SGA Fic: Sweet Spot: the (un)observant remix (sheppard/mckay, weir/caldwell)
The time has finally come! My remix, complete with the longest author notes I’ve ever written!
Title: Sweet Spot: the (un)observant remix
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay, Weir/Caldwell
Rating: pg
Length: ~1,400 words
Summary: "in the closet" isn't always a metaphor.
Notes: I was both excited and terrified to be assigned smittywing for remix, because she’s one of my favorite writers. After reading all of her stories again a few times (what a hardship!), I finally picked Sweet Spot, an adorable Weir/Caldwell vignette. If you haven’t read it yet, I strongly encourage you to check it out, along with everything else she’s ever written.
Tons of thanks go out to ladycat777 and tesserae for beta duty, and to shetiger and xanphibian for general encouragement. Any mistakes left in this are all because of me, and not remotely because of them.
Finally, the line about Rodney's pocket comes from a comment alizarin_nyc left in smittywing's original story. All credit should go to her.
Sweet Spot: the (un)observant remix
John may be a little slow on the uptake, but he notices a lot more than people give him credit for. Years of training in the field have made him especially sensitive to scent. When Elizabeth stops smelling like soap and starts smelling like chocolate - a commodity that’s almost as precious as a ZPM on Atlantis - it’s not that hard to get a clue.
Rodney’s not as slow as people assume either. It only takes a few more weeks before he comes to John and starts whining about Hershey’s Kisses and how nobody’s ever willing to smuggle anything in for him. John thinks about the Cadbury he’s been stashing in his closet for months, but doesn’t say anything; he’s not ready yet.
“So,” he says lazily to Elizabeth, after everybody else leaves yet another staff meeting, “I notice you haven’t been sharing with the class.”
Elizabeth’s not a diplomat for nothing, and face remains convincingly blank. “I’m sorry; I thought we’d already gone over the schedule for next week’s festival on the mainland.”
He doesn’t push it. Privacy is a rare luxury for them, and she deserves as much of it as she can get.
**
Sometimes the Daedalus visits go smoothly. Sometimes, not so much - but these days, always, always afterward, Elizabeth smells like chocolate. The quality goes up as well, and John mentally congratulates Caldwell - finding the right key to somebody’s heart can be a nightmare, but he’s slowly chiseling his way in.
When the Daedalus goes missing, it’s horrible for all of them, but it’s nothing compared to the look on Elizabeth’s face, the strain that grows with each new day. Rodney notices as well, and nearly kills himself trying to get them back. John volunteers to drag him off to sleep every fifteen hours - it’s not like it’s much of a sacrifice; he kind of likes sleepy and grumpy Rodney - but every single time Rodney fights him, wants to go back and save the day.
“It can wait for a little bit,” John tells him, but Rodney’s mouth is slanting down miserably in the way John hates. He almost gives in - Rodney’s mouth is Pavlovian for him like that - especially when Rodney says quietly, “not for Elizabeth.”
It’s true, and John can’t stand seeing her that way either. But he’s not willing to sacrifice Rodney as well.
He does whatever he can for Elizabeth, not that it’s very much: lets her snap, lets her rage, steals all of her extraneous paperwork and fills it out himself. She’s not going to want chocolate from him - it’ll only remind her of what she’s missing - so he does the next best thing and offers her pudding. After all, who doesn’t love pudding? Elizabeth thanks him and politely eats it, but he can tell it was a wrong step. His ex always told him he didn’t understand what women needed, and she was right. He doesn’t.
It’s what made Rodney such a surprise - John always knows what Rodney needs, even if he can’t always give it to him. Rodney seems to always know what John needs as well. John hopes it’s the same for Elizabeth and Caldwell; having that in his life is a warm blanket that never lets him shiver, an invulnerability shield for two.
Even knowing that, the Cadbury stays in the closet; he’s still not ready.
This is about Elizabeth though, not Rodney, and they all orbit around her, offering support. Teyla drags her onto the balcony for a precious hour every day, away from her constant gazing at the gate; Ronon intimidates her into jogging around the city; Carson prepares his infirmary, over and over, quietly letting her know that when - not if, when - they find them, he’ll be ready.
Rodney would be there too - everybody knows that - but currently he’s in the process of ignoring basic hygienic needs in favor of figuring out what happened so he can get them - get him - back.
If Elizabeth cries, it’s not where any of them can see. She never falters even once. Carson and Rodney don’t understand, but John and Teyla do: sometimes, that’s what it means to be a leader. He’s never been more proud of her.
They all breathe a sigh of relief when Rodney finally figures out just where the Daedalus went. After that, pulling it back out of the pocket universe is a piece of cake, no time at all until they’re home and safe. John makes the mistake of asking Rodney if that’s a Daedalus in his pocket or if Rodney’s just happy to see him. Rodney nearly disembowels him with the sheer power of his glare alone.
Afterwards, they all sit in the infirmary, waiting with Elizabeth. She breaks out a bar of something that looks dark and expensive, and Rodney nearly hyperventilates with joy. John leaves for a while to take care of organizing ship repairs. When he comes back, it’s just Elizabeth.
“Rodney crashed,” she tells him. “Carson stuck him in a private room. He’ll be out for hours.”
John holds up the deck of cards and says, “Well, you’ve still got me.”
“You don’t have to stay,” she says, but her eyes are telling a different story. John smiles as he sits down and starts shuffling. Take that, Tricia. Sometimes he does know what women need.
They play Go Fish until Rodney wakes up, and then switch to Rummy. After an eternity, Carson comes out smiling. Elizabeth’s voice is a bit hoarse when she thanks him, but John says nothing. He’s too busy remembering what he sounded like after they’d pulled Rodney up from the bottom of the ocean.
**
Caldwell comes to his office the day before the Daedalus leaves. He looks uncomfortable; he looks like he’s going to say something personal. He also looks like he’s going to be sick, and John resists the urge to offer him his chair. Caldwell isn’t the kind of guy who would appreciate it.
“When I get back to Earth, I’m handing in my retirement notice,” he says.
John nods, because it’s not that surprising. “All right, sir,” he says, but Caldwell’s not done.
“I’m proposing to Elizabeth and if she says yes I’m coming back here for good,” he continues, and John can’t do anything but blink, because that’s surprising.
“Um, congratulations?” he ventures, because, “why the hell are you telling me this,” isn’t the kind of thing you say to a superior officer. Even if he won’t be an officer for much longer.
Caldwell looks even more stiff than usual. “Out here, you’re the closest thing she’s got to family. I’m asking for your blessing.”
John thinks about it, because having Caldwell there all the time could be…really awkward, especially when John does get off his ass and make his move. Except. Once again, it’s not always about him. It’s Elizabeth, and she deserves to be happy. His stomach tightens, but he says, “Sure."
Caldwell looks relieved, but now John’s feeling a bit sick himself. It must show on his face, because Caldwell smiles wryly and says, “Of course, I’ll be a civilian here. Certain…things will no longer be my concern or responsibility.”
Wow, looks like John’s getting a blessing as well. He grins and says, “There’s great fishing out by the East Pier, and a sweet driving range off the South corner.”
**
After that, he’s got no more excuses. Elizabeth looks happier than he’s ever seen her and Caldwell’s unbent enough to start smiling. The kitchen starts to smell like chocolate cake. It feels like the air has changed - fresh and hopeful and full of possibility. It feels like it’s finally time for him to get over himself.
He sneaks into Rodney’s room after his run the next morning and leaves a Dairy Milk on Rodney’s pillow. He’s out the door before Rodney wakes up. It’s only an hour or so before Rodney comes stomping into the mess. He takes one look at John, flushes so red it looks painful, and sits down at his table.
His eyes are daring John to say anything, but John just smiles and notices the smudges around Rodney’s mouth.
“You’ve got a little something right there,” he says, and Rodney’s flush goes incandescent, right before he stammers something, grabs his tray, and makes his escape.
All in all, John decides he feels pretty good about the whole thing. Laying down a siege is old hat for him; waiting for the results isn’t fun or easy, but it’s worth it when he knows what’ll be there for him at the end - cranky warmth, melting like chocolate.
Title: Sweet Spot: the (un)observant remix
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay, Weir/Caldwell
Rating: pg
Length: ~1,400 words
Summary: "in the closet" isn't always a metaphor.
Notes: I was both excited and terrified to be assigned smittywing for remix, because she’s one of my favorite writers. After reading all of her stories again a few times (what a hardship!), I finally picked Sweet Spot, an adorable Weir/Caldwell vignette. If you haven’t read it yet, I strongly encourage you to check it out, along with everything else she’s ever written.
Tons of thanks go out to ladycat777 and tesserae for beta duty, and to shetiger and xanphibian for general encouragement. Any mistakes left in this are all because of me, and not remotely because of them.
Finally, the line about Rodney's pocket comes from a comment alizarin_nyc left in smittywing's original story. All credit should go to her.
Sweet Spot: the (un)observant remix
John may be a little slow on the uptake, but he notices a lot more than people give him credit for. Years of training in the field have made him especially sensitive to scent. When Elizabeth stops smelling like soap and starts smelling like chocolate - a commodity that’s almost as precious as a ZPM on Atlantis - it’s not that hard to get a clue.
Rodney’s not as slow as people assume either. It only takes a few more weeks before he comes to John and starts whining about Hershey’s Kisses and how nobody’s ever willing to smuggle anything in for him. John thinks about the Cadbury he’s been stashing in his closet for months, but doesn’t say anything; he’s not ready yet.
“So,” he says lazily to Elizabeth, after everybody else leaves yet another staff meeting, “I notice you haven’t been sharing with the class.”
Elizabeth’s not a diplomat for nothing, and face remains convincingly blank. “I’m sorry; I thought we’d already gone over the schedule for next week’s festival on the mainland.”
He doesn’t push it. Privacy is a rare luxury for them, and she deserves as much of it as she can get.
**
Sometimes the Daedalus visits go smoothly. Sometimes, not so much - but these days, always, always afterward, Elizabeth smells like chocolate. The quality goes up as well, and John mentally congratulates Caldwell - finding the right key to somebody’s heart can be a nightmare, but he’s slowly chiseling his way in.
When the Daedalus goes missing, it’s horrible for all of them, but it’s nothing compared to the look on Elizabeth’s face, the strain that grows with each new day. Rodney notices as well, and nearly kills himself trying to get them back. John volunteers to drag him off to sleep every fifteen hours - it’s not like it’s much of a sacrifice; he kind of likes sleepy and grumpy Rodney - but every single time Rodney fights him, wants to go back and save the day.
“It can wait for a little bit,” John tells him, but Rodney’s mouth is slanting down miserably in the way John hates. He almost gives in - Rodney’s mouth is Pavlovian for him like that - especially when Rodney says quietly, “not for Elizabeth.”
It’s true, and John can’t stand seeing her that way either. But he’s not willing to sacrifice Rodney as well.
He does whatever he can for Elizabeth, not that it’s very much: lets her snap, lets her rage, steals all of her extraneous paperwork and fills it out himself. She’s not going to want chocolate from him - it’ll only remind her of what she’s missing - so he does the next best thing and offers her pudding. After all, who doesn’t love pudding? Elizabeth thanks him and politely eats it, but he can tell it was a wrong step. His ex always told him he didn’t understand what women needed, and she was right. He doesn’t.
It’s what made Rodney such a surprise - John always knows what Rodney needs, even if he can’t always give it to him. Rodney seems to always know what John needs as well. John hopes it’s the same for Elizabeth and Caldwell; having that in his life is a warm blanket that never lets him shiver, an invulnerability shield for two.
Even knowing that, the Cadbury stays in the closet; he’s still not ready.
This is about Elizabeth though, not Rodney, and they all orbit around her, offering support. Teyla drags her onto the balcony for a precious hour every day, away from her constant gazing at the gate; Ronon intimidates her into jogging around the city; Carson prepares his infirmary, over and over, quietly letting her know that when - not if, when - they find them, he’ll be ready.
Rodney would be there too - everybody knows that - but currently he’s in the process of ignoring basic hygienic needs in favor of figuring out what happened so he can get them - get him - back.
If Elizabeth cries, it’s not where any of them can see. She never falters even once. Carson and Rodney don’t understand, but John and Teyla do: sometimes, that’s what it means to be a leader. He’s never been more proud of her.
They all breathe a sigh of relief when Rodney finally figures out just where the Daedalus went. After that, pulling it back out of the pocket universe is a piece of cake, no time at all until they’re home and safe. John makes the mistake of asking Rodney if that’s a Daedalus in his pocket or if Rodney’s just happy to see him. Rodney nearly disembowels him with the sheer power of his glare alone.
Afterwards, they all sit in the infirmary, waiting with Elizabeth. She breaks out a bar of something that looks dark and expensive, and Rodney nearly hyperventilates with joy. John leaves for a while to take care of organizing ship repairs. When he comes back, it’s just Elizabeth.
“Rodney crashed,” she tells him. “Carson stuck him in a private room. He’ll be out for hours.”
John holds up the deck of cards and says, “Well, you’ve still got me.”
“You don’t have to stay,” she says, but her eyes are telling a different story. John smiles as he sits down and starts shuffling. Take that, Tricia. Sometimes he does know what women need.
They play Go Fish until Rodney wakes up, and then switch to Rummy. After an eternity, Carson comes out smiling. Elizabeth’s voice is a bit hoarse when she thanks him, but John says nothing. He’s too busy remembering what he sounded like after they’d pulled Rodney up from the bottom of the ocean.
**
Caldwell comes to his office the day before the Daedalus leaves. He looks uncomfortable; he looks like he’s going to say something personal. He also looks like he’s going to be sick, and John resists the urge to offer him his chair. Caldwell isn’t the kind of guy who would appreciate it.
“When I get back to Earth, I’m handing in my retirement notice,” he says.
John nods, because it’s not that surprising. “All right, sir,” he says, but Caldwell’s not done.
“I’m proposing to Elizabeth and if she says yes I’m coming back here for good,” he continues, and John can’t do anything but blink, because that’s surprising.
“Um, congratulations?” he ventures, because, “why the hell are you telling me this,” isn’t the kind of thing you say to a superior officer. Even if he won’t be an officer for much longer.
Caldwell looks even more stiff than usual. “Out here, you’re the closest thing she’s got to family. I’m asking for your blessing.”
John thinks about it, because having Caldwell there all the time could be…really awkward, especially when John does get off his ass and make his move. Except. Once again, it’s not always about him. It’s Elizabeth, and she deserves to be happy. His stomach tightens, but he says, “Sure."
Caldwell looks relieved, but now John’s feeling a bit sick himself. It must show on his face, because Caldwell smiles wryly and says, “Of course, I’ll be a civilian here. Certain…things will no longer be my concern or responsibility.”
Wow, looks like John’s getting a blessing as well. He grins and says, “There’s great fishing out by the East Pier, and a sweet driving range off the South corner.”
**
After that, he’s got no more excuses. Elizabeth looks happier than he’s ever seen her and Caldwell’s unbent enough to start smiling. The kitchen starts to smell like chocolate cake. It feels like the air has changed - fresh and hopeful and full of possibility. It feels like it’s finally time for him to get over himself.
He sneaks into Rodney’s room after his run the next morning and leaves a Dairy Milk on Rodney’s pillow. He’s out the door before Rodney wakes up. It’s only an hour or so before Rodney comes stomping into the mess. He takes one look at John, flushes so red it looks painful, and sits down at his table.
His eyes are daring John to say anything, but John just smiles and notices the smudges around Rodney’s mouth.
“You’ve got a little something right there,” he says, and Rodney’s flush goes incandescent, right before he stammers something, grabs his tray, and makes his escape.
All in all, John decides he feels pretty good about the whole thing. Laying down a siege is old hat for him; waiting for the results isn’t fun or easy, but it’s worth it when he knows what’ll be there for him at the end - cranky warmth, melting like chocolate.