Repost -- Stargate Atlantis -- "Starving (the Tonic Recitative)"
for Remix Redux 9: Love Potion No. 9
original story: chicklet_girl's Hungry
pairings: Sheppard/McKay preslash
no spoilers
Everyone knows Rodney McKay has a thing about food. Only John Sheppard knows why.
Starving (the Tonic Recitative) | PG | 1085 words | complete
“Sheppard,” McKay said, and John was a little worried to realize that it wasn’t a whine, but rather a soft plea. “I’m so hungry.”
“At least you still feel hungry,” John said, scratching a bug bite on his arm. “My hunger pains stopped hours ago.”
“I’m not sure I can move,” McKay said.
“Don’t try to, save your strength,” John said. “You’re going to need it when Ronon and Teyla come bursting in here with Lorne and SG-2.” McKay smiled weakly, and John crawled across the four feet of their cell, propping himself up between the rough wall and the warm bulk of McKay’s shoulder. McKay leaned back, and John fought to quell the fluttering in his chest. This crush thing was getting way out of hand.
“They should have been here ages ago,” McKay said, tipping his head back to rest it against the wall. “We were captured, what, 36 hours ago?”
“They’ll come back for us,” John said. “They will. This is getting depressing, let’s talk about something else.”
“I could really do with a hamburger right now,” McKay said, and John’s stomach did rumble. “Smothered in cheese and pickles. Ooh, or a steak. Mashed potatoes with gravy. Corn on the cob. Pie.”
“Stop, you’re making it worse,” John said, but he laughed weakly. “What is it with you and food, anyway?” he asked, still chuckling, but McKay’s face suddenly went serious. “You don’t have to answer that.”
McKay shook his head, and was quiet a long time. John was about to change the subject when McKay spoke, so quietly at first that John could barely hear him. “It wasn’t that Mum and Dad were bad parents, really. it’s just that sometimes they argued so long they didn’t realize that nobody’d fed me and Jeannie. I learned early on what it felt like when my blood sugar was dropping to dangerous levels--and even a little kid can get an apple from the basket on the kitchen table. Dishing out applesauce for Jeannie was almost as easy.” He laughed, a little bitterly. “She didn’t like the skin, and I was forbidden to touch any knife, anywhere, anytime, for any reason. They remembered that part.
“It took me a long time to realize why I liked restaurants. It’s because when we went to one, my parents could make it through a whole meal without having a fight. Restaurants were also cool because they’re filled with people who cook because they like it, and they like making food for other people. I can do it if I have to, but I avoid it. And then there was the vaguely sulky way my mother worked in the kitchen, like she’d rather be doing almost anything besides roasting a chicken for her family.
In a restaurant, you order food and they make it for you. And even if they don’t particularly want to do it, they have to pretend they don’t resent you for being around.”
John listened quietly, afraid to speak in case it broke some sort of spell. McKay never talked about himself. No, that wasn’t true: McKay talked about himself all the time, just not anything important. Not about his past before his wunderkind rise through college and grad school, and even then it’s only the academic, scientific stuff.
John knew nothing about McKay’s--Rodney’s--family. There wasn’t much in his file, and Rodney never talked about them. John was starting to understand why.
“The best, though, was hospital food. I liked it precisely because it’s bland. In my experience, the more exotic a cuisine, the more likely it is to contain something that might kill me.”
“Wait, no one likes hospital food,” John said. “And how do you have so much experience with it, anyway?”
“Allergies,” Rodney said, with a long-suffering sigh. “You’d be amazed how often things have citrus in them and it doesn’t say anywhere.”
John had to concede that one, so he shrugged. “Still, I’ve heard you complain about the boring food at the mess all the time.”
“I learned to appreciate good food,” Rodney said testily. “There was this girl in college--Margaret. She wanted to cook for me, and for our third date she asked for a list of everything citrus so she wouldn’t use any of it when she made us dinner at her apartment. I think she was trying to impress me, which wasn’t necessary. She got an A in organic chemistry. And she wanted to have sex with me, which was even more impressive.”
John laughed at that, pleased that Rodney was laughing, too, even as he said it. “I’m assuming she didn’t poison you?”
“Dinner was very good, actually, some kind of chicken thing with a sauce that was very rich and completely citrus-free. And then she pulled into the bedroom, and they’re lying on her paisley-print cotton bedspread, and it was amazing.” Rodney colored a little, like he’d given away more than he’d meant to. “After that, I really started to appreciate cooking.”
“What happened with her?” John asked.
“I wasn’t enough,” Rodney said simply.
They sat quietly for a moment, staring out through the bars. John thought he heard some commotion from down the hall, but didn’t comment on it for fear of jinxing it. “Well,” he said instead. “When we get back home, I’ll cook you dinner. Something delicious and citrus-free.”
“You cook?” Rodney asked, incredulously.
“Not really,” John said, and Rodney laughed. “But Beckett does, and he owes me a favor. Something home-cooked, with you in mind. Maybe those Athosian rabbit things you like so much.”
“And will you lay me out on your bed later?” Rodney asked, and then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Forget--I didn’t say that. I’m tired and my blood sugar is way too low and--”
John gulped, and then reached over to clasp Rodney’s free hand where it was sitting on his knee. “Well, not on the first date,” he said softly.
Before Rodney could respond, there was a smattering of what could only be gunfire, and then voices calling their names. Rodney let go of his hand, but didn’t move away; John wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to move, or if he couldn’t. “I’m going to hold you to that, Colonel,” he said softly, just before Ronon appeared around the corner, Teyla on his heels with a ring of keys in her hand.
The broad grin on John’s face wasn’t just because he was happy to see them.
Originally posted here.
Feedback is better than chocolate.
original story: chicklet_girl's Hungry
pairings: Sheppard/McKay preslash
no spoilers
Everyone knows Rodney McKay has a thing about food. Only John Sheppard knows why.
Starving (the Tonic Recitative) | PG | 1085 words | complete
“Sheppard,” McKay said, and John was a little worried to realize that it wasn’t a whine, but rather a soft plea. “I’m so hungry.”
“At least you still feel hungry,” John said, scratching a bug bite on his arm. “My hunger pains stopped hours ago.”
“I’m not sure I can move,” McKay said.
“Don’t try to, save your strength,” John said. “You’re going to need it when Ronon and Teyla come bursting in here with Lorne and SG-2.” McKay smiled weakly, and John crawled across the four feet of their cell, propping himself up between the rough wall and the warm bulk of McKay’s shoulder. McKay leaned back, and John fought to quell the fluttering in his chest. This crush thing was getting way out of hand.
“They should have been here ages ago,” McKay said, tipping his head back to rest it against the wall. “We were captured, what, 36 hours ago?”
“They’ll come back for us,” John said. “They will. This is getting depressing, let’s talk about something else.”
“I could really do with a hamburger right now,” McKay said, and John’s stomach did rumble. “Smothered in cheese and pickles. Ooh, or a steak. Mashed potatoes with gravy. Corn on the cob. Pie.”
“Stop, you’re making it worse,” John said, but he laughed weakly. “What is it with you and food, anyway?” he asked, still chuckling, but McKay’s face suddenly went serious. “You don’t have to answer that.”
McKay shook his head, and was quiet a long time. John was about to change the subject when McKay spoke, so quietly at first that John could barely hear him. “It wasn’t that Mum and Dad were bad parents, really. it’s just that sometimes they argued so long they didn’t realize that nobody’d fed me and Jeannie. I learned early on what it felt like when my blood sugar was dropping to dangerous levels--and even a little kid can get an apple from the basket on the kitchen table. Dishing out applesauce for Jeannie was almost as easy.” He laughed, a little bitterly. “She didn’t like the skin, and I was forbidden to touch any knife, anywhere, anytime, for any reason. They remembered that part.
“It took me a long time to realize why I liked restaurants. It’s because when we went to one, my parents could make it through a whole meal without having a fight. Restaurants were also cool because they’re filled with people who cook because they like it, and they like making food for other people. I can do it if I have to, but I avoid it. And then there was the vaguely sulky way my mother worked in the kitchen, like she’d rather be doing almost anything besides roasting a chicken for her family.
In a restaurant, you order food and they make it for you. And even if they don’t particularly want to do it, they have to pretend they don’t resent you for being around.”
John listened quietly, afraid to speak in case it broke some sort of spell. McKay never talked about himself. No, that wasn’t true: McKay talked about himself all the time, just not anything important. Not about his past before his wunderkind rise through college and grad school, and even then it’s only the academic, scientific stuff.
John knew nothing about McKay’s--Rodney’s--family. There wasn’t much in his file, and Rodney never talked about them. John was starting to understand why.
“The best, though, was hospital food. I liked it precisely because it’s bland. In my experience, the more exotic a cuisine, the more likely it is to contain something that might kill me.”
“Wait, no one likes hospital food,” John said. “And how do you have so much experience with it, anyway?”
“Allergies,” Rodney said, with a long-suffering sigh. “You’d be amazed how often things have citrus in them and it doesn’t say anywhere.”
John had to concede that one, so he shrugged. “Still, I’ve heard you complain about the boring food at the mess all the time.”
“I learned to appreciate good food,” Rodney said testily. “There was this girl in college--Margaret. She wanted to cook for me, and for our third date she asked for a list of everything citrus so she wouldn’t use any of it when she made us dinner at her apartment. I think she was trying to impress me, which wasn’t necessary. She got an A in organic chemistry. And she wanted to have sex with me, which was even more impressive.”
John laughed at that, pleased that Rodney was laughing, too, even as he said it. “I’m assuming she didn’t poison you?”
“Dinner was very good, actually, some kind of chicken thing with a sauce that was very rich and completely citrus-free. And then she pulled into the bedroom, and they’re lying on her paisley-print cotton bedspread, and it was amazing.” Rodney colored a little, like he’d given away more than he’d meant to. “After that, I really started to appreciate cooking.”
“What happened with her?” John asked.
“I wasn’t enough,” Rodney said simply.
They sat quietly for a moment, staring out through the bars. John thought he heard some commotion from down the hall, but didn’t comment on it for fear of jinxing it. “Well,” he said instead. “When we get back home, I’ll cook you dinner. Something delicious and citrus-free.”
“You cook?” Rodney asked, incredulously.
“Not really,” John said, and Rodney laughed. “But Beckett does, and he owes me a favor. Something home-cooked, with you in mind. Maybe those Athosian rabbit things you like so much.”
“And will you lay me out on your bed later?” Rodney asked, and then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Forget--I didn’t say that. I’m tired and my blood sugar is way too low and--”
John gulped, and then reached over to clasp Rodney’s free hand where it was sitting on his knee. “Well, not on the first date,” he said softly.
Before Rodney could respond, there was a smattering of what could only be gunfire, and then voices calling their names. Rodney let go of his hand, but didn’t move away; John wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to move, or if he couldn’t. “I’m going to hold you to that, Colonel,” he said softly, just before Ronon appeared around the corner, Teyla on his heels with a ring of keys in her hand.
The broad grin on John’s face wasn’t just because he was happy to see them.
Originally posted here.
Feedback is better than chocolate.