FIC: It's Not Hawaii, but Stargate Atlantis McShep Rish
In May, yin_again challenged her flist to come up with A.U.s for Stargate Atlantis, focusing on Dr.McKay and Major/Colonel Sheppard. Someone suggested a Hawaii one. I had a full on plot bunny for it, but I'd only watched part of season 2 and hadn't read enough to venture into a long AU. Instead I had a silly little ficlet bite me, so I wrote a 200 word situation.
And then the characters kept DOING STUFF, you know how it is. Well in a series of comment fics that 200 word scenario grew into 2800 words in 10 parts, each part a multiple of 100. Yin suggestion I post them in my journal, so here they are. Each part's chapter title is bolded, and now I'd like to present:
Title:It's Not Hawaii, but
Author: SunnyD_lite
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Almost but not quite McShep
Rating: Soft R for suggestive m/m
Word Count: 2800
Spoilers: Set sometime in Season 2 no direct spoilers
Disclaimer: No mine. Just playing. No profit, no foul, right?
A/N: This is my first SGA piece, so go ahead and play fannon bingo! Written for yin_again. No Prime Numbers were harmed in the writing of this fic, no such promise for other scientific theories. .I'm an English major.
Feedback/Concrit: Yes, PLEASE. These guys are fun to play with, but I'd like to do it well.
Summary: "Even if McKay was passed out, shirtless, in the sun, it didn't mean the rules were suspended."
Patriotism
It would be wrong.
There were so many reasons it would be wrong.
You looked AFTER your team; it was the rule.
Even if McKay was passed out, shirtless, in the sun, it didn't mean the rules were suspended.
Especially if they were pulling a Robinson Crusoe since the Puddle Jumper decided this last trip that the puddle was too big. Maintaining order was important.
And just because he was awake, with paper and scissors--who packed the emergency pouches? --didn't mean it was time for a craft project. He wasn't going to do it. He just wanted to see if staring at that flag that half the station wore on their shoulders had sunk in subliminally.
H'uh. It had.
Well, given that it was here, and McKay was there and how often McKay referred to it...
It wasn't like it would be permanent and the man did lose his shirt carrying the symbol.
***
John sat back to admire his handy work. With the two sides covered and the maple leaf cut out in the middle, and Rodney's sensitive skin, he figured the reverse Canadian flag would burn its way onto McKay's back in an hour.
Oh Canada, indeed.
Rodney Rant (tm)
As Sheppard expected, McKay wasn't impressed with his impromptu arts and craft skills.
"A sunburn? That's cancer causing! Do you not remember me and my SPF2000 that I formulated our first week here. If I thought that was more important than half the disasters going on at that time--and I am the genius here--do you not think that I, oh I don't know, MEANT IT!"
Actually as far as Rodney Rants(TM) went, this was only a four on a ten point scale. It didn't help his style marks that McKay kept twisting to try and see reverse Canadian Flag now burnt onto the pale skin of his broad back. Still, John tried to restrain a smirk, and then decided, why bother?.
"Oh great, the smirk. This is what you get up to when you're bored? And we've only been here, what, four hours?"
Ah, there went the hands. John leaned back against his elbows, still reclined on the beach while a shirtless McKay paced in front of him. Hmm, looked like running for his life on a weekly basis was a successful fitness plan. Not the finest of entertainment, but it kept him amused.
"And during that time have you done ANYTHING to remedy the situation? Does Atlantis know where we are? When are they coming? Did you start on a shelter to, I don't know, PROTECT me from the sun? What about fresh water? How many MREs are in the emergency stores? I should eat, hypoglycemic here. And what about aloe cream, I could start PEELING!"
The level of horror in that last comment finally spurred John into action. He dug into the bag to pull out the bottle of requested cream. Waving it in front of McKay he taunted, "You mean this? So how flexible are you?"
"The Care and Feeding of McKay"
As he watched the lotion squirt onto a wide palm, and be massaged up and down those long fingers in an awkwardly familiar twisting motion, John felt his mouth go dry. Maybe this had been a bit of a miscalculation on his part.
When Rodney stretched his left arm behind his neck and his right behind his back, it accented his bare chest in new ways, pushing his nipples forward as if to taunt John with something he couldn't have. Definitely a miscalculation.
"What, do I have something on my chest now? I know it's not sunburn since I was lying prone and UNCONSCIOUS in the sand, and did you even check to see if I was okay? What about sand fleas? Have I been bitten by alien sand fleas? What if I'm allergic?"
Now those lotion coated hands were being brought forward to systematically rub Rodney's pecs, skimming the pert nipples, dipping down through the chest hair to his little paunch of a stomach, then crossing and moving up his ribs so he ended up in a self hug, a move that only accentuated the flexing of his triceps. Yes, off world missions had definitely been kind to the lab rat. In fact, with anyone else he'd have called that move preening. Although most preens were more expansive. This cross over cover up seemed almost demure, a word he never associated with the good doctor. Bad miscalculation.
Shaking his head to force his eyes away from the display of bare flesh in front of him, John managed to comment on that last potential disaster. "Nothing's been nibbling on me." Okay, while truthful, that came out much more suggestive than he'd intended. "Plus they aren't alien if this is their world, and even if you HAD been allergic, I've got an EpiPen with me."
Skipping right over his logical explanation, Rodney exclaimed, "What? You happen to have one sewn into your pants?" And there goes the derisive eye roll.
"Nope, that wouldn't work, but thank N.A.S.A. for velcro." Of course he made sure to carry an EpiPen every time they left Atlantis, in fact it was just part of his uniform now. You took care of your team, it was just that McKay required more care than most.
"You mean that, don't you?" And there was that bewildered look Rodney wore whenever he noticed how people supported him. You could do a lot of 'managing' as long as he didn't notice, but every now and then his customary obliviousness was interrupted by keen interpersonal insight. Luckily it didn't happen often and, when it did, could be easily derailed.
"No pudding cups, but I found a Power Bar, Cookies and Cream. I think they hide the chocolate ones. And to answer an earlier question; yes, Atlantis knows we're here. Now, turn around and I'll check your back."
It was the ongoing care and feeding of McKay. The fact he'd have to have skin to skin contact for the lotion? Just another sacrifice for the team.
Hands
Sheppard was touching him. On one hand it was perfectly correct that he make amends after BURNING him, and how grade school is it to make a pattern on a sunburn victim? But touching! Without clothes, shirts, whatever, and he knows he's acting like a school girl but HANDS.
And there's a difference between a slap on the arm or a hand on a shoulder covered by a tac vest and two hands rubbing lotion deeply, carefully...
"Quit thinking, McKay. Your traps are popping like Mexican Jumping Beans. Some people find this relaxing."
"I'm sorry if I don't react like one of your space bimbos," he mutter around the crumbs of the Power Bar. Except of course, it is nice. He attributed his skin's reaction to much needed moisture, because he knows that he's past the watermelon red and into candy apple in the places that aren't still fish belly white, his basic skin tone. One time a roommate even checked to see if he'd glow under a black light. As if electromagnetic radiation's nanometers emission peak was that much less dangerous being only about 40nm away from the UVB he'd just endured, and why the hell hadn't Sheppard woken him up?
"You weren't concussed: you were sleeping, something you haven't done for the last three days." The hands are moving down his spine now; a series of heavy pressure points, binary signals to his muscles. On. Off. One. Zero. Subliminal orders to relax, to stand down.
"And how long, Colonel, does it take to rub in lotion? Despite your mutilation of it, the area of my back isn't that big."
As he says this, one of Sheppard's hands dipped below the waist band of his BDUs. When Sheppard asked how flexible he was, he hadn't thought of that context.
Split Second Decisions
He hadn't meant to. He'd been focused on finding the source of the tension in McKay's back; a task akin to finding the source of the Nile. Suddenly he'd felt the tight fabric of the waist band rubbing against the back of his hands mirrored by a stiffening, and not in a good way, of the body under them.
He heard a breath hitch, but wasn't sure whose breath it was.
Damn. He normally has better control of himself than that. To want is one thing. Can't necessarily control want. But action, action he can control. Action is his language. Communication is as much what he doesn't say as what he does.
And his hands have just blurted out too much information. Should he bother with damage control?
The tension he'd swept from McKay's back had returned, with friends. Not the response he'd have been hoping for, if he'd intended this course of action. Using his famed split second decision skills, he acted.
"Your back wouldn't be so sore if you weren't so stiff. Doesn't medical have anyone who can do massages on Atlantis? Or should Teyla run through her stretches with you?"
Plausible deniability, it's not just for Presidents anymore.
Oblivious
"Teyla's stretches are a form of self imposed torture. I think their physiology is such a magnitude of difference that their ligaments bend backwards. "
"And you're planning on testing this theory, how?" With his hands safely back in the G rated zone, he could focus on telling his own body to shut up. A talking Rodney was often an oblivious Rodney. He needed that space right now.
"Oh please, that falls under the voodoo sciences. Not worthy of my attention unless you're trying to force MY legs around my ears."
So much for controlling his body. Could even McKay be that oblivious?
Scientific Method
Right. You're covered. I'm just going to..."
The warm hands left his back as the Colonel's voice trailed off. Rodney heard splashing sounds and turned to see Sheppard kneeling in the edge of the waves washing his hands. "Greasy," was the comment tossed over his shoulder.
He restrained a sigh. He was a scientist. A brilliant scientist and science was based on empirical knowledge. Experiments and observation.
Even when the observations weren't the hoped for results. However, you couldn't test a theory only once.
Looking for another Power Bar, he thought that maybe next time there'd be a different result.
Metaphorical Towel
Here they were, a deserted beach, the sun setting into the ocean, guaranteed privacy for at least two hours, hell all they needed was a bottle of wine and it was a fucking Harlequin Romance waiting to happen. And the only thing Rodney was interested in was a rousing game of Prime Not Prime interspersed with complaining about the weather, the food - despite saving him the good Power Bars too-and what ever gizmo it was that sunk their Puddle Jumper. Funny how 'battleship' just sounded so much more impressive in that phrase.
So he threw in the towel, metaphorically because a towel would have made his self dousing in the salty water less like self flagellation.
"What? It's not like I can play it with morons, which means even on Atlantis there's only a few candidates. So, 59833."
And with his normal gracelessness, McKay reaffirms that he sees Sheppard as more than a light switch, more than a fly boy, and maybe even more that a cheap Kirk knock off, and boy is that joke wearing thin, despite the tiny grain of truth behind it.
"Rodney." He dragged it out a few syllables. He's the only one McKay lets get away with that and he'll steal whatever intimacies are available.
What was that song, if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with? Not that there's love involved. Just a really great friendship with thoughts of fucking.
And, since he's never had a friend like McKay, if friendship is the only thing being offered, "Prime".
McKay's grin, which flashes across his face with the speed of a Dart to be hidden behind the gruff arrogant mask he wears, is worth not risking more.
Sheppard just wished he'd lay off the Kirk teasing, or at least offer an alternative.
Math Geek
And there was that resigned look he'd seen on Sheppard's face recently. He didn't like it. This was the man who told his SO--who hated him--that Sumner wasn't in charge. A man who flew an unknown craft to an unknown location to save that same superior.
And that was just their first week in Atlantis.
This was not a man who gave up.
It bothered him.
"Prime."
Hey that was a good time. He felt his goofy grin, which never looked like Sheppard's grins even the goofy one, twist his mouth. He quickly marshalled his features into something more McKay ish. Although he thought Sheppard saw through him.
"Well, yes. Your turn."
"11213."
Funny normally he hated people who looked smug, but the Colonel rarely used it against him, unless he'd actually done something to be smug about.
And even then he generally felt pleased for Sheppard, instead of annoyed.
Sunset, beach, his favourite MREs. And someone he actually liked talking to.
"Oh please, Colonel. Something challenging next time. Mersenne?"
Okay Sheppard earned that smug look, playing the Math Geek card. A part of himself he rarely let anyone see.
Too bad Sheppard was only interested in being friends.
Rescue
"73943."
Another prime. He'd never admit it, but he'd started studying up on them after McKay first mentioned the game. He took an extreme pleasure in confounding McKay's expectations. While Rodney was arrogant, he did accept new facts when it was clear he was in error.
Unfortunately, or given life on Atlantis, fortunately, he rarely was.
It was Rodney's turn to give a number when a Jumper landed near them.
"It's about time!" McKay began lambasting the pilot, Lt Jones who'd assisted them a few times before, as soon as the hatch door opened. "Give me a shirt, since the Colonel tried to BARBE- QUE me."
"You're exaggerating."
"Doctor, is that a maple leaf-- "
Sheppard was frantically gesturing for the Lieutenant to be quiet. Feeding McKay's martyr complex was not topping his to do list. He might care for the guy, but he was aware of his many faults. Hell, Rodney was aware of them and broadcast them regularly.
"Luckily, we had water and provisions but I lost my laptop with the Jumper. I've missed hours of work. How long before we're back in the city? I'm sure some moron on my team has threatened the well being of everyone in my absence."
"No reports of chaos when I was leaving to pick you two up, sirs," the Lieutenant responded cheerfully. Yes, she'd definitely had dealings with McKay before.
"Humph, well good then." Rodney, slumped down into one of the rear seats of the Jumper. "I'll just be sitting here, wasting brain power."
"McKay, don't bug our ride home. She might just leave us here."
"Highly unlikely." But it wasn't as full of his normal piss and vinegar.
Despite his three hour sun nap, sleep still had a pull on him.
"And if I bring you two home, I win the pool. Do you know what the size of the pool is on rescuing you two together? I'll have chocolate and coffee for months!"
"Check your terms. It's SAVING, not rescuing, us. And the Colonel was never in imminent danger of death, unlike me. So you will not win the pool. Unless there's a category for chauffeur that I wasn't aware of, which is unlikely as I'm aware of everything, you won't be winning a Kitkat bar."
"They're betting on us?" Not that Sheppard was that surprised. What else would Marines do between blowing things up? But how did McKay know?
He must have raised an eyebrow without meaning to, because Rodney answered. "What? You think I wouldn't notice a drain on computer power as they try and sort the odds after our every mission."
Shaking his head, Sheppard thought the hatch close and said, "Home, James."
"It's Jones, Sir."
His and McKay's sighs were simultaneous. No, they didn't spend too much time together at all.
He called up the screen monitor to mark the location of the crash site. They would have to return to find out what happened to Jumper 3. Plus, he had a bit of a fondness for that beach, even if its breakers were pathetic for surfing.
As the Jumper headed towards home, the reassuring hum of the ship lulled Sheppard into a trance. Suddenly there was a weight on his shoulder followed by McKay's sleepy snuffling. He wanted to stroke his hair, but they weren't alone anymore. Looking forward, he caught the pilot's eyes...and more importantly the pilot's smirk.
"Eyes forward, Lieutenant."
"Yes Sir."
In mentally reviewing the mission for his debriefing, he smothered a chuckle. No need to disturb his sleeping scientist, just because he realized they'd just had a day at the beach.
And then the characters kept DOING STUFF, you know how it is. Well in a series of comment fics that 200 word scenario grew into 2800 words in 10 parts, each part a multiple of 100. Yin suggestion I post them in my journal, so here they are. Each part's chapter title is bolded, and now I'd like to present:
Title:It's Not Hawaii, but
Author: SunnyD_lite
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Almost but not quite McShep
Rating: Soft R for suggestive m/m
Word Count: 2800
Spoilers: Set sometime in Season 2 no direct spoilers
Disclaimer: No mine. Just playing. No profit, no foul, right?
A/N: This is my first SGA piece, so go ahead and play fannon bingo! Written for yin_again. No Prime Numbers were harmed in the writing of this fic, no such promise for other scientific theories. .I'm an English major.
Feedback/Concrit: Yes, PLEASE. These guys are fun to play with, but I'd like to do it well.
Summary: "Even if McKay was passed out, shirtless, in the sun, it didn't mean the rules were suspended."
Patriotism
It would be wrong.
There were so many reasons it would be wrong.
You looked AFTER your team; it was the rule.
Even if McKay was passed out, shirtless, in the sun, it didn't mean the rules were suspended.
Especially if they were pulling a Robinson Crusoe since the Puddle Jumper decided this last trip that the puddle was too big. Maintaining order was important.
And just because he was awake, with paper and scissors--who packed the emergency pouches? --didn't mean it was time for a craft project. He wasn't going to do it. He just wanted to see if staring at that flag that half the station wore on their shoulders had sunk in subliminally.
H'uh. It had.
Well, given that it was here, and McKay was there and how often McKay referred to it...
It wasn't like it would be permanent and the man did lose his shirt carrying the symbol.
***
John sat back to admire his handy work. With the two sides covered and the maple leaf cut out in the middle, and Rodney's sensitive skin, he figured the reverse Canadian flag would burn its way onto McKay's back in an hour.
Oh Canada, indeed.
Rodney Rant (tm)
As Sheppard expected, McKay wasn't impressed with his impromptu arts and craft skills.
"A sunburn? That's cancer causing! Do you not remember me and my SPF2000 that I formulated our first week here. If I thought that was more important than half the disasters going on at that time--and I am the genius here--do you not think that I, oh I don't know, MEANT IT!"
Actually as far as Rodney Rants(TM) went, this was only a four on a ten point scale. It didn't help his style marks that McKay kept twisting to try and see reverse Canadian Flag now burnt onto the pale skin of his broad back. Still, John tried to restrain a smirk, and then decided, why bother?.
"Oh great, the smirk. This is what you get up to when you're bored? And we've only been here, what, four hours?"
Ah, there went the hands. John leaned back against his elbows, still reclined on the beach while a shirtless McKay paced in front of him. Hmm, looked like running for his life on a weekly basis was a successful fitness plan. Not the finest of entertainment, but it kept him amused.
"And during that time have you done ANYTHING to remedy the situation? Does Atlantis know where we are? When are they coming? Did you start on a shelter to, I don't know, PROTECT me from the sun? What about fresh water? How many MREs are in the emergency stores? I should eat, hypoglycemic here. And what about aloe cream, I could start PEELING!"
The level of horror in that last comment finally spurred John into action. He dug into the bag to pull out the bottle of requested cream. Waving it in front of McKay he taunted, "You mean this? So how flexible are you?"
"The Care and Feeding of McKay"
As he watched the lotion squirt onto a wide palm, and be massaged up and down those long fingers in an awkwardly familiar twisting motion, John felt his mouth go dry. Maybe this had been a bit of a miscalculation on his part.
When Rodney stretched his left arm behind his neck and his right behind his back, it accented his bare chest in new ways, pushing his nipples forward as if to taunt John with something he couldn't have. Definitely a miscalculation.
"What, do I have something on my chest now? I know it's not sunburn since I was lying prone and UNCONSCIOUS in the sand, and did you even check to see if I was okay? What about sand fleas? Have I been bitten by alien sand fleas? What if I'm allergic?"
Now those lotion coated hands were being brought forward to systematically rub Rodney's pecs, skimming the pert nipples, dipping down through the chest hair to his little paunch of a stomach, then crossing and moving up his ribs so he ended up in a self hug, a move that only accentuated the flexing of his triceps. Yes, off world missions had definitely been kind to the lab rat. In fact, with anyone else he'd have called that move preening. Although most preens were more expansive. This cross over cover up seemed almost demure, a word he never associated with the good doctor. Bad miscalculation.
Shaking his head to force his eyes away from the display of bare flesh in front of him, John managed to comment on that last potential disaster. "Nothing's been nibbling on me." Okay, while truthful, that came out much more suggestive than he'd intended. "Plus they aren't alien if this is their world, and even if you HAD been allergic, I've got an EpiPen with me."
Skipping right over his logical explanation, Rodney exclaimed, "What? You happen to have one sewn into your pants?" And there goes the derisive eye roll.
"Nope, that wouldn't work, but thank N.A.S.A. for velcro." Of course he made sure to carry an EpiPen every time they left Atlantis, in fact it was just part of his uniform now. You took care of your team, it was just that McKay required more care than most.
"You mean that, don't you?" And there was that bewildered look Rodney wore whenever he noticed how people supported him. You could do a lot of 'managing' as long as he didn't notice, but every now and then his customary obliviousness was interrupted by keen interpersonal insight. Luckily it didn't happen often and, when it did, could be easily derailed.
"No pudding cups, but I found a Power Bar, Cookies and Cream. I think they hide the chocolate ones. And to answer an earlier question; yes, Atlantis knows we're here. Now, turn around and I'll check your back."
It was the ongoing care and feeding of McKay. The fact he'd have to have skin to skin contact for the lotion? Just another sacrifice for the team.
Hands
Sheppard was touching him. On one hand it was perfectly correct that he make amends after BURNING him, and how grade school is it to make a pattern on a sunburn victim? But touching! Without clothes, shirts, whatever, and he knows he's acting like a school girl but HANDS.
And there's a difference between a slap on the arm or a hand on a shoulder covered by a tac vest and two hands rubbing lotion deeply, carefully...
"Quit thinking, McKay. Your traps are popping like Mexican Jumping Beans. Some people find this relaxing."
"I'm sorry if I don't react like one of your space bimbos," he mutter around the crumbs of the Power Bar. Except of course, it is nice. He attributed his skin's reaction to much needed moisture, because he knows that he's past the watermelon red and into candy apple in the places that aren't still fish belly white, his basic skin tone. One time a roommate even checked to see if he'd glow under a black light. As if electromagnetic radiation's nanometers emission peak was that much less dangerous being only about 40nm away from the UVB he'd just endured, and why the hell hadn't Sheppard woken him up?
"You weren't concussed: you were sleeping, something you haven't done for the last three days." The hands are moving down his spine now; a series of heavy pressure points, binary signals to his muscles. On. Off. One. Zero. Subliminal orders to relax, to stand down.
"And how long, Colonel, does it take to rub in lotion? Despite your mutilation of it, the area of my back isn't that big."
As he says this, one of Sheppard's hands dipped below the waist band of his BDUs. When Sheppard asked how flexible he was, he hadn't thought of that context.
Split Second Decisions
He hadn't meant to. He'd been focused on finding the source of the tension in McKay's back; a task akin to finding the source of the Nile. Suddenly he'd felt the tight fabric of the waist band rubbing against the back of his hands mirrored by a stiffening, and not in a good way, of the body under them.
He heard a breath hitch, but wasn't sure whose breath it was.
Damn. He normally has better control of himself than that. To want is one thing. Can't necessarily control want. But action, action he can control. Action is his language. Communication is as much what he doesn't say as what he does.
And his hands have just blurted out too much information. Should he bother with damage control?
The tension he'd swept from McKay's back had returned, with friends. Not the response he'd have been hoping for, if he'd intended this course of action. Using his famed split second decision skills, he acted.
"Your back wouldn't be so sore if you weren't so stiff. Doesn't medical have anyone who can do massages on Atlantis? Or should Teyla run through her stretches with you?"
Plausible deniability, it's not just for Presidents anymore.
Oblivious
"Teyla's stretches are a form of self imposed torture. I think their physiology is such a magnitude of difference that their ligaments bend backwards. "
"And you're planning on testing this theory, how?" With his hands safely back in the G rated zone, he could focus on telling his own body to shut up. A talking Rodney was often an oblivious Rodney. He needed that space right now.
"Oh please, that falls under the voodoo sciences. Not worthy of my attention unless you're trying to force MY legs around my ears."
So much for controlling his body. Could even McKay be that oblivious?
Scientific Method
Right. You're covered. I'm just going to..."
The warm hands left his back as the Colonel's voice trailed off. Rodney heard splashing sounds and turned to see Sheppard kneeling in the edge of the waves washing his hands. "Greasy," was the comment tossed over his shoulder.
He restrained a sigh. He was a scientist. A brilliant scientist and science was based on empirical knowledge. Experiments and observation.
Even when the observations weren't the hoped for results. However, you couldn't test a theory only once.
Looking for another Power Bar, he thought that maybe next time there'd be a different result.
Metaphorical Towel
Here they were, a deserted beach, the sun setting into the ocean, guaranteed privacy for at least two hours, hell all they needed was a bottle of wine and it was a fucking Harlequin Romance waiting to happen. And the only thing Rodney was interested in was a rousing game of Prime Not Prime interspersed with complaining about the weather, the food - despite saving him the good Power Bars too-and what ever gizmo it was that sunk their Puddle Jumper. Funny how 'battleship' just sounded so much more impressive in that phrase.
So he threw in the towel, metaphorically because a towel would have made his self dousing in the salty water less like self flagellation.
"What? It's not like I can play it with morons, which means even on Atlantis there's only a few candidates. So, 59833."
And with his normal gracelessness, McKay reaffirms that he sees Sheppard as more than a light switch, more than a fly boy, and maybe even more that a cheap Kirk knock off, and boy is that joke wearing thin, despite the tiny grain of truth behind it.
"Rodney." He dragged it out a few syllables. He's the only one McKay lets get away with that and he'll steal whatever intimacies are available.
What was that song, if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with? Not that there's love involved. Just a really great friendship with thoughts of fucking.
And, since he's never had a friend like McKay, if friendship is the only thing being offered, "Prime".
McKay's grin, which flashes across his face with the speed of a Dart to be hidden behind the gruff arrogant mask he wears, is worth not risking more.
Sheppard just wished he'd lay off the Kirk teasing, or at least offer an alternative.
Math Geek
And there was that resigned look he'd seen on Sheppard's face recently. He didn't like it. This was the man who told his SO--who hated him--that Sumner wasn't in charge. A man who flew an unknown craft to an unknown location to save that same superior.
And that was just their first week in Atlantis.
This was not a man who gave up.
It bothered him.
"Prime."
Hey that was a good time. He felt his goofy grin, which never looked like Sheppard's grins even the goofy one, twist his mouth. He quickly marshalled his features into something more McKay ish. Although he thought Sheppard saw through him.
"Well, yes. Your turn."
"11213."
Funny normally he hated people who looked smug, but the Colonel rarely used it against him, unless he'd actually done something to be smug about.
And even then he generally felt pleased for Sheppard, instead of annoyed.
Sunset, beach, his favourite MREs. And someone he actually liked talking to.
"Oh please, Colonel. Something challenging next time. Mersenne?"
Okay Sheppard earned that smug look, playing the Math Geek card. A part of himself he rarely let anyone see.
Too bad Sheppard was only interested in being friends.
Rescue
"73943."
Another prime. He'd never admit it, but he'd started studying up on them after McKay first mentioned the game. He took an extreme pleasure in confounding McKay's expectations. While Rodney was arrogant, he did accept new facts when it was clear he was in error.
Unfortunately, or given life on Atlantis, fortunately, he rarely was.
It was Rodney's turn to give a number when a Jumper landed near them.
"It's about time!" McKay began lambasting the pilot, Lt Jones who'd assisted them a few times before, as soon as the hatch door opened. "Give me a shirt, since the Colonel tried to BARBE- QUE me."
"You're exaggerating."
"Doctor, is that a maple leaf-- "
Sheppard was frantically gesturing for the Lieutenant to be quiet. Feeding McKay's martyr complex was not topping his to do list. He might care for the guy, but he was aware of his many faults. Hell, Rodney was aware of them and broadcast them regularly.
"Luckily, we had water and provisions but I lost my laptop with the Jumper. I've missed hours of work. How long before we're back in the city? I'm sure some moron on my team has threatened the well being of everyone in my absence."
"No reports of chaos when I was leaving to pick you two up, sirs," the Lieutenant responded cheerfully. Yes, she'd definitely had dealings with McKay before.
"Humph, well good then." Rodney, slumped down into one of the rear seats of the Jumper. "I'll just be sitting here, wasting brain power."
"McKay, don't bug our ride home. She might just leave us here."
"Highly unlikely." But it wasn't as full of his normal piss and vinegar.
Despite his three hour sun nap, sleep still had a pull on him.
"And if I bring you two home, I win the pool. Do you know what the size of the pool is on rescuing you two together? I'll have chocolate and coffee for months!"
"Check your terms. It's SAVING, not rescuing, us. And the Colonel was never in imminent danger of death, unlike me. So you will not win the pool. Unless there's a category for chauffeur that I wasn't aware of, which is unlikely as I'm aware of everything, you won't be winning a Kitkat bar."
"They're betting on us?" Not that Sheppard was that surprised. What else would Marines do between blowing things up? But how did McKay know?
He must have raised an eyebrow without meaning to, because Rodney answered. "What? You think I wouldn't notice a drain on computer power as they try and sort the odds after our every mission."
Shaking his head, Sheppard thought the hatch close and said, "Home, James."
"It's Jones, Sir."
His and McKay's sighs were simultaneous. No, they didn't spend too much time together at all.
He called up the screen monitor to mark the location of the crash site. They would have to return to find out what happened to Jumper 3. Plus, he had a bit of a fondness for that beach, even if its breakers were pathetic for surfing.
As the Jumper headed towards home, the reassuring hum of the ship lulled Sheppard into a trance. Suddenly there was a weight on his shoulder followed by McKay's sleepy snuffling. He wanted to stroke his hair, but they weren't alone anymore. Looking forward, he caught the pilot's eyes...and more importantly the pilot's smirk.
"Eyes forward, Lieutenant."
"Yes Sir."
In mentally reviewing the mission for his debriefing, he smothered a chuckle. No need to disturb his sleeping scientist, just because he realized they'd just had a day at the beach.