Stargate AU: The Alexandrian Tablet (11/15)
Pairings: John/Rodney, Rodney/Daniel, Rodney/Lorne, Teyla/Ronon, misc others (mention of whom would be spoilery)
Rating: R-ish
Words: 60K-ish
Genre: AU, Contemporary, No Stargate program
Author's Note: There are 15 chapters and about 60K words to this story, which will be posted at a rate of one chapter per week. Longtime followers of this journal may recognize bits and pieces of this. I was toying with the plot of this story years ago, but could never make it work, until I read the parts I'd written in 2002ish last fall and realized, "Huh. This was always supposed to be a Stargate AU!" Beta'd by the wonderful cathexys. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
Previous Chapter
Chapter 11
"If you feel like joining the living," John whispered much to closely to Rodney's sensitive ear, "I've brought you some Wheat Thins and water. I would have made coffee if I thought that you were going to be able to keep that down."
"Oh, God," Rodney moaned.
"Why is it that even the staunchest atheist is returned to the fold by a good hangover?" John asked, sitting down and swinging his legs up on the mattress.
"Ugh."
"Yes, I brought you some aspirin, too," John said. "It's on your nightstand. Or, if you prefer, you can open wide and I can sort of throw it in there as long as you promise not to exhale your puke breath in my general direction."
Rodney moaned again. "I must have done something really horrible in a previous life."
"You've been pretty horrible on occasion in this life, if memory serves. There was that one time at Brown when you--"
"John?" Rodney interrupted.
"Yes, Rodney?"
"Shut up."
And much to Rodney's surprise, John did. A few minutes later, eyes still closed, Rodney summoned the strength to grapple on the nightstand for the promised aspirin and water, and a few minutes later still, when the throbbing in his head started to subside a little, he even remembered that it was Monday and that he had a ten o'clock lecture and that--"Oh fuck! What time is it?" he asked.
"Almost noon, but don't worry, I called in sick for you. Stomach flu," John replied.
"Oh, God."
"It seemed appropriate," he continued.
"Somebody answered the phone?" Rodney asked weakly.
"Technically, I called Daniel," John explained.
"I am so screwed," Rodney said.
"Don't think so," John replied. "Daniel said he was going to talk to your loaner priest and they'd work something out, and then he...well, that part really doesn't matter. He sends his best wishes though."
Through the haze of pain and hangover, it took Rodney a while to process what John had just said, and even longer to ask, "What part doesn't matter?"
"The part where Daniel took it upon himself to give me some unsolicited advice," John said darkly. "Do you think you'd like to at least experiment with opening your eyes?"
"Will I regret it?"
"Probably not until you look in the mirror," John replied. "But you could really use a shower and getting to the bathroom will be a lot safer with your eyes open."
Rodney nodded and valiantly tried to lift at least one of his lids. The stab of bright pain convinced him that it was too soon for that particular maneuver, and he quickly squeezed his eyes closed again. "Maybe in a little while," he said weakly. When John didn't reply, he added, "I wasn't too drunk to remember, you know."
"Remember what?" John asked blithely.
"I'm sorry," Rodney said. "I shouldn't have tried to kiss you."
"You were drunk and recently jilted. You get a free pass for that one," John said lightly. "Just try not to do it too often."
"What if I wanted to do it stone-cold sober?" Rodney asked.
He felt the mattress dip as John got up from the bed. "I'm not having this conversation, Rodney," he said. "Now please go shower. You stink."
Later, while he was lathering up and desperately trying to not puke on the floor of the tub, Rodney came to the conclusion that John's complete and utter refusal to talk about their relationship could really only have one cause: John really was in love with him and Daniel had been right. Which more or less meant that all their relationships for the past twenty years had been doomed from the start, and the best way to ensure future sex was for them both to bite the bullet and consummate their, their marriage--Christ, that was a scary concept--already. It'd probably make everybody a whole lot happier all around.
All he had to do now was convince John of the wisdom of that plan.
He was also probably seriously indebted to a whole lot of people in terms of flowers and chocolates and other gifts usually bestowed in apology for general assholery--starting with Daniel.
*****
On Tuesday, Rodney arrived at work just in time to witness a miracle: Jack O'Neill standing in the department office.
"Oh, it's you," Jack greeted him.
Rodney gritted his teeth. "Good morning, Jack."
"Is it?" Jack asked. "Because I could have sworn you just caused the second perfectly good departmental assistant to quit."
"I did not cause anyone to quit," Rodney replied.
"Fine. I'm willing to concede that Julia retired because she plain didn't like you," Jack said. "But Evan leaving is really fault."
"No, it--"
"For crying out loud, McKay, what did you think was going to happen once you stopped sleeping with him?" Jack asked. "No, don't try to answer that," Jack continued, even while Rodney was still gaping at him. "Listening to your denials would be just like smelling someone else's farts--on the whole, an experience I can live without."
He strode out of the office before Rodney had managed to close his mouth.
"Feeling better?" Daniel asked a few seconds later when Rodney entered his office. "I took care of the boxes, by the way. And apparently, the temp pool coordinator sent over some resumes yesterday. You should check your e-mail."
"Thank you," Rodney said weakly. "Is there anyone who doesn't know about me and Evan?"
Daniel shrugged. "Woolsey, in all likelihood, and I'm pretty sure Weir is clueless, but apart from that? Let's just say that I wouldn't put any money on it."
"Great," Rodney said.
"Did you talk to John?" Daniel asked, looking up from his notebook.
"Tried to."
"And?"
"Seems I'm no better at talking now than I was ten years ago," Rodney said.
Daniel laughed. "No, probably not. I spoke to John yesterday, did he tell you?"
"He mentioned he called you to tell you I was sick, and that you offered some unsolicited advice," Rodney said.
"Hm."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Rodney asked.
"I was clearing my throat."
"No, really, at the risk of sounding paranoid, what did you tell John?"
Daniel smiled wickedly. "I told him to put us all out of our misery and make a move already because you were never going to stop being oblivious."
Rodney choked. "You didn't!"
"There might have been some lead up, but yes, I did, more or less."
"How's the translation of the tablet coming along?" Rodney asked, desperate to change the subject. "Made any progress?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," Daniel said. "Here, have a look." He passed Rodney the notebook he had been working on.
The beginning of the text was printed out with a few lines of space between each line of characters, and in between the symbols, Daniel had annotated the text in his illegible scrawl: verb, noun, adjective, pronoun, the definition of a determinative here and there, and question marks sprinkled liberally all over.
"You think you've decoded the syntax?" Rodney asked.
Daniel nodded. "I'm guessing of course, based on declension and Vedic grammar, but still, I think I'm more or less there. Now I just need some lucky breaks on the vocabulary."
"And how is everything else going?" Rodney asked. "Classes okay? Have you started studying for finals?"
Daniel gave him a look. "Yes, Rodney, I'm five."
"I'm your advisor, I'm supposed to take an interest!" Rodney said.
"You hadn't until now," Daniel replied. "I mean, the tablet, sure, but apart from that, you haven't really asked me since you talked me into dropping those two classes at the beginning of the semester. What's gotten into you?"
Rodney fidgeted a bit before handing the notebook back to Daniel and saying, "I may have come to the belated conclusion that I didn't pay as much attention to you as I could have."
Daniel shrugged and turned back to scribbling in his notebook. "My classes are going great, thanks for asking."
"That wasn't what I meant," Rodney said.
Daniel looked up. "I know."
*****
On Wednesday, after Zelenka had volunteered himself to interview the candidates for the department administrator position, Rodney offered him a job. Buoyed by the fact that Zelenka didn't turn him down, he then made reservations at a very nice and very expensive restaurant for Friday night, and bought concert tickets. If twenty years of being John's best friend had taught him one thing, it was that the best way of bagging John Sheppard was to blindside him into dating. It seemed to have worked just fine for every boyfriend John had ever had.
Of course, when date night rolled out, that all seemed like a terrible plan. For one thing, John had interpreted Rodney's casual, "Let's grab a bite and catch a show" as "Let's head down the local burger joint and watch the college kids play with guitars at the dive bar," and descended the stairs dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. He took one look at Rodney in his suit, and turned on his heel.
"Wait," Rodney almost shouted. "Where are you going?"
"Relax, I'm just going to change into something more appropriate," John called over his shoulder. "Won't be more than five minutes."
"We have reservations at seven," Rodney protested.
"If it's the kind of place that requires a suit, they'll hold the table until five past," John hollered from his bedroom, so Rodney stood in the hallway obsessively checking his watch and worrying that actually it was the kind of restaurant where you had to offer your firstborn in order to get a table at all, while John changed and shaved and took far too long to fix his hair.
The final result was worth the maitre d's dirty look though, and Rodney couldn't help noticing that everyone else in the restaurant was looking at John quite lecherously as they were led to their table. Even the maitre d' softened up a bit, though that probably had something to do with John ordering a bottle of wine in what certainly sounded like fluent French.
"Huh," Rodney said, fiddling with his fork.
"What?"
"I didn't know you--when did you lean to speak French like that?" Rodney asked.
"When I had to spend a semester preparing you for your reading proficiency exam at Brown while you were ranting and raving about the injustices of having to learn modern languages at all," John said languidly.
"You learned to speak fluent French so I could pass a proficiency exam?"
"Well, no, I learned to read more or less adequate French, but at that point it seemed like a waste of a semester not to continue and learn to speak it adequately as well," John said. "My German's not too shabby either, thanks to you."
"Huh," Rodney said again.
"So what's the occasion?" John asked as the waiter opened the wine.
"Does there have to be one?" Rodney asked. "I've taken you out to dinner before."
"True, but your restaurant choices usually don't come with these sort of price tags," John said.
"I was in the mood for something different," Rodney said.
"And the concert tickets?"
"Up-and-coming country artist, I'm told."
"I see," John said, and started on his beef carpaccio, while Rodney eyed his pate de foie gras with deep suspicion.
From there they moved seamlessly to cassoulet (John) and steak au poivre (Rodney), with Rodney holding up most of the conversation while John looked on fondly. It wasn't until they'd finished dessert and John had licked the last bit of crème brulee from his spoon while Rodney was seriously evaluating just how uncouth it would be, given their location, to clean the dish his mousse au chocolat had come in with his tongue, that John looked up and asked, "Is this a date, Rodney?"
Rodney valiantly stopped himself from squeaking. "Would you like it to be?" he asked.
"I'm too old and too well-employed to put out for a 300-dollar meal," John replied.
"I'm not expecting you to," Rodney said.
John nodded. "Then I guess we can call it a date."
The sense of achievement Rodney felt for having crossed that hurdle (only really comparable to the satisfaction of passing his first thesis defense), lasted well into the performance by the sullen man with the guitar wailing about drunken ponies (or possibly fathers, Rodney was too distracted to pay much attention to the lyrics), and the look on John's face got him through to the end of the concert.
Three hours later, fiddling with his key ring in front of the door, Rodney paused. "You know," he said, "this might be a completely superfluous statement, but I actually had more fun tonight than I've had in a long time."
John grinned. "Still not putting out," he said.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "I'll live." He unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway. "Coming in?" he asked when John didn't make any move to follow him.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" John asked.
"Like what?"
John cocked his head. "Isn't it traditional to kiss your date goodnight on the front steps?"
"I--yes, I can do that," Rodney said, his heart fluttering. "I can definitely do that."
*****
They didn't talk about it the next day. Rodney really wanted to, of course, but he was almost entirely certain he'd manage to put his foot in it somehow, and knowing John, John would rather skewer his eyes on toothpicks than talk about a relationship that probably only existed in Rodney's imagination anyway. So Rodney skulked around the house for an hour while John clattered around in the kitchen, and then Rodney fled to the backyard to do the work of the nice Mexicans that came around once a week and tried to come up with a game plan.
The one he settled on eventually involved getting the hot tub going and inviting everybody over for the evening. This had the added benefit of requiring the purchase of booze and food and generally getting him out of the house, so that the not-talking-about-their-date thing with John was slightly less obvious.
He made it back only about half an hour before Ronon and Teyla arrived and had hardly enough time to get the beer in the cooler and the cover off the tub, which was just as well. By the time he came back downstairs with a laundry basket full of towels, John, Teyla, and Ronon were already ensconced in the hot tub, and there was nothing left to do but to strip and join them, though he suddenly felt a lot more self-conscious about stripping in front of John than he ever had before.
Daniel saved him, walking through the garden gate accompanied by--huh, that was interesting, and Daniel was a filthy rotten liar.
"Evening, McKay," Jack greeted him. "Nice pad you've got."
"Jack," Rodney said. "Everybody, this is Jack O'Neill, Jack, you know Teyla Emmagen, of course, and this is her husband Ronon Dex, and my friend John Sheppard."
"Evening," Jack said again, nodding at them.
"I read your paper on the Lemnos stele; most interesting," Teyla said politely.
"Oh that," Jack replied. "Mostly recycled ideas, but you know how it is: have to publish every once in a while to keep the administration happy."
"And to distract them from your frequent fishing excursions," Rodney said curtly.
Jack ignored him and turned to Daniel instead. "What are the rules here?"
"Adult," Daniel replied, starting to strip.
Rodney turned around quickly to divest himself of his own clothes and save himself from having to see Jack naked. By the time he slipped into the hot tub next to John, Daniel and Jack had already settled opposite them.
"How long have you been seeing Daniel?" Teyla inquired politely when nobody else made a move to break the silence.
"About as long as Rodney was seeing--" he looked back and forth between John and Rodney, "Er, for a few months."
"It's alright, I knew Evan," John said. "Actually quite liked him."
"Really?" Jack asked. "A competent administrative assistant of course, but he struck me as a little high maintenance."
"Would you both mind not talking about my, my former, uhm, you-know-whats in front of me?" Rodney interjected.
"Could be tricky with Daniel right here," Ronon said, only to be elbowed quite forcibly by Teyla. "Ow. What'd you do that for?"
Teyla waggled her eyebrows at him and Rodney closed his eyes. This whole get together had obviously been a terrible idea. And Daniel was fucking Jack. Peachy.
*****
"Well, that went well," John said, locking the front door after the last of their departing guests.
"It did?"
"No, that was my sarcastic voice, Rodney."
"Sorry, sorry," Rodney said. "It's just, Jack?"
John shrugged. "Well, Daniel's always had a bit of a kink for crabby older guys."
"Are you calling me old?"
"No, I'm calling you crabby," John replied. "Beer?"
"How about bed instead?"
"I'm not having sex with you."
Rodney paused at the foot of the staircase. "As in generically, or more specifically tonight?"
"Specifically tonight, but also more generically in the sense that I don't want to have sex with you while you're recently broken up. I also generically don't want to have sex with you while you haven't figured out whether you're over Daniel."
Rodney blinked. "I've been over Daniel for long time," he said tiredly.
"You're jealous of him screwing your colleague, I don't call that being over him," John said.
Rodney shook his head. "Not jealous, more...surprised? Daniel can do much better than that."
"Maybe he doesn't want to," John said. "He seemed happy enough."
"Hm. Well, I suppose none of us can help who we fall in love with," Rodney said.
"No, we really can't," John said, turning to head into the living room.
"John?" Rodney called after him.
"Yes?"
"I'm really over him."
Rating: R-ish
Words: 60K-ish
Genre: AU, Contemporary, No Stargate program
Author's Note: There are 15 chapters and about 60K words to this story, which will be posted at a rate of one chapter per week. Longtime followers of this journal may recognize bits and pieces of this. I was toying with the plot of this story years ago, but could never make it work, until I read the parts I'd written in 2002ish last fall and realized, "Huh. This was always supposed to be a Stargate AU!" Beta'd by the wonderful cathexys. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
Previous Chapter
Chapter 11
"If you feel like joining the living," John whispered much to closely to Rodney's sensitive ear, "I've brought you some Wheat Thins and water. I would have made coffee if I thought that you were going to be able to keep that down."
"Oh, God," Rodney moaned.
"Why is it that even the staunchest atheist is returned to the fold by a good hangover?" John asked, sitting down and swinging his legs up on the mattress.
"Ugh."
"Yes, I brought you some aspirin, too," John said. "It's on your nightstand. Or, if you prefer, you can open wide and I can sort of throw it in there as long as you promise not to exhale your puke breath in my general direction."
Rodney moaned again. "I must have done something really horrible in a previous life."
"You've been pretty horrible on occasion in this life, if memory serves. There was that one time at Brown when you--"
"John?" Rodney interrupted.
"Yes, Rodney?"
"Shut up."
And much to Rodney's surprise, John did. A few minutes later, eyes still closed, Rodney summoned the strength to grapple on the nightstand for the promised aspirin and water, and a few minutes later still, when the throbbing in his head started to subside a little, he even remembered that it was Monday and that he had a ten o'clock lecture and that--"Oh fuck! What time is it?" he asked.
"Almost noon, but don't worry, I called in sick for you. Stomach flu," John replied.
"Oh, God."
"It seemed appropriate," he continued.
"Somebody answered the phone?" Rodney asked weakly.
"Technically, I called Daniel," John explained.
"I am so screwed," Rodney said.
"Don't think so," John replied. "Daniel said he was going to talk to your loaner priest and they'd work something out, and then he...well, that part really doesn't matter. He sends his best wishes though."
Through the haze of pain and hangover, it took Rodney a while to process what John had just said, and even longer to ask, "What part doesn't matter?"
"The part where Daniel took it upon himself to give me some unsolicited advice," John said darkly. "Do you think you'd like to at least experiment with opening your eyes?"
"Will I regret it?"
"Probably not until you look in the mirror," John replied. "But you could really use a shower and getting to the bathroom will be a lot safer with your eyes open."
Rodney nodded and valiantly tried to lift at least one of his lids. The stab of bright pain convinced him that it was too soon for that particular maneuver, and he quickly squeezed his eyes closed again. "Maybe in a little while," he said weakly. When John didn't reply, he added, "I wasn't too drunk to remember, you know."
"Remember what?" John asked blithely.
"I'm sorry," Rodney said. "I shouldn't have tried to kiss you."
"You were drunk and recently jilted. You get a free pass for that one," John said lightly. "Just try not to do it too often."
"What if I wanted to do it stone-cold sober?" Rodney asked.
He felt the mattress dip as John got up from the bed. "I'm not having this conversation, Rodney," he said. "Now please go shower. You stink."
Later, while he was lathering up and desperately trying to not puke on the floor of the tub, Rodney came to the conclusion that John's complete and utter refusal to talk about their relationship could really only have one cause: John really was in love with him and Daniel had been right. Which more or less meant that all their relationships for the past twenty years had been doomed from the start, and the best way to ensure future sex was for them both to bite the bullet and consummate their, their marriage--Christ, that was a scary concept--already. It'd probably make everybody a whole lot happier all around.
All he had to do now was convince John of the wisdom of that plan.
He was also probably seriously indebted to a whole lot of people in terms of flowers and chocolates and other gifts usually bestowed in apology for general assholery--starting with Daniel.
*****
On Tuesday, Rodney arrived at work just in time to witness a miracle: Jack O'Neill standing in the department office.
"Oh, it's you," Jack greeted him.
Rodney gritted his teeth. "Good morning, Jack."
"Is it?" Jack asked. "Because I could have sworn you just caused the second perfectly good departmental assistant to quit."
"I did not cause anyone to quit," Rodney replied.
"Fine. I'm willing to concede that Julia retired because she plain didn't like you," Jack said. "But Evan leaving is really fault."
"No, it--"
"For crying out loud, McKay, what did you think was going to happen once you stopped sleeping with him?" Jack asked. "No, don't try to answer that," Jack continued, even while Rodney was still gaping at him. "Listening to your denials would be just like smelling someone else's farts--on the whole, an experience I can live without."
He strode out of the office before Rodney had managed to close his mouth.
"Feeling better?" Daniel asked a few seconds later when Rodney entered his office. "I took care of the boxes, by the way. And apparently, the temp pool coordinator sent over some resumes yesterday. You should check your e-mail."
"Thank you," Rodney said weakly. "Is there anyone who doesn't know about me and Evan?"
Daniel shrugged. "Woolsey, in all likelihood, and I'm pretty sure Weir is clueless, but apart from that? Let's just say that I wouldn't put any money on it."
"Great," Rodney said.
"Did you talk to John?" Daniel asked, looking up from his notebook.
"Tried to."
"And?"
"Seems I'm no better at talking now than I was ten years ago," Rodney said.
Daniel laughed. "No, probably not. I spoke to John yesterday, did he tell you?"
"He mentioned he called you to tell you I was sick, and that you offered some unsolicited advice," Rodney said.
"Hm."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Rodney asked.
"I was clearing my throat."
"No, really, at the risk of sounding paranoid, what did you tell John?"
Daniel smiled wickedly. "I told him to put us all out of our misery and make a move already because you were never going to stop being oblivious."
Rodney choked. "You didn't!"
"There might have been some lead up, but yes, I did, more or less."
"How's the translation of the tablet coming along?" Rodney asked, desperate to change the subject. "Made any progress?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," Daniel said. "Here, have a look." He passed Rodney the notebook he had been working on.
The beginning of the text was printed out with a few lines of space between each line of characters, and in between the symbols, Daniel had annotated the text in his illegible scrawl: verb, noun, adjective, pronoun, the definition of a determinative here and there, and question marks sprinkled liberally all over.
"You think you've decoded the syntax?" Rodney asked.
Daniel nodded. "I'm guessing of course, based on declension and Vedic grammar, but still, I think I'm more or less there. Now I just need some lucky breaks on the vocabulary."
"And how is everything else going?" Rodney asked. "Classes okay? Have you started studying for finals?"
Daniel gave him a look. "Yes, Rodney, I'm five."
"I'm your advisor, I'm supposed to take an interest!" Rodney said.
"You hadn't until now," Daniel replied. "I mean, the tablet, sure, but apart from that, you haven't really asked me since you talked me into dropping those two classes at the beginning of the semester. What's gotten into you?"
Rodney fidgeted a bit before handing the notebook back to Daniel and saying, "I may have come to the belated conclusion that I didn't pay as much attention to you as I could have."
Daniel shrugged and turned back to scribbling in his notebook. "My classes are going great, thanks for asking."
"That wasn't what I meant," Rodney said.
Daniel looked up. "I know."
*****
On Wednesday, after Zelenka had volunteered himself to interview the candidates for the department administrator position, Rodney offered him a job. Buoyed by the fact that Zelenka didn't turn him down, he then made reservations at a very nice and very expensive restaurant for Friday night, and bought concert tickets. If twenty years of being John's best friend had taught him one thing, it was that the best way of bagging John Sheppard was to blindside him into dating. It seemed to have worked just fine for every boyfriend John had ever had.
Of course, when date night rolled out, that all seemed like a terrible plan. For one thing, John had interpreted Rodney's casual, "Let's grab a bite and catch a show" as "Let's head down the local burger joint and watch the college kids play with guitars at the dive bar," and descended the stairs dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. He took one look at Rodney in his suit, and turned on his heel.
"Wait," Rodney almost shouted. "Where are you going?"
"Relax, I'm just going to change into something more appropriate," John called over his shoulder. "Won't be more than five minutes."
"We have reservations at seven," Rodney protested.
"If it's the kind of place that requires a suit, they'll hold the table until five past," John hollered from his bedroom, so Rodney stood in the hallway obsessively checking his watch and worrying that actually it was the kind of restaurant where you had to offer your firstborn in order to get a table at all, while John changed and shaved and took far too long to fix his hair.
The final result was worth the maitre d's dirty look though, and Rodney couldn't help noticing that everyone else in the restaurant was looking at John quite lecherously as they were led to their table. Even the maitre d' softened up a bit, though that probably had something to do with John ordering a bottle of wine in what certainly sounded like fluent French.
"Huh," Rodney said, fiddling with his fork.
"What?"
"I didn't know you--when did you lean to speak French like that?" Rodney asked.
"When I had to spend a semester preparing you for your reading proficiency exam at Brown while you were ranting and raving about the injustices of having to learn modern languages at all," John said languidly.
"You learned to speak fluent French so I could pass a proficiency exam?"
"Well, no, I learned to read more or less adequate French, but at that point it seemed like a waste of a semester not to continue and learn to speak it adequately as well," John said. "My German's not too shabby either, thanks to you."
"Huh," Rodney said again.
"So what's the occasion?" John asked as the waiter opened the wine.
"Does there have to be one?" Rodney asked. "I've taken you out to dinner before."
"True, but your restaurant choices usually don't come with these sort of price tags," John said.
"I was in the mood for something different," Rodney said.
"And the concert tickets?"
"Up-and-coming country artist, I'm told."
"I see," John said, and started on his beef carpaccio, while Rodney eyed his pate de foie gras with deep suspicion.
From there they moved seamlessly to cassoulet (John) and steak au poivre (Rodney), with Rodney holding up most of the conversation while John looked on fondly. It wasn't until they'd finished dessert and John had licked the last bit of crème brulee from his spoon while Rodney was seriously evaluating just how uncouth it would be, given their location, to clean the dish his mousse au chocolat had come in with his tongue, that John looked up and asked, "Is this a date, Rodney?"
Rodney valiantly stopped himself from squeaking. "Would you like it to be?" he asked.
"I'm too old and too well-employed to put out for a 300-dollar meal," John replied.
"I'm not expecting you to," Rodney said.
John nodded. "Then I guess we can call it a date."
The sense of achievement Rodney felt for having crossed that hurdle (only really comparable to the satisfaction of passing his first thesis defense), lasted well into the performance by the sullen man with the guitar wailing about drunken ponies (or possibly fathers, Rodney was too distracted to pay much attention to the lyrics), and the look on John's face got him through to the end of the concert.
Three hours later, fiddling with his key ring in front of the door, Rodney paused. "You know," he said, "this might be a completely superfluous statement, but I actually had more fun tonight than I've had in a long time."
John grinned. "Still not putting out," he said.
Rodney rolled his eyes. "I'll live." He unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway. "Coming in?" he asked when John didn't make any move to follow him.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" John asked.
"Like what?"
John cocked his head. "Isn't it traditional to kiss your date goodnight on the front steps?"
"I--yes, I can do that," Rodney said, his heart fluttering. "I can definitely do that."
*****
They didn't talk about it the next day. Rodney really wanted to, of course, but he was almost entirely certain he'd manage to put his foot in it somehow, and knowing John, John would rather skewer his eyes on toothpicks than talk about a relationship that probably only existed in Rodney's imagination anyway. So Rodney skulked around the house for an hour while John clattered around in the kitchen, and then Rodney fled to the backyard to do the work of the nice Mexicans that came around once a week and tried to come up with a game plan.
The one he settled on eventually involved getting the hot tub going and inviting everybody over for the evening. This had the added benefit of requiring the purchase of booze and food and generally getting him out of the house, so that the not-talking-about-their-date thing with John was slightly less obvious.
He made it back only about half an hour before Ronon and Teyla arrived and had hardly enough time to get the beer in the cooler and the cover off the tub, which was just as well. By the time he came back downstairs with a laundry basket full of towels, John, Teyla, and Ronon were already ensconced in the hot tub, and there was nothing left to do but to strip and join them, though he suddenly felt a lot more self-conscious about stripping in front of John than he ever had before.
Daniel saved him, walking through the garden gate accompanied by--huh, that was interesting, and Daniel was a filthy rotten liar.
"Evening, McKay," Jack greeted him. "Nice pad you've got."
"Jack," Rodney said. "Everybody, this is Jack O'Neill, Jack, you know Teyla Emmagen, of course, and this is her husband Ronon Dex, and my friend John Sheppard."
"Evening," Jack said again, nodding at them.
"I read your paper on the Lemnos stele; most interesting," Teyla said politely.
"Oh that," Jack replied. "Mostly recycled ideas, but you know how it is: have to publish every once in a while to keep the administration happy."
"And to distract them from your frequent fishing excursions," Rodney said curtly.
Jack ignored him and turned to Daniel instead. "What are the rules here?"
"Adult," Daniel replied, starting to strip.
Rodney turned around quickly to divest himself of his own clothes and save himself from having to see Jack naked. By the time he slipped into the hot tub next to John, Daniel and Jack had already settled opposite them.
"How long have you been seeing Daniel?" Teyla inquired politely when nobody else made a move to break the silence.
"About as long as Rodney was seeing--" he looked back and forth between John and Rodney, "Er, for a few months."
"It's alright, I knew Evan," John said. "Actually quite liked him."
"Really?" Jack asked. "A competent administrative assistant of course, but he struck me as a little high maintenance."
"Would you both mind not talking about my, my former, uhm, you-know-whats in front of me?" Rodney interjected.
"Could be tricky with Daniel right here," Ronon said, only to be elbowed quite forcibly by Teyla. "Ow. What'd you do that for?"
Teyla waggled her eyebrows at him and Rodney closed his eyes. This whole get together had obviously been a terrible idea. And Daniel was fucking Jack. Peachy.
*****
"Well, that went well," John said, locking the front door after the last of their departing guests.
"It did?"
"No, that was my sarcastic voice, Rodney."
"Sorry, sorry," Rodney said. "It's just, Jack?"
John shrugged. "Well, Daniel's always had a bit of a kink for crabby older guys."
"Are you calling me old?"
"No, I'm calling you crabby," John replied. "Beer?"
"How about bed instead?"
"I'm not having sex with you."
Rodney paused at the foot of the staircase. "As in generically, or more specifically tonight?"
"Specifically tonight, but also more generically in the sense that I don't want to have sex with you while you're recently broken up. I also generically don't want to have sex with you while you haven't figured out whether you're over Daniel."
Rodney blinked. "I've been over Daniel for long time," he said tiredly.
"You're jealous of him screwing your colleague, I don't call that being over him," John said.
Rodney shook his head. "Not jealous, more...surprised? Daniel can do much better than that."
"Maybe he doesn't want to," John said. "He seemed happy enough."
"Hm. Well, I suppose none of us can help who we fall in love with," Rodney said.
"No, we really can't," John said, turning to head into the living room.
"John?" Rodney called after him.
"Yes?"
"I'm really over him."