Fic: (Don't) Send in the Clowns by bluejbird
Title: (Don’t) Send in the Clowns
Author: bluejbird
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: I don’t own Stargate, Rodney, John, or circuses. I wish I did, especially the latter.
Summary: “You…on a trapeze?” Rodney asked weakly, trying to picture John in sparkly, tight Lycra costumes and wondering if he’d kept hold of any of them.
A/N: This was a result of a remark or two by minor_fifth, that somehow turned into a plot bunny that ate my brain and had to be written at 1am. Which, as we all know, is the ficcing hour. Kinda Crack!fic. Unbetaed.
Of all the reactions John could have given, this was not what Rodney had expected. He’d expected that goofy grin, maybe a roll of the eyes, that non-committal shrug that indicated he was excited but didn’t want to show it if no one else was going to. He expected a snarky comment about how lame Rodney was, or maybe an indulgent chuckle, or possibly a ‘Wow, Rodney, what a fun idea!’.
He hadn’t expected a look of pure horror, as if an army of Wraith were advancing, and John had found himself not only lacking his sidearm, but also lacking any clothing, and wearing a big sign proclaiming ‘All you can eat buffet’. It was an expression he’d seen only when John had woken from screaming nightmares, sweating and shaking and refusing to talk about it afterwards.
“Rodney,” John said, looking distinctively ill. “I c-can’t. I can’t go in…in that thing. Please. Please don’t make me.”
Normally Rodney would bitch and moan and insist John did as he was told. But seeing Sheppard freaking out was starting to make Rodney freak out. Still, he couldn’t help but ask.
“Why not?”
“T-the clowns,” John said, his eyes flashing with a mixture of rage and fear. “There’s fucking clowns in there. I-I can’t-“
Then he turned and sprinted back to the car.
Rodney stared up and the bright stripes of the circus tent, frowning, then hurried after John.
The colonel was sitting behind the steering wheel of the rented car, knuckles white as he clutched the wheel.
“I’m sorry,” he said, when Rodney slid into the passenger seat. “I…”
Rodney placed a hand on John’s shaking shoulder. “It’s okay. I just…what’s wrong? Why can’t you go in there?”
John took a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s…you can’t tell anyone about this, okay? I’ll never hear the end of it if any of my men found out.”
Rodney nodded. “Of course. And I’ll try not to tease you about it too much either.”
John glanced over and gave a small smile. “I ran away from home when I was a kid. My dad was…kinda strict. And you know how I am about following orders. So I worked hard, got my high school diploma early, and ran away from home. I made a bit of cash along the way doing chores and sweeping floors, but I was barely getting by. And then one day, the circus came to town. It seemed like a great way to escape. Adventure, excitement. So I went along, and somehow managed to convince the guy who ran it to hire me. I started off small, cleaning up after the animals and stuff. And then one day he caught me fooling around on the trapeze. I thought he was going to fire me for messing with dangerous things. But he offered me a job performing.”
“You…on a trapeze?” Rodney asked weakly, trying to picture John in sparkly, tight Lycra costumes and wondering if he’d kept hold of any of them.
“That’s how I discovered how much I loved to fly. It’s an amazing feeling, Rodney. Flying through the air, nothing but a couple of ropes and your own power keeping you from falling. We performed without nets, of course, death defying stunts that made the crowds gasp. We did tricks no one else was brave enough to try. And the crowds poured in to see us by the hundreds. We became famous, in our little corner of the world. I couldn’t imagine doing anything I’d love more,” he paused, grinning at Rodney, and looking a little more like his normal self. “But I was obviously wrong. It was an amazing time though. Two years, I swung through the air, hearing the oohs and aahs from the public below. But it was too good to last.”
He gripped the wheel again, closing his eyes briefly as if in pain. “Circus patrons are a fickle bunch,” he continued. “What’s amazing and daring one minute is forgotten the next for some cheap fad. For us, it all ended when they brought in the clowns.”
Rodney bit his lip, forcing his features into an appropriate caring expression, and gripped John’s shoulder tighter.
“It started with just one. And yeah, he was kinda funny. But the crowds thought he was hilarious and suddenly there were two, and then three, then more, and more. They just kept coming, tumbling out of Volkswagens and tripping over their too-big shoes. Our dressing room became full of bright, pasty face paint, miscellaneous red noses and novelty wigs. And they laughed at us, laughed at our glitter and sequins, laughed at our coordinating costumes. And then one of them…he had this-this flower in his buttonhole. And he asked me to smell it. And I did. And then,” John’s voice dropped to a hushed tone. “And then when I bent down it squirted water at me and…and it messed up my hair!”
“No!” Rodney said, sounding scandalised, “surely not!”
John narrowed his eyes. “You don’t understand what it was like! I started having nightmares about them. I could see them as we were performing, brightly coloured ants looking up and laughing, willing one of us to slip and fall. Then one day we were asked to train one of the clowns to perform with us, as a bit of light comedy. And that was the last straw. When you’re up there, high above everyone else, you have to be able to trust your team. You put your life in their hands every day, and take their lives into your own hands. Can you imagine what that’s like?”
“Yeah,” Rodney replied “I think I have a pretty good idea.”
John’s shoulders slumped, and he let go of the steering wheel, reaching up to clasp Rodney’s hand, still on his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I guess you do. But I…I couldn’t handle it. I walked. And the nightmares changed, changed to me on a trapeze, reaching out to be caught, and instead of one of my team members, there’s only a clown and as I reach for him, I know he’ll let me go. And he does, and I fall down, down, never hitting the ground, seeing nothing but his smiling face as I fall, and knowing there’s no one there to catch me.”
The half smile on Rodney’s face slipped off, replaced with frowning concern. “John, I didn’t know-“
“I never told anyone,” John cut him off. “I left the circus and signed up with the Air Force. But I can’t go back. I can’t go where there are clowns. I’m sorry. I know you planned this whole thing, and I appreciate it, really I do. But I can’t.”
“It’s okay,” Rodney said. “I have much more important things to do anyway. I just thought that with your love of Ferris wheels and popcorn and everything that you’d like it.”
John gave an apologetic shrug. “We could do something else. I bet there’s a football game on somewhere.”
Rodney shook his head. “No! I can’t. Did I ever tell you about the time, between my second and third PhD, when I ran off to join the NFL and- ow!” he finished, rubbing his arm where John had whacked him.
“Very funny,” John glared, but he was smiling and the freak out seemed to be over, so Rodney figured he could stop freaking out, and possibly even sit through a football game, if it would make John look completely normal again. But only if there were hotdogs. He told John this and they headed off in search of mindless American fun, leaving the Big Top behind in their dust.
The End.
Author: bluejbird
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: I don’t own Stargate, Rodney, John, or circuses. I wish I did, especially the latter.
Summary: “You…on a trapeze?” Rodney asked weakly, trying to picture John in sparkly, tight Lycra costumes and wondering if he’d kept hold of any of them.
A/N: This was a result of a remark or two by minor_fifth, that somehow turned into a plot bunny that ate my brain and had to be written at 1am. Which, as we all know, is the ficcing hour. Kinda Crack!fic. Unbetaed.
Of all the reactions John could have given, this was not what Rodney had expected. He’d expected that goofy grin, maybe a roll of the eyes, that non-committal shrug that indicated he was excited but didn’t want to show it if no one else was going to. He expected a snarky comment about how lame Rodney was, or maybe an indulgent chuckle, or possibly a ‘Wow, Rodney, what a fun idea!’.
He hadn’t expected a look of pure horror, as if an army of Wraith were advancing, and John had found himself not only lacking his sidearm, but also lacking any clothing, and wearing a big sign proclaiming ‘All you can eat buffet’. It was an expression he’d seen only when John had woken from screaming nightmares, sweating and shaking and refusing to talk about it afterwards.
“Rodney,” John said, looking distinctively ill. “I c-can’t. I can’t go in…in that thing. Please. Please don’t make me.”
Normally Rodney would bitch and moan and insist John did as he was told. But seeing Sheppard freaking out was starting to make Rodney freak out. Still, he couldn’t help but ask.
“Why not?”
“T-the clowns,” John said, his eyes flashing with a mixture of rage and fear. “There’s fucking clowns in there. I-I can’t-“
Then he turned and sprinted back to the car.
Rodney stared up and the bright stripes of the circus tent, frowning, then hurried after John.
The colonel was sitting behind the steering wheel of the rented car, knuckles white as he clutched the wheel.
“I’m sorry,” he said, when Rodney slid into the passenger seat. “I…”
Rodney placed a hand on John’s shaking shoulder. “It’s okay. I just…what’s wrong? Why can’t you go in there?”
John took a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s…you can’t tell anyone about this, okay? I’ll never hear the end of it if any of my men found out.”
Rodney nodded. “Of course. And I’ll try not to tease you about it too much either.”
John glanced over and gave a small smile. “I ran away from home when I was a kid. My dad was…kinda strict. And you know how I am about following orders. So I worked hard, got my high school diploma early, and ran away from home. I made a bit of cash along the way doing chores and sweeping floors, but I was barely getting by. And then one day, the circus came to town. It seemed like a great way to escape. Adventure, excitement. So I went along, and somehow managed to convince the guy who ran it to hire me. I started off small, cleaning up after the animals and stuff. And then one day he caught me fooling around on the trapeze. I thought he was going to fire me for messing with dangerous things. But he offered me a job performing.”
“You…on a trapeze?” Rodney asked weakly, trying to picture John in sparkly, tight Lycra costumes and wondering if he’d kept hold of any of them.
“That’s how I discovered how much I loved to fly. It’s an amazing feeling, Rodney. Flying through the air, nothing but a couple of ropes and your own power keeping you from falling. We performed without nets, of course, death defying stunts that made the crowds gasp. We did tricks no one else was brave enough to try. And the crowds poured in to see us by the hundreds. We became famous, in our little corner of the world. I couldn’t imagine doing anything I’d love more,” he paused, grinning at Rodney, and looking a little more like his normal self. “But I was obviously wrong. It was an amazing time though. Two years, I swung through the air, hearing the oohs and aahs from the public below. But it was too good to last.”
He gripped the wheel again, closing his eyes briefly as if in pain. “Circus patrons are a fickle bunch,” he continued. “What’s amazing and daring one minute is forgotten the next for some cheap fad. For us, it all ended when they brought in the clowns.”
Rodney bit his lip, forcing his features into an appropriate caring expression, and gripped John’s shoulder tighter.
“It started with just one. And yeah, he was kinda funny. But the crowds thought he was hilarious and suddenly there were two, and then three, then more, and more. They just kept coming, tumbling out of Volkswagens and tripping over their too-big shoes. Our dressing room became full of bright, pasty face paint, miscellaneous red noses and novelty wigs. And they laughed at us, laughed at our glitter and sequins, laughed at our coordinating costumes. And then one of them…he had this-this flower in his buttonhole. And he asked me to smell it. And I did. And then,” John’s voice dropped to a hushed tone. “And then when I bent down it squirted water at me and…and it messed up my hair!”
“No!” Rodney said, sounding scandalised, “surely not!”
John narrowed his eyes. “You don’t understand what it was like! I started having nightmares about them. I could see them as we were performing, brightly coloured ants looking up and laughing, willing one of us to slip and fall. Then one day we were asked to train one of the clowns to perform with us, as a bit of light comedy. And that was the last straw. When you’re up there, high above everyone else, you have to be able to trust your team. You put your life in their hands every day, and take their lives into your own hands. Can you imagine what that’s like?”
“Yeah,” Rodney replied “I think I have a pretty good idea.”
John’s shoulders slumped, and he let go of the steering wheel, reaching up to clasp Rodney’s hand, still on his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I guess you do. But I…I couldn’t handle it. I walked. And the nightmares changed, changed to me on a trapeze, reaching out to be caught, and instead of one of my team members, there’s only a clown and as I reach for him, I know he’ll let me go. And he does, and I fall down, down, never hitting the ground, seeing nothing but his smiling face as I fall, and knowing there’s no one there to catch me.”
The half smile on Rodney’s face slipped off, replaced with frowning concern. “John, I didn’t know-“
“I never told anyone,” John cut him off. “I left the circus and signed up with the Air Force. But I can’t go back. I can’t go where there are clowns. I’m sorry. I know you planned this whole thing, and I appreciate it, really I do. But I can’t.”
“It’s okay,” Rodney said. “I have much more important things to do anyway. I just thought that with your love of Ferris wheels and popcorn and everything that you’d like it.”
John gave an apologetic shrug. “We could do something else. I bet there’s a football game on somewhere.”
Rodney shook his head. “No! I can’t. Did I ever tell you about the time, between my second and third PhD, when I ran off to join the NFL and- ow!” he finished, rubbing his arm where John had whacked him.
“Very funny,” John glared, but he was smiling and the freak out seemed to be over, so Rodney figured he could stop freaking out, and possibly even sit through a football game, if it would make John look completely normal again. But only if there were hotdogs. He told John this and they headed off in search of mindless American fun, leaving the Big Top behind in their dust.
The End.