idea that I-- that we--?"
"I don't know. Relax, McKay," Sheppard said and pulled his toothbrush from the zipped bag he kept it in. "It's probably a cultural thing. Some kind of misunderstanding."
"Right." Rodney jumped at the explanation. "A misunderstanding! Exactly!" He took the three steps to meet Sheppard at the washing basin. "Cultural differences between these people and whoever they've been talking to. There's always the language barrier, too. Translators are never a reliable source of--" He watched Sheppard wet his toothbrush with water from the canteen, then carefully apply toothpaste. He started brushing his teeth, looking altogether calm and unfazed. "Wait," Rodney interrupted himself. "You're okay with this?"
"I wouldn't say 'okay', exactly," Sheppard said around the toothbrush. "But they seem to like the idea a lot, and we need the supplies. So we're going to play along. It's not like they're asking for a kinky sex ritual or something."
Rodney pointed a warning finger at him. "Don't say things like that!"
Sheppard spit out the toothpaste. "What? You believe in jinxes all of the sudden?"
"Of course not! But you might give them ideas!"
Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Relax, McKay," he advised again, but this time it sounded more like an order. "Tomorrow's not going to be any different from today. Just keep up your mediocre work with the locals."
"Excuse me?" Rodney said, offended. "My mediocre work?"
The discussion that followed served as a distraction for Rodney, right until the point where they were both lying still under the single cover. Staring up into the darkness, Rodney realized that this had been its purpose from the beginning. He started to fidget.
Sheppard sighed. "You could get into your sleeping bag," he said.
"Are you out of your mind? It's at least twenty-five degrees in here. I'd be drenched in sweat before I could fall asleep. But-- You could sleep on the floor?" Rodney suggested hopefully.
"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that," Sheppard said and shook his head, possibly in disbelief. It made his pillow rustle rhythmically. "Our tents are much smaller than this bed. And nothing is further from my mind than molesting you in your sleep. Or at all. I can assure you," Sheppard said dryly.
And that almost sounded like an insult. "Right. Then. Goodnight," Rodney said shortly.
"Goodnight." The cover moved and the mattress dipped while Sheppard was shifting to find a comfortable position. He was snoring in under a minute.
Even though the bed felt as huge from the inside as it had looked from the outside - Ford and Teyla would have easily fit in with them, and wow, was this a thought Rodney really didn't need to have, ever - Rodney nearly fell over the edge three times during the night, trying hard not to accidentally drift over to Sheppard's side of the bed.
Naturally, Rodney didn't sleep much and wasn't in the best of moods the next morning. At the breakfast table Nera-ya dropped a comment that expressed her sympathy with Rodney, who apparently hadn't gotten any the night before. Which prompted Ford and Teyla to exchange confused glances, Sheppard to choke on his tea, and Rodney to almost bang his head on the table, right into his bowl of wannabe-cereal with not-quite-milk.
At least it brought Rodney the satisfaction of seeing Sheppard a little ruffled by the whole gay-for-a-day deal.
The Eye-Catching Poster
The newest addition to Rodney's staff, Peterson, was more of an asset to the team than anyone could have hoped for.
The Daedalus dropped him off on her last run after their exile to Earth and relocation to Atlantis. A few people had decided to stay home, which meant that they had to break in new personnel. It wasn't a pleasant task, but someone had to do it. That someone was Zelenka, of course.
Peterson had been a pleasant surprise. He was a generally competent electrical engineer, didn't ask too many stupid questions, and had yet to damage any invaluable equipment, even though he was already three weeks into his eighteen-month stay.
If Rodney had the chance to put together his perfect employee from the materials at hand, in a creepy Frankenstein sort of way, Zelenka would provide the brains, Simpson the skilled hands, Miko the work ethic, and Peterson his healthy common sense.
It also helped that he always brought Rodney coffee whenever he brewed himself a pot. Usually, he didn't talk much on those occasions, just put the cup down on Rodney's workbench and maybe said 'Good morning'. But not today. Apparently, he had something important to tell. Rodney managed to look up and tune in just in time.
"It's just a small party to say thanks for the warm welcome. On Friday night. You can of course bring your colonel," Peterson said, and then, "Ouch!" He rubbed his side and glared at Simpson, who had suddenly appeared next to him. She made a short abortive gesture and glared right back.
"What?" Rodney said, eyes darting between the two of them.
"The colonel of your team, I mean. Not-- um." Peterson trailed off.
"Colonel Sheppard is invited, too," Simpson clarified and grabbed Peterson by the arm.
Rodney picked up the coffee cup and inhaled the rich aroma. "I'll ask if he wants to come. Will there be food? And beer? Sheppard will be there if there's beer."
"Yes, there'll be beer and lots of food," Peterson assured him while he was quickly pulled away by Simpson. "See you then." He gave a short wave.
They almost ran into Sheppard on their way out. Peterson attempted to pick up a conversation, starting with a friendly greeting, but Simpson practically dragged him past Sheppard.
Sheppard watched them with one eyebrow raised, until they were out the door. "What was that all about?" he asked and set a cupcake down on Rodney's keyboard.
Rodney should have been scandalized by such disregard for the safety of technical equipment, but, hey, dessert. "No idea," he said and picked up the cake. "But you just got invited to a party. On Friday night."
"A party? What party?" Sheppard rested his hip against Rodney's workbench and crossed his arms.
"Peterson said something about a thanks for the welcome?" Rodney answered through a mouthful of cupcake, blowing powdery sugar in every direction.
"Peterson?" Sheppard pointedly wiped some sugar from his uniform jacket. "The guy just now? Why would he invite me? I've seen him maybe three times, and that includes today."
"What do I know? Maybe he wants to get on your good side. He's a bit of a kiss ass. Which is not a bad trait in an employee. I'm not complaining."
"Of course you're not."
Rodney wasn't entirely sure if Sheppard was being serious or not, so he let the comment slide. "Anyway, I told Peterson you'd be there."
"Really? How nice of you to do that," Sheppard said, and this time the biting sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable. "And what if I have plans?"
Rodney rolled his eyes. "You do have plans. With me. The game? Geldar? Remember? We'll just go to a party and plunder a buffet instead."
Sheppard deflated a little. "You could have asked me first."
"There'll be beer," Rodney pointed out.
"Well." Sheppard paused. "In that case."
"Thought so," Rodney said smugly.
"It's kinda scary how well you know me," Sheppard said jokingly. "Now tell me more about that simulation you're going to run for me today."
"You mean the one that is designed to model jumper flight maneuvers above the speed of sound in atmospheric disturbances? The one that is supposed to wait until after the city-wide diagnostic of our communications system is finished? And you thought bribery would work with me, huh?"
"Baked goods usually do the trick," Sheppard admitted, grinning.
"Congratulations. You have me completely figured out," Rodney said, but he got to work.
The Spotlighted Billboard
"Maybe you should go and take a look yourself," Zelenka concluded. It was the final sentence of a longer monologue that Rodney hadn't been keeping track of.
"I don't think so," Rodney said. Anything that was suggested by Zelenka without any kind of urgency wasn't worth thinking twice about.
"Take the colonel," Zelenka added.
"Huh?" Rodney looked up from his simulation. "Sheppard? Why? Where?"
Zelenka sighed and shoved a tablet and a tool kit into Rodney's hands. "Take these. Go to the east tower. The restroom on the lowest floor."
"What? Why would I want to pay a visit to the anthropologists' public toilet? Could you possibly suggest anything less enjoyable than that for my lunch break?" Rodney snapped.
"If you had listened to me, you would know, " Zelenka chided and tapped his earpiece. "Colonel Sheppard, please meet Dr McKay at the transporter near his lab."
Rodney glared, but Zelenka just shrugged. "You were not making progress, anyway," he pointed out.
Unfortunately, that was true. Even less fortunately, his curiosity was tickled. Rodney scowled. He grabbed an energy bar from the top drawer of his desk and activated his earpiece.
"Ronon?" he said and waited. If Ronon was currently busy beating someone up, he probably wouldn't answer. Although-- It depended on whether Ronon needed both hands to keep his opponent pinned down on the mat or if one was sufficient.
"Yeah," Ronon said, sounding a little out of breath.
"Oh good, you're there. Zelenka just requested lessons in hand-to-hand combat." Rodney flashed a quick smile in Zelenka's direction. "He says he really needs exercise. With lots of sweating and all that."
"Sure." There was a muffled thump in the background. "Tell him tomorrow morning at five."
Rodney signed off. "Tomorrow at five," he gleefully informed Zelenka and headed out, savoring the I'm-trying-not-to-care-but-I'm-failing look on Zelenka's face.
* * * * *
"Hey," Sheppard said as he sauntered down the hallway towards Rodney. "What's so important that it couldn't wait until I finished lunch?"
"Ask Zelenka," Rodney said and stepped into the transporter. "I think he's mad at me for-- something. I don't know. I don't care."
Sheppard followed him in. "Where are we going? Hey, did you finally find the holodeck that was mentioned in the Ancient database?"
Rodney touched his finger to the screen to indicate their intended destination. The doors closed behind them. "You mean the Landscape Simulation Unit."
There was that familiar tug behind his belly button when the transporter activated, and yes, Rodney knew how ridiculous that sounded to anyone who had read Harry Potter, but that was what it felt like to him. Just him, apparently. He had mentioned it once in their first year, and Sheppard was still teasing him mercilessly about it.
The transporter doors opened again and Rodney led the way. "If we ever lay eyes on it, the LSU won't be anything like a holodeck, anyway," he pointed out.
"That's a shame," Sheppard said.
"I know." Rodney sighed. To find an actual holodeck-- That would be the best thing since chocolate flavored energy bars had been included in their regular supply shipments. Holographic, life-like, almost real images of people. Of anyone he could imagine, really.
Sheppard looked at him sideways. "You're thinking about holographic sex slaves, aren't you?"
"No," Rodney said immediately.
"Uh-huh," Sheppard said with a little half-smile, clearly not buying the firm denial. "So, where are we going?" he asked again.
Rodney hesitated at a junction, then turned left. "You'll like it: a public restroom." He held up a hand to stop Sheppard from asking the obvious question. "I don't know why. I told you, it seems that I've managed to piss off Zelenka somehow."
"Really?" Sheppard said, and was that sarcasm in his voice? "Let me guess: He talked and you didn't listen? And you pride yourself on your leadership skills."
Definitely sarcasm, Rodney decided and retorted, "Says the guy who once thought that, 'Um. Come back alive,' would make an inspiring motivational speech for a possible suicide mission."
"It's good advice," Sheppard pointed out.
"The best," Rodney deadpanned. "And how is this suddenly my fault again? Why is everything always my fault?"
Sheppard bumped his shoulder against Rodney's. "It's a natural law?"
Rodney didn't even dignify that with an answer. They turned a corner and Rodney stopped in front of a nondescript door. "Here. This is it," Rodney said and palmed the control.
"Great," Sheppard muttered and followed Rodney through the door. "Hey, did I say thank you yet, Rodney? Because you always take me to the nicest--" He stopped and stared.
At least that was what Rodney thought Sheppard was doing, because Rodney was busy staring himself.
They were inside a restroom alright. But instead of the blank gray walls that made Ancient architecture exceptionally boring everywhere else, these walls were covered in writing, from floor to ceiling, all around. The mirrors above the row of sinks to the left were still clear of it, but Rodney was willing to bet that the inside of the stalls on the right was as densely packed with scribbled words as the outside. And no, he was not going to think about how the similarities between Earth facilities and Ancient ones still freaked him out.
"Wow. Half of these are written in Ancient," Sheppard said and took a slow turn. "Your scientists really are a nerdy bunch."
Rodney tore his eyes away from a line of particularly big Ancient letters on the wall opposite him to glare at Sheppard. "How come they're our scientists when their collective incompetence saves our asses by sheer dumb luck, but when they commit acts of vandalism, they're suddenly my scientists?"
"But honey," Sheppard said, smiling toothily, "you're the one who's home with the kids all the time."
Rodney would have glared harder, but that never worked on Sheppard. "Funny," he said instead and took another, more purposeful look around. He found the reason why Zelenka had sent them there. A power conduit had blown, leaving a blackened hole in the wall next to the door, the burned and frayed insides spilling out.
"Zelenka could have sent Miko to fix this, the bastard," Rodney grumbled, but got down on his knees, laid the tablet down next to him and opened the tool kit.
"Oh, that's the problem," Sheppard said, assessing the damage over Rodney's shoulder. "Doesn't look like a big deal."
"It isn't. Hence my irritation about Zelenka sending me down here to fix it."
"More importantly, what am I doing here?" Sheppard wanted to know.
Rodney started sorting through the single strands of an optical data cable that had been blown apart by the burst of electricity. "I'm going to need a second pair of hands later on," he said absently.
"And Zelenka thought I'd be the person best qualified for the job?"
Rodney snorted. "Er, no. That can't be it." He selected a pair of tweezers from the kit.
"Well," Sheppard said dryly. "Then it's probably because I'm least likely to strangle you before the repairs are finished. Even though my patience is stretching a little thin already."
"Uh-huh," Rodney agreed, not really listening. "I'm trying to concentrate here. So if you could--" He made a shooing gesture over his shoulder.
"Right," Sheppard said. "You don't mind if I borrow this, do you." He picked up the tablet, not waiting for confirmation.
For a few minutes Rodney was able to work efficiently, then Sheppard said, out of the blue, "I don't think we started this graffiti thing. This looks old."
Rodney turned around. Sheppard was inspecting the row of big Ancient letters that dominated the wall opposite the door.
"What, like-- Ancient graffiti?" Rodney asked.
"Yeah." Sheppard tilted his head thoughtfully at the writing.
Rodney could relate. He was in the middle of adjusting his mental image of the Ancients, too.
"What does it say?" Rodney asked. "You translated it, right?"
"I'm working on it." Sheppard started to enter Ancient characters into the translation software on the tablet, but then he looked up. "Wait. You need translation? I thought you can read Ancient?"
Rodney rose, brushing non-existent dust from his trousers. "Excuse me for limiting my language studies to vocabulary with scientific significance. Ancient slang wasn't really high on my list of priorities up to now." He looked over Sheppard's shoulder as Sheppard continued working. It was a painfully slow process. "Oh, this is going to take ages. Let me--"
"Hey," Sheppard said and pulled the tablet away, out of reach from Rodney's grabbing hand. "I'm almost done."
"That's what they always say."
"Here." Sheppard touched his finger to the button 'translate', and the translation popped up.
"Oh, I'd forgotten about that," Rodney said.
"'Go *censored* yourself'?" Sheppard read, disbelieving. "It doesn't translate naughty words?"
"Oh, it translates them just fine. It just doesn't display them," Rodney said. "Thanks to-- you know. That guy. Long hair, wears those ugly Hawaiian shirts. The IT linguist who wrote the program. He's very-- religious or something. And apparently he's queasy about dirty words. A weird trait in a linguist, if you ask me."
"Wait a minute," Sheppard said, shaking his head. "Did we really just discover an Ancient writing that says, 'Go fuck yourself'? An Ancient writing? Go fuck yourself?"
"Looks like it." Rodney felt a grin spread across his face.
It was echoed by Sheppard. "I'm starting to like them a lot better," he said. "And there's a lot of this Ancient stuff around."
"But unfortunately, I need that back now," Rodney said and pulled the tablet from Sheppard's grip. "I wasn't planning on staying down here all afternoon, you know."
"Okay." Sheppard shrugged. "There's plenty to read here in English, too. Here." He pointed and read, amused, "The Wraith: Out of sight, but never out of bleach."
"As long as you're entertained," Rodney said, rolling his eyes, and left Sheppard to it. He fully intended to focus on getting the job done as quickly as possible, but now that Sheppard had pointed the first one out to him, Rodney couldn't help but checking out the wall around the blast hole for more graffiti lines.
Just above Rodney's eye level there was a little exchange:
I want &pi!
Here, have a piece: 8979323846
It made him grin, because, well, &pi.
And next to this someone had laid out a novel approach to fighting for your life in the Pegasus galaxy:
Anti-aging cream: The ultimate anti-Wraith weapon, y/n?
Rodney shook his head, torn between amusement and annoyance about the things his staff wasted their time with. And that thought brought him back to the task at hand. When Sheppard interrupted his concentration again, Rodney had almost finished reconnecting the cable.
"Okay, whoever wrote this has never been within an arm's reach of a Wraith."
"What?" Rodney asked and turned around, none too pleased about the interruption.
Sheppard stepped out of Rodney's line of sight. The words were big enough for Rodney to read, even from the other side of the room:
Fighting the Wraith is getting old fast
"Still, it's almost funny," Sheppard commented.
Rodney heard the unspoken, 'If you haven't been there,' loud and clear, and he could only agree with the sentiment.
He turned back to his Gordian knot of cable strands and managed to put the continuing silence to good use. He had almost gotten to the part where he needed Sheppard to give him a hand when he heard a weird sound. Rodney needed a moment to identify it as Sheppard's laughter. Sheppard rarely laughed out loud. That, plus the fact that Sheppard obviously tried to suppress it, made Rodney instantly suspicious. He stood and stealthily advanced to peek over Sheppard's shoulder at whatever it was that had him in stitches.
McKay's First Law
A body persists its state of rest unless acted upon by an external force.
(Really. Ask him about this.)
"That is not funny!" Rodney sputtered. Sheppard just laughed harder.
"Not funny," Rodney repeated and crossed his arms.
"Look," Sheppard said, grinning. "Here's the second one. You'll like that a lot better."
Rodney's look, in equal parts doubtful and disapproving, set Sheppard off again. Rodney sent him another glare for good measure and read:
McKay's Second Law
The armed forces equal heavy weaponry multiplied by stupidity.
(Really. Ask ANYONE about this.)
"Okay, yes," Rodney conceded, "this one is funny. And it's true, too." And now he wanted to read number three. There had to be three, just like Newton intended. "Where's the third law? There should be a third." His eyes swept the wall, looking for writing in a similar style (curly) and color (blue).
All of the sudden, Sheppard stopped laughing, his eyes fixed on three lines of curly blue writing. Rodney closed in.
McKay's Third Law
Every attraction finds its equal and opposite attraction.
(Really. Ask JS about this.)
He read the lines twice, frowning. "Who is JS?" He couldn't think of a single woman on the expedition with the initials JS. Which was a tragedy, because said woman was obviously not-so-secretly pining away for him.
Sheppard just stared at him for a moment - a stare of the incredulous 'I can't believe you're this dense' variety, which Rodney got to see surprisingly often from him. It was then that Rodney spotted the bright red words right next to the third law:
It's Sheppard's job to watch McKay's six ass
"What?" Rodney yelped. "Oh no. Nonono. Not again."
He had the faint hope that maybe he got it wrong, that he had read wrong, that maybe JS wasn't actually supposed to be John Sheppard, but there was more.
"Does this say 'Rodney loves John' in Ancient?" Sheppard asked slowly, tilting his head at three rows of carefully drawn Ancient letters inside a heart.
Rodney knew his own name in Ancient writing when he saw it, just like everyone else in Atlantis. "Oh my god. It does! What are we, pre-schoolers?" Rodney asked, his voice getting shriller. He double-checked with the translation program, just to be sure. "We're not-- How-- This is the second time this happened! Where do people get the idea that we-- that we-- Why?"
"I don't know, Rodney," Sheppard said, exasperated. "Look. It's no big deal. It's just graffiti. Think of it as a harmless joke. That's probably how it was meant."
"A harmless joke," Rodney repeated flatly. "Right. This one, too? John Sheppard only ever gets down on his knees for Wraith queens and Rodney McKay? Yes, this is very funny. I see what you mean," he said acidly. He had never felt less like laughing.
Sheppard looked a little uneasy now, too. "Okay," he amended. "Make that tasteless jokes."
Rodney did a double-take. "That is all you have to say? Anyone could come down here and read this, get the idea in their head that we're-- Actually, someone must have come down here and written this! Someone from Atlantis!"
"Calm down, okay?" Sheppard said. "I don't think anyone seriously believes that we're--" He gestured vaguely.
"Oh, you don't think, huh?" Rodney narrowed his eyes at John. "Well, one thing's for sure, wherever they got the idea, it wasn't me," he said and drew himself up to full height in front of Sheppard. He knew he wasn't the least bit intimidating, not even with the accusing finger pointed straight at Sheppard's nose. "Your hair really is the only thing I can think of that could spark such assumptions!"
"What?" Sheppard asked, disbelieving. "What is this weird fascination you've got with my hair? My hair doesn't have anything to do with anything! Let me spell this out for you once again: It does this-- the--" - he gestured at it - "all on its own."
"Oh, please," Rodney said, snorting, which prompted Sheppard to take a menacing step closer. "Your careful hair-do practically screams--" Rodney trailed off when he noticed that Sheppard's attention had wandered elsewhere. He followed Sheppard's eyes to the row of mirrors on the wall.
Rodney and Sheppard were staring back at him, no more than a bare inch between them, Sheppard's hand tight on Rodney's biceps, Rodney's fingers gripping the material of Sheppard's sleeve in turn.
God, were they always in each others' space like that? Did they always get this close, did they usually get physical?
"Oh," Rodney said. "I never realized."
Sheppard released him and took a hasty step backwards. He rubbed his neck uncomfortably.
"Um. Is this what we do?" Rodney asked.
"Apparently," Sheppard said.
"That explains it, then," Rodney said, sort of relieved. "Well, this is easy to fix. We just keep--" Rodney gestured between them.
"An appropriate distance?" Sheppard finished.
"Exactly. Shouldn't be a problem." And Rodney demonstrated by stepping further away from Sheppard.
"Right. No problem," Sheppard agreed, sounding distant already.
"Um. I-- Miko can finish this later. I have to--" Rodney said and indicated the general direction of the door.
Sheppard nodded, even though Rodney didn't specify what exactly it was that he had to do. "Me too," he said.
Rodney collected the tools and Sheppard picked up the tablet and they walked back to the transporter in silence, at least a three feet distance between them at all times. They rode back up and parted ways.
"See you," Sheppard said and handed Rodney the tablet.
Rodney took it, not meeting Sheppard's eyes. "Er, yeah," he answered and walked away, fast.
* * * * *
They kept an appropriate distance.
The tactic worked, as far as Rodney could tell.
But it was only now - because they were consciously avoiding too much and too close contact - that Rodney realized how often he had spent time with Sheppard, and how often they had touched before. The occasional shoulder squeeze, a hand on his arm, their elbows brushing together on top of the table and their knees bumping together beneath it. Just small touches, noticable only because they weren't happening anymore.
"Are you two fighting?" Zelenka asked one day, frowning, when Sheppard came to a stop on the other side of the workbench instead of approaching to look over Rodney's shoulder like he had done countless times before.
"No, we're not fighting," Rodney said irritably.
"Everything's fine," Sheppard emphasized at Zelenka's doubtful look.
Zelenka looked from Sheppard to Rodney and back. "You're absolutely sure you're not fighting?"
"Seriously," Rodney said and turned to Sheppard. "We let him save Atlantis heroically just once, and suddenly he's Mr I-know-everything-better-than-you-do. Figures."
"Fine," Zelenka said, raising his hands in defeat. "Forget I asked."
Which Rodney would have done, except that Ronon asked the exact same question a couple of days later at the breakfast table, when Rodney didn't sit down next to or opposite Sheppard for the third day in a row.
It was ridiculous. They weren't fighting. They had just been-- seeing a little less of each other lately. They kept an appropriate distance.
Nothing had changed, really.
Except-- Video games just weren't any fun when the computer was the only opponent around to beat.
The Flashing Neon Sign
Sam was sitting behind her desk, head bowed over a report, when Rodney entered her office.
"You wanted to see me?" he said.
She looked up and smiled. It looked a little forced, but maybe that was just Rodney's imagination.
"Yes. Rodney. Have a seat."
The door slid shut behind him. With her finger still on the remote control for the door, Sam shrugged at his questioning look. "I wouldn't want to be interrupted."
Rodney sat down. "Is this about our funding again? I told you, I'm not going to cut Simpson's budget anymore than I already have. Her research is essential for the--"
"Rodney," Sam cut him off and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. It was a cute little nervous gesture she had taken to since her hair had grown out. She took a deep breath. "This isn't something I would normally speak up about, and I'll be keeping it short. It's none of my business who you choose to--" she visibly steeled herself-- "enter a relationship with."
"Huh?" was all Rodney had the presence of mind to say. Sure, he tended to be oblivious of such things, but he would certainly have remembered if he had acquired a new girlfriend recently. "What--"
Sam raised a hand. "Please, let me finish," she said. "I'm not going to ask you to end it, if that's what you're afraid of. I'm not blind. I can see that it-- works. For some unfathomable reason. But you need to get your act together. I understand what you're trying to do, that you don't want to raise suspicion. But you're going overboard. You're trying too hard. A number of people know about your relationship and will continue to cover for you, but someone new or narrow-minded, or someone holding a grudge might notice and put two and two together."
"Seriously," Rodney said, staring at her. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Rodney," Sam said crossly. "Obviously I can't have this talk with John, so work with me here."
Somewhere in the course of this conversation - right after the first sentence, actually - Rodney had completely lost track of it. "What does Sheppard have to do with my--"
"I'm prepared not to ask, Rodney," Sam interrupted him. She sounded increasingly irritated, and Rodney didn't have the faintest idea why. "But that doesn't mean that no one else will tell. So if you could dial down your 'we're really just friends' act a few notches, that would be great. Before anyone else figures it out?"
Finally, finally, the pieces slotted together in Rodney's mind. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out.
"Talk it through with John," Sam advised. "I don't want to be forced to have this discussion again." She hit the remote control and the door hissed open behind Rodney.
When he was still sitting motionlessly ten seconds later, just staring at her, she said firmly, "That's it, Rodney. You can go."
Entirely on autopilot, he stood and walked from her office, across the gangway, down the stairs, through the gate room, down the corridor, and into the nearest transporter.
Sam, too, he thought. Sam, too, again and again, like his brain was stuck in a feedback loop. Sam! Was there anyone left in this galaxy who didn't think he was getting it on with John Sheppard?
Rodney's steps became faster as his heart rate increased.
How dare anyone make assumptions? Had they lost their minds? What was it about the idea that made it so appealing that everyone was willing to get on board with it?
John's door wasn't locked, so Rodney just stormed in, his momentum carrying him all the way through the room.
John practically jumped from his bed and threw the book he'd been reading aside. "Rodney? Is there a problem?"
Rodney just grabbed John by the shoulders and pressed their lips together, quickly and efficiently.
"Umph," Sheppard said, eyes wide.
Rodney let go immediately after and stepped back. "There!" he yelled. "Happy now?"
John blinked. "About what?" he asked very slowly.
"Not you!" Rodney said and waved his hand. "Everyone! The universe!"
"Rodney?" John asked, in his humor-the-crazy-local-with-the-spear voice. "Have you been making fun of Jones in the toxicology lab again?"
"What? No! Why? I'm not poisoned! Or drugged!"
"No?" John asked and got closer, carefully, possibly to get a close look at Rodney's pupils. "Because you're acting kinda--"
"High-strung?" Rodney finished and batted John's hand away as it reached out to him. "No surprise there, I am high-strung!"
"I was going to say 'crazy'."
"Hey!" Rodney said indignantly.
"Well, what am I supposed to think?" John shot back. "You walk in here and just--" He gestured between them.
Rodney needed a moment to remind himself that, yes, he had indeed just waltzed into John's quarters and planted one on him. Just like that.
"It's not something you'd usually do, Rodney," John pointed out, entirely too calm about this whole thing.
"Well, not according to the rest of the universe," Rodney said heatedly. "According to the rest of the universe, I do it on a daily basis. That and more. Even Sam thinks that we're going at it!"
"Wait," John said, suddenly not that calm anymore. "What?"
"She suggested we drop the 'just friends' act, because it's obvious that we're really just trying to hide our secret love affair! Which is apparently not secret at all, because half this city full of gossiping washerwomen knows about it!"
"Colonel Carter?" John sounded more surprised than anything else. "You're kidding me."
"I'm not! That's the point!"
"Okay. Just--" John rubbed his neck, frowning down at the floor. When he met Rodney's eyes again, his look was calculating all of the sudden. "How did you get from 'outraged' to 'in the mood for kissing' in such a short span of time, anyway?"
And wow, there was a question Rodney wasn't prepared to answer. He had the sudden urge to run, to turn around and flee as fast as his legs would carry him.
"It didn't seem like a bad idea at the time," Rodney said defensively. To be perfectly true, he hadn't thought about it at all, had never reached a decision or formed a plan at any point. And he really, really didn't want to talk about this anymore. He wanted to forget this whole thing had ever happened.
Rodney searched for a suitable distraction, a new topic, anything to say, but unfortunately the only thing he could come up with was, "How was it, anyway?"
"How was it?"John repeated. He looked-- amused now, and that was just wrong. "I was too surprised to notice much of anything. You tell me."
"Me? I, um," Rodney said. "It was-- over quickly."
There was a strangely loaded pause, then John asked, "Too quickly?"
Before Rodney had managed to fully process the question, John took a step towards him. And another one.
Rodney backed away. "What are you doing?"
"Providing more data," Sheppard said, and then he moved, fast.
The kiss was over just as quickly as the first one had been, but it was completely different in every other respect: Less force, less pressure, less yelling afterwards.
Rodney was acutely aware of John's hands, one still on his neck, the other on his cheek. John's breath was warm against his lips, his eyes were dark and defiant. And challenging, underneath.
It was then that everything came back to Rodney all at once - the tiny hints, the huge pointers, them, where they had started, who they had become. "I'm such an idiot," he said. "There are no words to describe all the ways in which I am a complete moron."
It left him wide open for a sarcastic comeback, but John just leaned in again, for a real kiss, a once-in-a-lifetime, set-to-a-symphony, time-dilating, mind-blowing kind of touch of lips against lips, tongue against tongue.
Rodney was panting by the time they parted. He realized with something between surprise and satisfaction that his one hand was playing with John's hair while the other had wandered down to the small of his back.
"Yep. You're a moron," John said, brushing his stubbled cheek against Rodney's. It felt weird, completely weird, but good. Exciting, even.
"I can't argue with you right now," Rodney said distractedly, breathing the words right into John's ear, and tried for that stubbly friction again. John started licking and kissing Rodney's neck, working his way up to Rodney's mouth. It felt fantastic. So good, in fact, that Rodney was distracted from the distraction.
"Later," John said and pressed a quick kiss to Rodney's lips. He stroked his thumb along Rodney's collarbone. "We'll have time for that later. Right?" It sounded like an actual question.
Rodney held John's eyes for a moment. "Yes," he said. "Of course. What, you thought I'd stop arguing with you just because we're--" he searched for the right word and gave up, setting with, "--a thing? If that's what you think you'll be getting out of this--"
John grinned and cut him off with another kiss. For once Rodney didn't mind being interrupted.
(The Beginning In) The End
"It really is a pleasure to see you again," Nera-ya said for the seventh time, after the greeting ceremony was over. "It's been so long."
"Almost five years," John answered, also for the seventh time, even though Nera-yu had politely expressed his confusion about the word 'year' when John had mentioned it first. "It's great to be here again."
It really was. Because the Araians were still nice and friendly, and they had excellent food (if you didn't count the disgusting fruit they'd been trading to Atlantis since their first year). Good food was always a big plus in Rodney's book.
It would have been exactly Rodney's kind of mission, if the Araians hadn't still been so keen on incense and monotone speeches. Rodney had hoped for the best, despite Lorne's warnings, but he had been tragically disappointed. And the damn incense still made him sneeze.
"We can prepare a room for you," Nera-yu offered and put an arm around his wife's shoulder.
"If you want to rest for a while," Nera-ya added and winked at Rodney.
This time, Rodney was almost tempted to wink back. "Good idea," he said instead. "I could, um, rest."
John raised an eyebrow at him. Rodney had learned to interpret that particular look as a kind of fond exasperation, with an air of disbelief.
"The same as last time, then?" Nera-ya asked.
"Not quite," Rodney said. "But yes, thanks."
* * * * *
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