SGA fic - Glass Houses by MistoKitt 2/2
Title: Glass Houses 2/2
Author: MistoKitt
Rating: R
Fandom/Pairing: SGA, McShep (there's a shock, I'm sure)
Word Count: 12,300
Summary: Rodney looked back and forth between John and the man on the doorstep. A slow sinking feeling started in the pit of his stomach as he began to realize why the ears had seemed familiar. And the hair, now that he thought about it.
A/N: My profuse thanks to rilestar, who once again subjected herself to my punctuation and spelling issues during the first draft of this fic. And this story wouldn't even exist without rin_sakaguchi, who edited, tweaked, and offered up some of the best lines in the fic not once, not twice, but THREE times. She let me know when I was cutting corners, or contradicting myself entirely, and she didn't let me get away with it, even if it would have been easier. Anything that is right and good with this fic belongs to them, anything that is still screwed up is totally my fault.
When Rodney returned thirty-six pain filled and tedious hours later, he walked into complete and utter disarray. There were half-empty pizza boxes strewn across the living room, old beer bottles tipped on their sides with small puddles of liquid underneath them, a jacket half on a chair, and dvds both in cases and out as far as the eye could see. Rodney groaned, whether it was relief that he was back, or frustration at the state of the house was anybodys guess.
He picked his way slowly through the living room, doing his best to avoid stepping on anything. He dropped his laptop case on one end of the couch as he went and toed off his shoes in the hallway. Rodney pulled off his jacket as he reached the master bedroom, and debated the merits of taking a hot shower before passing out. It had to be after three in the morning, and he was pretty sure that he smelled fairly rank, but he hadn't slept since he had left and he couldn't seem to get his body to cooperate with anything that didn't involve collapsing on a mattress.
John was sprawled on his stomach across the bed, taking up at least fifty percent more room than he actually needed, and snoring quite heavily. Rodney gave him a gentle push to try and nudge him over. John opened one eye and stared at him for a brief moment before grabbing his arm and actually yanking him down onto the bed.
Rodney yelped in both surprise and pain. He had bruises on his bruises at this point, and was pretty sure he'd come out of stick fighting lessons with Teyla with fewer injuries. John didn't seem to notice though, and he simply wrapped himself around Rodney in that loose-limbed and annoyingly endearing way.
“W'come back,” John mumbled into Rodney's shoulder.
The smell of alcohol wafted over Rodney in a not entirely pleasant way. “You're drunk,” Rodney said, wrinkling his nose.
“Mmmhmm,” John hummed against him.
Rodney sighed and maneuvered himself so that he could get his arm around John. “Just don't puke on me in the morning or anything, okay?”
John just snored at him and drooled on his shirt.
***
Rodney was already half way through his shower the next morning when John finally got up and stumbled into the master bathroom, retching almost the second he reached the toilet.
“Oh, that's attractive,” Rodney peered around the shower curtain and wrinkled his nose.
“Death,” John said as soon as he'd stopped puking, “Slow and horrible death to the whole fucking world.”
“Deep,” Rodney said, nodding unsympathetically and returning to his shower. John puking had quite thoroughly managed to kill anything his libido had to say about John being in the same room with him while Rodney was wet and naked.
***
Breakfast that morning consisted of two very hungover men, and one who was still battered and exhausted. Rodney considered it both inherently unfair, and just his damn luck that he should come back feeling like hell and not get pampered simply because everyone else felt worse on a purely self-inflicted level. Of course, this allowed him to remain completely guilt free while making eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast while the two Sheppards turned steadily more green.
“You better get your head screwed back on Sheppard, we're scheduled for departure in less than three days.” Rodney pointed out with a wicked grin.
John looked up at him sharply, still holding his head in his hands while slouching against the counter. He must have realized that Rodney was just trying to get a rise out of him, because John gave him a sort of half-smile and then let his head drop back down to the counter with a groan.
“If this is one of those hangovers that lasts for three days, please feel free to kill me right now,” he said, voice muffled with his face buried in his arms.
“Tempting,” Rodney said, trying to appear as though he was considering the offer, “but no. Bacon?” He held a slice out to John so that it was right by his face.
John flipped him off as he dashed to the bathroom to get reacquainted with his toilet.
“What about you Bill?” Rodney called out to the living room, where Bill was currently half-collapsed on the sofa. “Eggs? Toast with lots of butter?”
“Oh my god,” Bill moaned, “Why hasn't he killed you and hidden the body?”
Rodney smiled happily to himself and limped back to the stove to dish himself up a plate of food. Yeah, he might not be getting pampered and fawned over as much as he would have liked, but he still had that old McKay charm to fall back on.
***
Rodney was happy to discover that John and Bill had apparently managed to mend a few fences in his absence. They still seemed a little tentative around each other, but John was smiling at his father now, rather than shooting him dark looks.
Apparently beer, pizza, and dual hangovers that would have killed a rhino were enough to bring some father-son relationships back into perspective. If Rodney's father had still been alive he might have even been tempted to try that technique with him.
Then again, maybe not.
In any case, Bill and John's hangovers had worn off by that evening, and the three of them spent a late night lounging in the living room, making fun of some of the bad science fiction films in John's collection, playing several rounds of poker, and studiously avoiding drinking any beer.
Rodney was still insanely curious about what John and Bill had talked about during the day and a half that he had been gone, and at the same time he felt kind of bad for being around for so long before the SGC had finally called him away. Obviously they had just needed some time alone to discuss things, Rodney had been part of the problem, rather than part of John's idiotic solution.
Around four in the morning, they were all feeling punchy enough that it didn't matter that they'd been laying off the liquor all evening. Exhaustion and camaraderie had a way of loosening tongues and bringing out a healthy dose of honesty. Rodney finally said what he'd been thinking all day.
“I should have left sooner. I'm sorry.”
Bill looked puzzled by the remark, but John seemed to understand what Rodney was trying to say.
“No, Rodney, it wasn't your fault.” John laid a hand on the back of Rodney's neck. “If you hadn't been here in the beginning, we probably never would have made it this far anyway. Once we got to the point where we were ready to talk, we talked. You leaving had nothing to do with it.”
Bill snorted at that.
John rolled his eyes. “Fine, nothing to do with it except for the fact that once you left I decided I needed to get shit-faced to deal with it.”
Rodney offered up a smirk at that.
Rodney thought that maybe now that he wasn't needed, he should actually take off for good. John's ruse, which had been growing more pointless by the day before, was now completely obsolete. Rodney didn't say anything though, because Bill was sitting right there and Rodney might be tired, but he wasn't stupid.
He'd decided to bring it up with John when they finally went to bed, but by the time they stumbled into the bedroom the sun had already started to come up. They both collapsed in a heap on the mattress and were asleep within seconds of each other.
***
Rodney thought about it the next day, while he ran a hand through John's hair, waiting for him to wake up. He thought about it all through his first cup of coffee, and his second. He thought about it while he played a game of chess with Bill and lost spectacularly yet again.
In the end, he decided not to say anything. It was John's ruse, if he wanted to give it up, he could damn well be the one to bring it up. Maybe John didn't want to make his father angry at him for lying, or maybe it would have just been too much of a pain in the ass to explain. Whatever John's reason for keeping up this game, Rodney didn't feel the need to be the one to stop it.
Rodney felt that it was completely beside the point that he didn't want to stop it.
***
Their last full day of leave dawned bright and sunny in a way that seemed very cliché to Rodney. He and John were in agreement that they spent more than enough time outdoors in their daily lives, whether or not it was on this particular planet, so they were perfectly happy to pull the blinds and hole up at the house.
Bill seemed content to stick around as well, and that was how they found themselves huddled around John's small kitchen table with a deck of cards and a pile of toothpicks for ante, well before noon.
Rodney grumbled as his bluff was called for the third time and he lost the pot again.
“Poker is pointless without any real stakes,” he whined.
“What are you talking about? Those are my favorite toothpicks,” John pouted as he pointed to his father's ever-growing pile.
Bill snorted and stuck one in his mouth. “Rodney's right, let's play for real stakes.”
“Like what?” John asked idly, not bothering to look up from his cards.
“Well,” Rodney said, trying to sound like he was being completely spur-of-the-moment about all this, “we could play for embarrassing stories.”
“What, like Truth or Dare, poker style?” John gave him a condescending look.
“Yes, because we're twelve year old girls and this is a slumber party,” Rodney shot back defensively.
“Hey, it was your idea,” John said.
Bill's head went back and forth, watching them like one would watch a tennis match.
“Fine,” Rodney huffed, “What do you suggest then? Strip poker?”
Rodney wasn't serious of course, not with Bill there at least, that would just be weird. But John's eyes had gone kind of glassy and he was staring at Rodney in an intent sort of way.
Bill looked like he was trying to chew a hole through his lip to keep from laughing, and he was grinning madly at his dazed-looking son.
“What?” Rodney said, “You know what, never mind. Let's just play something else.”
He threw his cards down on the table and watched as John shook himself and came out of whatever weird zone he had been in.
***
Rodney emerged from the shower that evening to the smell of something delicious. Something that was definitely not of the take-out variety.
“Oh my god,” Rodney squeaked as he practically fell into the kitchen, “Did one of you cook?”
“Goulash,” Bill said proudly, stirring a steaming pan on the stove.
“Listen to him,” John mocked from across the counter, “You'd think he invented the stuff.”
“That thing works?” Rodney pointed at the stove and looked shocked.
He ducked as both Sheppards threw onion peels at him.
***
When Rodney had been growing up, dinner at the McKay household was always a quiet affair. If anyone did happen to speak, it was only to yell accusations at someone else. Rodney had assumed it was the same for John's family, as the last week and a half had been populated by meals of chinese or pizza and tension that could have been cut with a knife.
Their last dinner together couldn't have been more different.
Bill and John took turns cracking jokes - really bad jokes - in an effort to see which one of them could make Rodney break first.
Rodney, in turn, told stories that invariably ended up with him saving the world. Unfortunately, with Bill there, he had to leave out quite a few key details, or change certain aspects of the stories around entirely. This always made them sound both completely made-up, and pretty damn ludicrous.
John, rather than back up the ones he knew to be true, heckled Rodney at every turn. Rodney would have been pissed, but it was easier and far more entertaining to just make John come off as something of a prick in all the stories.
“So then, even though I proved that she was a lying bitch, my team leader goes off and does what he always does, and sleeps with her anyway.”
The fact that he was talking about John was never specifically stated, but always thinly veiled at best.
“Not that I was shocked, I mean, it was practically second nature to him at that point, I suppose.”
“Hey,” John said indignantly, “did you just call me a slut?”
“He can be a pretty perceptive guy when he wants to be though,” Rodney smiled in victory.
John threw a soggy, overcooked tomato at him.
“You know,” John pouted, “calling your boyfriend a slut says something about you as much as it does me.”
“At least it doesn't say I'm a slut.” Rodney threw the tomato back at John.
“You want to know a secret?” Bill asked.
“Dad,” John yelped, “don't!”
John looked so absolutely stricken that Rodney was about to say no, he didn't want to know.
Bill just grinned and said, “The only reason he seems like a slut is because he's totally clueless.”
Much to Rodney's astonishment, John's dismay disappeared almost instantly. Instead, he blushed and smiled almost shyly down at the table.
Rodney was still trying to recover from the concept of John Sheppard blushing when Bill spoke up again. “It's true. The man is completely hopeless with women, he never sees it coming.”
Rodney snorted, that just figured.
Rodney never knew who struck first, but suddenly there was another chunk of tomato flying through the air, followed by a bean. Rodney was hit square in the chest by a soggy piece of macaroni, and before he could protest being brought into this against his will, food was being flung across the table in mass quantities.
Onions, beans, macaroni, beef and tomatoes, all liberally doused in sauce, slopped over the table and splattered against clothing. Greasy bits of garlic bread were mashed into hair and carpet alike. Laughter and screams could probably be heard from a block away as the three men thoroughly decimated John's small dining room.
As the chaos subsided, Rodney took stock of his surroundings. Bill was hunched over the table, still laughing, with red sauce running down the side of his face. Rodney was sprawled on his back across the floor, wheezing, meat and tomatoes slimy under his shirt and against his skin.
John was half on top of him, huffing for breath, like Rodney after running a mile. His hair was in even more disarray than usual, if that was possible, thanks to the tomato sauce and garlic butter grease slicking it up.
John ran a hand through his hair and made a disgusted face before grinning maniacally and smearing the mess across Rodney's cheek.
“That's disgusting!” Rodney yelped, trying to wipe the greasy smear off his face with John's sleeve. John chuckled and leaned down, licking at Rodney's mouth until Rodney moaned and let him in. Rodney shivered and let his hands trail up John's back, clutching at his shoulders.
Eventually John pulled back and slowly stood up, the glazed look had returned to his eyes. He held out a hand and help Rodney to his feet, and when Rodney was finally standing, neither of them tried to let go.
Rodney didn't know how long they'd been standing like that, staring at each other, hands still clutched firmly together. It might have been seconds, or even hours.
Bill finally cleared his throat, and they both turned to look at him questioningly.
“I think we have officially killed your dining room,” he said with a smirk.
John finally looked at the mess surrounding them. He shrugged.
“Well,” Rodney said, pulling away from John's warmth, “as none of this was my fault to begin with, I'm going to go take another shower.”
He walked to the bathroom connected to John's bedroom, shedding clothing and soggy macaroni noodles as he went.
Rodney had barely stepped under the spray when the door opened. A week ago he might have been alarmed by this, but now he just poked his head around the curtain and looked at John curiously. “Shouldn't you be scrubbing tomato stains out of your carpet or something?”
John shrugged and just looked at Rodney. Looked at him for just long enough to make him feel uncomfortable and strangely exposed in a way that had nothing to do with nudity. Rodney pulled back behind the curtain and took a deep breath.
Rodney closed his eyes and let the warm water run through his hair, sighing as the food and sauce came unglued from his skin. He opened his eyes again when he heard the curtain being moved aside.
John stepped into the shower behind him, naked and smiling that shy smile again. Rodney blinked at him.
“What?” Rodney began, without a clue which question he wanted to ask first.
“Shh,” John said, putting a hand out and running it from Rodney's shoulder to his elbow.
Rodney turned around. “John,” he whispered, staring into John's eyes.
“Don't,” John whispered back, leaning in that extra fraction of an inch so that his lips brushed against Rodney's.
And Rodney let him. God, how he wanted this, had wanted this, almost for forever. Soap slick hands roamed across bare skin as warm water ran over hair and into eyes. John ran a hand down Rodney's ribs and Rodney pushed him up against a wall, trapping John with his body against the cool tile. John moaned into the kiss.
“I want you.” and “Yes!” and “God, please.”
John's hands moved hot against his back, water pooling between them and running away in hot rivulets as the steam rose around them. There were murmurs and whispers of endearments, but no promises and no declarations.
Somewhere, in the back of Rodney's mind, a voice was screaming out that this was a mistake. This was going to change everything, and not in the way he wanted it to change. John would never forgive him. John would hate him. John wouldn't be able to look at him or talk to him. Or maybe it was Rodney that wouldn't be able to look at John in the same way again. Not after having this.
“Stop thinking,” John whispered into his ear, barely audible over the sound of the water, “just... be here.”
Rodney ran a hand through John's hair and pulled their mouths together once more. Okay, Rodney thought, I can do that, I can live in the moment. And he shivered as their bodies aligned just right and John gasped into his mouth.
***
John fell asleep almost as soon as they made it to the bed. Rodney wasn't nearly so lucky. Of course, Rodney was the one who was trying to deal with the fact that he had just had what amounted to a one night stand with someone he was going to have to see and work with on a daily basis. Not just work with, but someone around whom he had to think clearly in dangerous and potentially life threatening situations. And okay, John had that problem too, but John hadn't fallen in love with him.
And there was the problem in its entirety, Rodney thought miserably, he had been stupid enough to fall in love.
John mumbled something in his sleep and curled up tighter into Rodney's side. Rodney fought back the urge to shove him off the bed. It wasn't John's fault that Rodney was an idiot.
Everything was going to be different in the morning. Absolutely everything was going to change now. Unless Rodney could somehow find a way to keep up this game, only in reverse.
It had been so easy in so many ways, pretending to be John's lover. John had made it easy.
Pretending that he never had been John's lover, that was going to be far more tricky. And definitely a lot more painful.
There was no other way around it though, Rodney decided, he was going to have to act like it hadn't meant anything. He was going to have to be able to laugh it off.
Rodney took a deep breath and tried to live in this moment too, tried to enjoy the feeling of John in his arms. This was the last time he was going to be allowed this close.
***
Rodney hummed to himself while he disentangled one of his dirty t-shirts from one of John's. Humming was Rodney's not entirely subtle way of saying “Look at me! I'm fine with this! I'm so fine with this that I'm humming.”
Rodney was forced to wonder just how he had managed to fake his way through this whole week of spontaneous lies, if humming was the best he could do with an entire night of planning.
Rodney tossed John's shirt over his shoulder and managed to hit him upside the head with it, earning him a dark look that wasn't intimidating in the least when it was accompanied by John's amused smirk. Rodney shoved his own shirt into his duffel, trying not to feel all that bitter about how well John was handling this.
“Hey, next time we come back, we've gotta take a trip up to see Jeannie, okay?” Rodney said, proud that he kept the choked feeling in his throat out of his voice. He could do normal, everyday conversation. He most certainly could.
“She's going to have me killed when she finds out that I was here and didn't even stop by this time around.” Rodney threw a pair of pants into his duffel somewhat haphazardly.
John was silent. Rodney turned around with the intention of asking if John had heard him, when he realized exactly what he had said. Oh god, he'd screwed up already. Not an hour into the day and he'd managed to stick his foot in his mouth.
He'd spoken as though it were a forgone conclusion that he and John would be spending their next vacation together. As if all of this hadn't just been a farce, designed to throw off John's father. He was acting like it was his god given right to order Sheppard around and tell him where and how to spend his time off.
Rodney winced and took a step back. John was leaning over his half-packed duffel, completely still, with his back to Rodney. Rodney grabbed his bag and began backing toward the door..
“Rodney,” John said, finally looking up from his duffel, “Are you saying that you want...”
On the verge of utter panic, Rodney started babbling before John could finish that sentence. Before John could point out Rodney's error. “I mean, I can't just spend all my off time with you. As enchanting as this little week of Sheppard family therapy-hell has been, I have family to see too. And now you do too. So it's all okay now. We've both got family to see. Separately.” Rodney tried desperately to stem the flow of babble, but it was like he'd opened up a dam somewhere in his brain, and the words were just flowing out.
“And I'm just going to go now,” Rodney said as he practically threw himself through the bedroom door and out into the living room.
Bill was standing by the television, his own duffel slung over his shoulder as he waited to say his goodbyes. His eyes widened when he saw Rodney practically fall out of the bedroom and clamor down the hall in his attempt to escape.
“Rodney? You alright?” Bill cocked his head to the side in a way that was so like John that Rodney had to stop himself from whimpering at it all.
It was so unfair. John was, well, John was perfect. He was exactly what Rodney both wanted and needed in his life. Rodney had even been given a taste of what it could have been like, and how stupid was he to take that chance? He'd wanted to believe that he could just put it all behind him and they could still be friends, but Rodney had gone and screwed it up almost immediately. He never should have let last night happen. How could he have possibly thought that he could have that and then just give it up like it had never meant anything?
Rodney started shaking like someone had thrown a switch, and he didn't know how to stop.
And here was Bill Sheppard, John's father, who actually seemed to like Rodney. Bill was under the impression that they were practically in-laws, and he didn't hate Rodney, he even seemed to care about him. Maybe even like a father, like a real father and not the one that had given half his genes to Rodney then resented him for it until his death.
Rodney could feel the lies crashing back down around him, his throat closing up and his eyes clouding over with what could only be hideous, wretched tears. And it was fitting, he thought, that it should end this way. The lies exposed right along with his emotions. Bill would look at him with disgust for the first time since he'd met the man. John would look at him with disgust, and Rodney knew it wouldn't be something he could make up for.
“I'm sorry Bill,” Rodney said, trying not to sound like he was whining, or begging, “I'm so sorry. For all of it. I never should have... It wasn't my place...” and to Rodney's intense horror, he heard himself let out a sob. Here it comes, he thought, the disgust, the anger.
“Jesus, Rodney,” Bill said, dropping his bag and reaching out to put his hands on Rodney's shoulders, “What the hell happened?”
“It's not true,” Rodney said morosely, “None of it was true. John... Sheppard wanted you to leave him alone. He wanted to scare you off. He asked me to... But it isn't his fault, I never should have said yes. I'm not... We're not...”
“Lovers?” Bill said, his mouth quirking up in a gentle, bashful smile that John often used when he was uncertain or embarrassed. “I know Rodney.”
“What?” Rodney squeaked, and that... was not what he had been expecting. “When? I mean how?”
“John told me,” Bill said, patting Rodney's shoulder supportively, “the day he burnt his hand, after you left.” Bill looked over Rodney's shoulder and down the hall.
Rodney whipped around and stared at where John was standing in the hall, leaning back against a wall and looking for all the world like a kid who just got caught sneaking cookies out of the jar.
“You told him?” Rodney yelled. “You told him and you didn't tell me? When the hell were you going to tell me?”
“I'm sorry Rodney,” John said quietly, still not looking up.
“You're sorry?” Rodney snapped, anger replacing the self-pity and anguish, “You're sorry? What the hell were these last few days all about? What was last night about goddammit? If he knew, why the hell didn't you say some...” Oh. Oh.
And this, Rodney thought, must be what it feels like when the other shoe drops.
John finally looked up at him then, contrite and sad. “I didn't want to give it up. I didn't want to give you up. I didn't know how anymore.”
John was almost whispering by the end, and suddenly Rodney could see it, he could see all of it. John's discussion with Bill, telling Bill that he and Rodney were never really lovers, that it had all been a lie. Bill begging to differ, seeing something that they had missed. John keeping Rodney around because he'd discovered something, someone, that he didn't want to let go of.
And Rodney could see what was happening now too, in John's face, scared and alone. Or maybe scared to be alone. John wasn't hiding any of it from him anymore. He was sure that he'd just managed to kill his last chance with Rodney by dragging the farce out one day too long, by taking it that one step too far. Because he'd had a chance to taste something he wanted so desperately, and was sure that if he didn't take that chance it would never come again. John had thought he could live with that one night, these meager two weeks, and now he was discovering that it was going to be torture living without it.
Rodney could see it all on John's face, and he could see all the lies as they came crashing down around John too.
Maybe Rodney should have been angry. Maybe he even would have been, but then he heard a voice from behind him.
“Rocks and glass houses, Rodney?” Bill asked quietly enough that only Rodney would hear. Rodney felt a gentle shove at his back. Bill, pushing Rodney toward his son.
Rodney faltered for the first step or two, looked back to see Bill nodding at him to go ahead, and then he practically flew down the hall, throwing himself at John, who caught him with ease.
Their lips met and locked together. Rodney let out a strangled cry into the kiss, his arms around John's neck, as John wrapped his arms around Rodney's waist in return. They plastered themselves together and Rodney could still feel himself shaking, or maybe that was John.
It was real, it was all real. This was real. Rodney shivered and clutched at John's hair as he deepened the kiss, never wanting to let go.
When they finally pulled apart to breathe, John rested his forehead against Rodney's.
“I'm sorry,” John whispered, “I'm so damn sorry. I should have told you, I should have said something. But I couldn't, I thought you would hate me.”
Rodney looked John in the eye for a moment, then smiled and ran the back of his hand down John's cheek. “Rocks and glass houses,” he said with a laugh.
John paused at that, looking confused at first, then a slow smile of understanding spread across his face. “I love you.”
God, yes, Rodney thought. “You too,” he whispered joyfully.
Bill cleared his throat from the living room. “I really do hate to break this up, now that you two have finally broken through the absolutely insane amount of denial you were heaping on yourselves, but my cab is here, and so is your... rather frighteningly large and ominous black SUV.”
Rodney and John both paused then, staring at each other for a second before busting into harsh laughter simultaneously, leaning on each other as they hiccuped through the laughter.
When Rodney finally turned to face Bill, he saw that the man was smiling at both of them fondly.
“Some day, Bill,” Rodney said, “Some day, I promise to explain that ominous SUV to you, and everything that goes with it.”
Bill just shrugged. “Hey, I didn't come here looking for security clearance. I wanted to know if I still had a son, and not only did I find him, I found out I have two. I think I made out pretty good on this one.”
John let go of Rodney and walked up to his father. “You're still a total bastard.”
“I know,” Bill smirked.
“And you probably deserved more cold-shoulder than I gave you,” John continued.
“You're probably right.”
“But I'm glad you're here now,” John finished, pulling his father into a hug.
“So am I, John, so am I,” Bill said hoarsely, returning John's hug tightly.
Rodney stood at the edge of the living room, watching the two men until they finally pulled apart. Bill turned to look at Rodney, raising an eyebrow in question.
“Bill,” Rodney said, “It's been a pleasure.”
“You're not getting off that easy, Rodney,” Bill smiled at him.
“Thanks, but I'm already going to require years of physical therapy from the first handshake, I think I'll pass this time.”
Bill laughed and pulled Rodney into a bone-crushing hug.
“My ribs!” Rodney squeaked.
Bill stepped back smiling and slapped Rodney's shoulder hard enough to knock him sideways a step or two.
***
The ride back to Cheyenne Mountain was uneventful and silent. John was in the passenger seat, staring quietly out the window, and Rodney was sitting with his feet up across the back seat, tapping at keys on his laptop, but not really paying attention to it.
Rodney would have been inclined to believe that the whole vacation had just been a really surreal dream, were it not for the fact that John kept shooting him glances and smiles over his shoulder during most of the trip.
They stood side-by-side, back on the base, waiting for the Daedalus to beam them on board. They hadn't spoken about any of it since leaving the house, they couldn't tell anyone or even let on about what had happened. And Rodney found that he was strangely okay with that, because Bill Sheppard knew, and approved. Rodney thought that was more than enough.
Rodney felt John's hand brush lightly against his own just before the beam whisked them away. And, while he could have called that touch accidental, Rodney knew that would have been a lie.
Author: MistoKitt
Rating: R
Fandom/Pairing: SGA, McShep (there's a shock, I'm sure)
Word Count: 12,300
Summary: Rodney looked back and forth between John and the man on the doorstep. A slow sinking feeling started in the pit of his stomach as he began to realize why the ears had seemed familiar. And the hair, now that he thought about it.
A/N: My profuse thanks to rilestar, who once again subjected herself to my punctuation and spelling issues during the first draft of this fic. And this story wouldn't even exist without rin_sakaguchi, who edited, tweaked, and offered up some of the best lines in the fic not once, not twice, but THREE times. She let me know when I was cutting corners, or contradicting myself entirely, and she didn't let me get away with it, even if it would have been easier. Anything that is right and good with this fic belongs to them, anything that is still screwed up is totally my fault.
When Rodney returned thirty-six pain filled and tedious hours later, he walked into complete and utter disarray. There were half-empty pizza boxes strewn across the living room, old beer bottles tipped on their sides with small puddles of liquid underneath them, a jacket half on a chair, and dvds both in cases and out as far as the eye could see. Rodney groaned, whether it was relief that he was back, or frustration at the state of the house was anybodys guess.
He picked his way slowly through the living room, doing his best to avoid stepping on anything. He dropped his laptop case on one end of the couch as he went and toed off his shoes in the hallway. Rodney pulled off his jacket as he reached the master bedroom, and debated the merits of taking a hot shower before passing out. It had to be after three in the morning, and he was pretty sure that he smelled fairly rank, but he hadn't slept since he had left and he couldn't seem to get his body to cooperate with anything that didn't involve collapsing on a mattress.
John was sprawled on his stomach across the bed, taking up at least fifty percent more room than he actually needed, and snoring quite heavily. Rodney gave him a gentle push to try and nudge him over. John opened one eye and stared at him for a brief moment before grabbing his arm and actually yanking him down onto the bed.
Rodney yelped in both surprise and pain. He had bruises on his bruises at this point, and was pretty sure he'd come out of stick fighting lessons with Teyla with fewer injuries. John didn't seem to notice though, and he simply wrapped himself around Rodney in that loose-limbed and annoyingly endearing way.
“W'come back,” John mumbled into Rodney's shoulder.
The smell of alcohol wafted over Rodney in a not entirely pleasant way. “You're drunk,” Rodney said, wrinkling his nose.
“Mmmhmm,” John hummed against him.
Rodney sighed and maneuvered himself so that he could get his arm around John. “Just don't puke on me in the morning or anything, okay?”
John just snored at him and drooled on his shirt.
***
Rodney was already half way through his shower the next morning when John finally got up and stumbled into the master bathroom, retching almost the second he reached the toilet.
“Oh, that's attractive,” Rodney peered around the shower curtain and wrinkled his nose.
“Death,” John said as soon as he'd stopped puking, “Slow and horrible death to the whole fucking world.”
“Deep,” Rodney said, nodding unsympathetically and returning to his shower. John puking had quite thoroughly managed to kill anything his libido had to say about John being in the same room with him while Rodney was wet and naked.
***
Breakfast that morning consisted of two very hungover men, and one who was still battered and exhausted. Rodney considered it both inherently unfair, and just his damn luck that he should come back feeling like hell and not get pampered simply because everyone else felt worse on a purely self-inflicted level. Of course, this allowed him to remain completely guilt free while making eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast while the two Sheppards turned steadily more green.
“You better get your head screwed back on Sheppard, we're scheduled for departure in less than three days.” Rodney pointed out with a wicked grin.
John looked up at him sharply, still holding his head in his hands while slouching against the counter. He must have realized that Rodney was just trying to get a rise out of him, because John gave him a sort of half-smile and then let his head drop back down to the counter with a groan.
“If this is one of those hangovers that lasts for three days, please feel free to kill me right now,” he said, voice muffled with his face buried in his arms.
“Tempting,” Rodney said, trying to appear as though he was considering the offer, “but no. Bacon?” He held a slice out to John so that it was right by his face.
John flipped him off as he dashed to the bathroom to get reacquainted with his toilet.
“What about you Bill?” Rodney called out to the living room, where Bill was currently half-collapsed on the sofa. “Eggs? Toast with lots of butter?”
“Oh my god,” Bill moaned, “Why hasn't he killed you and hidden the body?”
Rodney smiled happily to himself and limped back to the stove to dish himself up a plate of food. Yeah, he might not be getting pampered and fawned over as much as he would have liked, but he still had that old McKay charm to fall back on.
***
Rodney was happy to discover that John and Bill had apparently managed to mend a few fences in his absence. They still seemed a little tentative around each other, but John was smiling at his father now, rather than shooting him dark looks.
Apparently beer, pizza, and dual hangovers that would have killed a rhino were enough to bring some father-son relationships back into perspective. If Rodney's father had still been alive he might have even been tempted to try that technique with him.
Then again, maybe not.
In any case, Bill and John's hangovers had worn off by that evening, and the three of them spent a late night lounging in the living room, making fun of some of the bad science fiction films in John's collection, playing several rounds of poker, and studiously avoiding drinking any beer.
Rodney was still insanely curious about what John and Bill had talked about during the day and a half that he had been gone, and at the same time he felt kind of bad for being around for so long before the SGC had finally called him away. Obviously they had just needed some time alone to discuss things, Rodney had been part of the problem, rather than part of John's idiotic solution.
Around four in the morning, they were all feeling punchy enough that it didn't matter that they'd been laying off the liquor all evening. Exhaustion and camaraderie had a way of loosening tongues and bringing out a healthy dose of honesty. Rodney finally said what he'd been thinking all day.
“I should have left sooner. I'm sorry.”
Bill looked puzzled by the remark, but John seemed to understand what Rodney was trying to say.
“No, Rodney, it wasn't your fault.” John laid a hand on the back of Rodney's neck. “If you hadn't been here in the beginning, we probably never would have made it this far anyway. Once we got to the point where we were ready to talk, we talked. You leaving had nothing to do with it.”
Bill snorted at that.
John rolled his eyes. “Fine, nothing to do with it except for the fact that once you left I decided I needed to get shit-faced to deal with it.”
Rodney offered up a smirk at that.
Rodney thought that maybe now that he wasn't needed, he should actually take off for good. John's ruse, which had been growing more pointless by the day before, was now completely obsolete. Rodney didn't say anything though, because Bill was sitting right there and Rodney might be tired, but he wasn't stupid.
He'd decided to bring it up with John when they finally went to bed, but by the time they stumbled into the bedroom the sun had already started to come up. They both collapsed in a heap on the mattress and were asleep within seconds of each other.
***
Rodney thought about it the next day, while he ran a hand through John's hair, waiting for him to wake up. He thought about it all through his first cup of coffee, and his second. He thought about it while he played a game of chess with Bill and lost spectacularly yet again.
In the end, he decided not to say anything. It was John's ruse, if he wanted to give it up, he could damn well be the one to bring it up. Maybe John didn't want to make his father angry at him for lying, or maybe it would have just been too much of a pain in the ass to explain. Whatever John's reason for keeping up this game, Rodney didn't feel the need to be the one to stop it.
Rodney felt that it was completely beside the point that he didn't want to stop it.
***
Their last full day of leave dawned bright and sunny in a way that seemed very cliché to Rodney. He and John were in agreement that they spent more than enough time outdoors in their daily lives, whether or not it was on this particular planet, so they were perfectly happy to pull the blinds and hole up at the house.
Bill seemed content to stick around as well, and that was how they found themselves huddled around John's small kitchen table with a deck of cards and a pile of toothpicks for ante, well before noon.
Rodney grumbled as his bluff was called for the third time and he lost the pot again.
“Poker is pointless without any real stakes,” he whined.
“What are you talking about? Those are my favorite toothpicks,” John pouted as he pointed to his father's ever-growing pile.
Bill snorted and stuck one in his mouth. “Rodney's right, let's play for real stakes.”
“Like what?” John asked idly, not bothering to look up from his cards.
“Well,” Rodney said, trying to sound like he was being completely spur-of-the-moment about all this, “we could play for embarrassing stories.”
“What, like Truth or Dare, poker style?” John gave him a condescending look.
“Yes, because we're twelve year old girls and this is a slumber party,” Rodney shot back defensively.
“Hey, it was your idea,” John said.
Bill's head went back and forth, watching them like one would watch a tennis match.
“Fine,” Rodney huffed, “What do you suggest then? Strip poker?”
Rodney wasn't serious of course, not with Bill there at least, that would just be weird. But John's eyes had gone kind of glassy and he was staring at Rodney in an intent sort of way.
Bill looked like he was trying to chew a hole through his lip to keep from laughing, and he was grinning madly at his dazed-looking son.
“What?” Rodney said, “You know what, never mind. Let's just play something else.”
He threw his cards down on the table and watched as John shook himself and came out of whatever weird zone he had been in.
***
Rodney emerged from the shower that evening to the smell of something delicious. Something that was definitely not of the take-out variety.
“Oh my god,” Rodney squeaked as he practically fell into the kitchen, “Did one of you cook?”
“Goulash,” Bill said proudly, stirring a steaming pan on the stove.
“Listen to him,” John mocked from across the counter, “You'd think he invented the stuff.”
“That thing works?” Rodney pointed at the stove and looked shocked.
He ducked as both Sheppards threw onion peels at him.
***
When Rodney had been growing up, dinner at the McKay household was always a quiet affair. If anyone did happen to speak, it was only to yell accusations at someone else. Rodney had assumed it was the same for John's family, as the last week and a half had been populated by meals of chinese or pizza and tension that could have been cut with a knife.
Their last dinner together couldn't have been more different.
Bill and John took turns cracking jokes - really bad jokes - in an effort to see which one of them could make Rodney break first.
Rodney, in turn, told stories that invariably ended up with him saving the world. Unfortunately, with Bill there, he had to leave out quite a few key details, or change certain aspects of the stories around entirely. This always made them sound both completely made-up, and pretty damn ludicrous.
John, rather than back up the ones he knew to be true, heckled Rodney at every turn. Rodney would have been pissed, but it was easier and far more entertaining to just make John come off as something of a prick in all the stories.
“So then, even though I proved that she was a lying bitch, my team leader goes off and does what he always does, and sleeps with her anyway.”
The fact that he was talking about John was never specifically stated, but always thinly veiled at best.
“Not that I was shocked, I mean, it was practically second nature to him at that point, I suppose.”
“Hey,” John said indignantly, “did you just call me a slut?”
“He can be a pretty perceptive guy when he wants to be though,” Rodney smiled in victory.
John threw a soggy, overcooked tomato at him.
“You know,” John pouted, “calling your boyfriend a slut says something about you as much as it does me.”
“At least it doesn't say I'm a slut.” Rodney threw the tomato back at John.
“You want to know a secret?” Bill asked.
“Dad,” John yelped, “don't!”
John looked so absolutely stricken that Rodney was about to say no, he didn't want to know.
Bill just grinned and said, “The only reason he seems like a slut is because he's totally clueless.”
Much to Rodney's astonishment, John's dismay disappeared almost instantly. Instead, he blushed and smiled almost shyly down at the table.
Rodney was still trying to recover from the concept of John Sheppard blushing when Bill spoke up again. “It's true. The man is completely hopeless with women, he never sees it coming.”
Rodney snorted, that just figured.
Rodney never knew who struck first, but suddenly there was another chunk of tomato flying through the air, followed by a bean. Rodney was hit square in the chest by a soggy piece of macaroni, and before he could protest being brought into this against his will, food was being flung across the table in mass quantities.
Onions, beans, macaroni, beef and tomatoes, all liberally doused in sauce, slopped over the table and splattered against clothing. Greasy bits of garlic bread were mashed into hair and carpet alike. Laughter and screams could probably be heard from a block away as the three men thoroughly decimated John's small dining room.
As the chaos subsided, Rodney took stock of his surroundings. Bill was hunched over the table, still laughing, with red sauce running down the side of his face. Rodney was sprawled on his back across the floor, wheezing, meat and tomatoes slimy under his shirt and against his skin.
John was half on top of him, huffing for breath, like Rodney after running a mile. His hair was in even more disarray than usual, if that was possible, thanks to the tomato sauce and garlic butter grease slicking it up.
John ran a hand through his hair and made a disgusted face before grinning maniacally and smearing the mess across Rodney's cheek.
“That's disgusting!” Rodney yelped, trying to wipe the greasy smear off his face with John's sleeve. John chuckled and leaned down, licking at Rodney's mouth until Rodney moaned and let him in. Rodney shivered and let his hands trail up John's back, clutching at his shoulders.
Eventually John pulled back and slowly stood up, the glazed look had returned to his eyes. He held out a hand and help Rodney to his feet, and when Rodney was finally standing, neither of them tried to let go.
Rodney didn't know how long they'd been standing like that, staring at each other, hands still clutched firmly together. It might have been seconds, or even hours.
Bill finally cleared his throat, and they both turned to look at him questioningly.
“I think we have officially killed your dining room,” he said with a smirk.
John finally looked at the mess surrounding them. He shrugged.
“Well,” Rodney said, pulling away from John's warmth, “as none of this was my fault to begin with, I'm going to go take another shower.”
He walked to the bathroom connected to John's bedroom, shedding clothing and soggy macaroni noodles as he went.
Rodney had barely stepped under the spray when the door opened. A week ago he might have been alarmed by this, but now he just poked his head around the curtain and looked at John curiously. “Shouldn't you be scrubbing tomato stains out of your carpet or something?”
John shrugged and just looked at Rodney. Looked at him for just long enough to make him feel uncomfortable and strangely exposed in a way that had nothing to do with nudity. Rodney pulled back behind the curtain and took a deep breath.
Rodney closed his eyes and let the warm water run through his hair, sighing as the food and sauce came unglued from his skin. He opened his eyes again when he heard the curtain being moved aside.
John stepped into the shower behind him, naked and smiling that shy smile again. Rodney blinked at him.
“What?” Rodney began, without a clue which question he wanted to ask first.
“Shh,” John said, putting a hand out and running it from Rodney's shoulder to his elbow.
Rodney turned around. “John,” he whispered, staring into John's eyes.
“Don't,” John whispered back, leaning in that extra fraction of an inch so that his lips brushed against Rodney's.
And Rodney let him. God, how he wanted this, had wanted this, almost for forever. Soap slick hands roamed across bare skin as warm water ran over hair and into eyes. John ran a hand down Rodney's ribs and Rodney pushed him up against a wall, trapping John with his body against the cool tile. John moaned into the kiss.
“I want you.” and “Yes!” and “God, please.”
John's hands moved hot against his back, water pooling between them and running away in hot rivulets as the steam rose around them. There were murmurs and whispers of endearments, but no promises and no declarations.
Somewhere, in the back of Rodney's mind, a voice was screaming out that this was a mistake. This was going to change everything, and not in the way he wanted it to change. John would never forgive him. John would hate him. John wouldn't be able to look at him or talk to him. Or maybe it was Rodney that wouldn't be able to look at John in the same way again. Not after having this.
“Stop thinking,” John whispered into his ear, barely audible over the sound of the water, “just... be here.”
Rodney ran a hand through John's hair and pulled their mouths together once more. Okay, Rodney thought, I can do that, I can live in the moment. And he shivered as their bodies aligned just right and John gasped into his mouth.
***
John fell asleep almost as soon as they made it to the bed. Rodney wasn't nearly so lucky. Of course, Rodney was the one who was trying to deal with the fact that he had just had what amounted to a one night stand with someone he was going to have to see and work with on a daily basis. Not just work with, but someone around whom he had to think clearly in dangerous and potentially life threatening situations. And okay, John had that problem too, but John hadn't fallen in love with him.
And there was the problem in its entirety, Rodney thought miserably, he had been stupid enough to fall in love.
John mumbled something in his sleep and curled up tighter into Rodney's side. Rodney fought back the urge to shove him off the bed. It wasn't John's fault that Rodney was an idiot.
Everything was going to be different in the morning. Absolutely everything was going to change now. Unless Rodney could somehow find a way to keep up this game, only in reverse.
It had been so easy in so many ways, pretending to be John's lover. John had made it easy.
Pretending that he never had been John's lover, that was going to be far more tricky. And definitely a lot more painful.
There was no other way around it though, Rodney decided, he was going to have to act like it hadn't meant anything. He was going to have to be able to laugh it off.
Rodney took a deep breath and tried to live in this moment too, tried to enjoy the feeling of John in his arms. This was the last time he was going to be allowed this close.
***
Rodney hummed to himself while he disentangled one of his dirty t-shirts from one of John's. Humming was Rodney's not entirely subtle way of saying “Look at me! I'm fine with this! I'm so fine with this that I'm humming.”
Rodney was forced to wonder just how he had managed to fake his way through this whole week of spontaneous lies, if humming was the best he could do with an entire night of planning.
Rodney tossed John's shirt over his shoulder and managed to hit him upside the head with it, earning him a dark look that wasn't intimidating in the least when it was accompanied by John's amused smirk. Rodney shoved his own shirt into his duffel, trying not to feel all that bitter about how well John was handling this.
“Hey, next time we come back, we've gotta take a trip up to see Jeannie, okay?” Rodney said, proud that he kept the choked feeling in his throat out of his voice. He could do normal, everyday conversation. He most certainly could.
“She's going to have me killed when she finds out that I was here and didn't even stop by this time around.” Rodney threw a pair of pants into his duffel somewhat haphazardly.
John was silent. Rodney turned around with the intention of asking if John had heard him, when he realized exactly what he had said. Oh god, he'd screwed up already. Not an hour into the day and he'd managed to stick his foot in his mouth.
He'd spoken as though it were a forgone conclusion that he and John would be spending their next vacation together. As if all of this hadn't just been a farce, designed to throw off John's father. He was acting like it was his god given right to order Sheppard around and tell him where and how to spend his time off.
Rodney winced and took a step back. John was leaning over his half-packed duffel, completely still, with his back to Rodney. Rodney grabbed his bag and began backing toward the door..
“Rodney,” John said, finally looking up from his duffel, “Are you saying that you want...”
On the verge of utter panic, Rodney started babbling before John could finish that sentence. Before John could point out Rodney's error. “I mean, I can't just spend all my off time with you. As enchanting as this little week of Sheppard family therapy-hell has been, I have family to see too. And now you do too. So it's all okay now. We've both got family to see. Separately.” Rodney tried desperately to stem the flow of babble, but it was like he'd opened up a dam somewhere in his brain, and the words were just flowing out.
“And I'm just going to go now,” Rodney said as he practically threw himself through the bedroom door and out into the living room.
Bill was standing by the television, his own duffel slung over his shoulder as he waited to say his goodbyes. His eyes widened when he saw Rodney practically fall out of the bedroom and clamor down the hall in his attempt to escape.
“Rodney? You alright?” Bill cocked his head to the side in a way that was so like John that Rodney had to stop himself from whimpering at it all.
It was so unfair. John was, well, John was perfect. He was exactly what Rodney both wanted and needed in his life. Rodney had even been given a taste of what it could have been like, and how stupid was he to take that chance? He'd wanted to believe that he could just put it all behind him and they could still be friends, but Rodney had gone and screwed it up almost immediately. He never should have let last night happen. How could he have possibly thought that he could have that and then just give it up like it had never meant anything?
Rodney started shaking like someone had thrown a switch, and he didn't know how to stop.
And here was Bill Sheppard, John's father, who actually seemed to like Rodney. Bill was under the impression that they were practically in-laws, and he didn't hate Rodney, he even seemed to care about him. Maybe even like a father, like a real father and not the one that had given half his genes to Rodney then resented him for it until his death.
Rodney could feel the lies crashing back down around him, his throat closing up and his eyes clouding over with what could only be hideous, wretched tears. And it was fitting, he thought, that it should end this way. The lies exposed right along with his emotions. Bill would look at him with disgust for the first time since he'd met the man. John would look at him with disgust, and Rodney knew it wouldn't be something he could make up for.
“I'm sorry Bill,” Rodney said, trying not to sound like he was whining, or begging, “I'm so sorry. For all of it. I never should have... It wasn't my place...” and to Rodney's intense horror, he heard himself let out a sob. Here it comes, he thought, the disgust, the anger.
“Jesus, Rodney,” Bill said, dropping his bag and reaching out to put his hands on Rodney's shoulders, “What the hell happened?”
“It's not true,” Rodney said morosely, “None of it was true. John... Sheppard wanted you to leave him alone. He wanted to scare you off. He asked me to... But it isn't his fault, I never should have said yes. I'm not... We're not...”
“Lovers?” Bill said, his mouth quirking up in a gentle, bashful smile that John often used when he was uncertain or embarrassed. “I know Rodney.”
“What?” Rodney squeaked, and that... was not what he had been expecting. “When? I mean how?”
“John told me,” Bill said, patting Rodney's shoulder supportively, “the day he burnt his hand, after you left.” Bill looked over Rodney's shoulder and down the hall.
Rodney whipped around and stared at where John was standing in the hall, leaning back against a wall and looking for all the world like a kid who just got caught sneaking cookies out of the jar.
“You told him?” Rodney yelled. “You told him and you didn't tell me? When the hell were you going to tell me?”
“I'm sorry Rodney,” John said quietly, still not looking up.
“You're sorry?” Rodney snapped, anger replacing the self-pity and anguish, “You're sorry? What the hell were these last few days all about? What was last night about goddammit? If he knew, why the hell didn't you say some...” Oh. Oh.
And this, Rodney thought, must be what it feels like when the other shoe drops.
John finally looked up at him then, contrite and sad. “I didn't want to give it up. I didn't want to give you up. I didn't know how anymore.”
John was almost whispering by the end, and suddenly Rodney could see it, he could see all of it. John's discussion with Bill, telling Bill that he and Rodney were never really lovers, that it had all been a lie. Bill begging to differ, seeing something that they had missed. John keeping Rodney around because he'd discovered something, someone, that he didn't want to let go of.
And Rodney could see what was happening now too, in John's face, scared and alone. Or maybe scared to be alone. John wasn't hiding any of it from him anymore. He was sure that he'd just managed to kill his last chance with Rodney by dragging the farce out one day too long, by taking it that one step too far. Because he'd had a chance to taste something he wanted so desperately, and was sure that if he didn't take that chance it would never come again. John had thought he could live with that one night, these meager two weeks, and now he was discovering that it was going to be torture living without it.
Rodney could see it all on John's face, and he could see all the lies as they came crashing down around John too.
Maybe Rodney should have been angry. Maybe he even would have been, but then he heard a voice from behind him.
“Rocks and glass houses, Rodney?” Bill asked quietly enough that only Rodney would hear. Rodney felt a gentle shove at his back. Bill, pushing Rodney toward his son.
Rodney faltered for the first step or two, looked back to see Bill nodding at him to go ahead, and then he practically flew down the hall, throwing himself at John, who caught him with ease.
Their lips met and locked together. Rodney let out a strangled cry into the kiss, his arms around John's neck, as John wrapped his arms around Rodney's waist in return. They plastered themselves together and Rodney could still feel himself shaking, or maybe that was John.
It was real, it was all real. This was real. Rodney shivered and clutched at John's hair as he deepened the kiss, never wanting to let go.
When they finally pulled apart to breathe, John rested his forehead against Rodney's.
“I'm sorry,” John whispered, “I'm so damn sorry. I should have told you, I should have said something. But I couldn't, I thought you would hate me.”
Rodney looked John in the eye for a moment, then smiled and ran the back of his hand down John's cheek. “Rocks and glass houses,” he said with a laugh.
John paused at that, looking confused at first, then a slow smile of understanding spread across his face. “I love you.”
God, yes, Rodney thought. “You too,” he whispered joyfully.
Bill cleared his throat from the living room. “I really do hate to break this up, now that you two have finally broken through the absolutely insane amount of denial you were heaping on yourselves, but my cab is here, and so is your... rather frighteningly large and ominous black SUV.”
Rodney and John both paused then, staring at each other for a second before busting into harsh laughter simultaneously, leaning on each other as they hiccuped through the laughter.
When Rodney finally turned to face Bill, he saw that the man was smiling at both of them fondly.
“Some day, Bill,” Rodney said, “Some day, I promise to explain that ominous SUV to you, and everything that goes with it.”
Bill just shrugged. “Hey, I didn't come here looking for security clearance. I wanted to know if I still had a son, and not only did I find him, I found out I have two. I think I made out pretty good on this one.”
John let go of Rodney and walked up to his father. “You're still a total bastard.”
“I know,” Bill smirked.
“And you probably deserved more cold-shoulder than I gave you,” John continued.
“You're probably right.”
“But I'm glad you're here now,” John finished, pulling his father into a hug.
“So am I, John, so am I,” Bill said hoarsely, returning John's hug tightly.
Rodney stood at the edge of the living room, watching the two men until they finally pulled apart. Bill turned to look at Rodney, raising an eyebrow in question.
“Bill,” Rodney said, “It's been a pleasure.”
“You're not getting off that easy, Rodney,” Bill smiled at him.
“Thanks, but I'm already going to require years of physical therapy from the first handshake, I think I'll pass this time.”
Bill laughed and pulled Rodney into a bone-crushing hug.
“My ribs!” Rodney squeaked.
Bill stepped back smiling and slapped Rodney's shoulder hard enough to knock him sideways a step or two.
***
The ride back to Cheyenne Mountain was uneventful and silent. John was in the passenger seat, staring quietly out the window, and Rodney was sitting with his feet up across the back seat, tapping at keys on his laptop, but not really paying attention to it.
Rodney would have been inclined to believe that the whole vacation had just been a really surreal dream, were it not for the fact that John kept shooting him glances and smiles over his shoulder during most of the trip.
They stood side-by-side, back on the base, waiting for the Daedalus to beam them on board. They hadn't spoken about any of it since leaving the house, they couldn't tell anyone or even let on about what had happened. And Rodney found that he was strangely okay with that, because Bill Sheppard knew, and approved. Rodney thought that was more than enough.
Rodney felt John's hand brush lightly against his own just before the beam whisked them away. And, while he could have called that touch accidental, Rodney knew that would have been a lie.