Rodney - A retelling of Roxanne (RomComDrama) Ch1
Written in response to a challenge raised over at DreamWidth: http://romcomorama.dreamwidth.org/ Rewriting Romantic Comedies with pairings from across the board, all shows, all characters. I picked Roxanne as it remains one of my all time favourites. I chose to write it as a McShep as I have become a little obsessed with the romance of this pairing. I kept true to the story on many aspects, and kept the things that I remember the most. So here goes. Roxanne, rewritten as McShep with aspects of Atlantis hidden amongst the original script. I just couldn’t imagine John with a huge nose though so there are some changes, which in turn made some other changes but overall I hope you enjoy......
Chapter One (of 13)
John Sheppard walked out of his house on the outskirts of town with a spring in his step, closing the door behind him before trotting down the steps and across the lawn to the sidewalk. It was early evening, still light, but the stars were beginning to appear in the sky overhead. He was feeling really good, so good in fact that he hummed to himself as he bounded down the steps and across his short front lawn to the street.
John walked along, swinging his racquet as he sung Ring of Fire just under his breath. He liked it here. The people were a nice mix of friendly and stark raving mad. He’d found his place amongst the locals and they knew him enough to ignore the scar that ran up the side of his neck.
The tune he’d been humming petered out as he spotted the two men walking down the street towards him, skis over their shoulders, so probably here on vacation. He didn’t like the tourists here so much. Mostly they just looked and didn’t say anything, kept to themselves, but every now and again he had trouble but he was feeling so relaxed today that he’d been optimistic there wouldn’t be any problems.
“Get off the sidewalk!” the man on the right shouted, out of the blue and without any provocation, with a wave of his hand.
John wasn’t sure if he’d been drinking or if he was just naturally a bully but then the man’s friend added, “Other side of the street, scum,” and quite frankly, John just didn’t care anymore. He halted, his body tensed in forced restraint while he assessed the situation.
“Shit, it’s a cop,” the first one hissed loudly as he placed a restraining hand on his friend.
His friend peered at John’s black bdu’s and blue shirt and then straightened with a frown, “If he’s a cop, where’s his gun?”
“He’s a fireman,” the first man howled in glee when he had worked it out and then continued with his earlier bullying, “cut a wide path, pussy.”
John decided he didn’t want any trouble, just wanted to get back to feeling good and relaxed like he had two minutes ago. “All right,” he said easily as he diverted to the side and walked along the grass verge, giving them plenty of room to pass.
“Thank-you, ass wipe,” the first man, obviously the main trouble maker, sneered with utter smugness.
As they walked past they looked at him with bright eyes of victory that he ignored, till the first man grabbed his companion and started, “Christ, look at...”
John stopped dead as that familiar surge of anger crawled up his insides like a caged animal again. The urge to shout that he had just been trying to do the right thing, that this deformity is what he'd got along with the death of two very good friends. The urge to shout it wasn’t fair. He brought up the racquet sharply, level with the guys face, “Don’t... do not say it...” he warned, voice cold and heavy with the anger he felt inside. He lowered the racquet before he continued walking and hoped that was it.
“Bit early for Halloween, aren’t ya pal?” the guy sneered. His companion lent into his shoulder to muffle his own laughter.
John sighed, even as a small part of him sparked in reaction to the adrenaline that rushed his system. He turned and spoke brightly, a smile on his face, “I really like your shoes.”
“What?” the guy barked, clearly confused and thrown by this random comment. He looked at his companion to see if he knew but when his friend just shook his head with a matching frown, they both looked back to John.
“I was just thinking,” John continued with his voice deceptively light and cheery, belying the struggle as he battled to cage the anger, and anyone who knew him would be running by now. “As much as I admire them and would love to have a pair just like them, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now.”
“Like I’m scared of you,” the guy sneered. He dropped the skis from his shoulder and approached John with a raised fist, as his friend followed suit. He pulled it back, ready to throw a punch.
John raised the racquet level with the guy’s nose and jerked it forward with force and pulled it back again, all in the blink of an eye. He didn’t trust himself to use his hands, lest he forgot himself. The guy yelped, before he backed up, hands holding his nose, where the racquet had hit it, glaring at John while he carefully took his hand away from his nose, checking his fingers for blood, before he grabbed one of his ski poles from the floor and lunged at John who simply ducked under it.
The guy turned and John managed to block the second attack with his racquet and then pushed him back onto his friend and, with neither expecting it, they both went down. John walked away from them, removing the racquet cover and then turned to face them as he twirled the racquet in his hand, loving the sound of the wind whipping through it at that speed. The first guy stumbled to his feet but he brought his ski pole up gamely.
“Get pissed, Rich,” the other guy shouted as he glared at John, who didn’t even acknowledge them, studying his racquet instead.
“I am pissed,” spat out ‘Rich’, and simply charged at John, but he stumbled all over the place and his aim was way off, the pole already slanted down as he stumbled forward so John simply stepped to the side and when the ski pole hit the floor, Rich was in a beautiful position as John brought his racquet back and swung hard to hit Rich under the chin, the force of the blow sent him backwards on to the grass verge.
“Fifteen - Love,” John exclaimed, still deceptively cheery. He dreaded these encounters and yet some part of him revelled in the release they gave him. The need to lash out, to fight back against something, for what was done to him that day, but with no one to blame except himself, it left only opportunities like this to bleed a little of the anger away and they had become almost cathartic to him. What worried him most was that maybe a small part of him looked forward to these, hunted out opportunities like these on a subconscious level.
“You want trouble, you’ll get it,” the other guy growled as he got up, stumbling and panting. “Okay, okay, you wanna try that on someone else,” he panted. John just did a few practise swings with the racquet and smirked darkly. The guy approached and they duelled like they had swords instead of a ski pole and a tennis racquet, but the guy was getting nowhere fast so he lunged at John instead, who used the face of the racquet to block the ski pole and pushed the guy away.
“Fault,” John said easily, already relaxing as he started to feel the familiar looseness in his muscles. He heard Rich moving behind him and cast a glance down but Rich wasn’t going anywhere soon. The other guy was approaching again, John leant forward, “Ella,” he said gleefully as he brought the racquet under the guys chin with a sharp crack.
The guy was definitely pissed now but still stumbled about. John wondered if he was getting enough oxygen because he was panting like a dog after a run but the guy growled, “Okay, that’s the way you wanna play?” John decided that if the guy managed to speak he couldn’t be that badly off.
“You broke my nose,” Rich exclaimed, still on the floor, his once white shirt covered in blood and grass stains.
John ignored him in favour of his friend who had charged towards him. John flicked the pole away with his racquet as he side stepped the charge and hit the guy’s rear as he passed. He only allowed himself little attacks so he could maintain control of his emotions. He nearly let the anger out once, shortly after it happened, nearly let his emotions control him and he swore he wouldn’t do that again. He couldn’t trust himself like that again so now he kept each encounter small, attack and retreat, attack and retreat. The guy repeated the move, so John did the same too with an added, “ole”.
The guy turned, grabbed John and pulled him close, trying to wrestle him to the ground, “Had enough, yet?” the guy panted out.
John couldn’t help bark a laugh at his optimism, just before he head butted him. “Thirty-Love,” he exclaimed as the guy stumbled back. Practising his swing again, he inadvertently hit Rich in the face, who had just stumbled to his knees behind him, and he went down again. “Surprise,” John exclaimed, actually beginning to enjoy himself, “forty-love.”
“Are we having fun yet?” he asked as he leaped onto the sawn off tree trunk at the bottom of Mr. Hardackers yard. The second guy stumbled to his feet again and swiped at John’s legs with the ski pole he still held, but John deflected it easily. The guy kept swiping at John but eventually he got too low for John to deflect so he started to jump over it, until he managed to land on top of it, effectively pinning the pole in the place and holding the guy captive while he tried to pull the pole out from under John’s feet.
John tapped him on the head a few times but the guy was still trying. “Service,” John warned as he pulled back and executed an uppercut service swing at the guys chin. The guy fell back, out cold, “Game,” John declared happily.
“Let’s play again some time,” he jeered as he bounded off the trunk, stooped to pick up the racquet cover and continued on his way, pleased that he had managed to keep his good mood. The two men were left rolling on the floor, groans replacing any derogatory words they might have said, not that they had the energy for anymore.
He made it into town in a matter of minutes, at this time of night there weren’t a lot of people about but he stopped humming all the same, more self-conscious here. He walked into Teyla’s bar, and found her sitting at the end of the bar doing the books. Ronon, a mountain of a man with dreadlocks, was setting up the bar for the evening customers. The bar stretched away, curving back into the wall with a large area for tables and chairs, used for the restaurant side of the business. Behind Teyla was the more traditional bar side of the business. This side housed the dart board, pool table, big screen and a jukebox for when they didn’t have live entertainment. Table and chairs filled this area too, with a wide walk way through the middle that lead from the front door to the bar where Teyla now sat.
She could keep an eye on the entire premises from there, she had a sixth sense when it came to trouble and normally nipped it in the bud and Ronon was always eager to help out. John didn’t know the guys history but he had a lot of anger in him, always moving, never still. John slipped onto the stool next to Teyla, earning a smile from her and a cursory glance from Ronon. He was one of the few people who were allowed to sit next to Teyla without a third degree interrogation from Ronon that was made purely of glares.
“Here’s your racquet,” he announced, handing it over.
“Thank you,” she frowned at the apex of the racquet, “What’s this stuff on it?”
“Blood. Where’s my coffee?”
She nodded to Ronon, who was in the midst of pouring him a cup. “You going to tell me about it?”
He patted her on the head, “You’re too young,” he added in a very condescending way, before he broke into a smirk. John reached for the coffee that Ronon handed him, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip, followed by a loud lip smacking appreciation of the beautiful taste.
Teyla shook her head. “You’re the one who has the impetuousness of youth, John.”
John glanced at her before smiling wide, “Pass the paper, won’t ya?”
She smiled serenely at him, “Very well,” she conceded as she handed him the paper.
They sat in comfortable silence, occasionally discussing a news article, and it had felt nice as it always did. Eventually, it was time to go, so he had said his goodbyes and walked across town to the fire station. He had done his shift, but as fire chief, he liked to nip back and check on the night shift for his own piece of mind.
He saw smoke drifting out of the fire station as he approached and started running, shouting as he went, “Guys, Guys!”
He slowed to a stroll when he realised the pile of oily rags burning slowly in the corner were contained, the heart that had been thumping in his chest already starting to slow down to an even beat, the adrenaline starting to disperse. The crew had heard his call though and came emptying out the kitchen door at the rear and down the stairs from the play room on the first floor. “God damn it, guys, we’re supposed to put them out!”
“I have a dream,” he whined as he ambled over to the fire extinguisher on the wall. John pulled it off the wall bracket and prepped it for use, “Just a little dream,” he continued as he walked across the station to the pile of rags on the floor and registered that that some of them were only just then noticing the fire. The entire crew were stood in a tight bunch as they watched his every move, the way a caged rabbit would a cat. “I would like the people in our fair town to feel that if there were, god forbid, a fire, calling the fire department would be a good idea.”
“You can’t have people with a burning house saying, ‘Whatever you do, don’t call the fire brigade...” he sprayed the fire, putting it out in seconds, “that would be bad. Please get it cleaned up, don’t make me have to explain how the fire station managed to burn down while housing a fire engine and a full man crew.”
He ignored the men as they jumped to follow his orders, going through to the kitchen. He was pouring himself a coffee when Lorne came through the back door. His 2IC had only been there a week, together they were training the firemen to be well....firemen. “You been out on a call?” he asked.
“Yeah, the Chambers kid got his head stuck in the fence again.”
They both rolled their eyes at each other. Every town had a kid that was just too dumb to learn.
“Did I miss anything?” Lorne asked as he put down his tool bag and started to pour himself a coffee, casting a glance at the table in the corner where a game of poker had been abandoned.
“Oh, no, just a fire in the fire station, and ten firemen totally oblivious to its existence.”
“What!” Lorne exclaimed, putting down his cup and preparing to go look for himself.
John placed a restraining hand on Lorne’s forearm and nodded towards his coffee. “It’s okay, I put it out. The guys are cleaning it up now. I want to run extreme simulations starting tomorrow. I was going to work up to it but I don’t think I dare after what I’ve just seen. Go check on the guys, I’m just going to finish off the paperwork...and take your coffee with you, you may need it.” John added as he clapped Lorne on the shoulder. Lorne huffed out a laugh and picked up his coffee as Sheppard left the kitchen.
TBC... Chapter Two