FIC: we don't have the time for psychological romance: sga: john/rodney: r
Title: We Don't Have The Time For Psychological Romance
Author: glitterdash
Rating: R / NC-17
Length: Limping over the minimum wordcount with 7600 words!
Summary: Rodney gets the Nobel. John gets Rodney.
Written for unamaga and chopchica 's happyfest, which is a really really brilliant idea. Beta-ed by keefaq , who is lovely and gave me some great advice and put up with my panicking.
The title is from 'Word Up' by Cameo, which is a song that I can imagine John Sheppard listens and dances to, alone in his room.
We Don’t Have The Time For Psychological Romance
Maybe it was just a guilty conscience, but when Woosley called the team into the conference room, John immediately thought that they were about to be told off for something.
He met Ronon on the way down, and shared a brief, “What have we done this time” look before entering the room and sliding into a chair. Teyla and Keller were already there, seated at the table as usual, but Rodney and Woosley were standing side by side at one end of the room. Rodney looked pleased - more than pleased, jubilant - and John was suddenly intrigued, because really, how often did any of them have that expression?
“Now we’re all here,” Woosley said, “Dr McKay has some good news he’d like to share with you.”
John thought, “Shit, Keller, him and Keller, what if they…” and he suddenly felt a little bit sick. He’d gone through this with Katie fucking Brown, and he couldn’t go through it again. But Rodney looked so happy, and was there any other plausible explanation?
Rodney cleared his throat, looked at them all, then blurted out, “I’m getting a Nobel,” in a delighted, yet slightly smug way. His smile stretched even wider at their expressions.
There was a moment of shock; clearly, none of the team had guessed. Keller let out what was almost a squeal, and rushed across to hug him at once. Teyla followed more sedately, but smiling, and said, “We are all very proud of you, Rodney.” She pressed her forehead against his.
After the relief, then the tiny bit of guilt for the relief, John realised that Teyla was right. He felt proud. He rose to his feet, crossed the room, and put a hand on Rodney’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy, congratulations,” he said, and even he could hear the genuine, unmistakeable pleasure in his voice.
“So, what, does that mean you’re the smartest person in your galaxy, or something?” Ronon asked, one corner of his mouth turned upwards.
Rodney, who had gone slightly pink from all the praise, snorted. “Yes, well, they didn’t need to give me a Nobel Prize for me to know that,” and John laughed, because they needed something like this, some good news, to combat the way they had become so much tenser, warier, after nearly five years of threats and sieges.
“Apparently, Sam had a word with the SGC after she left,” Rodney told him, while Keller tried to explain to Ronon exactly what the Nobel Prize was. “She convinced them to declassify parts of my earlier, post-grad work, then had to declassify information about the SGC to prove my theories were correct.” He sounded almost dreamy.
“Well, that was nice of her,” John said. He’d always liked Carter.
“Yes, it was. And the council must have decided really quickly - not that it takes much deciding, my work on wormhole physics is outstanding, groundbreaking, but still - the awards are in December. Two months.”
“Are you going back to Earth for the awards ceremony?”
“Yes, if the SGC lets me, but Woosley said he didn’t see there’d be a problem.” He clicked his fingers. “Radek! I must tell Zelenka, oh, he’ll love this, I can gloat about it for years.”
“Isn’t that kind of-“but he was gone, skipping out the door like an excitable goat.
***
They held an impromptu party later on that night in one of the halls in Atlantis - the best one, with giant glass windows turned inward to show the view over the whole city. Nearly everyone turned out, all the scientists and most of the marines, proving once more that Rodney’s theory that he was ‘hard to like’ was untrue. The scientists in his department had hand-made a banner with “CONGRATULATIONS DR MCKAY” painted across it in bright blue letters, and Woosley had even broken out the champagne.
Upon entering the hall, John could immediately hear Rodney’s voice, proclaiming very loudly, “Yes, well, it’s not like this is the only one I’ll get. Once everything’s been declassified there’s bound to be another one - even two - on the way, so it’s just a matter of time, really-“
John grinned, shook his head, and followed the voice back to its owner. “Hey McKay, we’re gonna have to widen the stargate to make room for your head soon.”
Rodney stopped mid-speech to glare at him, said, “Yes, Colonel, very funny,” and swiped the champagne glass out of his hand. “This really is good champagne,” he continued, “I wonder where Woosley found it? It’s way better than that Athosian crap they brought out last - Oh, hi Teyla.”
Teyla, who had swept up behind John without being noticed, smiled graciously at Rodney, although John privately thought there was no way she hadn’t heard the disparaging comments about the local Athosian wine. Which wasn’t really, John thought, all that bad, except for the weird aftertaste which tasted, to him, a bit like prawns.
John sidled away, leaving Rodney to bask in his glory, and was content to watch him from across the room.
He ended up alone on the balcony adjacent to the hall, staring at, but not really seeing, the lights of Atlantis’ towers reflecting off the ocean’s uneven surface. Still, after five years, the sight of the city was enough to take his breath away. He looked up at the stars, clearer here than they had ever been back on Earth, and thought, we’ve been there. We can go there, every day.
Even lost in contemplation, the military part of his brain registered the footsteps of someone joining him, and he wasn’t surprised to find Rodney leaning on the railing next to him.
“It’s nice,” Rodney said, and he could have been talking about anything - the view, the Nobel, the party, but John knew what he meant.
“Yeah.” He thought: I’m proud of you. I hope you know. Seeing you happy like this makes me happier than I’ve ever been.
And it must have been the champagne, because he felt that maybe, tonight, it was worth taking that risk. He’d always been too much of a coward to do anything about his stupid, inappropriate feelings, but for the first time, he didn’t mentally run through any of the possible humiliating rejections. The benefits outweigh the risks, he thought.
He moved closer to Rodney, just enough so that their shoulders were touching, and waited, holding his breath.
Rodney leant back against him and John felt suddenly hopeful, before realising Rodney had had really quite a lot to drink, and perhaps he just couldn’t stand very well. So he turned slightly, and very tentatively reached out to put his hand on Rodney’s forearm, pale where he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves.
Rodney froze, and turned, and OK, he obviously hadn’t had that much champagne. He looked as alert as he ever was, eyes skittering from John’s face to his hand, and then- was it? - to his mouth briefly, and it was enough of an offer for John.
He moved before he had time to change his mind, pressing his lips against Rodney’s urgently but without any real force. While his brain quietly and efficiently panicked, his hands moved up to hold the back of Rodney’s head, his lips still moving desperately against Rodney’s, thinking, Oh God, oh God, please, Rodney, c’mon, I can’t -
Then Rodney was moving, finally, and it was the right way, with him and against him and pressing closer, his mouth and tongue moving with intent.
They kissed hard, fast, for a length of time that John couldn’t guess, until Rodney pulled back, breathing hard. His eyes were wide, still fixed on John’s mouth, and his hair was mussed up at the back where John’s hands had been.
John stood very still and dug his nails into the palms of his hands, ignoring every instinct in his body to run, get the hell out of there, because he was completely incapable of not screwing things like this up. He locked his feet to the ground and tried to steady his breathing.
“What… what?” Rodney said. “You don’t - you’re not - are you? Do you?”
“Do I what?” and, oops, that may have came out a little too defensive.
“Like me?”
He figured that, No, of course not, probably wasn’t going to work at this point. Neither was, what, are we in fifth grade? “Um… yes?” He tried to sound hopeful, but it sounded more confused.
“As in - as in, you’re - you want the - sex? With me?”
If he hadn’t been so terrified, this would have been quite funny, John reflected.
“Yes, Rodney. I want the sex.”
“Oh.” It was odd to see Rodney looking so bemused and lost for words. It looked like John had finally found the answer to the eternal, unsolvable question of how to shut Rodney McKay up: tell him you want to have sex with him.
“Now? On the balcony?”
Whoah, thought John. “Preferably not.” Then, he realised the opportunity might not present itself again, after they’d both had time to realise what a ridiculous, stupid idea this was. “Unless, you know, you want to.”
“No, I’m good.” John’s heart sank.
Apparently it showed in his expression, because Rodney said, “No! I just mean, I don’t want to do it on the balcony, specifically. We could go somewhere else. Your room’s closest. “
“Yes. Yes it is,” John said, and grinned. His evening, already better than average, what with the champagne and everything, had just gotten even more promising.
***
It was only when they were both standing outside John’s bedroom door in complete silence that he realised how much potential for going wrong this had.
“So,” he said. He tried to think of a suave chat-up line. The only thing that came to mind was, want to fuck? He thought that might be a bit inappropriate.
“Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, go inside?” Rodney asked.
He figured, what the hell, and dragged Rodney inside, before enthusiastically kissing him against the door. Rodney wasted no time in reacting, pushing his hands up John’s shirt and through his hair. John was just pushing his hands into Rodney’s pants - he was gratified and really, really relieved to find Rodney was as hard as he was - to a chant of, “Yes, that, please,” when Rodney’s radio buzzed into action.
“Ignore it,” Rodney said breathlessly, “Ignore it, it’s probably just - God, John - probably just Zelenka with an idea for his new stupid project, it doesn’t matter, just carry on, please,” and wow, it was really hot when Rodney begged like that.
A couple of seconds later, John heard a voice over his own radio.
“Shit,” he said, and pulled away from Rodney, provoking a moan of disappointment. It took him a few more seconds to pull himself together, before answering, “Sheppard, what?” with more irritation than strictly necessary.
“Sorry to disturb you, Colonel,” came Zelenka’s voice, “but there are some abnormal power surges in some of the outer parts of the city, and we’re unsure as to what is causing it. You should probably come down to the lab.”
John sighed, and said, “I’ll be right there.”
“Also, Rodney is not answering his radio, and we could really do with him taking look,” Zelenka continued. “Could you please locate him and bring him with you?”
“Yeah, I’m on my way,” John said, then switched his radio off.
“This is so typical,” Rodney said fervently, his back to John, trying to regain some control. It was pretty flattering, really. “Why are all my staff completely incompetent?”
They walked down to the lab, staying at least five feet away from each other, as if when they got too close to each other they wouldn’t be able to resist having sex right there in the corridor. Maybe it was a little true, thought John, because Rodney was muttering curses at Zelenka the whole time, and he’d really never found that sexy before.
Rodney stormed into the lab going, “Okay, what,” and John watched as nearly all the scientists shrank away from him a little.
After five minutes of printouts and shouting, Rodney diagnosed the problem as being the fault of one of the new scientists, whose name John could not remember for the life of him. It turned out that he had tried to reroute the power supply through another part of the city. It took Rodney three hours to fix it, and then another hour to shout at the poor man that he was the poorest excuse for a scientist he had ever seen, and he was going to personally email MIT and tell them to stop handing out PhDs to anyone who asked for one, and that he was so, so, fired.
John watched all this from where he was slumped on one of the chairs, yawning every few seconds. He tried not to be secretly impressed with the wide variety of insults Rodney was throwing at anyone who got in his way.
They walked slowly back to Rodney’s room in silence, then stopped outside his door. “So,” said Rodney, stifling a yawn, “Do you want to come in, or…“ He was swaying slightly on his feet.
John took pity on him. “As much as I really, really want to, I think you’d probably fall asleep the second we got onto the bed.”
Rodney didn’t even protest. “Yeah, okay.” He turned to enter his room. “Wait, we’re still going to do this eventually, aren’t we? I haven’t just insulted your masculinity?”
John rolled his eyes and pushed him through the door. “See you tomorrow, Rodney. Sleep well.”
He trudged back to his room, glad that under his tiredness there was still a nice, anticipatory glow at the bottom of his stomach. He fell asleep right away, and slept better than he had in months.
***
The next day, the team had scheduled a trip to PX3 494, a planet which Major Lorne’s team had recently visited, which was apparently renowned for its culinary expertise. This was enough to have the whole of Atlantis salivating over the prospect of real food, to the point where John was pretty sure Wolsey would agree to anything demanded of them.
They were just about to step through the stargate when Rodney said in a low undertone to John, “We are having sex later, aren’t we?”
John tripped. “Jesus, McKay,” he hissed, “You want to talk about that now?”
Rodney looked hurt. “I was just checking.”
John gritted his teeth. “Yes, OK, fine, we are. Happy?”
“Well, not when you say it like that, that just makes me scared.”
The conversation was cut off as they walked into the event horizon.
The team came out of the other side blinking, in a dazed fashion. Clearly, it was a sunny day on PX3 494, but what had dazzled them was the way the sun reflected off the snow and the magnificent mountains that surrounded them. It looked like picture of Switzerland that John had seen on postcards.
“Wow,” said Rodney, “It makes a nice change to not be surrounded by endless fields or forests. Or men holding spears.” John was just glad he wasn’t trying to carry on their previous conversation.
As if to emphasise his point, a small party of villagers appeared, wearing brightly dyed robes and holding hands.
“Greetings,” The eldest woman said, “and welcome to Tabathamularania.” John heard Rodney snort by his side, and elbowed him discreetly. “My name is Yuli, and I am the leader of this village. You must be the guests that Major Lorne promised us.”
“We are,” said Teyla, stepping forward and inclining her head. “We are honoured to see Tabathamularania -“ wow, thought John, that was impressive - “for ourselves.”
They then went through the customary introductions, complete with bowing and hand-holding, while Ronon and Rodney became increasingly restless. Finally, Yuli clapped her hands.
“It is customary for guests to eat one of our latsi beans,” she told them, then produced a basket and held it out to them. “We believe it symbolises our hospitality and warmth.”
John tentatively put his hand in the basket, and pulled out a slightly squishy green thing the size of a plum. He took a bite experimentally. It was sweet, without being sickly, and melted on his tongue in way which was a little like chocolate. After a couple more bites, he decided they were the tastiest things he’d had in a while.
Rodney put his hand in the basket while checking the beans were citrus-free, and bit into it curiously. Teyla and Ronon followed, Teyla with a polite smile, Ronon with a grunt.
“Wow, these really are good,” Rodney said, eating the bean in such an enthusiastic manner that John started to shift uncomfortably. He shifted even more when Rodney grinned at him knowingly.
It turned out that before any negotiations could be made, an overnight stay was required. This included a traditional feast, which John was perfectly okay with if there were more of those beans. They sat around a huge wooden table with what appeared to be every single villager, all chattering and laughing, and John’s attempts to not relax were futile. He had ‘Don’t let your guard down, don’t let your guard down’ going through his head like a mantra, but it had quieted to more of a whisper as he lounged in his chair, Rodney on one side, Ronon on the other.
There were seven courses to the feast, including a course of bread, one of fruit, and three of meat. By the end of the course three, John was feeling pleasantly full, but couldn’t resist trying everything there was to offer. Rodney said fewer words in two hours than he normally did in two minutes, pausing only occasionally to recommend a dish, or to say, “God, I love this planet.”
The final course was an enormous rectangular bowl filled with something which tasted like buttercream. Yuli’s son happily told them that it was named the ‘food of desire’ among the villagers, which made John raise his eyebrows and Rodney cough and splutter into his wine. Rodney, however, got him back by licking the cream off his fingers in a way that was somehow both surreptitious and incredibly arousing. John slid down in his chair a little and hoped there was no more food.
Finally, finally, Yuli smiled and led them to their rooms; four in a row with little wooden doors which meant they all had to stoop to enter. The rooms were tiny, but with luxurious blankets in every colour imaginable piled up in make-shift beds. John paced the floor for a while, managing to wait all of thirty seconds before tapping lightly on Rodney’s door.
The door opened and a hand dragged him inside before John even had time to blink. Rodney looked dishevelled and impatient, his eyes wide and excited, and John couldn’t help grinning a little.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” Rodney said, and took a step closer to John. “So, are we going to…” and then John licked his lips deliberately, and Rodney was pressed up against him at once. Any surprise John might have registered was muffled by Rodney’s tongue in his mouth, so he figured he’d better just roll with it.
“Were you deliberately sitting that close to me at the feast?” Rodney demanded when they parted for air, “Or have we always sat that close and I’ve just never noticed the rays of sex that you emanate? Because, oh my God, I’ve been hard since the second course.”
“The noises, you were making sex noises as you were eating, it was, it was so hot,” John managed before he pushed Rodney against the nearest wall.
“I was not! Okay, maybe a little, with the buttercream stuff at the end, but that was just… and you taste like it, Christ.” Rodney kissed him again and unfastened both their BDUs without pausing to even bother with underwear, until they were rubbing against each other with rough cotton still in the way.
John tried to mention that it would be easier without the fabric in between them, but the heat and the friction and Rodney panting in his ear were highly distracting. Eventually, he decided he’d be better just going along with Rodney, who seemed to have a plan. He was a genius, after all.
They both came in what would have been, under any circumstances, an embarrassingly short amount of time. John figured they could be excused because of the three hours of unresolved sexual tension and the weird aphrodisiac cream at the dinner table, and neither of them was complaining.
***
John woke up to a warm, heavy weight on his body, and stared at the ceiling for a while before remembering where he was. He made a feeble attempt to push Rodney off, which only served to make Rodney grumble a little in his sleep. He tried not to find it endearing, then fell back asleep.
He awoke a second time and found he was getting a little crushed. “Ow, no, really - get off,” he protested. “What - what, are you snuggling into me?”
“No?” Rodney said as he opened his eyes blearily. “Mmm, what…” And then he sat bolt upright. “Wait, you’re not freaking out, are you? You’re forty years old; you can’t have a gay freak-out! Besides, you’re the one who propositioned me, you can’t go back on that! If anyone should be freaking out…”
John grabbed his arm to shut him up. “Rodney. I’m not freaking out. I just like to be able to breathe of a morning, that’s all.”
“Oh,” Rodney said, subdued. “Sorry. It’s just - maybe we should have had, you know, some sort of discussion before all this.”
“Yeah, maybe.” John ignored the way his heart began racing. Relationship talks were not exactly his forte. What if Rodney only wanted sex? He didn’t think he could do that, the whole no-strings-attached thing, not with Rodney.
“I mean, it’s probably going to be hard, keeping a relationship like this secret back home, what with the endless gossiping and whatnot, but I’m sure if we’re careful, we could manage it.”
“Yeah?” he said, because Rodney had said ‘relationship’, and okay, that could just mean ‘sexual relationship’ but maybe there was hope.
“And we’ll have to be careful not to stay in each other’s quarters every night, just a few times a week, in case anybody gets suspicious-“
“Is it just sex?” John blurted out, then felt ridiculous. He realised he kind of had to finish talking. “Because it’s not, for me. Just sex, I mean.”
Rodney blinked. “Yeah, I kind of… assumed that.”
“Oh.” There was a silence that might have been a little bit awkward. “But you and Keller…”
“Well, obviously if I had known you had a huge gay crush on me I would have been hotly pursuing you instead, but it’s not my fault if someone’s Mr Emotionally Unavailable. I was simply going with my best option, which had the likeliest outcome of me getting laid.” Rodney paused. “Not that it’s all about the sex. Apparently I have to emphasise that.”
“Oh, shut up, John said, and smothered him with a furry blanket.
***
They got back to Atlantis the next day. John felt strange, like there had been a huge, momentous change, except no one else had realised it yet. He felt like he had been put in charge of keeping a sacred, highly important secret, until he realised he kind of was.
On the surface, nothing changed. He listened to Rodney when something bad was going to happen, argued with Rodney when he was wrong, and pestered Rodney when he was bored, except sometimes when he did, Rodney got this bright look in his eyes which John didn’t think he’d ever seen before. Meanwhile, John tried not to yank Rodney out of the lab for sex too many times, as he fully appreciated Rodney had important work to do and did not, in his own words, “have time for this lust-driven, sex-all-the-time thing,” although John never heard him complaining once he got on his knees.
Before long, it felt like they’d been doing this for years. Every third or fourth night, John would tap on Rodney’s door and they would spend the night together with a high ratio of sex to sleep. It was an arrangement beneficial to all those directly involved, and even to those indirectly involved: Rodney, as a result of regular and astoundingly good sex, was a lot more pleasant to work with for the scientists in his department, which they all presumed was because of his imminent Nobel prize.
John was pretty proud of the way they had managed to be discreet, but that was all shot to pieces on PX2 845. The natives, who required the help of a scientist to fix their electricity generator, had very politely and apologetically locked the rest of the team in a cell while Rodney got to work. They had promised to release them once the he had finished, and in the meantime provided them with warm, crusty loaves and glasses of a white, milky drink.
“So,” Teyla said, as they were all eating comfortably, “I see you have taken Rodney as a lover.”
John spat out his milk in an ungainly way. “What? How do you…?”
Teyla looked at him. “You have been practically inseparable on missions. Even now, you are on edge because he is not with us.”
“But…” John looked at Ronon, who shrugged. “She told me. But it’s pretty obvious, if you look for it. Who cares, anyway?”
“But I’m…” He tried to explain. “The American military isn’t exactly… tolerant of two men... together. I could lose my job, get sent back to Earth.”
Teyla and Ronon frowned in unison. “Why is your planet so weird?” Ronon finally asked, to which John didn’t really have an answer.
“I wish you both well,” Teyla said, and smiled suddenly. “It is nice to see you so happy.”
“Yeah, well,” John said, and smiled. Ronon punched him in the shoulder, which John took to mean he gave his blessing, or something.
He told Rodney later on, when they were both lying in Rodney’s bed. “Teyla and Ronon know about us,” he said. Rodney turned to look at him.
“Really?”
“Yeah, when we were locked in the cell on PX2 845, Teyla told me that she was pleased I had taken you as my lover, or something.”
“Taken me as your lover? Wow, and I thought Teyla was picking up our way of speaking. Has someone been lending her Jane Austen novels, or something?”
“I do often confuse you with shrieking, petticoat-wearing women.”
Rodney hit him, looking absent. “I wonder how they know. I thought we were being careful.”
“Me too. She said something about me being on edge when you’re not there.”
“Hm. Well, she is very astute. Maybe it’s woman’s intuition.”
“Or an Athosian thing.”
“Let’s hope so.”
There was a brief silence, then John had to ask. “Does it bother you? Having to keep it a secret?”
In the darkness, he could make out Rodney frowning in thought. “No. I mean, it’s a bit of an inconvenience, not being able to share a room or anything, but in a way, it’s easier, too. Could you imagine the gossip that would go round if everyone knew?”
“I’m sure plenty goes round about us, anyway. Just not us like this.”
“I suppose. I’m kind of glad Teyla and Ronon know, though. They deserve to know. And it’s not like they’re going to tell anyone.”
“Yeah.” John rolled over and pushed at Rodney’s shoulder. “Move over, you’re taking up the whole bed.”
“I am not! You just think that because you throw your arms and legs everywhere without the slightest concern. This bed wasn’t made for two, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I noticed when I ended up sleeping on the floor the other night.”
“Well, if you hadn’t been so fussy about sleeping in the wet spot, you would have fit on just fine.”
John shoved at him in a grumpy way, but couldn’t be bothered arguing. “Fine. I’ll keep my legs in, you stop stealing the sheets, and we’ll just go to sleep.”
“Fine.”
John burrowed his way into Rodney’s side and breathed in deeply against Rodney’s neck. “Night,” he said softly.
“Night,” Rodney answered, and put his arm around John’s waist.
***
On PX5- 294, Rodney got shot.
Really, it was more of an accident. The locals had merely been trying to demonstrate their superior weaponry they had recently bought, which, clearly, they didn’t have a good grasp of yet. One minute the scientist called Tamba was saying, “and look, Dr McKay, at the power source,” and the next, there was a huge bang. John’s heart stopped - he actually felt it skip a few beats - and he, Ronon and Teyla ran to Rodney’s side.
“Ow.” Rodney said, and frowned.
“What do you mean, ow? Are you bleeding?” John tried to keep as voice as non-panicky as possible.
“It grazed your arm.” Teyla said, rolling up his sleeve. “The cut is not deep, but we should bandage it as a precaution.”
The scientist, forgotten about by John, let out a moan. “Oh, oh, I’m sorry,” he said, his hand pressed to his forehead. “The chief is going to kill me, I didn’t mean for it go off, honestly…”
“Do not worry,” Teyla told him, wrapping bandages around Rodney’s arm. “No harm has been done. It was not your fault.”
“It clearly was,” John heard Rodney mutter. He took this to mean Rodney wasn’t seriously hurt.
Surprisingly, no one got hostile or ran away screaming. The village chief apologised profusely as they were leaving, and John had a feeling that, from the glares he was giving Tamba, someone was going to be in the shit for a long while to come. The team left promising to resume trade negotiations at a later date. Overall, it was the most pleasant shooting John had ever seen.
They took Rodney to the infirmary afterwards. John stayed by his side, a nurse cleaning the wound and applying a dressing, when a thought struck him.
“Hey,” he said, once the nurse had left, “Did you ever break things off with Keller?”
“What?”
“You two were pretty close at one point; you were practically going out. Did you break up with her?”
“No, I’m still seeing her on the side. On the nights I’m not with you, we go on wild, rambunctious, passionate dates.” He waved his hands impatiently. “Of course I did.”
“Really? What did you say?”
Rodney shifted, suddenly awkward. “Well, I didn’t say it so much as… write it.”
“You broke up with her in a letter?”
“No! An email.”
“That’s even worse!”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic. It’s not like we were even properly dating. I thought it best for all those concerned.”
“Jackass. No wonder she’s hardly been around these last couple of weeks.”
“Hey, you should be acting really nice to me. I got shot today.”
John rolled his eyes. “It’s barely a scratch.”
“You weren’t saying that when it happened. I’ve seen you look less anxious on a hive ship.”
Mentally, John winced. He’d been hoping Rodney hadn’t noticed his overreaction. But, really, someone getting shot was nearly always a cause for worry.
“Don’t worry, I found it endearing.”
“Yeah?” John sat down next to where Rodney was sitting on the infirmary bed.
“Yeah.” He slid a hand up Rodney’s side, feeling the warm skin under his shirt, and listened as Rodney’s breath quickened. “You know, I’m actually feeling a little faint. Probably from the blood loss, and all. Maybe I’d be best lying down.”
“Good idea,” agreed John, his hand on Rodney’s back as they sneaked out of the infirmary.
***
Saving everyone on Atlantis from imminent death by day and having hot, gay sex by night meant that time went very quickly. Before John knew it, it was late November and Rodney was covering his excitement by snapping in a harmless way at anyone who brought up the ceremony. It was the week before he was due to leave when he asked John to go with him.
John was lying in Rodney’s bed, feeling sated and sleepy. Rodney trotted out from the bathroom, still completely naked and looking flushed. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said, and John sat up.
“What is it?”
“Will you come with me? To Stockholm, when I get my Nobel. Next week.”
John frowned. “Really? You want me to come?”
“Yeah, I’d like it if… if you were there. Or else, I wouldn’t see you for a week, and I’d - I’d miss you.”
John suddenly felt kind of warm and fuzzy inside, although he’d thought that never actually happened in real life, and he’d never have admitted it in a thousand years. “I’d miss you too,” he said. It came out overly gruff and manly, but Rodney didn’t seem to notice.
“Do you think Woolsey would let us both go, though?” he asked.
“We’d have to come up with a really good reason. Like, I’m terrified I’ll be kidnapped and held for ransom in Sweden, and I need protection. And you can say you’ve been feeling tired and stressed and could do with a break. He should buy it.”
“We’ll do it tomorrow,” John told him. “Now, come to bed.”
Thankfully, Woolsey did buy it. All John had to do was look weary and pitiful while Rodney talked, and nod his head occasionally. Woolsey smiled and said, “It’s your Nobel prize, Rodney, you can take whomever you like,” which made John warm to him a little bit more.
“Told you it would work,” Rodney said quietly to him as they left the room. John grinned and squeezed his shoulder.
On the day they were due to leave, everyone congratulated Rodney again and wished him luck before they left for Earth. John stood to one side, trying not to look too much like the adoring wife, while Rodney smiled at everyone, trying not to look like an arrogant dick.
Teyla put her forehead against Rodney’s and said she was happy for him. She even brought down Torren to say goodbye, which led to Rodney awkwardly rocking the baby up and down for a few minutes while John smirked at him.
Ronon clapped Rodney on the back and said, “Have fun, McKay.”
As he came down the stairs, Woolsey straightened his jacket and opened his mouth. John hoped he wasn’t going to make a speech.
“Dr McKay,” he began. “I just want to tell you all our thoughts and best wishes are with you.”
Rodney looked flustered at all the attention. “Oh, um, thank you.”
“I hope you enjoy yourselves,” he said, looking at John.
“I’m sure we will,” John replied, and hoped his voice didn’t reflect his dirty, dirty thoughts. “Anyway, we’d best be going.”
Chuck dialled the gate.
***
They arrived at the SGC, where they were immediately taken into a room by an official-looking man and a woman both dressed in black, who repeated to Rodney several times the importance of discretion. They emphasised how, while the SGC was happy to encourage and fund Rodney’s research, the confidential manner of most of this information must be kept in mind. Rodney rolled his eyes and said, “Yes, yes, I won’t tell anyone about the lost city of Atlantis or the stargates or the aliens, is that all?”
John was let off with a threatening look, which he thought was a little unfair. Obviously, he posed less of a risk to the galaxy’s security than Rodney McKay did.
During the flight, Rodney briefed him on their itinerary. They were away for a week, during which Rodney was expected to give speeches about the nature of his work. This culminated in the highlight of the week, the awards ceremony, followed by the Nobel banquet. Rodney seemed particularly enthusiastic when talking about the banquet.
Rodney was grouchy and annoyed by the time they landed at Stockholm airport, and John couldn’t really blame him. It had taken a full day to finally arrive, what with all the security clearances at SGC and endless threats as to what, exactly, Rodney could say when acknowledging his prize. They had had to change flights three times from Colorado - “What,” Rodney had said, “They couldn’t charter a private jet for a Nobel laureate? We wouldn’t even have needed a pilot!” - and had arrived, jet-lagged and weary, to grey, drizzly rain.
John watched Rodney doze in the taxi on the way to the hotel while the taxi driver chattered on his cell phone in rapid Swedish. They were being put up in the most high-class hotel in the city; elegant balconies and columns decorated the exterior, all of which was promptly named “pretentious and ostentatious” by Rodney once he awoke.
The hotel had been booked by the SGC, which meant they were in separate rooms, but next door to each other. Rodney perked up once he saw the beds, which were huge, four-poster affairs, with drapes and soft mattresses and at least eight pillows. Rodney leapt onto it immediately.
“Oh my God, even my mattress back home is not as comfy as this. And it’s actually big enough for two people. Oh, we are going to have so much great sex on this bed.”
“Right now?” John said as he dumped their bags in the corner of the room. “Because I’m a little jet-lagged, myself.”
Rodney eyed him sharply. “I thought you were meant to be the fit, active, up-for-anything soldier. I’m the one who- “ He was cut off by a huge yawn. “Yeah, okay, maybe we should sleep.”
“Good,” John said, and crawled under the duvet. The next minute, he felt Rodney’s weight against his side, one arm slung comfortably over his stomach. He smiled sleepily, then fell asleep.
He was woken up by the sound of rapid typing. He sat up, yawned, and said, “Rodney, what are you doing?”
“Working on my speech,” came the answer. Rodney frowned, then backspaced furiously. “I keep forgetting I can’t talk about even a tenth of the work I’ve actually done
“Hey, do I get a mention?” John asked hopefully.
“This isn’t the Oscars.”
“You could say thank you to your escort for the evening, Colonel John Sheppard.”
“Yes, because ‘escort’ is not at all synonymous with ‘male prostitute’.”
John leered at him and stretched out languidly. “Well, in that case, you’d better get the most out of your money…”
Rodney rolled his eyes, but did at least close his laptop and come back to bed.
***
The next day was the start of Rodney’s lectures and key-note speeches. John went to every one, even though Rodney insisted he would be bored out of his mind, and wouldn’t he rather do some sight-seeing?
Although he would never have told Rodney, John enjoyed himself every time. Sure, most of the science went completely over his head, but he could sit for hours listening to Rodney passionately talk about his theories, watching the way his eyes lit up and his hands gestured for emphasis.
The halls in which he was speaking were completely full, every seat taken. There were people scribbling notes, trying to keep up with Rodney’s rapid explanations; people looking utterly confused; people - the vast majority of them - in awe, and staring at Rodney with admiration. John grinned at them, glad to see that there were those who fully appreciated Rodney’s genius.
Without fail, at the end of every speech, there was a stunned silence that lasted for a few seconds, before people rose to their feet and the deafening applause kicked in.
Sometimes, there were questions, which John always loved. Nothing quite beat the feeling when Rodney spluttered, then proceeded to ridicule and occasionally downright shout at the ignorant, brainless idiots who called themselves scientists (these last words were exactly what Rodney had said in the taxi home).
By the day of the awards ceremony, Rodney was looking exhilarated. John tried to hide his home-sickness, the way he felt on edge and restless after so many days without Atlantis. It was off-set somewhat by Rodney’s closeness, knowing he was here and safe, but it was only when back on Earth that he realised how much Atlantis was part of him, the way she responded to him and understood him. He missed his team.
Rodney guessed, anyway. He was pretty astute for someone lacking in social skills. “We’ll be home tomorrow,” he said, as they were getting dressed, “then you can relax.”
“Relax?” John said, a little defensively, “I’m relaxed. I’m as relaxed as can be.”
“Yeah, except your shoulders are getting tighter every day. The only time you look at ease is when I’m lecturing, or we’re having sex.” He made a noise of frustration. “Help me with this bowtie, will you? This stupid dress code, I feel like I'm living in Victorian England.”
John went to help him with it. “Sorry,” he said eventually, with a sigh.
“No, I get it. I feel it too. It’s like we don’t fit in here anymore.” Rodney’s mouth slanted in that half-amused, half-thoughtful way. “Actually, I don’t know if I ever fit in that well.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to be here.” John deftly tied the knot, before readjusting it. Wow, he was really bad at this whole supportive partner thing.
“I told you, I get it.” Rodney’s hands came up to hold his. “It’s okay.”
John bent forwards, leaning his forehead against Rodney’s until he could feel Rodney’s breath against his mouth. “I’m still glad you asked me to come. I’m … proud of you, you know?”
He felt Rodney’s breath catch. “Yeah,” he said, then tipped his head to kiss John.
John moved his hands to the back of Rodney’s neck, pulling him forward while he opened his mouth. He was just getting into it when Rodney pushed him away, gasping and laughing.
“Stop, stop, you’ll ruin my jacket. I am not spending God-knows-how-much on a new one because you can’t control your hormones, like some sort of teenager.”
John grinned. “Oh, now that you’re getting your Nobel, you think you’re too good for sex with me, or something?”
“Yes. From now on, I refuse to fuck anyone who isn’t a Nobel laureate.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll just have to win one.”
“Oh, for what, being bad-ass and wearing black?”
He pretended to look hurt. “Hey, I have talents.”
“Of course you do. Anyway, much as I’d like to stand here boosting your ego all day, we have an awards ceremony to get to, and I don’t think the Swedish royal family tolerate tardiness. And why aren’t you dressed yet?”
John pouted. “What, I can’t go like this?”
“In jeans? No, no you cannot.”
John put on his white tie and tails under the beady eye of Rodney, grumbling all the while, and stood up straight. “Happy?”
“Actually, yes.” Rodney looked appraisingly up and down. “You do clean up well.”
“I’m glad I have your approval, because I’m uncomfortable as hell.”
“You look very dashing, now, come on,” and he took John’s hand and dragged him out of the room.
Rodney absolutely refused to arrive in a limousine, so they took a taxi. The taxi driver raised his eyes when Rodney said, “Stockholm Concert Hall,” but drove them there without comment.
John was staring out of the window, watching the city go past. They hadn’t gotten to see much of the city while they’d been here. Sure, there’d been enough opportunities, but these mostly took a back-seat to the opportunity of having a shared hotel room, a double bed, and no one at all to care about what they were doing in it.
He saw Rodney swallow as they pulled up outside Stockholm Concert Hall. The building was huge, with columns stretching up into the sky.
“Hey,” John said. He found Rodney’s hand, and squeezed it. “This is it.”
Rodney seemed a little in shock as he stared at the hall. “I guess it is.”
“You OK?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He opened the door. “Let’s do this.”
John leant over and grabbed the back of Rodney’s neck, pulling him closer to kiss him brief and hard on the lips. He felt the tension in Rodney’s body drain away, relaxing as he put his cheek against John’s for a moment, before moving away.
“I’m ready,” he said once they were out of the taxi.
“Sure you are.”
***
John’s favourite part of the awards was when Rodney almost missed his cue to go up and get his prize because he was bitching about the physicist presenting it to John under his breath. The running commentary was something along the lines of, “Worked with him in Caltech… completely incompetent, his paper on M-theory was the fourth most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen published--” which was interrupted by applause and people turning to him expectantly. Rodney managed to smile graciously, at any rate.
He accepted his award with what was possibly the briefest speech in history, most likely because he didn’t actually thank anyone. He did, however, manage to refrain from telling everyone how brilliant he was; not that it was like they didn’t know. This was probably the only place where Rodney was surrounded by people who appreciated what a genius he was.
Rodney looked directly at John as he concluded his speech with, “And I hope that my work will be the foundation of a new wormhole theory, which may lead in turn to an exciting new era in astrophysics as we know it. Perhaps, even one day, we will be able to use such a theory to discover science as we have never seen it before.”
John thought about stargates, and Atlantis, and him and Rodney, and thought that, “science as we have never seen it before,” was the understatement of the century.
Author: glitterdash
Rating: R / NC-17
Length: Limping over the minimum wordcount with 7600 words!
Summary: Rodney gets the Nobel. John gets Rodney.
Written for unamaga and chopchica 's happyfest, which is a really really brilliant idea. Beta-ed by keefaq , who is lovely and gave me some great advice and put up with my panicking.
The title is from 'Word Up' by Cameo, which is a song that I can imagine John Sheppard listens and dances to, alone in his room.
We Don’t Have The Time For Psychological Romance
Maybe it was just a guilty conscience, but when Woosley called the team into the conference room, John immediately thought that they were about to be told off for something.
He met Ronon on the way down, and shared a brief, “What have we done this time” look before entering the room and sliding into a chair. Teyla and Keller were already there, seated at the table as usual, but Rodney and Woosley were standing side by side at one end of the room. Rodney looked pleased - more than pleased, jubilant - and John was suddenly intrigued, because really, how often did any of them have that expression?
“Now we’re all here,” Woosley said, “Dr McKay has some good news he’d like to share with you.”
John thought, “Shit, Keller, him and Keller, what if they…” and he suddenly felt a little bit sick. He’d gone through this with Katie fucking Brown, and he couldn’t go through it again. But Rodney looked so happy, and was there any other plausible explanation?
Rodney cleared his throat, looked at them all, then blurted out, “I’m getting a Nobel,” in a delighted, yet slightly smug way. His smile stretched even wider at their expressions.
There was a moment of shock; clearly, none of the team had guessed. Keller let out what was almost a squeal, and rushed across to hug him at once. Teyla followed more sedately, but smiling, and said, “We are all very proud of you, Rodney.” She pressed her forehead against his.
After the relief, then the tiny bit of guilt for the relief, John realised that Teyla was right. He felt proud. He rose to his feet, crossed the room, and put a hand on Rodney’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy, congratulations,” he said, and even he could hear the genuine, unmistakeable pleasure in his voice.
“So, what, does that mean you’re the smartest person in your galaxy, or something?” Ronon asked, one corner of his mouth turned upwards.
Rodney, who had gone slightly pink from all the praise, snorted. “Yes, well, they didn’t need to give me a Nobel Prize for me to know that,” and John laughed, because they needed something like this, some good news, to combat the way they had become so much tenser, warier, after nearly five years of threats and sieges.
“Apparently, Sam had a word with the SGC after she left,” Rodney told him, while Keller tried to explain to Ronon exactly what the Nobel Prize was. “She convinced them to declassify parts of my earlier, post-grad work, then had to declassify information about the SGC to prove my theories were correct.” He sounded almost dreamy.
“Well, that was nice of her,” John said. He’d always liked Carter.
“Yes, it was. And the council must have decided really quickly - not that it takes much deciding, my work on wormhole physics is outstanding, groundbreaking, but still - the awards are in December. Two months.”
“Are you going back to Earth for the awards ceremony?”
“Yes, if the SGC lets me, but Woosley said he didn’t see there’d be a problem.” He clicked his fingers. “Radek! I must tell Zelenka, oh, he’ll love this, I can gloat about it for years.”
“Isn’t that kind of-“but he was gone, skipping out the door like an excitable goat.
***
They held an impromptu party later on that night in one of the halls in Atlantis - the best one, with giant glass windows turned inward to show the view over the whole city. Nearly everyone turned out, all the scientists and most of the marines, proving once more that Rodney’s theory that he was ‘hard to like’ was untrue. The scientists in his department had hand-made a banner with “CONGRATULATIONS DR MCKAY” painted across it in bright blue letters, and Woosley had even broken out the champagne.
Upon entering the hall, John could immediately hear Rodney’s voice, proclaiming very loudly, “Yes, well, it’s not like this is the only one I’ll get. Once everything’s been declassified there’s bound to be another one - even two - on the way, so it’s just a matter of time, really-“
John grinned, shook his head, and followed the voice back to its owner. “Hey McKay, we’re gonna have to widen the stargate to make room for your head soon.”
Rodney stopped mid-speech to glare at him, said, “Yes, Colonel, very funny,” and swiped the champagne glass out of his hand. “This really is good champagne,” he continued, “I wonder where Woosley found it? It’s way better than that Athosian crap they brought out last - Oh, hi Teyla.”
Teyla, who had swept up behind John without being noticed, smiled graciously at Rodney, although John privately thought there was no way she hadn’t heard the disparaging comments about the local Athosian wine. Which wasn’t really, John thought, all that bad, except for the weird aftertaste which tasted, to him, a bit like prawns.
John sidled away, leaving Rodney to bask in his glory, and was content to watch him from across the room.
He ended up alone on the balcony adjacent to the hall, staring at, but not really seeing, the lights of Atlantis’ towers reflecting off the ocean’s uneven surface. Still, after five years, the sight of the city was enough to take his breath away. He looked up at the stars, clearer here than they had ever been back on Earth, and thought, we’ve been there. We can go there, every day.
Even lost in contemplation, the military part of his brain registered the footsteps of someone joining him, and he wasn’t surprised to find Rodney leaning on the railing next to him.
“It’s nice,” Rodney said, and he could have been talking about anything - the view, the Nobel, the party, but John knew what he meant.
“Yeah.” He thought: I’m proud of you. I hope you know. Seeing you happy like this makes me happier than I’ve ever been.
And it must have been the champagne, because he felt that maybe, tonight, it was worth taking that risk. He’d always been too much of a coward to do anything about his stupid, inappropriate feelings, but for the first time, he didn’t mentally run through any of the possible humiliating rejections. The benefits outweigh the risks, he thought.
He moved closer to Rodney, just enough so that their shoulders were touching, and waited, holding his breath.
Rodney leant back against him and John felt suddenly hopeful, before realising Rodney had had really quite a lot to drink, and perhaps he just couldn’t stand very well. So he turned slightly, and very tentatively reached out to put his hand on Rodney’s forearm, pale where he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves.
Rodney froze, and turned, and OK, he obviously hadn’t had that much champagne. He looked as alert as he ever was, eyes skittering from John’s face to his hand, and then- was it? - to his mouth briefly, and it was enough of an offer for John.
He moved before he had time to change his mind, pressing his lips against Rodney’s urgently but without any real force. While his brain quietly and efficiently panicked, his hands moved up to hold the back of Rodney’s head, his lips still moving desperately against Rodney’s, thinking, Oh God, oh God, please, Rodney, c’mon, I can’t -
Then Rodney was moving, finally, and it was the right way, with him and against him and pressing closer, his mouth and tongue moving with intent.
They kissed hard, fast, for a length of time that John couldn’t guess, until Rodney pulled back, breathing hard. His eyes were wide, still fixed on John’s mouth, and his hair was mussed up at the back where John’s hands had been.
John stood very still and dug his nails into the palms of his hands, ignoring every instinct in his body to run, get the hell out of there, because he was completely incapable of not screwing things like this up. He locked his feet to the ground and tried to steady his breathing.
“What… what?” Rodney said. “You don’t - you’re not - are you? Do you?”
“Do I what?” and, oops, that may have came out a little too defensive.
“Like me?”
He figured that, No, of course not, probably wasn’t going to work at this point. Neither was, what, are we in fifth grade? “Um… yes?” He tried to sound hopeful, but it sounded more confused.
“As in - as in, you’re - you want the - sex? With me?”
If he hadn’t been so terrified, this would have been quite funny, John reflected.
“Yes, Rodney. I want the sex.”
“Oh.” It was odd to see Rodney looking so bemused and lost for words. It looked like John had finally found the answer to the eternal, unsolvable question of how to shut Rodney McKay up: tell him you want to have sex with him.
“Now? On the balcony?”
Whoah, thought John. “Preferably not.” Then, he realised the opportunity might not present itself again, after they’d both had time to realise what a ridiculous, stupid idea this was. “Unless, you know, you want to.”
“No, I’m good.” John’s heart sank.
Apparently it showed in his expression, because Rodney said, “No! I just mean, I don’t want to do it on the balcony, specifically. We could go somewhere else. Your room’s closest. “
“Yes. Yes it is,” John said, and grinned. His evening, already better than average, what with the champagne and everything, had just gotten even more promising.
***
It was only when they were both standing outside John’s bedroom door in complete silence that he realised how much potential for going wrong this had.
“So,” he said. He tried to think of a suave chat-up line. The only thing that came to mind was, want to fuck? He thought that might be a bit inappropriate.
“Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, go inside?” Rodney asked.
He figured, what the hell, and dragged Rodney inside, before enthusiastically kissing him against the door. Rodney wasted no time in reacting, pushing his hands up John’s shirt and through his hair. John was just pushing his hands into Rodney’s pants - he was gratified and really, really relieved to find Rodney was as hard as he was - to a chant of, “Yes, that, please,” when Rodney’s radio buzzed into action.
“Ignore it,” Rodney said breathlessly, “Ignore it, it’s probably just - God, John - probably just Zelenka with an idea for his new stupid project, it doesn’t matter, just carry on, please,” and wow, it was really hot when Rodney begged like that.
A couple of seconds later, John heard a voice over his own radio.
“Shit,” he said, and pulled away from Rodney, provoking a moan of disappointment. It took him a few more seconds to pull himself together, before answering, “Sheppard, what?” with more irritation than strictly necessary.
“Sorry to disturb you, Colonel,” came Zelenka’s voice, “but there are some abnormal power surges in some of the outer parts of the city, and we’re unsure as to what is causing it. You should probably come down to the lab.”
John sighed, and said, “I’ll be right there.”
“Also, Rodney is not answering his radio, and we could really do with him taking look,” Zelenka continued. “Could you please locate him and bring him with you?”
“Yeah, I’m on my way,” John said, then switched his radio off.
“This is so typical,” Rodney said fervently, his back to John, trying to regain some control. It was pretty flattering, really. “Why are all my staff completely incompetent?”
They walked down to the lab, staying at least five feet away from each other, as if when they got too close to each other they wouldn’t be able to resist having sex right there in the corridor. Maybe it was a little true, thought John, because Rodney was muttering curses at Zelenka the whole time, and he’d really never found that sexy before.
Rodney stormed into the lab going, “Okay, what,” and John watched as nearly all the scientists shrank away from him a little.
After five minutes of printouts and shouting, Rodney diagnosed the problem as being the fault of one of the new scientists, whose name John could not remember for the life of him. It turned out that he had tried to reroute the power supply through another part of the city. It took Rodney three hours to fix it, and then another hour to shout at the poor man that he was the poorest excuse for a scientist he had ever seen, and he was going to personally email MIT and tell them to stop handing out PhDs to anyone who asked for one, and that he was so, so, fired.
John watched all this from where he was slumped on one of the chairs, yawning every few seconds. He tried not to be secretly impressed with the wide variety of insults Rodney was throwing at anyone who got in his way.
They walked slowly back to Rodney’s room in silence, then stopped outside his door. “So,” said Rodney, stifling a yawn, “Do you want to come in, or…“ He was swaying slightly on his feet.
John took pity on him. “As much as I really, really want to, I think you’d probably fall asleep the second we got onto the bed.”
Rodney didn’t even protest. “Yeah, okay.” He turned to enter his room. “Wait, we’re still going to do this eventually, aren’t we? I haven’t just insulted your masculinity?”
John rolled his eyes and pushed him through the door. “See you tomorrow, Rodney. Sleep well.”
He trudged back to his room, glad that under his tiredness there was still a nice, anticipatory glow at the bottom of his stomach. He fell asleep right away, and slept better than he had in months.
***
The next day, the team had scheduled a trip to PX3 494, a planet which Major Lorne’s team had recently visited, which was apparently renowned for its culinary expertise. This was enough to have the whole of Atlantis salivating over the prospect of real food, to the point where John was pretty sure Wolsey would agree to anything demanded of them.
They were just about to step through the stargate when Rodney said in a low undertone to John, “We are having sex later, aren’t we?”
John tripped. “Jesus, McKay,” he hissed, “You want to talk about that now?”
Rodney looked hurt. “I was just checking.”
John gritted his teeth. “Yes, OK, fine, we are. Happy?”
“Well, not when you say it like that, that just makes me scared.”
The conversation was cut off as they walked into the event horizon.
The team came out of the other side blinking, in a dazed fashion. Clearly, it was a sunny day on PX3 494, but what had dazzled them was the way the sun reflected off the snow and the magnificent mountains that surrounded them. It looked like picture of Switzerland that John had seen on postcards.
“Wow,” said Rodney, “It makes a nice change to not be surrounded by endless fields or forests. Or men holding spears.” John was just glad he wasn’t trying to carry on their previous conversation.
As if to emphasise his point, a small party of villagers appeared, wearing brightly dyed robes and holding hands.
“Greetings,” The eldest woman said, “and welcome to Tabathamularania.” John heard Rodney snort by his side, and elbowed him discreetly. “My name is Yuli, and I am the leader of this village. You must be the guests that Major Lorne promised us.”
“We are,” said Teyla, stepping forward and inclining her head. “We are honoured to see Tabathamularania -“ wow, thought John, that was impressive - “for ourselves.”
They then went through the customary introductions, complete with bowing and hand-holding, while Ronon and Rodney became increasingly restless. Finally, Yuli clapped her hands.
“It is customary for guests to eat one of our latsi beans,” she told them, then produced a basket and held it out to them. “We believe it symbolises our hospitality and warmth.”
John tentatively put his hand in the basket, and pulled out a slightly squishy green thing the size of a plum. He took a bite experimentally. It was sweet, without being sickly, and melted on his tongue in way which was a little like chocolate. After a couple more bites, he decided they were the tastiest things he’d had in a while.
Rodney put his hand in the basket while checking the beans were citrus-free, and bit into it curiously. Teyla and Ronon followed, Teyla with a polite smile, Ronon with a grunt.
“Wow, these really are good,” Rodney said, eating the bean in such an enthusiastic manner that John started to shift uncomfortably. He shifted even more when Rodney grinned at him knowingly.
It turned out that before any negotiations could be made, an overnight stay was required. This included a traditional feast, which John was perfectly okay with if there were more of those beans. They sat around a huge wooden table with what appeared to be every single villager, all chattering and laughing, and John’s attempts to not relax were futile. He had ‘Don’t let your guard down, don’t let your guard down’ going through his head like a mantra, but it had quieted to more of a whisper as he lounged in his chair, Rodney on one side, Ronon on the other.
There were seven courses to the feast, including a course of bread, one of fruit, and three of meat. By the end of the course three, John was feeling pleasantly full, but couldn’t resist trying everything there was to offer. Rodney said fewer words in two hours than he normally did in two minutes, pausing only occasionally to recommend a dish, or to say, “God, I love this planet.”
The final course was an enormous rectangular bowl filled with something which tasted like buttercream. Yuli’s son happily told them that it was named the ‘food of desire’ among the villagers, which made John raise his eyebrows and Rodney cough and splutter into his wine. Rodney, however, got him back by licking the cream off his fingers in a way that was somehow both surreptitious and incredibly arousing. John slid down in his chair a little and hoped there was no more food.
Finally, finally, Yuli smiled and led them to their rooms; four in a row with little wooden doors which meant they all had to stoop to enter. The rooms were tiny, but with luxurious blankets in every colour imaginable piled up in make-shift beds. John paced the floor for a while, managing to wait all of thirty seconds before tapping lightly on Rodney’s door.
The door opened and a hand dragged him inside before John even had time to blink. Rodney looked dishevelled and impatient, his eyes wide and excited, and John couldn’t help grinning a little.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” Rodney said, and took a step closer to John. “So, are we going to…” and then John licked his lips deliberately, and Rodney was pressed up against him at once. Any surprise John might have registered was muffled by Rodney’s tongue in his mouth, so he figured he’d better just roll with it.
“Were you deliberately sitting that close to me at the feast?” Rodney demanded when they parted for air, “Or have we always sat that close and I’ve just never noticed the rays of sex that you emanate? Because, oh my God, I’ve been hard since the second course.”
“The noises, you were making sex noises as you were eating, it was, it was so hot,” John managed before he pushed Rodney against the nearest wall.
“I was not! Okay, maybe a little, with the buttercream stuff at the end, but that was just… and you taste like it, Christ.” Rodney kissed him again and unfastened both their BDUs without pausing to even bother with underwear, until they were rubbing against each other with rough cotton still in the way.
John tried to mention that it would be easier without the fabric in between them, but the heat and the friction and Rodney panting in his ear were highly distracting. Eventually, he decided he’d be better just going along with Rodney, who seemed to have a plan. He was a genius, after all.
They both came in what would have been, under any circumstances, an embarrassingly short amount of time. John figured they could be excused because of the three hours of unresolved sexual tension and the weird aphrodisiac cream at the dinner table, and neither of them was complaining.
***
John woke up to a warm, heavy weight on his body, and stared at the ceiling for a while before remembering where he was. He made a feeble attempt to push Rodney off, which only served to make Rodney grumble a little in his sleep. He tried not to find it endearing, then fell back asleep.
He awoke a second time and found he was getting a little crushed. “Ow, no, really - get off,” he protested. “What - what, are you snuggling into me?”
“No?” Rodney said as he opened his eyes blearily. “Mmm, what…” And then he sat bolt upright. “Wait, you’re not freaking out, are you? You’re forty years old; you can’t have a gay freak-out! Besides, you’re the one who propositioned me, you can’t go back on that! If anyone should be freaking out…”
John grabbed his arm to shut him up. “Rodney. I’m not freaking out. I just like to be able to breathe of a morning, that’s all.”
“Oh,” Rodney said, subdued. “Sorry. It’s just - maybe we should have had, you know, some sort of discussion before all this.”
“Yeah, maybe.” John ignored the way his heart began racing. Relationship talks were not exactly his forte. What if Rodney only wanted sex? He didn’t think he could do that, the whole no-strings-attached thing, not with Rodney.
“I mean, it’s probably going to be hard, keeping a relationship like this secret back home, what with the endless gossiping and whatnot, but I’m sure if we’re careful, we could manage it.”
“Yeah?” he said, because Rodney had said ‘relationship’, and okay, that could just mean ‘sexual relationship’ but maybe there was hope.
“And we’ll have to be careful not to stay in each other’s quarters every night, just a few times a week, in case anybody gets suspicious-“
“Is it just sex?” John blurted out, then felt ridiculous. He realised he kind of had to finish talking. “Because it’s not, for me. Just sex, I mean.”
Rodney blinked. “Yeah, I kind of… assumed that.”
“Oh.” There was a silence that might have been a little bit awkward. “But you and Keller…”
“Well, obviously if I had known you had a huge gay crush on me I would have been hotly pursuing you instead, but it’s not my fault if someone’s Mr Emotionally Unavailable. I was simply going with my best option, which had the likeliest outcome of me getting laid.” Rodney paused. “Not that it’s all about the sex. Apparently I have to emphasise that.”
“Oh, shut up, John said, and smothered him with a furry blanket.
***
They got back to Atlantis the next day. John felt strange, like there had been a huge, momentous change, except no one else had realised it yet. He felt like he had been put in charge of keeping a sacred, highly important secret, until he realised he kind of was.
On the surface, nothing changed. He listened to Rodney when something bad was going to happen, argued with Rodney when he was wrong, and pestered Rodney when he was bored, except sometimes when he did, Rodney got this bright look in his eyes which John didn’t think he’d ever seen before. Meanwhile, John tried not to yank Rodney out of the lab for sex too many times, as he fully appreciated Rodney had important work to do and did not, in his own words, “have time for this lust-driven, sex-all-the-time thing,” although John never heard him complaining once he got on his knees.
Before long, it felt like they’d been doing this for years. Every third or fourth night, John would tap on Rodney’s door and they would spend the night together with a high ratio of sex to sleep. It was an arrangement beneficial to all those directly involved, and even to those indirectly involved: Rodney, as a result of regular and astoundingly good sex, was a lot more pleasant to work with for the scientists in his department, which they all presumed was because of his imminent Nobel prize.
John was pretty proud of the way they had managed to be discreet, but that was all shot to pieces on PX2 845. The natives, who required the help of a scientist to fix their electricity generator, had very politely and apologetically locked the rest of the team in a cell while Rodney got to work. They had promised to release them once the he had finished, and in the meantime provided them with warm, crusty loaves and glasses of a white, milky drink.
“So,” Teyla said, as they were all eating comfortably, “I see you have taken Rodney as a lover.”
John spat out his milk in an ungainly way. “What? How do you…?”
Teyla looked at him. “You have been practically inseparable on missions. Even now, you are on edge because he is not with us.”
“But…” John looked at Ronon, who shrugged. “She told me. But it’s pretty obvious, if you look for it. Who cares, anyway?”
“But I’m…” He tried to explain. “The American military isn’t exactly… tolerant of two men... together. I could lose my job, get sent back to Earth.”
Teyla and Ronon frowned in unison. “Why is your planet so weird?” Ronon finally asked, to which John didn’t really have an answer.
“I wish you both well,” Teyla said, and smiled suddenly. “It is nice to see you so happy.”
“Yeah, well,” John said, and smiled. Ronon punched him in the shoulder, which John took to mean he gave his blessing, or something.
He told Rodney later on, when they were both lying in Rodney’s bed. “Teyla and Ronon know about us,” he said. Rodney turned to look at him.
“Really?”
“Yeah, when we were locked in the cell on PX2 845, Teyla told me that she was pleased I had taken you as my lover, or something.”
“Taken me as your lover? Wow, and I thought Teyla was picking up our way of speaking. Has someone been lending her Jane Austen novels, or something?”
“I do often confuse you with shrieking, petticoat-wearing women.”
Rodney hit him, looking absent. “I wonder how they know. I thought we were being careful.”
“Me too. She said something about me being on edge when you’re not there.”
“Hm. Well, she is very astute. Maybe it’s woman’s intuition.”
“Or an Athosian thing.”
“Let’s hope so.”
There was a brief silence, then John had to ask. “Does it bother you? Having to keep it a secret?”
In the darkness, he could make out Rodney frowning in thought. “No. I mean, it’s a bit of an inconvenience, not being able to share a room or anything, but in a way, it’s easier, too. Could you imagine the gossip that would go round if everyone knew?”
“I’m sure plenty goes round about us, anyway. Just not us like this.”
“I suppose. I’m kind of glad Teyla and Ronon know, though. They deserve to know. And it’s not like they’re going to tell anyone.”
“Yeah.” John rolled over and pushed at Rodney’s shoulder. “Move over, you’re taking up the whole bed.”
“I am not! You just think that because you throw your arms and legs everywhere without the slightest concern. This bed wasn’t made for two, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I noticed when I ended up sleeping on the floor the other night.”
“Well, if you hadn’t been so fussy about sleeping in the wet spot, you would have fit on just fine.”
John shoved at him in a grumpy way, but couldn’t be bothered arguing. “Fine. I’ll keep my legs in, you stop stealing the sheets, and we’ll just go to sleep.”
“Fine.”
John burrowed his way into Rodney’s side and breathed in deeply against Rodney’s neck. “Night,” he said softly.
“Night,” Rodney answered, and put his arm around John’s waist.
***
On PX5- 294, Rodney got shot.
Really, it was more of an accident. The locals had merely been trying to demonstrate their superior weaponry they had recently bought, which, clearly, they didn’t have a good grasp of yet. One minute the scientist called Tamba was saying, “and look, Dr McKay, at the power source,” and the next, there was a huge bang. John’s heart stopped - he actually felt it skip a few beats - and he, Ronon and Teyla ran to Rodney’s side.
“Ow.” Rodney said, and frowned.
“What do you mean, ow? Are you bleeding?” John tried to keep as voice as non-panicky as possible.
“It grazed your arm.” Teyla said, rolling up his sleeve. “The cut is not deep, but we should bandage it as a precaution.”
The scientist, forgotten about by John, let out a moan. “Oh, oh, I’m sorry,” he said, his hand pressed to his forehead. “The chief is going to kill me, I didn’t mean for it go off, honestly…”
“Do not worry,” Teyla told him, wrapping bandages around Rodney’s arm. “No harm has been done. It was not your fault.”
“It clearly was,” John heard Rodney mutter. He took this to mean Rodney wasn’t seriously hurt.
Surprisingly, no one got hostile or ran away screaming. The village chief apologised profusely as they were leaving, and John had a feeling that, from the glares he was giving Tamba, someone was going to be in the shit for a long while to come. The team left promising to resume trade negotiations at a later date. Overall, it was the most pleasant shooting John had ever seen.
They took Rodney to the infirmary afterwards. John stayed by his side, a nurse cleaning the wound and applying a dressing, when a thought struck him.
“Hey,” he said, once the nurse had left, “Did you ever break things off with Keller?”
“What?”
“You two were pretty close at one point; you were practically going out. Did you break up with her?”
“No, I’m still seeing her on the side. On the nights I’m not with you, we go on wild, rambunctious, passionate dates.” He waved his hands impatiently. “Of course I did.”
“Really? What did you say?”
Rodney shifted, suddenly awkward. “Well, I didn’t say it so much as… write it.”
“You broke up with her in a letter?”
“No! An email.”
“That’s even worse!”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic. It’s not like we were even properly dating. I thought it best for all those concerned.”
“Jackass. No wonder she’s hardly been around these last couple of weeks.”
“Hey, you should be acting really nice to me. I got shot today.”
John rolled his eyes. “It’s barely a scratch.”
“You weren’t saying that when it happened. I’ve seen you look less anxious on a hive ship.”
Mentally, John winced. He’d been hoping Rodney hadn’t noticed his overreaction. But, really, someone getting shot was nearly always a cause for worry.
“Don’t worry, I found it endearing.”
“Yeah?” John sat down next to where Rodney was sitting on the infirmary bed.
“Yeah.” He slid a hand up Rodney’s side, feeling the warm skin under his shirt, and listened as Rodney’s breath quickened. “You know, I’m actually feeling a little faint. Probably from the blood loss, and all. Maybe I’d be best lying down.”
“Good idea,” agreed John, his hand on Rodney’s back as they sneaked out of the infirmary.
***
Saving everyone on Atlantis from imminent death by day and having hot, gay sex by night meant that time went very quickly. Before John knew it, it was late November and Rodney was covering his excitement by snapping in a harmless way at anyone who brought up the ceremony. It was the week before he was due to leave when he asked John to go with him.
John was lying in Rodney’s bed, feeling sated and sleepy. Rodney trotted out from the bathroom, still completely naked and looking flushed. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said, and John sat up.
“What is it?”
“Will you come with me? To Stockholm, when I get my Nobel. Next week.”
John frowned. “Really? You want me to come?”
“Yeah, I’d like it if… if you were there. Or else, I wouldn’t see you for a week, and I’d - I’d miss you.”
John suddenly felt kind of warm and fuzzy inside, although he’d thought that never actually happened in real life, and he’d never have admitted it in a thousand years. “I’d miss you too,” he said. It came out overly gruff and manly, but Rodney didn’t seem to notice.
“Do you think Woolsey would let us both go, though?” he asked.
“We’d have to come up with a really good reason. Like, I’m terrified I’ll be kidnapped and held for ransom in Sweden, and I need protection. And you can say you’ve been feeling tired and stressed and could do with a break. He should buy it.”
“We’ll do it tomorrow,” John told him. “Now, come to bed.”
Thankfully, Woolsey did buy it. All John had to do was look weary and pitiful while Rodney talked, and nod his head occasionally. Woolsey smiled and said, “It’s your Nobel prize, Rodney, you can take whomever you like,” which made John warm to him a little bit more.
“Told you it would work,” Rodney said quietly to him as they left the room. John grinned and squeezed his shoulder.
On the day they were due to leave, everyone congratulated Rodney again and wished him luck before they left for Earth. John stood to one side, trying not to look too much like the adoring wife, while Rodney smiled at everyone, trying not to look like an arrogant dick.
Teyla put her forehead against Rodney’s and said she was happy for him. She even brought down Torren to say goodbye, which led to Rodney awkwardly rocking the baby up and down for a few minutes while John smirked at him.
Ronon clapped Rodney on the back and said, “Have fun, McKay.”
As he came down the stairs, Woolsey straightened his jacket and opened his mouth. John hoped he wasn’t going to make a speech.
“Dr McKay,” he began. “I just want to tell you all our thoughts and best wishes are with you.”
Rodney looked flustered at all the attention. “Oh, um, thank you.”
“I hope you enjoy yourselves,” he said, looking at John.
“I’m sure we will,” John replied, and hoped his voice didn’t reflect his dirty, dirty thoughts. “Anyway, we’d best be going.”
Chuck dialled the gate.
***
They arrived at the SGC, where they were immediately taken into a room by an official-looking man and a woman both dressed in black, who repeated to Rodney several times the importance of discretion. They emphasised how, while the SGC was happy to encourage and fund Rodney’s research, the confidential manner of most of this information must be kept in mind. Rodney rolled his eyes and said, “Yes, yes, I won’t tell anyone about the lost city of Atlantis or the stargates or the aliens, is that all?”
John was let off with a threatening look, which he thought was a little unfair. Obviously, he posed less of a risk to the galaxy’s security than Rodney McKay did.
During the flight, Rodney briefed him on their itinerary. They were away for a week, during which Rodney was expected to give speeches about the nature of his work. This culminated in the highlight of the week, the awards ceremony, followed by the Nobel banquet. Rodney seemed particularly enthusiastic when talking about the banquet.
Rodney was grouchy and annoyed by the time they landed at Stockholm airport, and John couldn’t really blame him. It had taken a full day to finally arrive, what with all the security clearances at SGC and endless threats as to what, exactly, Rodney could say when acknowledging his prize. They had had to change flights three times from Colorado - “What,” Rodney had said, “They couldn’t charter a private jet for a Nobel laureate? We wouldn’t even have needed a pilot!” - and had arrived, jet-lagged and weary, to grey, drizzly rain.
John watched Rodney doze in the taxi on the way to the hotel while the taxi driver chattered on his cell phone in rapid Swedish. They were being put up in the most high-class hotel in the city; elegant balconies and columns decorated the exterior, all of which was promptly named “pretentious and ostentatious” by Rodney once he awoke.
The hotel had been booked by the SGC, which meant they were in separate rooms, but next door to each other. Rodney perked up once he saw the beds, which were huge, four-poster affairs, with drapes and soft mattresses and at least eight pillows. Rodney leapt onto it immediately.
“Oh my God, even my mattress back home is not as comfy as this. And it’s actually big enough for two people. Oh, we are going to have so much great sex on this bed.”
“Right now?” John said as he dumped their bags in the corner of the room. “Because I’m a little jet-lagged, myself.”
Rodney eyed him sharply. “I thought you were meant to be the fit, active, up-for-anything soldier. I’m the one who- “ He was cut off by a huge yawn. “Yeah, okay, maybe we should sleep.”
“Good,” John said, and crawled under the duvet. The next minute, he felt Rodney’s weight against his side, one arm slung comfortably over his stomach. He smiled sleepily, then fell asleep.
He was woken up by the sound of rapid typing. He sat up, yawned, and said, “Rodney, what are you doing?”
“Working on my speech,” came the answer. Rodney frowned, then backspaced furiously. “I keep forgetting I can’t talk about even a tenth of the work I’ve actually done
“Hey, do I get a mention?” John asked hopefully.
“This isn’t the Oscars.”
“You could say thank you to your escort for the evening, Colonel John Sheppard.”
“Yes, because ‘escort’ is not at all synonymous with ‘male prostitute’.”
John leered at him and stretched out languidly. “Well, in that case, you’d better get the most out of your money…”
Rodney rolled his eyes, but did at least close his laptop and come back to bed.
***
The next day was the start of Rodney’s lectures and key-note speeches. John went to every one, even though Rodney insisted he would be bored out of his mind, and wouldn’t he rather do some sight-seeing?
Although he would never have told Rodney, John enjoyed himself every time. Sure, most of the science went completely over his head, but he could sit for hours listening to Rodney passionately talk about his theories, watching the way his eyes lit up and his hands gestured for emphasis.
The halls in which he was speaking were completely full, every seat taken. There were people scribbling notes, trying to keep up with Rodney’s rapid explanations; people looking utterly confused; people - the vast majority of them - in awe, and staring at Rodney with admiration. John grinned at them, glad to see that there were those who fully appreciated Rodney’s genius.
Without fail, at the end of every speech, there was a stunned silence that lasted for a few seconds, before people rose to their feet and the deafening applause kicked in.
Sometimes, there were questions, which John always loved. Nothing quite beat the feeling when Rodney spluttered, then proceeded to ridicule and occasionally downright shout at the ignorant, brainless idiots who called themselves scientists (these last words were exactly what Rodney had said in the taxi home).
By the day of the awards ceremony, Rodney was looking exhilarated. John tried to hide his home-sickness, the way he felt on edge and restless after so many days without Atlantis. It was off-set somewhat by Rodney’s closeness, knowing he was here and safe, but it was only when back on Earth that he realised how much Atlantis was part of him, the way she responded to him and understood him. He missed his team.
Rodney guessed, anyway. He was pretty astute for someone lacking in social skills. “We’ll be home tomorrow,” he said, as they were getting dressed, “then you can relax.”
“Relax?” John said, a little defensively, “I’m relaxed. I’m as relaxed as can be.”
“Yeah, except your shoulders are getting tighter every day. The only time you look at ease is when I’m lecturing, or we’re having sex.” He made a noise of frustration. “Help me with this bowtie, will you? This stupid dress code, I feel like I'm living in Victorian England.”
John went to help him with it. “Sorry,” he said eventually, with a sigh.
“No, I get it. I feel it too. It’s like we don’t fit in here anymore.” Rodney’s mouth slanted in that half-amused, half-thoughtful way. “Actually, I don’t know if I ever fit in that well.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to be here.” John deftly tied the knot, before readjusting it. Wow, he was really bad at this whole supportive partner thing.
“I told you, I get it.” Rodney’s hands came up to hold his. “It’s okay.”
John bent forwards, leaning his forehead against Rodney’s until he could feel Rodney’s breath against his mouth. “I’m still glad you asked me to come. I’m … proud of you, you know?”
He felt Rodney’s breath catch. “Yeah,” he said, then tipped his head to kiss John.
John moved his hands to the back of Rodney’s neck, pulling him forward while he opened his mouth. He was just getting into it when Rodney pushed him away, gasping and laughing.
“Stop, stop, you’ll ruin my jacket. I am not spending God-knows-how-much on a new one because you can’t control your hormones, like some sort of teenager.”
John grinned. “Oh, now that you’re getting your Nobel, you think you’re too good for sex with me, or something?”
“Yes. From now on, I refuse to fuck anyone who isn’t a Nobel laureate.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll just have to win one.”
“Oh, for what, being bad-ass and wearing black?”
He pretended to look hurt. “Hey, I have talents.”
“Of course you do. Anyway, much as I’d like to stand here boosting your ego all day, we have an awards ceremony to get to, and I don’t think the Swedish royal family tolerate tardiness. And why aren’t you dressed yet?”
John pouted. “What, I can’t go like this?”
“In jeans? No, no you cannot.”
John put on his white tie and tails under the beady eye of Rodney, grumbling all the while, and stood up straight. “Happy?”
“Actually, yes.” Rodney looked appraisingly up and down. “You do clean up well.”
“I’m glad I have your approval, because I’m uncomfortable as hell.”
“You look very dashing, now, come on,” and he took John’s hand and dragged him out of the room.
Rodney absolutely refused to arrive in a limousine, so they took a taxi. The taxi driver raised his eyes when Rodney said, “Stockholm Concert Hall,” but drove them there without comment.
John was staring out of the window, watching the city go past. They hadn’t gotten to see much of the city while they’d been here. Sure, there’d been enough opportunities, but these mostly took a back-seat to the opportunity of having a shared hotel room, a double bed, and no one at all to care about what they were doing in it.
He saw Rodney swallow as they pulled up outside Stockholm Concert Hall. The building was huge, with columns stretching up into the sky.
“Hey,” John said. He found Rodney’s hand, and squeezed it. “This is it.”
Rodney seemed a little in shock as he stared at the hall. “I guess it is.”
“You OK?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He opened the door. “Let’s do this.”
John leant over and grabbed the back of Rodney’s neck, pulling him closer to kiss him brief and hard on the lips. He felt the tension in Rodney’s body drain away, relaxing as he put his cheek against John’s for a moment, before moving away.
“I’m ready,” he said once they were out of the taxi.
“Sure you are.”
***
John’s favourite part of the awards was when Rodney almost missed his cue to go up and get his prize because he was bitching about the physicist presenting it to John under his breath. The running commentary was something along the lines of, “Worked with him in Caltech… completely incompetent, his paper on M-theory was the fourth most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen published--” which was interrupted by applause and people turning to him expectantly. Rodney managed to smile graciously, at any rate.
He accepted his award with what was possibly the briefest speech in history, most likely because he didn’t actually thank anyone. He did, however, manage to refrain from telling everyone how brilliant he was; not that it was like they didn’t know. This was probably the only place where Rodney was surrounded by people who appreciated what a genius he was.
Rodney looked directly at John as he concluded his speech with, “And I hope that my work will be the foundation of a new wormhole theory, which may lead in turn to an exciting new era in astrophysics as we know it. Perhaps, even one day, we will be able to use such a theory to discover science as we have never seen it before.”
John thought about stargates, and Atlantis, and him and Rodney, and thought that, “science as we have never seen it before,” was the understatement of the century.