(no subject)
It had been exactly a month since the...weekend debacle, and everything seemed to be fine with Jill, which meant Rodney McKay didn't have an excuse to stay hidden in his hut for much longer. Avoiding Sheppard and everyone else seemed a little immature, and Rodney did not want such an unflattering adjective attached to his name.
Oh, he still went up to the Compound, but at hours when he knew Sheppard would be out on patrol or the other residents of New Atlantis would be too occupied to notice him slipping out. There was always the danger of running into one of them up at the building, of course, but a man needed to eat, and especially one with a metabolism as fast as his. Midnight trips seemed the go. Until today, that was.
It was nearly lunchtime and Rodney McKay was in the kitchen eating a banana defiantly. He sat hunched at the table, cradling the banana in a fist and refusing to look at anyone.
It was a start.
He was only worried about the banana's yellowness. Yellowness did not conjure up pleasant associations with him. Yellow was the color of sour, lemony death. It'd almost got him once, when he hadn't known any better, but he knew now. Oh yes.
There was a fruit bowl on the table. He eyed it suspiciously as he finished the banana and carefully set the peel aside, starting on a second.
Of all his problems, he was not going to let lemons take him by surprise.
Oh, he still went up to the Compound, but at hours when he knew Sheppard would be out on patrol or the other residents of New Atlantis would be too occupied to notice him slipping out. There was always the danger of running into one of them up at the building, of course, but a man needed to eat, and especially one with a metabolism as fast as his. Midnight trips seemed the go. Until today, that was.
It was nearly lunchtime and Rodney McKay was in the kitchen eating a banana defiantly. He sat hunched at the table, cradling the banana in a fist and refusing to look at anyone.
It was a start.
He was only worried about the banana's yellowness. Yellowness did not conjure up pleasant associations with him. Yellow was the color of sour, lemony death. It'd almost got him once, when he hadn't known any better, but he knew now. Oh yes.
There was a fruit bowl on the table. He eyed it suspiciously as he finished the banana and carefully set the peel aside, starting on a second.
Of all his problems, he was not going to let lemons take him by surprise.