SGA ficlet: Cupcakes
ETA: unlocked because though this is part of something larger, if you recognize what, your memory for random detail is much better than mine.
ETA2: now it's tagged and the mystery is largely gone.
Cupcakes
When Dr. Whealdon won the Jet Li in Space category at the Atlantis expedition’s third annual civilian Still Not Dead Awards, Rodney looked up from his laptop long enough to slow clap, Teyla let out a soft snore into her crossed arms, and Ronon looked a little put out.
John could feel the stretch in his side as he leaned over to nudge at Rodney’s ribs. “I’m glad we got back in time for this.”
“Oh please,” Rodney muttered, stabbing at his keyboard, “if I'd missed any more morale building fun, Elizabeth might make me actually write out my staff evaluations.”
“No, really, I mean it."
Rodney glared at him over the laptop. “Fine, go shower. Senior staff have been quietly declared ineligible for most of them anyway, so it’s not like anyone will be stealing your cupcakes.”
“No,” John said slowly, “this is a good idea.” He waved at the other end of the mess hall where Simpson in a paper cut-out crown was solemnly presenting Whealdon with his prize, a small cake made from Pegasus wheat and Hershey’s chocolate, frosted and sprinkled with brightly dyed sugar. The rest of the science team took up most of the tables along with a few dozen Marines, who were always happy to show up for treats.
“It was Elizabeth’s idea, and probably someone in soft sciences.” Rodney looked up suspiciously. “You really can go. Kozma and Green started some kind of a cappella band, and after we suffer through their attempts at harmonizing, they’ll have the awards the Marines and department heads can win.”
“How come I’ve never been invited before?” John leaned back, crossing his arms. Rodney ducked his head back to his keyboard, muttering.
“When do I win?” Ronon said.
Rodney waved a hand. His head stayed down. “Oh, for god’s--sorry, big guy, but the Marines don’t qualify for any of the macho awards and neither do you.”
“What if I want a cupcake?”
Rodney opened his mouth to snap back, but Teyla woke up, rubbing at the dirt on her cheek, and said blearily, “Cupcakes?”
“Sorry,” John told her, “apparently you two broke the curve.”
Rodney lifted his chin--"Hm!"--and went back to working.
Later, on the way out, John stopped by the anthropology table to congratulate Whealdon on his win. Rachel Soogoor was carefully dissecting her cupcake--for Most Likely to Build a Scale Model of Wraith Courting Rituals out of Toothpicks--with a knife and fork, and Isaac Nasser kept trying to steal a piece before having to push his glasses back up his nose.
Whealdon rubbed at his forehead. “Well,” he said dryly, “I was looking for a reason to think about it as much as possible.”
“Hey now,” John said. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Single combat with a Wraith--”
“It was an accident,” Whealdon protested--again.
“So he says, so he says,” Dr. Soogoor muttered.
“--is pretty snazzy. I think Ronon’s jealous.”
Whealdon shot a wide-eyed glance at John’s table where Ronon was sitting with his arms crossed, glowering directly at them. In the background, Rodney poked Teyla delicately in the side. She had her face in her hands like she was trying to pretend the world did not exist.
“Ok, looks like I have to put my kids to bed now,” John said, juggling his own cupcake from hand to hand. “Keep up the good, you know, kung fu.”
Rodney glared at him on the return trip, already shutting down his laptop. “Happy now?”
"Very," John said, and popped a piece of chocolate cupcake in his mouth, awarded for his--apparently--third consecutive win of the science division’s Mr. Atlantis category (though last year had involved a tie with Sgt. Campbell).
Rodney yanked out his power cord. John smiled. Mm. Delicious.
ETA2: now it's tagged and the mystery is largely gone.
Cupcakes
When Dr. Whealdon won the Jet Li in Space category at the Atlantis expedition’s third annual civilian Still Not Dead Awards, Rodney looked up from his laptop long enough to slow clap, Teyla let out a soft snore into her crossed arms, and Ronon looked a little put out.
John could feel the stretch in his side as he leaned over to nudge at Rodney’s ribs. “I’m glad we got back in time for this.”
“Oh please,” Rodney muttered, stabbing at his keyboard, “if I'd missed any more morale building fun, Elizabeth might make me actually write out my staff evaluations.”
“No, really, I mean it."
Rodney glared at him over the laptop. “Fine, go shower. Senior staff have been quietly declared ineligible for most of them anyway, so it’s not like anyone will be stealing your cupcakes.”
“No,” John said slowly, “this is a good idea.” He waved at the other end of the mess hall where Simpson in a paper cut-out crown was solemnly presenting Whealdon with his prize, a small cake made from Pegasus wheat and Hershey’s chocolate, frosted and sprinkled with brightly dyed sugar. The rest of the science team took up most of the tables along with a few dozen Marines, who were always happy to show up for treats.
“It was Elizabeth’s idea, and probably someone in soft sciences.” Rodney looked up suspiciously. “You really can go. Kozma and Green started some kind of a cappella band, and after we suffer through their attempts at harmonizing, they’ll have the awards the Marines and department heads can win.”
“How come I’ve never been invited before?” John leaned back, crossing his arms. Rodney ducked his head back to his keyboard, muttering.
“When do I win?” Ronon said.
Rodney waved a hand. His head stayed down. “Oh, for god’s--sorry, big guy, but the Marines don’t qualify for any of the macho awards and neither do you.”
“What if I want a cupcake?”
Rodney opened his mouth to snap back, but Teyla woke up, rubbing at the dirt on her cheek, and said blearily, “Cupcakes?”
“Sorry,” John told her, “apparently you two broke the curve.”
Rodney lifted his chin--"Hm!"--and went back to working.
Later, on the way out, John stopped by the anthropology table to congratulate Whealdon on his win. Rachel Soogoor was carefully dissecting her cupcake--for Most Likely to Build a Scale Model of Wraith Courting Rituals out of Toothpicks--with a knife and fork, and Isaac Nasser kept trying to steal a piece before having to push his glasses back up his nose.
Whealdon rubbed at his forehead. “Well,” he said dryly, “I was looking for a reason to think about it as much as possible.”
“Hey now,” John said. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Single combat with a Wraith--”
“It was an accident,” Whealdon protested--again.
“So he says, so he says,” Dr. Soogoor muttered.
“--is pretty snazzy. I think Ronon’s jealous.”
Whealdon shot a wide-eyed glance at John’s table where Ronon was sitting with his arms crossed, glowering directly at them. In the background, Rodney poked Teyla delicately in the side. She had her face in her hands like she was trying to pretend the world did not exist.
“Ok, looks like I have to put my kids to bed now,” John said, juggling his own cupcake from hand to hand. “Keep up the good, you know, kung fu.”
Rodney glared at him on the return trip, already shutting down his laptop. “Happy now?”
"Very," John said, and popped a piece of chocolate cupcake in his mouth, awarded for his--apparently--third consecutive win of the science division’s Mr. Atlantis category (though last year had involved a tie with Sgt. Campbell).
Rodney yanked out his power cord. John smiled. Mm. Delicious.