fic prompts, please.
Hey guys, it's monday night and I'm feeling like I should write something. So, while I try to get this John/Rodney watersports fic off the ground ( . . . don't ask) you should give me fic prompts. Song lyrics, poetry, random words, moods, images, etc. are good, along with fandom/characters/pairing. I like prompts that are specific but interpretable.
I'll take prompts for SGA, Buffyverse, Firefly, Veronica Mars, or Doctor Who. GO!
eta: okay, that'll do nicely, thank you! I'm on it. :)
for runpunkrun, who wanted John and Rodney back during their first week(s) in Atlantis, when they were still settling in:
things to do in pegasus
After the thing where he learns to operate machines with his mind, moves to another galaxy, makes new alien friends, accidentally unleashes space vampires on an unwitting galactic populace, effects a daring rescue or two, and shoots his commanding officer, John Sheppard, Major, USAF, discovers that it really doesn't matter where you are - a job in the military is pretty much always a job in the military: paperwork, orders, and brain-dulling monotony punctuated briefly by heartstopping panic.
Once the initial craziness is over and Atlantis isn't going to immediately implode, John's job consists mostly of telling people where to put stuff, setting up security checkpoints, and trying not to kill the scientists who keep running up to him, doe-eyed and panting like teenagers in the back seat of a station wagon, asking him to touch various Ancient doodads.
It involves much less zooming about in alien spacecraft than he had anticipated. And much more paperwork.
So, when the guy with the loud voice and the receding hairline bursts into John's office, it's almost a relief. The odds are fifty-fifty that McKay will want him to activate something with his brain, which is getting real old real fast, but at least McKay is unlikely to be doe-eyed about it.
John looks up from the forms he's filling out - in triplicate - to see McKay, not doe-eyed exactly, but definitely panting a little: he's flushed, and grinning, and shifting a little from foot to foot like a kid high on sugar.
"Doctor," John says, placing the completed forms neatly into his outbox, "What can I do for you?"
McKay's grin widens even further, showing off his uneven teeth. John finds himself smiling back, almost against his will.
Then the guy tilts his chin up at John and asks, "Are you wearing your gun?"
John's day gets marginally better after that, for a while at least: football, popcorn, pushing McKay off a balcony. Then there's the thing where there's a big black cloud that sucks the life out of people - as if they didn't have enough of that going around already - but it's over soon enough.
-
After the thing where he gets fed on by a giant bug, is threatened with explosive decompression, and dies for a little while, John wakes up in the infirmary, and figures that this is going to be even more paperwork.
He's right, and just as he's filling out SGC form 407B - Officer Returned From the Dead - McKay barges into his office again.
This time, he doesn't wait for John to ask. "I've got something to show you," he says, cheeks flushed like last time, eyes bright, and turns around and leaves.
John stays in his chair for a minute, just to be an asshole, and eventually McKay comes back and pokes his head around the door.
"You coming or what, Major?"
John follows.
It turns out that the Ancient lab they discovered the day before isn't a lab: it's a game, like SimCity, but with crappier graphics. Still, it beats paperwork, and John learned a long time ago that when you're on base you have to make your own fun.
Besides, McKay isn't so bad, once you get used to him.
-
After the thing where he gets captured by the Genii, accidentally starts dealing explosives and nuclear weapons, leads a tactical assault on a Wraith ship, and makes enemies with a bunch of radioactive weirdos, John gets back to Atlantis, and figures that Elizabeth is going to send him on missions to score beans for pretty much the foreseeable future.
He's not wrong, and it turns out that offworld missions involve much less meeting hot aliens and doing space-battle than he had anticipated. And, again, much more paperwork.
"The trade agreements must always be filed in triplicate," the Minister of Offworld Trade says, steepling her fingers and peering at John through her little spectacles. John meticulously fills in his name, government association (if any), relationship to the Wraith (check worshipper or not a worshipper), method of payment, home planetary address, and billing address (if different than home planetary address).
Just as he's dusting some sand over the ink on the third copy, McKay comes rushing in, out of breath, with Ford hot on his heels.
"Don't tell me," John says, looking up with a grin he can't quite hold back, "I've gotta come see this?"
McKay nods, and rushes back out. Ford rolls his eyes and jerks his thumb toward the door.
"It is pretty cool, sir," he says.
It turns out that this planet has a game not unlike hockey - or maybe curling - being played on ice with sticks and polished rocks. It's not football, but it's not the worst contact sport John's ever watched, and there are even snacks, which might be onion rings and might be deep-fried intestines of some kind; either way, they're deep-fried, which counts for a lot in terms of the sporting event experience.
McKay is going on about the rules of hockey and stuffing deep-fried onions - or maybe intestines - into his mouth while Teyla explains what does or does not count as a foul in Nawl-Vard, which is the sport they're watching.
"You cannot take out your opponent's eye with your stick," she says. "Nor can you bite her, though that changes when you play by Revairian Rules."
"We totally have to come back for the playoffs," McKay says.
John punches him in the shoulder. "You're all right, Rodney," he says. McKay smiles shyly at him and passes the deep-fried things.
-
After they've been on Atlantis for a few months, the routines have become routine: John's filled out most of the SGC forms at least once, including SGC 190A, Officer Injured by Sentient Flora, after Lieutenant Milano's team got back from L0G-1A0. Just when things start to get boring, something comes up; just when John starts to wish for comic books and townie bars and college football, McKay shows up with some wacky Pegasus thing to do, like he's the local activities director.
John finishes filing SGC form 322C, Bodiless or Insubstantial Alien Life-Forms (With Mind-Control Powers), and sits at his desk for a minute, twiddling his thumbs. His inbox is empty, and all of his pencils are sharpened and arranged according to height.
Nobody comes bursting through his door, so John sighs, gets up, and finds his way to McKay's office.
McKay is lost in a sea of papers, forms stacked up with no apparent rhyme or reason, some of them blank, some of them filled out but crinkled with spilled coffee, most of them held down by laptops or other half-identifiable electronic equipment. As John walks in, McKay looks up from where he's typing and squints at him for a moment.
"Oh, hey," he says.
"Hey," John says back.
"Can I get you something, Maj -" but McKay can't complete his sentence, since John's already kicked the door closed, leaned over at least three precarious stacks of paperwork, and kissed him on the mouth.
When he pulls back, McKay cocks his head and licks his lips. John sticks his hands in his pockets and smiles.
"What was that about?" McKay asks, finally.
John shrugs. "We gotta keep things interesting around here somehow."
For umbo, who wanted a certain Lt. Col to spill tea on a certain Doctor's laptop:
Fallout
"I can't believe you! Do you know how much research was on there?" Rodney fumes, wiping vainly at the keyboard with his spare t-shirt.
"Well, you shouldn't have had your laptop open during the tea ceremony, McKay!" John answers defensively, standing up and pacing the little room the Maivellans gave them.
"Oh, now Colonel Cultural Sensitivity is going to lecture me on politeness?" Rodney grimaces, then throws the t-shirt at the computer in defeat before standing up and putting his hands on his hips. "Which one of us was snoring during the welcome speeches?"
"That has nothing to do with - "
"That has everything to do with, since you were falling asleep and lost your grip on your teacup, and I might also mention that - "
"Rodney! I am not going to argue with you about this!" John bellows. They're up in each other's space now, way too loud for offworld, way too close to taking a swing at each other over a spilled cup of green tea.
"No? Then what the hell do you call screaming at me?" Rodney demands, spreading his arms wide, teeth bared. John's fists clench at his sides.
Just then, Ronon opens the door and sticks his head in. "Uh, guys? You wanna keep it down? The Maivellans are getting a little worried." The crease in Ronon's forehead says that he knows better than to be worried, because he's used to working with idiots.
John takes a deep breath. "Sure, Ronon. Fine."
Rodney shoves his laptop into his bag, and John locks the door, and they don't look at each other as they each prepare for bed.
-
The next day, on the way back to the gate, Teyla gets John alone. John should've smelled the intervention coming sooner; she's been shooting him concerned glances for days.
"You two have been arguing like this for over a week now," she begins.
John shrugs. "It's how we communicate; you know that."
Teyla's eyebrow quirks. "I have observed you and Rodney 'communicating' many times, and it has never been quite like this," she says, calmly.
"Yeah, well, it'll blow over." He doesn't meet her eyes, but then, after a long silence, he does.
"It'll blow over, Teyla," he says again, trying for some conviction.
She hesitates, but gives in. "Very well, John," she says. They walk the rest of the way in silence.
-
Walking past the labs, John almost runs full-force into Zelenka, who's staggering into the corridor with a messy stack of papers in his arms and a shocked look on his face. He notices John standing there, and his expression clears into anger.
"You two really should make up already," he snarls, gathering his papers more securely to his chest. "Before he ruins any more of his friendships."
John doesn't know what to do. He wants to stop him, say something, but Zelenka's already striding down the corridor, away from the lab where McKay is working.
John hesitates outside the door, then walks on.
-
"Look, clearly the military is overstepping its bounds; this is our situation, and we are handling it," Rodney says, cold and precise.
"Well, maybe if you showed any evidence of being able to handle it, my guys wouldn't have to step in," John answers, equally cool.
"Please, you have no hope of being able to even begin to understand the situation here!" McKay protests.
Carter watches them go back and forth for a while, then stands up and walks to the door. Rodney pauses mid-sentence.
"You two figure this out," she says, backing out the door. "You're both off-duty until you can act like adults again."
-
It turns out that Rodney breaks first, showing up at John's quarters half an hour later.
"Okay, listen," he says, then stops.
John rolls his eyes. "I'm listening, already," he says.
"Jesus, do you have to be such a smartass all the time? I'm trying to apologise, here," Rodney snarls.
"You're not doing a very good job so far," John points out, then regrets it. Rodney crosses his arms over his chest and clenches his jaw for a moment before opening his mouth to speak.
John cuts him off. "Look, I'm sorry I said that. Say what you were gonna say."
Rodney's jaw unclenches, but he doesn't uncross his arms. "Maybe you don't deserve an apology anymore."
John sighs. "Maybe not."
There's a long pause in which they don't look at each other. John rubs the back of his head. Rodney shuffles his feet.
"Okay, I - "
"I guess I - "
Their eyes meet, and they laugh nervously.
"You first," Rodney says.
"I'm sorry I said Batman was lame," John mutters.
Rodney nods seriously. "I'm sorry I said the Fantastic Four was second-rate," he says.
John licks his lips, then he nods too, accepting the apology. Rodney sticks out his hand.
"Friends?" he says.
John shakes it. "Friends."
They shake hands for a while; then it peters out, but they don't let go. John finds himself standing in the middle of his quarters holding hands with Rodney McKay.
"So, do you want to have the makeup sex now, or what?" he asks, finally.
"Oh thank god," Rodney breathes, and grins at him.
For pocky_slash, who wanted Teyla, arts & crafts (I went instead with Teyla, Arts and Crafts):
A Cappella (Italian: at the chapel)
After declassification, Rodney gets a Nobel, and John gets a few medals from the President, and Keller gets a research institution named after her, and Ronon gets largely ignored.
Teyla, though. Teyla gets a record deal.
-
The people willing to disseminate her music on Earth want many things from her: want her to tour the planet for months, to attend parties and meet with Earth celebrities, to sing for crowds as big as the populations of planets that she's known. She refuses; her life is, as always, in Pegasus, with her family, with her people, fighting.
But she does take a week or two, each year, to spend on Earth, and allows the music people to book her into ten or twelve concerts. By the end of the run, when she gets back to Atlantis, she is inevitably hoarse, sometimes sick, and quiet: no one on Atlantis noticed how vocal Teyla was until she started coming back from her tours tight-lipped and silent.
It's always the same, now: she walks out onto the stage, no opening act, no introduction. She carries the little set of pipes that she has had since she was a little girl; the good ones, the ones she uses for ritual.
She walks to the centre of the stage and stands at the front of the crowd. "Hello," she says, smiling at them. "I am Teyla Emmagan, daughter of Tagan, once of Athos, now of Atlantis."
They used to cheer at this part, but Teyla grimaced and spoke through their applause, every time. Now they stay silent.
She decides, this night, to begin with something traditional. "I will begin by telling you about a woman who was like a grandmother to me, who died of old age."
Teyla sings them the songs for her family: for Charin, dead with great honour at a time of great strife; for her father, culled so young. She sings the one for Jinto, which is fast and full of difficult rhymes, and the one for Halling, ponderous and earnest. She has a song for Elizabeth and Carson, and she has a song for Rodney, a song for Ronon, a song for John. She has a song for Aiden.
Then she moves to the history-songs: the fall of Rannuut, the forming of the great alliances, the battle at Umyn-Haw, the fall of Thebel. There are six songs that tell the history of Athos: Builders, Music-Makers, Mourners, Child-Bearers, Nomads. She sings the new songs she has made, too, the Atlantis-history songs, even though she doesn't yet know how they fit into the cycle.
The crowd - so many people; in Pegasus, a gathering like this would be nothing but a feast for the Wraith - does as is expected; it laughs over the funny songs and cries over the songs of mourning, and listens between the songs as she tells them that they are spoiled, that they are lucky, that they are soft.
It takes hours to go through an Athosian song-cycle, which is why it is typically only done once or twice in a year. Teyla does it nearly every night for two weeks, for an audience of people who have never heard the buzzing of the darts or seen the swift dark mist at the corners of the eyes.
When she has finished the song-cycle, she walks off the stage. They used to call for her to come back and sing again, but she never did, and so they stopped calling. When she has finished the song-cycle, she walks off the stage, and the crowd stands and walks out of the crowded amphitheatre.
-
"Hey," John says, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a way she sometimes sings about. "It's our local celebrity! How was the world tour?"
She has insisted that none of them come to see her concerts, though she has sung most of the songs for them at various times throughout their years together. She smiles at him, setting her bags down momentarily on the gateroom floor as the wormhole hisses shut behind her.
"It was fine," she says, and turns her eyes back to her home.
For leupagus, who wanted John/Rodney to the tune of Auden's The Two (and who also got bonus femslash):
Time-Keeping
McKay shows up at Sheppard's quarters at 20:00 on Tuesday, carrying a movie or a chess board. He leaves between 22:00 and 23:00, carrying a movie or a chess board, looking as immaculate as he did when he entered.
Sheppard shows up at McKay's quarters at 19:00 on Thursday, carrying a deck of cards or a dvd of a game: football, hockey, whatever. He leaves between 23:00 and 23:30, carrying a deck of cards or a dvd of a game, looking as immaculate as he did when he entered.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Doctor Brown spends time with Lieutenant Delgato, usually in Delgato's quarters. Katie always leaves looking as immaculate as she did when she entered, but sometimes Melanie, saying goodbye at the door, is visible from the hall: rumpled, her hair messed up, her buttons misaligned. This is because she works out after her duty-shift, before Katie comes by, and sometimes forgets to shower and tidy up before receiving visitors.
On Saturdays, Sheppard and Delgato run the puddlejumper flight training program. McKay and Brown eat a meal together, someplace public. McKay holds her hand awkwardly, or Brown kisses him close-lipped and too-fast: this is because they are both nervous, both inexperienced, both bad with relationships.
There is a rumour going around (there has always been a rumour going around) that Sheppard and Teyla are sleeping together. Sheppard disavows these rumours without defensiveness; the fact that he is so careful, so thoughtful, so emotionless, in his disavowal, only proves how much he cares for Teyla and for her honour.
One day, in the lab, several scientists overhear Sheppard and McKay arguing; in tones too low to hear, at first, then rising. McKay's voice: I'm not going to fucking marry her, cut off at the end of the sentence, clipped neatly as if by garden shears.
Delgato's always been followed by the whispers; there are few enough women in the armed services, and fewer still in the Marines. She is caught, once, with Major Lorne, shoving him up against the wall in the little alcove off the cafeteria. Stupid, really; they both only narrowly avoid fraternization charges. But after that the whispers change: butch and slut, but no longer lesbo or dyke - it'll do.
On Saturdays, lying with Katie in her bed after mediocre sex, Rodney thinks, we're not getting away with anything.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, lying with John in his bed after mediocre sex, Rodney thinks, there's nothing to get away with.
For eruthros, who said something about a dance-off:
Open Position
After four years in Pegasus, the Lanteans finally get invited to the Interplanetary Trade Coalition holiday party.
"Score," Ronon says, taking a bite out of his bird-thing drumstick. "I've never been."
Teyla smiles, pleased with herself; she's the one who managed to earn an invitation from the ITC PR people. "I have gone on numerous occasions; it is always a lot of fun."
"So, what, food, music, that sort of thing?" Rodney asks, his eyes on his plate.
"That is the general idea, yes," Teyla agrees. "Music, food, dancing, games, illicit sexual liasons."
John grins. "Ah, the classics."
-
The party really is everything it's cracked up to be. The timing is set to coincide roughly with three planets' harvest festivals, two planets' spring plantings, four solstices and five assorted holy days, so the spirit of festival is not only present, but varied. As SGA-1 walks into the city, there are people singing, dancing, making food, eating food, people in elaborate makeup and costumes, people dressed in leather and glistening with oil (John will have to remember the name of that planet) - people doing almost everything good that humans do, dressed in dozens of fashions, colours, habits. There's even something that looks like a kissing booth from a county fair, which John hopes that McKay doesn't notice.
"Hey, is that a kissing booth?" McKay asks, already chewing on a kebab that he apparently picked up when John wasn't paying attention.
"Where'd you get the kebab?" John asks, but before McKay can answer, the main ITC PR guy is stepping up to a mike and welcoming everyone.
-
The day-part of the party really is like a county fair: food, performers, games to play, that kind of thing. John tries to pay attention to the endless barrage of people Teyla introduces him to, but keeps being distracted by the combat-rings (Ronon's decided to go a few rounds with a giant gap-toothed dude from Minaria) and the bird-thing kebabs (say what you like about Rodney: he always finds the best food). John gets the feeling that there are some important trade wheelings and dealings going on here, but tries to leave most of that to Teyla, who seems to be securing Atlantis's supply of food, textiles, and new technologies in between bites of the giant mushroom-cheese thing she's eating.
As the day segues into night, though, the party takes a pretty sharp turn: fewer games and magic shows, more fireworks, more alcohol, more music, and of course more food.
Then, between one sweet-ale and the next, John finds himself being dragged away from the fireworks display: Ronon's hand is wrapped around his forearm, warm and solid, pulling him toward a pavilion set up with hanging lanterns and standing torches. Off to his side, he sees Teyla doing the same to Rodney, dragging him behind her, Rodney's hand still clutching a half-eaten piece of honey-candy.
When they get up to the pavilion, there are people dancing: dozens of people, hundreds even, all following three or four leaders in something that could almost be the electric slide, if it weren't for the leapfrogging.
There's a woman with a microphone standing on a little dais off to one side where the band is, and she spots them as they approach the edge of the dancing area.
"Ah, and I see that our friends from Atlantis have arrived! Welcome the first-timers, everyone!"
The crowd breaks into laughter and riotous applause, all turning to look at them expectantly.
"Uh, Teyla," Rodney singsongs, half under his breath, "Why is everyone looking at us?"
Teyla laughs. "My apologies, Rodney; it's the party custom. First-timers must perform a dance showcasing their local culture."
John feels all the blood drain from his face.
McKay's ahead of him, though, thank god. "What about Ronon?" Rodney hisses. "It's his first time, too!"
Ronon shrugs. "I can do the Baumanka," he says, glancing at Teyla. "Wanna?"
Teyla mock-bows. "Ronon, I would be glad to dance the Baumanka with you."
And just like that, they're off, into the middle of the brightly-lit pavilion, into some sort of couples-dance that's half tango and half swing-dancing. The other dancers join in, following their movements, clearly trying to pick up the steps as they go. It looks like a lot of fun, if you're into ritual embarrassment.
When they start doing throws - and hey, who knew that Teyla's back bent that way? - John considers grabbing Rodney's wrist and just running off into the night, to freedom, trade agreements be damned.
"Wow, who knew that Teyla's back bent that way?" Rodney said, obviously having missed the idea that he was next in the back-bending competition.
Just then, Ronon and Teyla whirl by, passing close to the crowd as they do something ridiculous and impossibly athletic.
"Remember, it's your turn next," Teyla says, clearly, as they pass.
"I am going to kill that woman," Rodney says. Good; at least they're back on the same page.
"Uh, listen, we'd better just make something up," John suggests, finally.
"Make something up? Like what?" Rodney demands incredulously.
"Like, I don't know, something everyone can follow easily, like a big group dance or something."
Rodney lifts his chin, clearly coming to some sort of decision. That's usually a bad sign. "Listen, Sheppard, I know it may not count for much to you, but we're here representing Earth, and I will be damned if my planet is remembered forever in the Pegasus galaxy as a line-dancing planet." John opens his mouth to make another suggestion, but Rodney cuts him off: "Nor will it be remembered for you doing the robot."
"Fine," John grumbles. "What, then? Hula dancing?"
"No," Rodney says, mulishly, but doesn't suggest anything else. They stand in silence for a few long seconds, while Ronon and Teyla do some more ridiculous throws at ridiculous speeds.
"Um," John says eventually. "How about - can you waltz?"
Rodney turns to face him, surprised. "I can lead," he says carefully.
"Okay, that'll do. I, uh, know how to follow."
Rodney crosses his arms and smirks at him. "Really?"
"I have an older brother, he took a lot of girls to a lot of debutante balls, and we will never, ever, speak of this again," John growls warningly.
Rodney does that thing he does when he wants his smirk to look innocent. "Of course not, Colonel," he says, then wanders over to the band, presumably to explain 3/4 time to them. Ronon and Teyla have just finished, to tremendous applause, and are making their way out of the spotlight and back towards John.
"Did you and Doctor McKay decide on a dance to demonstrate?" Teyla asks sweetly.
"If I ever get you back to Earth," John says, "I'm taking you to Rocky Horror and painting a V on your forehead. Then we'll see who's laughing!"
Teyla shrugs. "I believe you are on my turf now, John."
Rodney comes back, and the band starts to play something that sounds almost like Strauss, if Strauss relied more heavily on the harmonica and the pan-flute.
And then it's totally surreal: Rodney holds out his hand, and John takes it, and they turn almost neatly into the centre of the pavilion.
"Start with a box step, maybe," Rodney half-whispers. Rodney's right hand is on John's waist, a light but firm touch, and his left is gripping John's hand gently, politely. John imagines him dancing with his sister this way, in the living room of the McKay home, practicing for the big dance at school.
They start to box-step, and it comes back to John: step, slide, his hand on Rodney's broad shoulder. It doesn't take long for them to warm up; Rodney exerts a little pressure on John's hand, on his waist, glances with his eyes, leading John into quicker sideways patterns. It's almost fun, the quick turns at the corners, the way their feet move together.
"You better not even think about dipping me," John warns him. Rodney laughs. The warm puff of air stirs against John's cheek.
And it's weird, because John's had his mouth on Rodney's dick and his dick in Rodney's ass; John's kissed Rodney and slept next to Rodney and been fucked by him; John's fallen asleep with his nose pressed into the nape of Rodney's neck and washed Rodney's back in the shower, but he never thought he'd be here, never thought they'd do this: step-glide, their hands on each other warm and polite, Rodney's broad palm slightly sweaty on his. John never thought they'd be here, dozens of half-drunk alien strangers watching them fondly as they shuffle their way across the dance floor while John's best friends in the world stand on the sidelines cheering, smiling their approval.
There are couples dancing all around them now, a crowd of waltzing, good-natured aliens doing their best not to step on each others' feet, and it's just about the best damn moment of John Sheppard's life.
"John?" Rodney says, looking concerned. "You still there?"
John nods. "Yeah, Rodney, I am." And his smile must find its way onto his face, because Rodney smiles back at him, the big lopsided grin, the rare one.
"It's nice that we got to, that we could - do this," Rodney stutters, ducking his head a bit.
John nods mutely and lets Rodney pull him into another quick turn.
It doesn't go on for too long; after a few minutes, the music stops, and the other dancers applaud generously. They hold position for a moment: hand in hand, hand on waist, hand on shoulder. There's still six inches of clear space between them when Rodney leans in, leans up, and presses a soft, dry kiss to John's cheek.
"Thanks for the dance," Rodney says politely.
"Yeah," John replies. He's gripping Rodney's hand in his own. "Thanks. Thank you."
-
-
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I'll take prompts for SGA, Buffyverse, Firefly, Veronica Mars, or Doctor Who. GO!
eta: okay, that'll do nicely, thank you! I'm on it. :)
for runpunkrun, who wanted John and Rodney back during their first week(s) in Atlantis, when they were still settling in:
things to do in pegasus
After the thing where he learns to operate machines with his mind, moves to another galaxy, makes new alien friends, accidentally unleashes space vampires on an unwitting galactic populace, effects a daring rescue or two, and shoots his commanding officer, John Sheppard, Major, USAF, discovers that it really doesn't matter where you are - a job in the military is pretty much always a job in the military: paperwork, orders, and brain-dulling monotony punctuated briefly by heartstopping panic.
Once the initial craziness is over and Atlantis isn't going to immediately implode, John's job consists mostly of telling people where to put stuff, setting up security checkpoints, and trying not to kill the scientists who keep running up to him, doe-eyed and panting like teenagers in the back seat of a station wagon, asking him to touch various Ancient doodads.
It involves much less zooming about in alien spacecraft than he had anticipated. And much more paperwork.
So, when the guy with the loud voice and the receding hairline bursts into John's office, it's almost a relief. The odds are fifty-fifty that McKay will want him to activate something with his brain, which is getting real old real fast, but at least McKay is unlikely to be doe-eyed about it.
John looks up from the forms he's filling out - in triplicate - to see McKay, not doe-eyed exactly, but definitely panting a little: he's flushed, and grinning, and shifting a little from foot to foot like a kid high on sugar.
"Doctor," John says, placing the completed forms neatly into his outbox, "What can I do for you?"
McKay's grin widens even further, showing off his uneven teeth. John finds himself smiling back, almost against his will.
Then the guy tilts his chin up at John and asks, "Are you wearing your gun?"
John's day gets marginally better after that, for a while at least: football, popcorn, pushing McKay off a balcony. Then there's the thing where there's a big black cloud that sucks the life out of people - as if they didn't have enough of that going around already - but it's over soon enough.
-
After the thing where he gets fed on by a giant bug, is threatened with explosive decompression, and dies for a little while, John wakes up in the infirmary, and figures that this is going to be even more paperwork.
He's right, and just as he's filling out SGC form 407B - Officer Returned From the Dead - McKay barges into his office again.
This time, he doesn't wait for John to ask. "I've got something to show you," he says, cheeks flushed like last time, eyes bright, and turns around and leaves.
John stays in his chair for a minute, just to be an asshole, and eventually McKay comes back and pokes his head around the door.
"You coming or what, Major?"
John follows.
It turns out that the Ancient lab they discovered the day before isn't a lab: it's a game, like SimCity, but with crappier graphics. Still, it beats paperwork, and John learned a long time ago that when you're on base you have to make your own fun.
Besides, McKay isn't so bad, once you get used to him.
-
After the thing where he gets captured by the Genii, accidentally starts dealing explosives and nuclear weapons, leads a tactical assault on a Wraith ship, and makes enemies with a bunch of radioactive weirdos, John gets back to Atlantis, and figures that Elizabeth is going to send him on missions to score beans for pretty much the foreseeable future.
He's not wrong, and it turns out that offworld missions involve much less meeting hot aliens and doing space-battle than he had anticipated. And, again, much more paperwork.
"The trade agreements must always be filed in triplicate," the Minister of Offworld Trade says, steepling her fingers and peering at John through her little spectacles. John meticulously fills in his name, government association (if any), relationship to the Wraith (check worshipper or not a worshipper), method of payment, home planetary address, and billing address (if different than home planetary address).
Just as he's dusting some sand over the ink on the third copy, McKay comes rushing in, out of breath, with Ford hot on his heels.
"Don't tell me," John says, looking up with a grin he can't quite hold back, "I've gotta come see this?"
McKay nods, and rushes back out. Ford rolls his eyes and jerks his thumb toward the door.
"It is pretty cool, sir," he says.
It turns out that this planet has a game not unlike hockey - or maybe curling - being played on ice with sticks and polished rocks. It's not football, but it's not the worst contact sport John's ever watched, and there are even snacks, which might be onion rings and might be deep-fried intestines of some kind; either way, they're deep-fried, which counts for a lot in terms of the sporting event experience.
McKay is going on about the rules of hockey and stuffing deep-fried onions - or maybe intestines - into his mouth while Teyla explains what does or does not count as a foul in Nawl-Vard, which is the sport they're watching.
"You cannot take out your opponent's eye with your stick," she says. "Nor can you bite her, though that changes when you play by Revairian Rules."
"We totally have to come back for the playoffs," McKay says.
John punches him in the shoulder. "You're all right, Rodney," he says. McKay smiles shyly at him and passes the deep-fried things.
-
After they've been on Atlantis for a few months, the routines have become routine: John's filled out most of the SGC forms at least once, including SGC 190A, Officer Injured by Sentient Flora, after Lieutenant Milano's team got back from L0G-1A0. Just when things start to get boring, something comes up; just when John starts to wish for comic books and townie bars and college football, McKay shows up with some wacky Pegasus thing to do, like he's the local activities director.
John finishes filing SGC form 322C, Bodiless or Insubstantial Alien Life-Forms (With Mind-Control Powers), and sits at his desk for a minute, twiddling his thumbs. His inbox is empty, and all of his pencils are sharpened and arranged according to height.
Nobody comes bursting through his door, so John sighs, gets up, and finds his way to McKay's office.
McKay is lost in a sea of papers, forms stacked up with no apparent rhyme or reason, some of them blank, some of them filled out but crinkled with spilled coffee, most of them held down by laptops or other half-identifiable electronic equipment. As John walks in, McKay looks up from where he's typing and squints at him for a moment.
"Oh, hey," he says.
"Hey," John says back.
"Can I get you something, Maj -" but McKay can't complete his sentence, since John's already kicked the door closed, leaned over at least three precarious stacks of paperwork, and kissed him on the mouth.
When he pulls back, McKay cocks his head and licks his lips. John sticks his hands in his pockets and smiles.
"What was that about?" McKay asks, finally.
John shrugs. "We gotta keep things interesting around here somehow."
For umbo, who wanted a certain Lt. Col to spill tea on a certain Doctor's laptop:
Fallout
"I can't believe you! Do you know how much research was on there?" Rodney fumes, wiping vainly at the keyboard with his spare t-shirt.
"Well, you shouldn't have had your laptop open during the tea ceremony, McKay!" John answers defensively, standing up and pacing the little room the Maivellans gave them.
"Oh, now Colonel Cultural Sensitivity is going to lecture me on politeness?" Rodney grimaces, then throws the t-shirt at the computer in defeat before standing up and putting his hands on his hips. "Which one of us was snoring during the welcome speeches?"
"That has nothing to do with - "
"That has everything to do with, since you were falling asleep and lost your grip on your teacup, and I might also mention that - "
"Rodney! I am not going to argue with you about this!" John bellows. They're up in each other's space now, way too loud for offworld, way too close to taking a swing at each other over a spilled cup of green tea.
"No? Then what the hell do you call screaming at me?" Rodney demands, spreading his arms wide, teeth bared. John's fists clench at his sides.
Just then, Ronon opens the door and sticks his head in. "Uh, guys? You wanna keep it down? The Maivellans are getting a little worried." The crease in Ronon's forehead says that he knows better than to be worried, because he's used to working with idiots.
John takes a deep breath. "Sure, Ronon. Fine."
Rodney shoves his laptop into his bag, and John locks the door, and they don't look at each other as they each prepare for bed.
-
The next day, on the way back to the gate, Teyla gets John alone. John should've smelled the intervention coming sooner; she's been shooting him concerned glances for days.
"You two have been arguing like this for over a week now," she begins.
John shrugs. "It's how we communicate; you know that."
Teyla's eyebrow quirks. "I have observed you and Rodney 'communicating' many times, and it has never been quite like this," she says, calmly.
"Yeah, well, it'll blow over." He doesn't meet her eyes, but then, after a long silence, he does.
"It'll blow over, Teyla," he says again, trying for some conviction.
She hesitates, but gives in. "Very well, John," she says. They walk the rest of the way in silence.
-
Walking past the labs, John almost runs full-force into Zelenka, who's staggering into the corridor with a messy stack of papers in his arms and a shocked look on his face. He notices John standing there, and his expression clears into anger.
"You two really should make up already," he snarls, gathering his papers more securely to his chest. "Before he ruins any more of his friendships."
John doesn't know what to do. He wants to stop him, say something, but Zelenka's already striding down the corridor, away from the lab where McKay is working.
John hesitates outside the door, then walks on.
-
"Look, clearly the military is overstepping its bounds; this is our situation, and we are handling it," Rodney says, cold and precise.
"Well, maybe if you showed any evidence of being able to handle it, my guys wouldn't have to step in," John answers, equally cool.
"Please, you have no hope of being able to even begin to understand the situation here!" McKay protests.
Carter watches them go back and forth for a while, then stands up and walks to the door. Rodney pauses mid-sentence.
"You two figure this out," she says, backing out the door. "You're both off-duty until you can act like adults again."
-
It turns out that Rodney breaks first, showing up at John's quarters half an hour later.
"Okay, listen," he says, then stops.
John rolls his eyes. "I'm listening, already," he says.
"Jesus, do you have to be such a smartass all the time? I'm trying to apologise, here," Rodney snarls.
"You're not doing a very good job so far," John points out, then regrets it. Rodney crosses his arms over his chest and clenches his jaw for a moment before opening his mouth to speak.
John cuts him off. "Look, I'm sorry I said that. Say what you were gonna say."
Rodney's jaw unclenches, but he doesn't uncross his arms. "Maybe you don't deserve an apology anymore."
John sighs. "Maybe not."
There's a long pause in which they don't look at each other. John rubs the back of his head. Rodney shuffles his feet.
"Okay, I - "
"I guess I - "
Their eyes meet, and they laugh nervously.
"You first," Rodney says.
"I'm sorry I said Batman was lame," John mutters.
Rodney nods seriously. "I'm sorry I said the Fantastic Four was second-rate," he says.
John licks his lips, then he nods too, accepting the apology. Rodney sticks out his hand.
"Friends?" he says.
John shakes it. "Friends."
They shake hands for a while; then it peters out, but they don't let go. John finds himself standing in the middle of his quarters holding hands with Rodney McKay.
"So, do you want to have the makeup sex now, or what?" he asks, finally.
"Oh thank god," Rodney breathes, and grins at him.
For pocky_slash, who wanted Teyla, arts & crafts (I went instead with Teyla, Arts and Crafts):
A Cappella (Italian: at the chapel)
After declassification, Rodney gets a Nobel, and John gets a few medals from the President, and Keller gets a research institution named after her, and Ronon gets largely ignored.
Teyla, though. Teyla gets a record deal.
-
The people willing to disseminate her music on Earth want many things from her: want her to tour the planet for months, to attend parties and meet with Earth celebrities, to sing for crowds as big as the populations of planets that she's known. She refuses; her life is, as always, in Pegasus, with her family, with her people, fighting.
But she does take a week or two, each year, to spend on Earth, and allows the music people to book her into ten or twelve concerts. By the end of the run, when she gets back to Atlantis, she is inevitably hoarse, sometimes sick, and quiet: no one on Atlantis noticed how vocal Teyla was until she started coming back from her tours tight-lipped and silent.
It's always the same, now: she walks out onto the stage, no opening act, no introduction. She carries the little set of pipes that she has had since she was a little girl; the good ones, the ones she uses for ritual.
She walks to the centre of the stage and stands at the front of the crowd. "Hello," she says, smiling at them. "I am Teyla Emmagan, daughter of Tagan, once of Athos, now of Atlantis."
They used to cheer at this part, but Teyla grimaced and spoke through their applause, every time. Now they stay silent.
She decides, this night, to begin with something traditional. "I will begin by telling you about a woman who was like a grandmother to me, who died of old age."
Teyla sings them the songs for her family: for Charin, dead with great honour at a time of great strife; for her father, culled so young. She sings the one for Jinto, which is fast and full of difficult rhymes, and the one for Halling, ponderous and earnest. She has a song for Elizabeth and Carson, and she has a song for Rodney, a song for Ronon, a song for John. She has a song for Aiden.
Then she moves to the history-songs: the fall of Rannuut, the forming of the great alliances, the battle at Umyn-Haw, the fall of Thebel. There are six songs that tell the history of Athos: Builders, Music-Makers, Mourners, Child-Bearers, Nomads. She sings the new songs she has made, too, the Atlantis-history songs, even though she doesn't yet know how they fit into the cycle.
The crowd - so many people; in Pegasus, a gathering like this would be nothing but a feast for the Wraith - does as is expected; it laughs over the funny songs and cries over the songs of mourning, and listens between the songs as she tells them that they are spoiled, that they are lucky, that they are soft.
It takes hours to go through an Athosian song-cycle, which is why it is typically only done once or twice in a year. Teyla does it nearly every night for two weeks, for an audience of people who have never heard the buzzing of the darts or seen the swift dark mist at the corners of the eyes.
When she has finished the song-cycle, she walks off the stage. They used to call for her to come back and sing again, but she never did, and so they stopped calling. When she has finished the song-cycle, she walks off the stage, and the crowd stands and walks out of the crowded amphitheatre.
-
"Hey," John says, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a way she sometimes sings about. "It's our local celebrity! How was the world tour?"
She has insisted that none of them come to see her concerts, though she has sung most of the songs for them at various times throughout their years together. She smiles at him, setting her bags down momentarily on the gateroom floor as the wormhole hisses shut behind her.
"It was fine," she says, and turns her eyes back to her home.
For leupagus, who wanted John/Rodney to the tune of Auden's The Two (and who also got bonus femslash):
Time-Keeping
McKay shows up at Sheppard's quarters at 20:00 on Tuesday, carrying a movie or a chess board. He leaves between 22:00 and 23:00, carrying a movie or a chess board, looking as immaculate as he did when he entered.
Sheppard shows up at McKay's quarters at 19:00 on Thursday, carrying a deck of cards or a dvd of a game: football, hockey, whatever. He leaves between 23:00 and 23:30, carrying a deck of cards or a dvd of a game, looking as immaculate as he did when he entered.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Doctor Brown spends time with Lieutenant Delgato, usually in Delgato's quarters. Katie always leaves looking as immaculate as she did when she entered, but sometimes Melanie, saying goodbye at the door, is visible from the hall: rumpled, her hair messed up, her buttons misaligned. This is because she works out after her duty-shift, before Katie comes by, and sometimes forgets to shower and tidy up before receiving visitors.
On Saturdays, Sheppard and Delgato run the puddlejumper flight training program. McKay and Brown eat a meal together, someplace public. McKay holds her hand awkwardly, or Brown kisses him close-lipped and too-fast: this is because they are both nervous, both inexperienced, both bad with relationships.
There is a rumour going around (there has always been a rumour going around) that Sheppard and Teyla are sleeping together. Sheppard disavows these rumours without defensiveness; the fact that he is so careful, so thoughtful, so emotionless, in his disavowal, only proves how much he cares for Teyla and for her honour.
One day, in the lab, several scientists overhear Sheppard and McKay arguing; in tones too low to hear, at first, then rising. McKay's voice: I'm not going to fucking marry her, cut off at the end of the sentence, clipped neatly as if by garden shears.
Delgato's always been followed by the whispers; there are few enough women in the armed services, and fewer still in the Marines. She is caught, once, with Major Lorne, shoving him up against the wall in the little alcove off the cafeteria. Stupid, really; they both only narrowly avoid fraternization charges. But after that the whispers change: butch and slut, but no longer lesbo or dyke - it'll do.
On Saturdays, lying with Katie in her bed after mediocre sex, Rodney thinks, we're not getting away with anything.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, lying with John in his bed after mediocre sex, Rodney thinks, there's nothing to get away with.
For eruthros, who said something about a dance-off:
Open Position
After four years in Pegasus, the Lanteans finally get invited to the Interplanetary Trade Coalition holiday party.
"Score," Ronon says, taking a bite out of his bird-thing drumstick. "I've never been."
Teyla smiles, pleased with herself; she's the one who managed to earn an invitation from the ITC PR people. "I have gone on numerous occasions; it is always a lot of fun."
"So, what, food, music, that sort of thing?" Rodney asks, his eyes on his plate.
"That is the general idea, yes," Teyla agrees. "Music, food, dancing, games, illicit sexual liasons."
John grins. "Ah, the classics."
-
The party really is everything it's cracked up to be. The timing is set to coincide roughly with three planets' harvest festivals, two planets' spring plantings, four solstices and five assorted holy days, so the spirit of festival is not only present, but varied. As SGA-1 walks into the city, there are people singing, dancing, making food, eating food, people in elaborate makeup and costumes, people dressed in leather and glistening with oil (John will have to remember the name of that planet) - people doing almost everything good that humans do, dressed in dozens of fashions, colours, habits. There's even something that looks like a kissing booth from a county fair, which John hopes that McKay doesn't notice.
"Hey, is that a kissing booth?" McKay asks, already chewing on a kebab that he apparently picked up when John wasn't paying attention.
"Where'd you get the kebab?" John asks, but before McKay can answer, the main ITC PR guy is stepping up to a mike and welcoming everyone.
-
The day-part of the party really is like a county fair: food, performers, games to play, that kind of thing. John tries to pay attention to the endless barrage of people Teyla introduces him to, but keeps being distracted by the combat-rings (Ronon's decided to go a few rounds with a giant gap-toothed dude from Minaria) and the bird-thing kebabs (say what you like about Rodney: he always finds the best food). John gets the feeling that there are some important trade wheelings and dealings going on here, but tries to leave most of that to Teyla, who seems to be securing Atlantis's supply of food, textiles, and new technologies in between bites of the giant mushroom-cheese thing she's eating.
As the day segues into night, though, the party takes a pretty sharp turn: fewer games and magic shows, more fireworks, more alcohol, more music, and of course more food.
Then, between one sweet-ale and the next, John finds himself being dragged away from the fireworks display: Ronon's hand is wrapped around his forearm, warm and solid, pulling him toward a pavilion set up with hanging lanterns and standing torches. Off to his side, he sees Teyla doing the same to Rodney, dragging him behind her, Rodney's hand still clutching a half-eaten piece of honey-candy.
When they get up to the pavilion, there are people dancing: dozens of people, hundreds even, all following three or four leaders in something that could almost be the electric slide, if it weren't for the leapfrogging.
There's a woman with a microphone standing on a little dais off to one side where the band is, and she spots them as they approach the edge of the dancing area.
"Ah, and I see that our friends from Atlantis have arrived! Welcome the first-timers, everyone!"
The crowd breaks into laughter and riotous applause, all turning to look at them expectantly.
"Uh, Teyla," Rodney singsongs, half under his breath, "Why is everyone looking at us?"
Teyla laughs. "My apologies, Rodney; it's the party custom. First-timers must perform a dance showcasing their local culture."
John feels all the blood drain from his face.
McKay's ahead of him, though, thank god. "What about Ronon?" Rodney hisses. "It's his first time, too!"
Ronon shrugs. "I can do the Baumanka," he says, glancing at Teyla. "Wanna?"
Teyla mock-bows. "Ronon, I would be glad to dance the Baumanka with you."
And just like that, they're off, into the middle of the brightly-lit pavilion, into some sort of couples-dance that's half tango and half swing-dancing. The other dancers join in, following their movements, clearly trying to pick up the steps as they go. It looks like a lot of fun, if you're into ritual embarrassment.
When they start doing throws - and hey, who knew that Teyla's back bent that way? - John considers grabbing Rodney's wrist and just running off into the night, to freedom, trade agreements be damned.
"Wow, who knew that Teyla's back bent that way?" Rodney said, obviously having missed the idea that he was next in the back-bending competition.
Just then, Ronon and Teyla whirl by, passing close to the crowd as they do something ridiculous and impossibly athletic.
"Remember, it's your turn next," Teyla says, clearly, as they pass.
"I am going to kill that woman," Rodney says. Good; at least they're back on the same page.
"Uh, listen, we'd better just make something up," John suggests, finally.
"Make something up? Like what?" Rodney demands incredulously.
"Like, I don't know, something everyone can follow easily, like a big group dance or something."
Rodney lifts his chin, clearly coming to some sort of decision. That's usually a bad sign. "Listen, Sheppard, I know it may not count for much to you, but we're here representing Earth, and I will be damned if my planet is remembered forever in the Pegasus galaxy as a line-dancing planet." John opens his mouth to make another suggestion, but Rodney cuts him off: "Nor will it be remembered for you doing the robot."
"Fine," John grumbles. "What, then? Hula dancing?"
"No," Rodney says, mulishly, but doesn't suggest anything else. They stand in silence for a few long seconds, while Ronon and Teyla do some more ridiculous throws at ridiculous speeds.
"Um," John says eventually. "How about - can you waltz?"
Rodney turns to face him, surprised. "I can lead," he says carefully.
"Okay, that'll do. I, uh, know how to follow."
Rodney crosses his arms and smirks at him. "Really?"
"I have an older brother, he took a lot of girls to a lot of debutante balls, and we will never, ever, speak of this again," John growls warningly.
Rodney does that thing he does when he wants his smirk to look innocent. "Of course not, Colonel," he says, then wanders over to the band, presumably to explain 3/4 time to them. Ronon and Teyla have just finished, to tremendous applause, and are making their way out of the spotlight and back towards John.
"Did you and Doctor McKay decide on a dance to demonstrate?" Teyla asks sweetly.
"If I ever get you back to Earth," John says, "I'm taking you to Rocky Horror and painting a V on your forehead. Then we'll see who's laughing!"
Teyla shrugs. "I believe you are on my turf now, John."
Rodney comes back, and the band starts to play something that sounds almost like Strauss, if Strauss relied more heavily on the harmonica and the pan-flute.
And then it's totally surreal: Rodney holds out his hand, and John takes it, and they turn almost neatly into the centre of the pavilion.
"Start with a box step, maybe," Rodney half-whispers. Rodney's right hand is on John's waist, a light but firm touch, and his left is gripping John's hand gently, politely. John imagines him dancing with his sister this way, in the living room of the McKay home, practicing for the big dance at school.
They start to box-step, and it comes back to John: step, slide, his hand on Rodney's broad shoulder. It doesn't take long for them to warm up; Rodney exerts a little pressure on John's hand, on his waist, glances with his eyes, leading John into quicker sideways patterns. It's almost fun, the quick turns at the corners, the way their feet move together.
"You better not even think about dipping me," John warns him. Rodney laughs. The warm puff of air stirs against John's cheek.
And it's weird, because John's had his mouth on Rodney's dick and his dick in Rodney's ass; John's kissed Rodney and slept next to Rodney and been fucked by him; John's fallen asleep with his nose pressed into the nape of Rodney's neck and washed Rodney's back in the shower, but he never thought he'd be here, never thought they'd do this: step-glide, their hands on each other warm and polite, Rodney's broad palm slightly sweaty on his. John never thought they'd be here, dozens of half-drunk alien strangers watching them fondly as they shuffle their way across the dance floor while John's best friends in the world stand on the sidelines cheering, smiling their approval.
There are couples dancing all around them now, a crowd of waltzing, good-natured aliens doing their best not to step on each others' feet, and it's just about the best damn moment of John Sheppard's life.
"John?" Rodney says, looking concerned. "You still there?"
John nods. "Yeah, Rodney, I am." And his smile must find its way onto his face, because Rodney smiles back at him, the big lopsided grin, the rare one.
"It's nice that we got to, that we could - do this," Rodney stutters, ducking his head a bit.
John nods mutely and lets Rodney pull him into another quick turn.
It doesn't go on for too long; after a few minutes, the music stops, and the other dancers applaud generously. They hold position for a moment: hand in hand, hand on waist, hand on shoulder. There's still six inches of clear space between them when Rodney leans in, leans up, and presses a soft, dry kiss to John's cheek.
"Thanks for the dance," Rodney says politely.
"Yeah," John replies. He's gripping Rodney's hand in his own. "Thanks. Thank you."
-
-
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