Beauty, by leah k (Harlequin Challenge)
Title: Beauty
Author: leah k
Rating: PG
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Summary: A sorta scifi fairytale.
Notes: Plot skimmed off the top from Red As Blood by Tanith Lee. Thanks to searchyoursoul for the super-fast beta.
Beauty
The end of August comes on the heels of a miserable month of rain. The harvest had been just about the worst anyone could remember: 24 days of slogging through water-logged fields, the smell of rot and rancid water clinging to everything, mold growing on anything that stood still for more than a minute. The actual harvesting is so bad, everybody forgets what the harvest ending means.
Rodney's soaking wet and about as tired as possible without complete mental collapse; Dave and him and the hands had just hauled in the last of everything this morning, going slow on account of half of the machines having been completely gummed up with mud and ragged wet weeds. They're just settling in for the night, Rodney staring down into a cup of terrible coffee while Jeannie fusses over something on the stove, when they hear it.
Jeannie jerks back unconsciously, burning the side of her hand on the stewpot, and Rodney stands up so quickly he knocks his cup clear across the table. They're a flurry of motion for a good 30 seconds, Rodney's arms pin-wheeling behind him as his legs get tangled with the table-legs while Jeannie's cursing and shaking out her hand, before they catch each other's eye. Everything stops as soon as it's started and Rodney and Jeannie just stare at each other, the only sound in the kitchen the drip of coffee hitting the linoleum.
"I, uh," Jeannie says. She glances nervously towards the window, out at the gloom and the rain and the front door, where there isn't a soul moving around. She suddenly takes a little stutter-step towards the sink and Rodney lets a slow breath out through his teeth.
"Right," Rodney says and walks to the door, his legs suddenly feeling impossibly heavy. He's having trouble breathing past the invisible bands that have wound their way across his chest, having trouble seeing past the panic, but he still manages the door open and there it is, a single white rose.
His mother had ran downstairs at Jeanie's shriek, and they all ended up standing around the parlor, looking at everything but the flower on the coffee table. Rodney snuck glances at it every minute or so; it didn't look dangerous and malignant so much as pretty and innocent, it's a hard thing for him to wrap his head around.
Jeannie makes a little snuffling noise and Rodney looks up at his mother, at the sharps lines at the corners of her mouth, around the corners of her eyes. She cinches her robe tighter and tighter around her waist, tying and untying the terrycloth belt with bone-white knuckles, until she pulls in a breath and manages to say, "it's - it's an honor," before her voice breaks off.
Rodney snorts and says, "yeah, it's great, that's why no one ever comes back!" and Jeanie flinches.
"I'll," she says, "I, um." She looks panicked and pale, twisting her ring around her finger over and over. It's mostly the women, Rodney thinks, mostly people send women because men are more useful on farms and ranches. He can see the way Jeannie's thinking, see the words "I should go" forming in her mouth, and Rodney makes himself look at her, really look. She looks scared out of her mind and it's just not fair. She's got things going for her; she and Dave just set a date, she loves the farm, and all she's ever wanted were kids and a normal life.
All Rodney's got is a cat, a book he can't get published, and a whole truck-load of resentment, so in a strange selfless moment, he says, "I'll do it. I'll go."
His mother's head snaps up and she looks at him with something that he recognizes from pictures and movies as pride.
The bus lets him off on the outskirts of town, so he goes the rest of the way on foot. By the time he's walked all the way to the Ring, Rodney's head to toe drenched in sweat, his shirt completely plastered to his back. He's not sure what he expected, but absolutely nothing wasn't it, and he ends up just standing in the middle of town square for a while, staring at the LED screen outside of the First Federal as it flashes time, temperature, have a nice day!, over and over again.
The problem with mysterious alien interventions is that it's not like there's a procedure or anything, it's more of a "go here, stand there, they will come" kind of thing, and since no-one's ever come back, no-one's ever bothered to write a manual. Rodney's walked the five miles from County Road 57 to Main Street and if he has to wait another four hours in this god-awful heat, he's just going to kill himself and get it over with.
He's heaved down his pack (laptop full of research, laptop full of movies and books and music, two pairs of underwear, a shirt, a pair of pants, and about 10 pairs of socks because Jeanie insisted) and is about ready to collapse when the Ring starts whirring and spinning like crazy. He's just managed to get back a safe distance when something rushes out him like a wave before it gets sucked back and then he's staring a vertical pool of what looks like water where there used to be nothing.
Rodney's heard theories about the Ring; most people believe that it's a one-way journey to instantaneous and painful death. As much fun as that sounds, Rodney's always been pretty damn convinced it's some kind of transportation device, he's just never been able to figure out why. Why they want humans, why they send the roses, why they've never been seen, why no-one ever comes back, why, why, why. It’s that mystery, and the possibility of figuring it all out, that makes him walk straight up to the Ring without looking back once.
He thinks, I'm going to miss my cat, takes a deep breath, and steps through.
What happens is this: Rodney comes out the other side of the Ring into the most amazing place he's ever seen, says, "hey, I'm not dead," and passes out. He wakes up an hour later surrounded by strange machinery and strange people in hoods that keep saying "Welcome to Atlantis," like it explains something. Rodney's annoyed enough that it takes an embarrassingly long while for him to notice he can't see anyone's faces. Under the hood, where they should have eyes, lies a dark pervasive shadow that doesn't change with the light.
It takes them a good long time of prodding him and scanning him and making little "hm" noises, but finally they allow him out of bed. Before he can really work up to a complaint or try to escape, four of them shuffle him out of the room he's in, down a hallway, and into a room with about seven stained glass doors. As soon as they leave, all the doors close at once with a whoosh, the lights dim, and a disembodied female voice says, "Welcome to Atlantis."
Rodney rolls his eyes and says, "I got that already."
Without warning, the room lights up like a planetarium, a pattern of familiar stars that shift and change until it shows a small pink dot zooming from a blue planet that Rodney assumes is Earth to a bluer planet that Rodney can only assume he's standing on now. "A long time ago, our ancestors left the planet Earth to escape a great plague. We came here, to the Pegasus galaxy, to begin anew." The star layout morphs into a 3-D representation of a massive flying city and Rodney actually gasps out loud and says, "whoa!"
A voice behind him says, "that's exactly what I said," and Rodney jumps half out of his skin. He spins around, arms going everywhere to keep him from toppling over, only to find yet another person in a face-obscuring hood.
Rodney's heart's pumping like he's run a mile, he's sure it's never going to recover, and he gets suddenly irrationally frustrated and angry at this new guy who's slouching at him and making jokes. "Don do that," he hisses. The guy pulls in his shoulders in an apologetic manner and Rodney gets angrier. "Look," he says, feeling himself start to get pissy, "I've had a long day. I'm tired, I'm confused, I'm in another galaxy, and all I've got to go on is this stupid orientational video." He pauses to breathe, and suddenly realizes that he's in a place where no-one knows what a video is. "Jesus! What the hell am I doing here? Who the hell are you people?"
The guy slouches at him a little more apologetically and says, "I'm John." He holds out his hand for Rodney to shake, but he's too mad to take it, and it just dangles there for a minute before he takes it back. "You're here because of me, and it's kind of embarrassing to explain so I'll tell you later. We're going to be stuck with each other, so I might as well tell you a few things about myself. I like American football, gateships, and anything that goes faster than 1.80 tera furlongs per fortnight." He does a little self-satisfied nod at the end. Rodney's sure that if John had a face he'd be smirking and trying to look charming and Rodney hates him a little for it.
"Fine," Rodney says, "fine. Are we done with orientation now? Is there someplace I can get some sleep?"
John tilts his hood up at the stilled image on the ceiling and says, "I just like the part where Atlantis takes off. Come on." He waves his hand at the doors and they all swing open at once. Rodney just stares. John makes a little huffing impatient sound when Rodney doesn't move, and he sounds so normal that Rodney forgets for a second that he's an alien, that he's wearing a hood because what he really looks like is probably too frightening for Rodney to look at, that his soft near-southern accent is originating from the cavernous emptiness where his face should be. Rodney's thinks, flying city, and he's overcome by a wave of vertigo as the sheer distance from where he is to where he should be hits him all at once. He tries to take a step toward the door, but his legs don't want to take his weight and he stumbles. John moves forward faster than Rodney's expecting and catches him by the arm.
"Hey," John says, "hey, easy," like Rodney's a spooked horse. Rodney's suddenly exhausted because it has been a seriously, seriously long day, so he just lets John lead him from the room, one hand low across his back, the other holding on to his elbow.
"The rest of it gets pretty boring," John says, and Rodney closes his eyes and pretends that they're on Earth, that John is one of the farm-hands and Rodney's just wet and tired and going home. It works up until John says, "this is gonna feel a little weird," and he opens his eyes. He sees one second of a nondescript pretty hallway before the doors close and then open on a completely different nondescript pretty hallway, and whoa.
"Uh," Rodney sputters, "that was cool." John laughs.
"This way," John says, and leads him through another stained-glass door into a small apartment. It's set up exactly like the one he'd had at school, kitchen to the left of the door, a hallway leading off to the right, an airy room with long, low couches straight ahead. "This is where we live." Rodney's distracted enough that the we doesn't quite register. "This is your room, I'm down the hall. The clothes in the dresser should fit. I don't think it's all too much like what you're used to, but we do ok for ourselves." Rodney's pack is already leaning against the side of the bed, there's a vase of white roses on the bedside table. Rodney ignores whatever else John's saying, collapses onto the bed, and is asleep within seconds.
"And these are the gateships." John holds his hand out, moving in an a graceful sweep that encompasses the whole room. Rodney thinks about it a second, puts together the words gate and ship and his breath just halts in his chest and stays there. "That one right there is mine." John points up at the nearest one, where the letters "J S" are painted in tiny black letters on the back hatch.
Rodney says, "oh my god!" with what little breath he has.
John thumps him on the back and says, "you want a ride?" and Rodney's voice gets caught on all the different ways he wants to say yes.
Two hours and about fifty planetary orbits later, Rodney's telling John the whole story. It's strange, how little he actually tells people about his life. Most of everyone he knows assumes that he likes farm work like everyone else. Those who work on the farm just know he's a wonder with the machines, that when it's not raining like hell he's got the most efficient thresher ever built. Still, John's been nothing but nice to him since he's gotten here, and he's got an easy sort of charm to him that makes Rodney all the more talkative. The thing is, Rodney never took to farming the way the rest of his family did. He'd done well in school, won a scholarship, and actually made it out. He'd been 20 pages away from finishing his dissertation on a new theory of interstellar travel when his father had died, suddenly, of a heart attack. If he'd had a choice, he would have stayed in school instead of going back and taking up the farm, but that was all in the past now.
John just nods through the whole thing, making the right noises in the right places, even saying, "I'm sorry," about Rodney's dad, bastard that he had been. Rodney's never been much for having friends, and so this instant something he's had with John is unusual and a bit frightening.
"Your turn," Rodney says. John laughs, slow and charming, and Rodney finds himself imagining his smile.
John had tried to show Rodney around the apartment, how to use the not-an-oven, how to operate the almost-a-stove, but Rodney'd ignored him completely and just said, "that's nice," about the whole thing. He'd been so tired the first day, John had gotten the impression that he was somehow agreeable and personable and he's spent the time since proving how wrong that had been. Rodney doesn't care if they use sonic waves to cook and clean, he never learned how to make breakfast on Earth, and he's not learning now.
He's just tucking into a plate of what John claims are eggs when John says, "so, um," and winces an infinitesimal amount.
Rodney looks up at him impatiently, waving his hand at John to get him to get on with it already, but John's facing away from him, staring out the window over the sink. John's started this very conversation three times already, and each time managed to divert it with a "how'd you like to see ___?" and of course Rodney wants to see the shield/power source/hanger full of spaceships, so they haven't gotten past "so, um" in three days.
"Ok," John says, and this time he locks his shoulders in honest-to-God determination. "Ok, you should know that before my people went to Earth through the Stargate, we spent 10,000 years fighting a war." John says 10,000 years casually, like it isn't an unfathomably long time to fight a war, and Rodney can't even imagine it, taking that much time for granted. "People died, because people always die in war, but what really hurt us was that no-one wanted to have children. Who wants to bring a child into a world with that kind of future?" John pauses, making a you know how it is kind of gesture with his right hand, and Rodney's mind is still stuck on 10,000 years.
"By the end there were barely 20,000 of us left. That's why you're here, Rodney," John says, his voice grave in a way Rodney hasn't heard before. "We need you. Without Earth, my people would have withered to nothing and died." John turns from the window, and even though Rodney can't see his eyes, he can feel the weight. "We need you." Rodney understands, because he understands survival and doing what you have to do, but it hits home just how alien everything is here. He doesn't understand how to have a conversation with someone without being able to look them in the eye.
Rodney nods, because it seems like what he should do, and John leans back again, sprawling against the kitchen counter. "Good," he says, "now, how would you like to see the mainland?" Rodney smiles and nods again, of course.
John has a job as a pilot, but Rodney's not allowed around the city without an escort, and this is how he meets Arund. Arund is a historian, a tour-guide, and just about the most boring person Rodney's ever had the pleasure of meeting. From Arund Rodney learns about the Stargate system, the economic systems of most of the surrounding planets, an extended history of the Great War, and that John and his people call themselves the Alterrans. But when he asks about the roses, Arrund's posture gets suddenly stiff and he says, mysteriously, "John did not tell you?"
Rodney shrugs, as there's a great deal John hasn't gotten around to mentioning. Arund nods his head slightly and says, "it is not my place."
"Look," Rodney says, "I have very little patience for secrets. Now, unless you want me to bug you about this for the rest of your natural life, which I understand from your lecture on your medical advancements will be a very long time, I suggest you just spit it out now."
"Ah," Arund says, but his posture goes from military precision to what Jeannie looks like when she's on the phone with her friends. "The rose is a symbol of your betrothal."
Rodney yells, "we're MARRIED?" and John winces. Times like this, Rodney wishes he could see John's face. It wouldn't matter how horrible, how strange, he could just use a pair of eyes, a sense of connection, something to look at that wasn't just dark and empty.
John says, "we're not married yet, we don't have to get married ever, but it's just that that's what most pairs do. You don't have to stay here, I'm not going to force you, but you could just... think about it." Rodney shakes his head over and over again.
"Are you all nuts? You just agreed to this without having met me?" John shrugs like it's nothing, no big deal and Rodney wants to scream and break something. Because fine, he could handle leaving home, he could handle living in another galaxy, fine, but this. "I," Rodney says, his voice hitching in embarrassing ways, "I don't even know what you look like." John tenses like he wants to say something, but Rodney just turns fast on his heel and walks into his room, the door closing behind him. It's about trust, Rodney thinks, you lied to me, and I don't even know what you look like.
Rodney's there a two weeks before he starts fixing things. He spends a lot of time wandering the halls avoiding John, and in the process notices everything the Alterrans are doing wrong. He's actually surprised that he's held out as long as he has when he finally cracks. He wakes up one morning, grabs the toolkit he'd brought in his pack and storms down the hall Arund following closely on his heels and telling him not to touch things.
"What, what are you doing? You don't understand that. Our understanding of technology has far surpassed your own."
Rodney ignores him, using a screwdriver to pry open the panel running along the floor. "Just because you're smarter than me doesn't mean you're not wrong. Look, look at this here, you're only using half of these circuit pathways at peak efficiency. You're relying completely on your ability to compensate, and you're getting lazy." He spends about 30 minutes switching around crystals and rerouting pathways until the interface he's using is practically purring. The crystals are glowing and humming and the lights in the hallway actually get a little brighter and Arund finally admits that maybe Rodney knows what he's doing. But he still shouldn't touch things.
A week after that he's got city-wide clearance, the coolest tool belt ever made, and a team of the Alterran equivalent of grad students. It's something to do, something Rodney can focus on that isn't the curve of John's back, the way he moves first thing in the morning, the way Rodney doesn't want to think about him, but just can't stop.
Rodney comes back to the apartment later than usual, and John's sitting on the couch without the hood. It takes him a moment to realize that it's John and not another poor sucker from Earth because he looks normal. He looks human. He looks beautiful. Rodney recognizes him by the set of his shoulders, the curve of his hand, and his voice when he says, "Rodney."
Rodney says, "but why?"
John sort of sighs and looks down, and Rodney keeps getting caught up by his eyes. He hadn't seen for so long and he'd been so afraid and now he just feels stupid.
"I needed you to love me," John says and Rodney just kind of gapes at him.
"You're brilliant! You're gorgeous! You like me! It wouldn't have taken that long!" Rodney throws his hands up in frustration. "We've wasted so much time!"
John looks kind of shocked and amused at the same time, his lips twisting up into a bashful grin and Rodney just loses it and kisses him.
John laughs and says, "I needed you to love me despite something. Look, I didn't know what you looked like when I fell in love with you." Rodney gapes at him for a long time before John says, "look, you won't, you can't understand, but my people have a way - I know you. I know you in ways you can't know yourself and I've loved you for a long time."
Rodney sits down very close to John and says, "god, for a race of geniuses you're all so amazingly stupid. Fine, you love me, I couldn't stop thinking about you, even when I thought you didn't have a face. Jesus. Idiots." John smiles at him, and Rodney thinks oh before John kisses him and he stops thinking altogether.
Author: leah k
Rating: PG
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Summary: A sorta scifi fairytale.
Notes: Plot skimmed off the top from Red As Blood by Tanith Lee. Thanks to searchyoursoul for the super-fast beta.
Beauty
The end of August comes on the heels of a miserable month of rain. The harvest had been just about the worst anyone could remember: 24 days of slogging through water-logged fields, the smell of rot and rancid water clinging to everything, mold growing on anything that stood still for more than a minute. The actual harvesting is so bad, everybody forgets what the harvest ending means.
Rodney's soaking wet and about as tired as possible without complete mental collapse; Dave and him and the hands had just hauled in the last of everything this morning, going slow on account of half of the machines having been completely gummed up with mud and ragged wet weeds. They're just settling in for the night, Rodney staring down into a cup of terrible coffee while Jeannie fusses over something on the stove, when they hear it.
Jeannie jerks back unconsciously, burning the side of her hand on the stewpot, and Rodney stands up so quickly he knocks his cup clear across the table. They're a flurry of motion for a good 30 seconds, Rodney's arms pin-wheeling behind him as his legs get tangled with the table-legs while Jeannie's cursing and shaking out her hand, before they catch each other's eye. Everything stops as soon as it's started and Rodney and Jeannie just stare at each other, the only sound in the kitchen the drip of coffee hitting the linoleum.
"I, uh," Jeannie says. She glances nervously towards the window, out at the gloom and the rain and the front door, where there isn't a soul moving around. She suddenly takes a little stutter-step towards the sink and Rodney lets a slow breath out through his teeth.
"Right," Rodney says and walks to the door, his legs suddenly feeling impossibly heavy. He's having trouble breathing past the invisible bands that have wound their way across his chest, having trouble seeing past the panic, but he still manages the door open and there it is, a single white rose.
His mother had ran downstairs at Jeanie's shriek, and they all ended up standing around the parlor, looking at everything but the flower on the coffee table. Rodney snuck glances at it every minute or so; it didn't look dangerous and malignant so much as pretty and innocent, it's a hard thing for him to wrap his head around.
Jeannie makes a little snuffling noise and Rodney looks up at his mother, at the sharps lines at the corners of her mouth, around the corners of her eyes. She cinches her robe tighter and tighter around her waist, tying and untying the terrycloth belt with bone-white knuckles, until she pulls in a breath and manages to say, "it's - it's an honor," before her voice breaks off.
Rodney snorts and says, "yeah, it's great, that's why no one ever comes back!" and Jeanie flinches.
"I'll," she says, "I, um." She looks panicked and pale, twisting her ring around her finger over and over. It's mostly the women, Rodney thinks, mostly people send women because men are more useful on farms and ranches. He can see the way Jeannie's thinking, see the words "I should go" forming in her mouth, and Rodney makes himself look at her, really look. She looks scared out of her mind and it's just not fair. She's got things going for her; she and Dave just set a date, she loves the farm, and all she's ever wanted were kids and a normal life.
All Rodney's got is a cat, a book he can't get published, and a whole truck-load of resentment, so in a strange selfless moment, he says, "I'll do it. I'll go."
His mother's head snaps up and she looks at him with something that he recognizes from pictures and movies as pride.
The bus lets him off on the outskirts of town, so he goes the rest of the way on foot. By the time he's walked all the way to the Ring, Rodney's head to toe drenched in sweat, his shirt completely plastered to his back. He's not sure what he expected, but absolutely nothing wasn't it, and he ends up just standing in the middle of town square for a while, staring at the LED screen outside of the First Federal as it flashes time, temperature, have a nice day!, over and over again.
The problem with mysterious alien interventions is that it's not like there's a procedure or anything, it's more of a "go here, stand there, they will come" kind of thing, and since no-one's ever come back, no-one's ever bothered to write a manual. Rodney's walked the five miles from County Road 57 to Main Street and if he has to wait another four hours in this god-awful heat, he's just going to kill himself and get it over with.
He's heaved down his pack (laptop full of research, laptop full of movies and books and music, two pairs of underwear, a shirt, a pair of pants, and about 10 pairs of socks because Jeanie insisted) and is about ready to collapse when the Ring starts whirring and spinning like crazy. He's just managed to get back a safe distance when something rushes out him like a wave before it gets sucked back and then he's staring a vertical pool of what looks like water where there used to be nothing.
Rodney's heard theories about the Ring; most people believe that it's a one-way journey to instantaneous and painful death. As much fun as that sounds, Rodney's always been pretty damn convinced it's some kind of transportation device, he's just never been able to figure out why. Why they want humans, why they send the roses, why they've never been seen, why no-one ever comes back, why, why, why. It’s that mystery, and the possibility of figuring it all out, that makes him walk straight up to the Ring without looking back once.
He thinks, I'm going to miss my cat, takes a deep breath, and steps through.
What happens is this: Rodney comes out the other side of the Ring into the most amazing place he's ever seen, says, "hey, I'm not dead," and passes out. He wakes up an hour later surrounded by strange machinery and strange people in hoods that keep saying "Welcome to Atlantis," like it explains something. Rodney's annoyed enough that it takes an embarrassingly long while for him to notice he can't see anyone's faces. Under the hood, where they should have eyes, lies a dark pervasive shadow that doesn't change with the light.
It takes them a good long time of prodding him and scanning him and making little "hm" noises, but finally they allow him out of bed. Before he can really work up to a complaint or try to escape, four of them shuffle him out of the room he's in, down a hallway, and into a room with about seven stained glass doors. As soon as they leave, all the doors close at once with a whoosh, the lights dim, and a disembodied female voice says, "Welcome to Atlantis."
Rodney rolls his eyes and says, "I got that already."
Without warning, the room lights up like a planetarium, a pattern of familiar stars that shift and change until it shows a small pink dot zooming from a blue planet that Rodney assumes is Earth to a bluer planet that Rodney can only assume he's standing on now. "A long time ago, our ancestors left the planet Earth to escape a great plague. We came here, to the Pegasus galaxy, to begin anew." The star layout morphs into a 3-D representation of a massive flying city and Rodney actually gasps out loud and says, "whoa!"
A voice behind him says, "that's exactly what I said," and Rodney jumps half out of his skin. He spins around, arms going everywhere to keep him from toppling over, only to find yet another person in a face-obscuring hood.
Rodney's heart's pumping like he's run a mile, he's sure it's never going to recover, and he gets suddenly irrationally frustrated and angry at this new guy who's slouching at him and making jokes. "Don do that," he hisses. The guy pulls in his shoulders in an apologetic manner and Rodney gets angrier. "Look," he says, feeling himself start to get pissy, "I've had a long day. I'm tired, I'm confused, I'm in another galaxy, and all I've got to go on is this stupid orientational video." He pauses to breathe, and suddenly realizes that he's in a place where no-one knows what a video is. "Jesus! What the hell am I doing here? Who the hell are you people?"
The guy slouches at him a little more apologetically and says, "I'm John." He holds out his hand for Rodney to shake, but he's too mad to take it, and it just dangles there for a minute before he takes it back. "You're here because of me, and it's kind of embarrassing to explain so I'll tell you later. We're going to be stuck with each other, so I might as well tell you a few things about myself. I like American football, gateships, and anything that goes faster than 1.80 tera furlongs per fortnight." He does a little self-satisfied nod at the end. Rodney's sure that if John had a face he'd be smirking and trying to look charming and Rodney hates him a little for it.
"Fine," Rodney says, "fine. Are we done with orientation now? Is there someplace I can get some sleep?"
John tilts his hood up at the stilled image on the ceiling and says, "I just like the part where Atlantis takes off. Come on." He waves his hand at the doors and they all swing open at once. Rodney just stares. John makes a little huffing impatient sound when Rodney doesn't move, and he sounds so normal that Rodney forgets for a second that he's an alien, that he's wearing a hood because what he really looks like is probably too frightening for Rodney to look at, that his soft near-southern accent is originating from the cavernous emptiness where his face should be. Rodney's thinks, flying city, and he's overcome by a wave of vertigo as the sheer distance from where he is to where he should be hits him all at once. He tries to take a step toward the door, but his legs don't want to take his weight and he stumbles. John moves forward faster than Rodney's expecting and catches him by the arm.
"Hey," John says, "hey, easy," like Rodney's a spooked horse. Rodney's suddenly exhausted because it has been a seriously, seriously long day, so he just lets John lead him from the room, one hand low across his back, the other holding on to his elbow.
"The rest of it gets pretty boring," John says, and Rodney closes his eyes and pretends that they're on Earth, that John is one of the farm-hands and Rodney's just wet and tired and going home. It works up until John says, "this is gonna feel a little weird," and he opens his eyes. He sees one second of a nondescript pretty hallway before the doors close and then open on a completely different nondescript pretty hallway, and whoa.
"Uh," Rodney sputters, "that was cool." John laughs.
"This way," John says, and leads him through another stained-glass door into a small apartment. It's set up exactly like the one he'd had at school, kitchen to the left of the door, a hallway leading off to the right, an airy room with long, low couches straight ahead. "This is where we live." Rodney's distracted enough that the we doesn't quite register. "This is your room, I'm down the hall. The clothes in the dresser should fit. I don't think it's all too much like what you're used to, but we do ok for ourselves." Rodney's pack is already leaning against the side of the bed, there's a vase of white roses on the bedside table. Rodney ignores whatever else John's saying, collapses onto the bed, and is asleep within seconds.
"And these are the gateships." John holds his hand out, moving in an a graceful sweep that encompasses the whole room. Rodney thinks about it a second, puts together the words gate and ship and his breath just halts in his chest and stays there. "That one right there is mine." John points up at the nearest one, where the letters "J S" are painted in tiny black letters on the back hatch.
Rodney says, "oh my god!" with what little breath he has.
John thumps him on the back and says, "you want a ride?" and Rodney's voice gets caught on all the different ways he wants to say yes.
Two hours and about fifty planetary orbits later, Rodney's telling John the whole story. It's strange, how little he actually tells people about his life. Most of everyone he knows assumes that he likes farm work like everyone else. Those who work on the farm just know he's a wonder with the machines, that when it's not raining like hell he's got the most efficient thresher ever built. Still, John's been nothing but nice to him since he's gotten here, and he's got an easy sort of charm to him that makes Rodney all the more talkative. The thing is, Rodney never took to farming the way the rest of his family did. He'd done well in school, won a scholarship, and actually made it out. He'd been 20 pages away from finishing his dissertation on a new theory of interstellar travel when his father had died, suddenly, of a heart attack. If he'd had a choice, he would have stayed in school instead of going back and taking up the farm, but that was all in the past now.
John just nods through the whole thing, making the right noises in the right places, even saying, "I'm sorry," about Rodney's dad, bastard that he had been. Rodney's never been much for having friends, and so this instant something he's had with John is unusual and a bit frightening.
"Your turn," Rodney says. John laughs, slow and charming, and Rodney finds himself imagining his smile.
John had tried to show Rodney around the apartment, how to use the not-an-oven, how to operate the almost-a-stove, but Rodney'd ignored him completely and just said, "that's nice," about the whole thing. He'd been so tired the first day, John had gotten the impression that he was somehow agreeable and personable and he's spent the time since proving how wrong that had been. Rodney doesn't care if they use sonic waves to cook and clean, he never learned how to make breakfast on Earth, and he's not learning now.
He's just tucking into a plate of what John claims are eggs when John says, "so, um," and winces an infinitesimal amount.
Rodney looks up at him impatiently, waving his hand at John to get him to get on with it already, but John's facing away from him, staring out the window over the sink. John's started this very conversation three times already, and each time managed to divert it with a "how'd you like to see ___?" and of course Rodney wants to see the shield/power source/hanger full of spaceships, so they haven't gotten past "so, um" in three days.
"Ok," John says, and this time he locks his shoulders in honest-to-God determination. "Ok, you should know that before my people went to Earth through the Stargate, we spent 10,000 years fighting a war." John says 10,000 years casually, like it isn't an unfathomably long time to fight a war, and Rodney can't even imagine it, taking that much time for granted. "People died, because people always die in war, but what really hurt us was that no-one wanted to have children. Who wants to bring a child into a world with that kind of future?" John pauses, making a you know how it is kind of gesture with his right hand, and Rodney's mind is still stuck on 10,000 years.
"By the end there were barely 20,000 of us left. That's why you're here, Rodney," John says, his voice grave in a way Rodney hasn't heard before. "We need you. Without Earth, my people would have withered to nothing and died." John turns from the window, and even though Rodney can't see his eyes, he can feel the weight. "We need you." Rodney understands, because he understands survival and doing what you have to do, but it hits home just how alien everything is here. He doesn't understand how to have a conversation with someone without being able to look them in the eye.
Rodney nods, because it seems like what he should do, and John leans back again, sprawling against the kitchen counter. "Good," he says, "now, how would you like to see the mainland?" Rodney smiles and nods again, of course.
John has a job as a pilot, but Rodney's not allowed around the city without an escort, and this is how he meets Arund. Arund is a historian, a tour-guide, and just about the most boring person Rodney's ever had the pleasure of meeting. From Arund Rodney learns about the Stargate system, the economic systems of most of the surrounding planets, an extended history of the Great War, and that John and his people call themselves the Alterrans. But when he asks about the roses, Arrund's posture gets suddenly stiff and he says, mysteriously, "John did not tell you?"
Rodney shrugs, as there's a great deal John hasn't gotten around to mentioning. Arund nods his head slightly and says, "it is not my place."
"Look," Rodney says, "I have very little patience for secrets. Now, unless you want me to bug you about this for the rest of your natural life, which I understand from your lecture on your medical advancements will be a very long time, I suggest you just spit it out now."
"Ah," Arund says, but his posture goes from military precision to what Jeannie looks like when she's on the phone with her friends. "The rose is a symbol of your betrothal."
Rodney yells, "we're MARRIED?" and John winces. Times like this, Rodney wishes he could see John's face. It wouldn't matter how horrible, how strange, he could just use a pair of eyes, a sense of connection, something to look at that wasn't just dark and empty.
John says, "we're not married yet, we don't have to get married ever, but it's just that that's what most pairs do. You don't have to stay here, I'm not going to force you, but you could just... think about it." Rodney shakes his head over and over again.
"Are you all nuts? You just agreed to this without having met me?" John shrugs like it's nothing, no big deal and Rodney wants to scream and break something. Because fine, he could handle leaving home, he could handle living in another galaxy, fine, but this. "I," Rodney says, his voice hitching in embarrassing ways, "I don't even know what you look like." John tenses like he wants to say something, but Rodney just turns fast on his heel and walks into his room, the door closing behind him. It's about trust, Rodney thinks, you lied to me, and I don't even know what you look like.
Rodney's there a two weeks before he starts fixing things. He spends a lot of time wandering the halls avoiding John, and in the process notices everything the Alterrans are doing wrong. He's actually surprised that he's held out as long as he has when he finally cracks. He wakes up one morning, grabs the toolkit he'd brought in his pack and storms down the hall Arund following closely on his heels and telling him not to touch things.
"What, what are you doing? You don't understand that. Our understanding of technology has far surpassed your own."
Rodney ignores him, using a screwdriver to pry open the panel running along the floor. "Just because you're smarter than me doesn't mean you're not wrong. Look, look at this here, you're only using half of these circuit pathways at peak efficiency. You're relying completely on your ability to compensate, and you're getting lazy." He spends about 30 minutes switching around crystals and rerouting pathways until the interface he's using is practically purring. The crystals are glowing and humming and the lights in the hallway actually get a little brighter and Arund finally admits that maybe Rodney knows what he's doing. But he still shouldn't touch things.
A week after that he's got city-wide clearance, the coolest tool belt ever made, and a team of the Alterran equivalent of grad students. It's something to do, something Rodney can focus on that isn't the curve of John's back, the way he moves first thing in the morning, the way Rodney doesn't want to think about him, but just can't stop.
Rodney comes back to the apartment later than usual, and John's sitting on the couch without the hood. It takes him a moment to realize that it's John and not another poor sucker from Earth because he looks normal. He looks human. He looks beautiful. Rodney recognizes him by the set of his shoulders, the curve of his hand, and his voice when he says, "Rodney."
Rodney says, "but why?"
John sort of sighs and looks down, and Rodney keeps getting caught up by his eyes. He hadn't seen for so long and he'd been so afraid and now he just feels stupid.
"I needed you to love me," John says and Rodney just kind of gapes at him.
"You're brilliant! You're gorgeous! You like me! It wouldn't have taken that long!" Rodney throws his hands up in frustration. "We've wasted so much time!"
John looks kind of shocked and amused at the same time, his lips twisting up into a bashful grin and Rodney just loses it and kisses him.
John laughs and says, "I needed you to love me despite something. Look, I didn't know what you looked like when I fell in love with you." Rodney gapes at him for a long time before John says, "look, you won't, you can't understand, but my people have a way - I know you. I know you in ways you can't know yourself and I've loved you for a long time."
Rodney sits down very close to John and says, "god, for a race of geniuses you're all so amazingly stupid. Fine, you love me, I couldn't stop thinking about you, even when I thought you didn't have a face. Jesus. Idiots." John smiles at him, and Rodney thinks oh before John kisses him and he stops thinking altogether.