FIC: Blood Makes Noise (SGA AU, Ventura Highway, John/Rodney, G)
Blood Makes Noise
Author: telesilla
Fandom/Pairing: SGA AU (Ventura Highway), John/Rodney
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,188
Disclaimer: The SGA characters do not belong to me. Duh.
Summary: John's having a bad day and Rodney's not sure what to say or do.
Notes: Detailed notes are after the fic. All of the Ventura Highway stories are here in chronological order.
Rodney almost dropped the grocery bags in the living room when he came in and saw John at the kitchen table. "Oh, I assumed you rode over to the shop and that was why the truck was still...."
"Didn't go in," John said without looking up from the table.
As Rodney carried the groceries in, he saw the old deck of cards spread out on the table in a pyramid shape, and for a moment he really wanted to invent a reason he had to go over to campus. He'd had a tough session with Terri and then Lazy Acres had been full of really annoying shoppers and the parking at TJs had been nuts and the 101 had been slow all the way from Santa Claus Lane because of a fender bender near Seacliff and....
Sighing, John scooped up the cards and started shuffling them. "You didn't even play the game," Rodney said as he put the groceries away.
"It wasn't winnable." The next pyramid was laid out and John stared at it for a moment before picking up an ace, a queen, a jack and a two. He tossed them on the discard pile and turned over a card. He was still working on the same game when Rodney hauled in the last of the groceries.
With a mental sigh, Rodney quickly recalculated dinner as he put things away. Do we...oh good, okay then.
"You hungry?" he asked as he pulled the box of elbow macaroni out of the cupboard.
John dealt out another hand. "I had some cereal."
"Okay." Rodney dug around in the fridge, pulling his ingredients out. "Traffic was a bitch," he said, chopping a big chunk of sharp white cheddar off the block. Grating it into the big four cup measuring cup, he went on. "I had to sit there and stare at the tacky buildings on Santa Claus Lane and Terri Gross wasn't even interviewing anyone interesting."
"Bummer."
"That's one way to put it."
Finishing with the cheddar, Rodney crumbled up some bleu cheese and then started chopping an onion. "You want a beer?"
"I shouldn't."
"Okay."
Rodney remained silent, listening to the slow slap and shuffle of cards until he'd finished making his roux. Pouring a thin stream of milk into the pot and whisking carefully, he started. "See, the thing is: I don't know what it is you need." Another card slapped down onto the table.
"I know that it's not about me and I know that you're the last person who would respond well to me cuddling you and telling you it's all going to be okay, but that's pretty much all I do know." The milk had all been added; now he just needed to stir the mixture until it thickened up a bit. "I'm not asking you to turn me into your shrink or anything, because...well, can you imagine? But I...."
Want? Need? Would like?
"I'm here and part of this thing we.... Look, I'm not with you just because you're hot and good in the sack. Part of being your...well, boyfriend, or whatever I am, is that I want to help."
He finally had to turn around and retrieve the measuring cup with the cheese. John was looking at him, his expression more thoughtful than closed-off. Rodney gave him a little smile and turned back, adding handfuls of cheese to the sauce base.
"Mac and cheese?" John asked.
"Yeah," Rodney said. "But if you want something different or want to go out...."
"I don't know if I can explain it," John said, and Rodney resisted the urge to turn and watch him. He turned on the burner under the pasta pot and then concentrated on the sauce as he listened. "If you weren't there...and that's it, really. You see things, do things...it's your job, and then you come back and no one gets it." He paused and shuffled the cards.
"My granddad flew B-17s in the war, in Europe, and he and I talked about it before my first assignment but.... I dunno, even though it's a lot more acceptable now to see a shrink and everyone thinks they know what PTSD is all about...I think it was easier for them in a way, you know?"
"No question about the rightness of it?" Rodney bit his lip, wishing he could take his words back. I suck at listening and I just suck at this kind of thing in general.
"Yeah." The pause was long and Rodney was sure he'd said the wrong thing and that John would go back to solitaire and monosyllabic responses. "We're not...they aren't supposed to ask those questions, aren't supposed to worry about the necessity of it. But I did, even before I...got out."
"That just proves you're not an idiot." Rodney poured the pasta into the water and sighed. "Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say."
"Not really," John said with a slight chuckle. "I had teachers and COs tell me I was too smart to be in the military. And...I dunno, maybe they were right. But if I am that smart, I should also know better than to go reading political blogs when I'm already in a bad mood."
"Yeah," Rodney said. He gave the pasta a stir and turned, leaning against the counter. John's eyes were fixed on a card, the two of diamonds, that he was turning over and over in his hands. "You have no idea how much I wish I had an answer for you, and it's not because I hate not having answers."
"Sharon keeps telling me that I'm the one with the answers," John said, finally looking up at Rodney. "She wants me to write some of this stuff down. What happened, what I saw...the questions and doubts."
"Not a bad idea, although if she used the word 'journaling,' you have my permission to fire her."
"She's mostly jargon free, thank God." John sighed. "Would you read it?"
"What you write about being over there? Of course," Rodney said. Shaking his head, he turned around and dumped the pasta into the colander. "I can't promise to get it, because I think you're right; no one who wasn't there can get it, but if you want me to know what happened...." He stared down at the pasta for a moment and then turned back to look at John.
"It means a lot that you're even asking."
"Thanks." John stood up and opened the fridge pulling out a bottle of beer and one of water. He handed Rodney the beer and then leaned down and gave him a quick kiss. "Not used to my boyfriends taking me so seriously."
"Well," Rodney said with a slight laugh. "Obviously you're with me because I'm a better class of boyfriend." He dumped the pasta into the cheese sauce and started mixing it up.
"Well," John said, putting the cards back into their box. He moved back behind Rodney and slide arms around Rodney's waist. "That and because you can cook."
Rodney just snorted and leaned back against John. Maybe I can do this whole boyfriend thing after all.
-end-
Notes: This was a tough piece for me to write and I'm grateful to both darkrosetiger and helens78 for telling me that yes, it makes sense. helens78 also did her usual through job of beta reading, something I appreciate very much.
I didn't want to treat John's issues lightly here; he's struggling with questions and situations that members of the military have struggled with through the ages and, like Rodney, I certainly don't have any answers. In addition to the knowledge I gained working with and reading veterans' files, I'm influenced here by some of the WWII vets interviewed for Ken Burns' film, The War.
The title is taken from the Suzanne Vega song of the same name.
Author: telesilla
Fandom/Pairing: SGA AU (Ventura Highway), John/Rodney
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,188
Disclaimer: The SGA characters do not belong to me. Duh.
Summary: John's having a bad day and Rodney's not sure what to say or do.
Notes: Detailed notes are after the fic. All of the Ventura Highway stories are here in chronological order.
Rodney almost dropped the grocery bags in the living room when he came in and saw John at the kitchen table. "Oh, I assumed you rode over to the shop and that was why the truck was still...."
"Didn't go in," John said without looking up from the table.
As Rodney carried the groceries in, he saw the old deck of cards spread out on the table in a pyramid shape, and for a moment he really wanted to invent a reason he had to go over to campus. He'd had a tough session with Terri and then Lazy Acres had been full of really annoying shoppers and the parking at TJs had been nuts and the 101 had been slow all the way from Santa Claus Lane because of a fender bender near Seacliff and....
Sighing, John scooped up the cards and started shuffling them. "You didn't even play the game," Rodney said as he put the groceries away.
"It wasn't winnable." The next pyramid was laid out and John stared at it for a moment before picking up an ace, a queen, a jack and a two. He tossed them on the discard pile and turned over a card. He was still working on the same game when Rodney hauled in the last of the groceries.
With a mental sigh, Rodney quickly recalculated dinner as he put things away. Do we...oh good, okay then.
"You hungry?" he asked as he pulled the box of elbow macaroni out of the cupboard.
John dealt out another hand. "I had some cereal."
"Okay." Rodney dug around in the fridge, pulling his ingredients out. "Traffic was a bitch," he said, chopping a big chunk of sharp white cheddar off the block. Grating it into the big four cup measuring cup, he went on. "I had to sit there and stare at the tacky buildings on Santa Claus Lane and Terri Gross wasn't even interviewing anyone interesting."
"Bummer."
"That's one way to put it."
Finishing with the cheddar, Rodney crumbled up some bleu cheese and then started chopping an onion. "You want a beer?"
"I shouldn't."
"Okay."
Rodney remained silent, listening to the slow slap and shuffle of cards until he'd finished making his roux. Pouring a thin stream of milk into the pot and whisking carefully, he started. "See, the thing is: I don't know what it is you need." Another card slapped down onto the table.
"I know that it's not about me and I know that you're the last person who would respond well to me cuddling you and telling you it's all going to be okay, but that's pretty much all I do know." The milk had all been added; now he just needed to stir the mixture until it thickened up a bit. "I'm not asking you to turn me into your shrink or anything, because...well, can you imagine? But I...."
Want? Need? Would like?
"I'm here and part of this thing we.... Look, I'm not with you just because you're hot and good in the sack. Part of being your...well, boyfriend, or whatever I am, is that I want to help."
He finally had to turn around and retrieve the measuring cup with the cheese. John was looking at him, his expression more thoughtful than closed-off. Rodney gave him a little smile and turned back, adding handfuls of cheese to the sauce base.
"Mac and cheese?" John asked.
"Yeah," Rodney said. "But if you want something different or want to go out...."
"I don't know if I can explain it," John said, and Rodney resisted the urge to turn and watch him. He turned on the burner under the pasta pot and then concentrated on the sauce as he listened. "If you weren't there...and that's it, really. You see things, do things...it's your job, and then you come back and no one gets it." He paused and shuffled the cards.
"My granddad flew B-17s in the war, in Europe, and he and I talked about it before my first assignment but.... I dunno, even though it's a lot more acceptable now to see a shrink and everyone thinks they know what PTSD is all about...I think it was easier for them in a way, you know?"
"No question about the rightness of it?" Rodney bit his lip, wishing he could take his words back. I suck at listening and I just suck at this kind of thing in general.
"Yeah." The pause was long and Rodney was sure he'd said the wrong thing and that John would go back to solitaire and monosyllabic responses. "We're not...they aren't supposed to ask those questions, aren't supposed to worry about the necessity of it. But I did, even before I...got out."
"That just proves you're not an idiot." Rodney poured the pasta into the water and sighed. "Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say."
"Not really," John said with a slight chuckle. "I had teachers and COs tell me I was too smart to be in the military. And...I dunno, maybe they were right. But if I am that smart, I should also know better than to go reading political blogs when I'm already in a bad mood."
"Yeah," Rodney said. He gave the pasta a stir and turned, leaning against the counter. John's eyes were fixed on a card, the two of diamonds, that he was turning over and over in his hands. "You have no idea how much I wish I had an answer for you, and it's not because I hate not having answers."
"Sharon keeps telling me that I'm the one with the answers," John said, finally looking up at Rodney. "She wants me to write some of this stuff down. What happened, what I saw...the questions and doubts."
"Not a bad idea, although if she used the word 'journaling,' you have my permission to fire her."
"She's mostly jargon free, thank God." John sighed. "Would you read it?"
"What you write about being over there? Of course," Rodney said. Shaking his head, he turned around and dumped the pasta into the colander. "I can't promise to get it, because I think you're right; no one who wasn't there can get it, but if you want me to know what happened...." He stared down at the pasta for a moment and then turned back to look at John.
"It means a lot that you're even asking."
"Thanks." John stood up and opened the fridge pulling out a bottle of beer and one of water. He handed Rodney the beer and then leaned down and gave him a quick kiss. "Not used to my boyfriends taking me so seriously."
"Well," Rodney said with a slight laugh. "Obviously you're with me because I'm a better class of boyfriend." He dumped the pasta into the cheese sauce and started mixing it up.
"Well," John said, putting the cards back into their box. He moved back behind Rodney and slide arms around Rodney's waist. "That and because you can cook."
Rodney just snorted and leaned back against John. Maybe I can do this whole boyfriend thing after all.
-end-
Notes: This was a tough piece for me to write and I'm grateful to both darkrosetiger and helens78 for telling me that yes, it makes sense. helens78 also did her usual through job of beta reading, something I appreciate very much.
I didn't want to treat John's issues lightly here; he's struggling with questions and situations that members of the military have struggled with through the ages and, like Rodney, I certainly don't have any answers. In addition to the knowledge I gained working with and reading veterans' files, I'm influenced here by some of the WWII vets interviewed for Ken Burns' film, The War.
The title is taken from the Suzanne Vega song of the same name.