TEAM AWAY: Quid pro quo, "A Moment's Consideration"
Title: A Moment's Consideration
Author: monanotlisa
Team: Away
Prompt: Quid pro quo
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard (other pairings in past & background)
Rating: R
Warnings: none given
Summary: The road taken.
Author's Notes: My most profuse thanks to four ladies without whom -- no hyperbole -- the story wouldn't exist like this: busaikko, who was there for me when I needed her and made both brilliant and extensive suggestions, smittywing without whom the plot wouldn't hold water (or any other liquid for that matter: holes, people), auburnnothenna whose kick-assedness needn't be mentioned, except that it totally does, and so-spiffed, an artist and kind soul who took pity on me (and also care of some phrases). They rock; remaining mistakes or structural problems are mine, all mine.
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**
::
John is flying, and he hates every minute of it.
Passenger planes, whether civilian or military, have never sat well with John. Not just because John didn't sit well in them; it was enough not to be in the pilot's seat.
Now, of course, there's the letter in his hand.
Colonel Sumner delivered it personally, as awkward in giving his condolences as John was accepting them. They took refuge in military formality: Major, I regret to inform you, and a litany of yes, sirs and no, sirs.
The words are blurry when he tries to re-read the letter now, but he remembers them, along with the sensation he'd had while reading. Talk about free-falling, your stomach dropping out, pulling too many Gs. Any old metaphor will fit.
Or did fit. Right now, John feels very little except for hating the flight. It's not the calm after the storm that he felt when he first came to McMurdo, to the end of the world. He knew what to expect, then: nothing.
Now, leaving the station, he returns to everything.
::
Rodney's hand is almost on the handle of his office door when he - well, he actually hears them long before he spots them. Laura Cadman has the dirtiest giggle outside the Castro, and Ronon Dex's rumbling laugh is rumoured to scare opposing counsel into silence and make juries smile like the - slightly theoretical - sun over the Golden Gate Bridge.
All in the same trial.
Clutching his file not at all like a shield, Rodney turns to see Cadman and Ronon by the water cooler two doors down the hallway. "Don't you two have anything better to do? Wait, silly me, of course you don't; you're in the torts department. Clearly, you're in the midst of a new and in-depth deliberation on the concept of slander."
"Aw, Rodney." She may be only a Junior Associate fresh out of law school, but Cadman's nothing at all like her peers, who tend to be wide-eyed and can often be found huddling in the dark corners of the law firm's library. No. Laura Cadman is completely fearless, wears that most infuriating smirk in the world (and, Rodney not so secretly supposes, all other worlds as well). "I thought you didn't do torts - didn't practice them as a field of law, I mean."
Rodney can't cross his arms because he has a somewhat cumbersome file in his hands, so he settles for a huff. "Since when does an attorney need to practice tort law to know what it is? Wrongful acts, other than breaches of contract by one person against another or his or her property, for which civil action can be brought and damages claimed. It cannot possibly get any simpler than that."
"Down with defamation, too, I see."
Cadman - she actually waggles her eyebrows at him. Since that time the two of them got stuck in the elevator together overnight and well into the next day, she can't be dissuaded from her belief they share some sort of bond. Yes, yes, Rodney told her a few personal things, and her attitude hadn't been entirely without merit when he thought he was about to suffocate, but still.
"Right, the genius that built up this firm - now it's a civil wrong recognized as grounds for a lawsuit? My legal skills made it possible for outclassed novices like you to pay your bills and wear your tiny, respectively over-sized suits." An eye-roll is the least Rodney can do.
"It's not your legal skills." Ronon eyes him with the usual keen amusement that makes Rodney feel simultaneously too small or too large for his skin. It doesn't help that Ronon is draped over the reservoir of the cooler in a way that's most likely illegal in four Southern States. "Tort's in your personality."
Oh, please, that one's almost too easy. "That would be my winning personality, you mean? Accounting for me not having a lost a case since the eighties?"
"If you don't count the Teal C. proceedings, you mean." Elizabeth, always one for proper hydration, rounds the corner just in time for that little aside.
For some reason and unlike Rodney, Elizabeth doesn't believe in mental sparring matches with the Associates. Instead, she believes in things like polite and friendly work environments and computer systems free of complex simulation games. There's a reason she's the Partner responsible for all administrative matters at the highest level. That said, Rodney realises fully well that she's also an authority in everything pertaining to international law, public and private.
She is not, however, the best contract lawyer on Earth - he is. "Elizabeth, we've gone over this: It wasn't even possible in 48 hours. No one knows contracts better than I do, and for the record, if anyone did? She also wouldn't have cracked that case."
Thankfully, neither Cadman nor Ronon - who have fallen respectfully silent upon Elizabeth's arrival - nor Elizabeth herself use that opportunity to compose another ode on Samantha Carter, who does absolutely everything civil law and is currently Head Partner in the East Coast offices. She probably builds orphanages in her copious free time between midnight and 2am.
All of which Rodney could easily overlook if she weren't the most attractive woman he's ever met. And, possibly, if she didn't turn down his advances every single time.
Thank God for the really most-attractive men of this city.
As soon as he has some free time again, Rodney will get around to having a meaningless yet sexually satisfying fling with a pretty boy.
As soon as he has some free time again.
::
"Major Sheppard!"
John's heard about the American lawyer who's been wanting to talk to him. The New Zealand airbase isn't that big in the first place, at least not for a soldier on transit back to the States. Until now, John's managed to practice tactical avoidance, but he's been spotted and forces himself to halt and wait, cursing mentally.
Usually, John does have better reflexes. But given the current situation, he can't muster the energy to dodge this guy.
Who stops about two feet from him and makes a stiff little half-bow. "Very pleased to finally meet you, Major Sheppard. I'm Niam from Assurance Inc."
"Niam..?" John waits for more, but the guy just smiles and nods. "Sorry, pal, missed your last name there?" Or maybe it's his first.
"You didn't." A beatific smile. "I'm here for Assurance Inc. Consider me the face of the company."
John flips the proffered business card, and true enough: Assurance Inc. in angular letters, with the name "Niam" in fairly small print towards the bottom half of the card.
"Might I talk to you about a business matter of extreme importance?" Niam sounds imploring and earnest.
John wants to say no, he mightn't. He may be on bereavement leave, but he's not home yet; he can't possibly deal with matters of the estate at this point. He isn't sure how this guy got here, got to him, in the first place. But then again, it doesn't look like he'll go away on his own. And John's flight isn't leaving till the next morning. So, what the hell.
"I guess."
Over coffee in the mess, John learns that the guy has come all the way to the Southern Hemisphere for John, in need of his, John's, assistance on Assurance Inc.'s latest mission for growth and progress.
"...what do you do, again?"
"We deal in power."
Figures.
"And we need you to help us with just a moment of your time, Major Sheppard." Niam's blandly benign expression never disappears, and his voice never wavers while he explains that there is a last but necessary step in their current acquisition procedures, that this cannot wait until their return to the US.
John doesn't give a damn about the power supply company Niam works for, seems to fucking exist for, and he doesn't give a damn about any "declarations of intent" his father and brother gave them about selling a few stocks. John's barely glanced at the papers held out so politely, and the way Niam offers his sleek silver pen to him is annoying as hell.
Also, while John isn't exactly a stickler for formality, the fact that the guy refuses to even give out? Is kind of creepy, no matter how often he smiles that vague smile, uttering some sound byte about "corporate identity" and "being one with Assurance Inc."
Still, whatever that pre-contract is, it can as well be turned into a real contract now, for all he cares.
John's got bigger worries than some lawyerly deal.
Much as he's been...not waiting for, but at least not entirely discounting his father's death, he never expected a double funeral. Dave, too, is dead, which makes John the last of the Sheppards. It'd be funny if it weren't so sad. The prodigal son with a twist: John is coming home, only that the other two men of the tale are dead.
::
Rodney can't even hear the - admittedly gentle - pop of the champagne cork over the commotion from the spectators.
He's all for celebration, as long as said celebration involves his person and his achievements, which this one does. He also likes being on television - although in retrospect, he could have polished that Harvard Speech on Leadership a little more - and oh, TV is definitely present here.
Still, as soon as the camera pans away from his face and instead focuses on the CEO and the Vice President's wider-than-wide grins, Rodney steps off the podium with barely another glance. He's done his part and then some, secured coverage of his brilliance in the transaction, but the focus of the press is back on the implications of the biggest company merger of the year, the one that will change the utilities sector in this country forever, etcetera etcetera.
Rodney doesn't need to hear about the great shifts in markets, about the changes and the new player in the game that has put the near-monopoly of W.R.TecH. under pressure. He's written some of the contracts involved himself.
"Not basking, Rodney? This is not like you." It's a testament to Radek's character that under the gently accented sarcasm, there's a decent dose of honest care for Rodney's well-being. Radek Zelenka might have been originally a Partner in the Prague office, but as far as Rodney's concerned, he's on permanent loan to San Francisco. Radek has a knack for finding flaws in drafts and the finished contract that no one else can see, and what's more, he can fix them. He's not up to Rodney's level of expertise, of course, but then, who is?
Question completely rhetoric.
"I'm just basking without much of an audience...and can, off the top of my head, think of a million better ways to spend my precious time."
"By, say, starting on the next case?" Radek pushes his glasses up his nose, and his smile lies halfway between fondness and resignation. "Still plenty of time for that when you get back to the office at 11:30pm."
"Yes, yes, mock my efforts to keep the firm afloat in the turbulent streams of time - you'll thank me in the next recession. You certainly should." Rodney checks his own watch; definitely enough time to bill a few more hours. In theory, not legal practice, though. "For now, I'll actually call it a day."
Radek eyes him. "Why do I feel that even though you say that, it's not because you heed Elizabeth's and my advice to take it easy once in a while?"
Entirely too perceptive, entirely too true. Rodney puts his champagne glass down on a table they pass on the way out and struggles to get into his coat. "Because there actually is no new case on my desk, yes, thank you -" Radek has, with a long-suffering sigh, taken the briefcase out of his hand, "small files, of course, everyday-week-month matters, but nothing that could even remotely constitute a challenge."
Radek hands him back the briefcase, already distracted by the gentle ping of his Blackberry, already starting to read and type an answer. But he, too, can multi-task; it's one reason Rodney has real respect for him. "So, you're basically ready to acquire another contract issue?"
Hah, not likely. "Acquisition is for East Coast brown-nosers. I'll let the client come to me; after today's deal is broadcast? Not a problem?"
"How very Mohammed of you."
"Huh, considering the mountains of paperwork most likely involved…."
::
Whatever John expected, the woman meeting him in the lobby of the Sheppard Gas Company doesn't fit the bill. Small and lithe with a shock of fine black curls, she looks more like a yoga instructor than the head of the board of directors' in his father's and brother's business. But once she stands right in front of him, John knows without a doubt that yeah, she's the one who's kept everything together ever since the crash. Impossible to miss the aura of command about her, steady and sure.
He shakes her hand, feeling like a school-boy by comparison. "Hey. I'm John Sheppard."
"I gathered as much, yes. Welcome to the SGC, John. I'm really sorry for your loss." The smile on her face is kind, as if she genuinely cared. "Teyla Emmagan."
He gives her the ghost of a charming smile "Yeah, thank you. Nice to meet you, Teyla Emmagan." He lets the name roll off his tongue, testing it.
She notices. Of course. There's not a whole lot she doesn't notice, he'd bet. "Just Teyla, for you. You'd like to ask where my name comes from, John?"
"No!" He thinks for a moment. The offer sounded genuine and friendly. John thinks she must've deliberately chosen a topic of conversation far removed from the more serious talks they'll have to have. "Maybe?"
"Old Cornish name, from 'agan,' to own or possess, 'más,' which means virtuous, and finally Teyla from 'týlu,' meaning family. I'm basically a family of my own, full of virtue."
John says just what he feels. "Wow."
"Quite." Her mouth is still in a serene curve, but the skin around her eyes crinkles. "My mother had what you could call a deep and abiding love for her regional heritage."
"And your father?"
"Had a deep and abiding love for my mother. Of course, they both passed away a long time ago." Teyla closes her eyes for a second, her voice softened. "I remember everybody knowing so very well what was best for me, how to grieve - and how not to. I won't be giving you any advice, let alone judge your choices when it comes to your personal life, John."
He's just about to mumble a reply to that when she looks him straight in the eye again. "I will, however, tell you in no uncertain terms what I think you should do regarding the company. There are more fates than just yours involved, after all."
It's a lot to take in, but, "Okay."
Because suddenly, John thinks it might just be, in the end.
"Shall we head to the managers' offices?" Teyla's smile confirms his feelings. When she starts walking up the steel stairs, motioning for John to follow her, he dutifully does just that. "There are many things to talk about regarding the future of the company. You won't be familiar with any of its current issues, I assume."
John falls into step next to her, a little glad to be able to contribute something on-topic. "Except for the Assurance deal. I kind of took care of that on the way."
Teyla stops abruptly enough for John to almost stumble. "You took care of what?" No, that's not relief on Teyla's face, not even close. "You made a deal with Assurance Inc.?"
"Yeah?"
"Oh, John." Her stricken expression gives John the gist of what comes next. "They are an abomination - a huge corporation out of Delaware that take over local and regional utilities companies like your father's and your brother's business. They assimilate them into the mother company - fire everybody, hire only their own employees. Hundreds and hundreds of lives depend on this, often people your family knew for decades."
That's - okay. It sucks, both these fuckers' strategy and his actions. "Teyla, I read all the papers before they signed; they were only buying a fraction of the stock - less than fifty percent."
"John. They didn't have to. They already own half of the shares. We used to have them under control, or rather: were able to withhold control from them. Now they can take over completely."
Like hell they will. Over John's cold, dead body. "So let's stop them!"
Teyla's smile at that has teeth, and it dawns on John that he really fucked this one up. All he had been thinking of, until now, was his past, some company that belonged to a life where he felt he didn't belong. For the first time, he thought he could just finish what his father and brother had started: what they'd wanted.
Too little, too late.
And yet, John isn't willing to give up. "C'mon, Teyla; you're the head of the board of directors - there must be something we can do!"
Teyla purses her lips thoughtfully and gives him a level stare. "There is nothing we can do, John, trust me."
Okay, these words make no sense, because Teyla is actually looking a bit hopeful there. "But?"
"I said, nothing we can do."
::
Rodney distinctly remembers telling Chuck to keep everybody out. He even remembers clarifying that yes, that absolutely included filthy-rich new clients, messengers announcing lottery wins, and Samantha Carter on a silver platter in a gold bikini.
The guy leaning in - or rather, against - the doorframe doesn't look like he belongs in any of these categories.
Tousle-haired, he is wearing a charcoal Hugo Boss suit that brings out the hazel in his eyes, the outfit completed tastefully by a handkerchief in matching shades of grey, but the suit itself doesn't fit very well. It looks as if it belonged to a friend. None too young, he's still good-looking enough to announce lottery wins for a living. And obviously, there's no gold bikini in sight, although Rodney is suddenly and seriously seized by the desire to see him wearing one.
Or even less, of course.
"The modelling agency is five floors down." Contrary to popular opinion, Rodney can be civil, in the non-legal sense. This just isn't one of those times.
The guy grins, however, as if vaguely amused. Rodney re-adjusts his attitude because okay, wow. Lips.
"Fine, fine: Hello, you've reached the office of Rodney McKay, can I help you?"
"John Sheppard. And yeah, you can help me. Or so I'm told."
"Told by the little men in your boob tube?"
Again, no confusion; instead, Sheppard's mouth quirks upwards as if Rodney had just told him a particularly pleasant joke. "By Teyla. Teyla Emmagan."
That explains why Sheppard passed through The Iris - the front lobby - where Chuck reigns supreme. Not to mention why he's unfazed by the full Rodney McKay experience: He's been warned in advance by an expert. Rodney's a little disappointed and a lot intrigued. Who is this John Sheppard: an old friend of hers? New boyfriend? Teyla always did have a soft spot for pretty boys. Rodney knows this from experience and is still deeply grateful for that fact, although he wouldn't confess to it even under torture.
"Well, I'm hoping she gave out nothing more than this recommendation." Rodney regrets his words as soon as they're out.
"What else would she have shared?" Sheppard's lazy drawl doesn't mask the curiosity Rodney knows must be behind it.
"Ancient history," Rodney grumbles, but frankly, he's torn: If John Sheppard is just a friend, there's no harm in sharing. "Which you probably have no right to know in the first place."
"Hey, hey, McKay." Sheppard raises these two terrifically expressive eyebrows of his. "I got back to the US yesterday and that's when I met Teyla for the first time." He looks down, but it's too calculated a move to be anything but a feint. "Wouldn't have thought you two had a history, though."
Oh, for - no way Rodney's going to respond to that. It's cheap, a silly, outdated game of masculinity. He's not going to say - "So you thought wrong, didn't think of the oldest story in the book: Boy in law school meets girl in business school with a minor in law, girl in business school gets boy in law school, boy in law school loses girl in business school."
"Sounds tragic."
"Oh, it was; she once mentioned my hubris brought about the downfall of our relationship." Rodney frowns. "She could have been joking; it was hard to tell sometimes."
"Hubris? I would never have thought." Sheppard says, and it's too serious to be anything but mockery. His smile is warm, though.
To his great surprise, Rodney finds himself smiling back. "That was my first impression of you, too, but I'm re-assessing the evidence. But enough of banter; I just finished a case and can offer you a seat. So sit down and tell me what happened."
Sheppard does, lets himself fall into the chair across from Rodney. When he starts to speak again, his whole posture changes into an uneasy, tense slump. "Basically? I have a problem because I signed a contract."
Rodney grabs for a sheet of paper with one hand and a ballpoint pen with the other. "Then you've come to the right place. Shoot, Sheppard."
::
John can't tell whether it's the dazed look he must be sporting, or the fact that he leaves empty-handed, having had the copies of the contracts taken out of his hands, but the tall - whoa, seriously tall - lawyer by the water cooler looks up and gives John a sympathetic grin.
"You all right?"
He's - actually, John thinks he is, now. Teyla's recommendation made sense, of course. But John didn't fully believe he could or even should see a lawyer, pretty much until Rodney looked at him. And until he took a look at Rodney.
"I'm fine. Just feeling a lot like I had a close encounter of the first kind."
"McKay has that effect on people." A fluid line of movement, away from the wall, towards John. "Ronon Dex, Junior Associate."
John shakes the hand offered. "John Sheppard. So, you've worked with Rodney McKay for a bit already?"
The immediate answer is a raised eyebrow. "No one works with Rodney McKay. Some work for him."
If this is a typical law firm, John's had the wrong idea about lawyers all along. He doubts it, although his own personal experience probably colors his judgement. "Let me guess, you don't."
"True." Dex jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Different department. I work torts."
Torts. John squints at him. "Assault, battery, that sort of thing?"
"Nah. Had enough of aggression and intentional harm for a lifetime. Negligence and strict liability - think products that are defective, where it's not about fault but that people got hurt." Dex looks at him with new interest. "Familiar with law?"
"Not really, not like you." John's run-in with the Uniform Code of Military Justice after the Afghanistan clusterfuck hardly means he knows law, let alone the civilian kind. "I'm in the Air Force."
"A flyboy. Wouldn't have thought." Dex throws him another look that's both mocking and respectful. "Came here via JAG."
Now that explains the enough-harm-for-a-lifetime bit, and also the body. Soldiers tend to keep in shape - force of habit. "Aren't you a little young for that?"
At that, Dex runs a hand through hair that's short but not regulation-short. Good choice. John doesn't get why some guys keep the buzz cut.
"Nope. Joined the Army at seventeen, got wounded in -" he hesitates, and for a moment, he looks even younger than his age. "- battle. Had to look for something new."
"And you chose law school?" It's not that strange a concept where John comes from, both his home and the Air Force. It's just not something John himself would've considered.
"Was an office manager at JAG. Realized that anything they could do, I could do better." Dex's grin is wolfish, and John thinks screw his youth; he doesn't want to sit on the bench opposite of Ronon Dex in court. "So I went to law school, and here I am."
Which seems to work for him, so hey. "Cool."
::
Without a hitch in his writing Rodney peers at the display and presses the phone's loudspeaker button. "How important is it?"
"You tell me, Rodney." He can hear the wry smile in Elizabeth's voice. "I'm getting back to you about your questions. Also? Good morning."
"Yes, yes, good morning, better day, best evening ever to you. What did your spies in D.C. tell you?" He's wide awake. Not that he wasn't before, thanks to three cups of his special Peet blend...but there's something about research results that trumps even the caffeine in his dark roast coffee.
"I did ask Stephen -"
"Caldwell's still in Washington? I thought he'd wanted to, you know, rise up and soar like eagles?"
"Rodney."
"Sorry, carry on."
"The long story is - too long for the hours we can bill; the short version is that Assurance Inc. constitutes the new power in the energy sector, targeting utilities companies all over the nation, leaving a trail of destruction."
Huh. Elizabeth isn't prone to dramatics, usually. "Well, Mergers and Acquisition of companies? A tough business."
"Not tough like this." She hesitates, which is unlike Elizabeth. "I rung up Richard as well, and listened to his current pursuits for fifty-three minutes."
A new record, Rodney notes absently; no one has ever managed to get information out of Woolsey in under an hour. It can't be that the guy is actually busy. As far as Rodney's concerned, the International Oversight Committee is just what it says on the label: an oversight, an government institution not provided with enough work. "And in minute fifty-four?"
"Richard mentioned that this isn't just about employees fired at will, about companies broken down into component parts easily discarded. There have been suspicious events."
"Define suspicious."
"You have your own Merriam-Webster, Rodney; you don't need me." She doesn't sound unkind, but she moves on immediately. "He mentioned fires in generator rooms of the target companies. Water leaks in the documentation centers. CEOs in their early forties suddenly dying from heart attacks. Then, Assurance Inc. moves in. I think the idiom Richard used was, 'ripe for the picking,' and Rodney?"
"Yes?"
"I never wanted hear words like these from his mouth."
Rodney winces in sympathy. "Okay, I see you what you mean."
"I knew you would." A thoughtful pause, but Elizabeth never wastes time, not her own and not that of other people. Rodney loves her for it. "So why did your John Sheppard sign the contract with Assurance? Extortion or fraud?"
"Try 'dumbness.'"
"Don't put that in your memo, please."
"Come on, it's not as if I were unprofessional 24/7." Not that Rodney didn't think about making just such a note for about a hundredth-second. "In actuality, he isn't half as dumb as he pretends to be. There was both pressure and trickery involved, and he was grieving, although hmm, I don't think he quite realized that. In any case, it'll be hard to prove that this wasn't still within the boundaries of a legitimate transaction."
"Rodney, I'm confident you can get him out of this obligation."
"So am I."
John Sheppard also seems to have confidence in Rodney, and surprisingly enough, that's the biggest incentive Rodney's had in a while.
::
John makes his way through the large, round doors in their peculiar blue, past the lobby with the friendly but firm Canadian receptionist, past an open door that he can't resist peeking inside. He sees a strawberry-blond lawyer bent over file folders with a look of concentration as intense as if she were defusing a bomb.
Maybe it's not so different from war, legal work. John will have to ask Ronon Dex at some point.
He lifts his hand to knock on Rodney's door, then thinks better of it. The last time he rapped his knuckles on Rodney's door - wood that's thick and dark but, John would bet, rain-forest safe - there was no reaction, McKay being too deeply entrenched in his papers.
John walks in and, just as expected, Rodney doesn't even look up from the file in front of him. Of course his desk doesn't face the door directly but is aligned perpendicular to it, allowing the light from the large glass windows to stream in from Rodney's left and the front. Well-placed corner offices have their perks, John thinks.
Compared to the relative tidiness of parts of the office when John first visited, it now looks if a paper hurricane has it. That said, it's true what Dex told him: That Rodney never has more than one file open on his desk, as a form of discipline. The result is that all the other files, memos, and important documents are piled haphazardly over the chairs, the bookshelves, and on the sill of a window that John hopes is sealed shut.
It only makes sense to hover, to study Rodney for a moment. It's not like he leaves John a lot of room for quiet contemplation once the conversation has started. John has always considered himself a bright guy, but following McKay's fast yet long trains of thought is a challenge. It doesn't surprise him that others find Rodney intimidating, but if John had to pinpoint his own impression he'd settle for, well, impressed.
There's understanding and some serious passion beneath the impatient façade. John likes that, has always been able to empathise with people like that. He chose wings a long time ago and left everything else behind; somehow, he's pretty sure Rodney did the same with law. For law.
He'd be surprised if Rodney had a family or, as the first step, a wife, and whoa, where did that came from? John isn't really that curious about Rodney McKay, is he? He's here on business; time to get his head out of the clouds.
"Heya." He takes the last few steps separating him from Rodney's desk and, when Rodney finally does look up, gives him a nod of greeting. Rodney isn't into handshakes and polite phrases. It's a relief, after having been Stateside for a few days now, where pretty much everybody John meets is into that. Even Teyla, who's warm-hearted inside, cherishes these outside rituals.
"Oh, hi, Sheppard. Sit down."
It's a nice offer, even more so coming from McKay, but John takes one look at the two chairs and the stacks of files on their seats and knows it's not going to happen. Unless -
"C'mon, don't stand around like you're casing the place." Rodney absently pats the edge of his desk, and for a really bizarre moment, John thinks that's where he wants him to sit.
Actually. What the hell. Right?
John ambles over and hops onto the desk, the only remaining empty horizontal surface in the room after all, immensely gratified to see Rodney's eyes open wide to look him up and down. It really shouldn't be so much fun to see Rodney a little off-balance. "What've you got for me, McKay?"
"Ah, hmm." Rodney glances away from John, at his papers full of scribbled handwriting. Up close and personal, he has really long eyelashes.
"This contract seals your company's fate, Sheppard."
Way to kill the mood he didn't even know existed a second ago. John sighs and leans forward. "I knew that one, Rodney."
A sharp look, and despite the slight color in Rodney's cheeks, he's back to old form. "What I meant, Major Smartypants, is that the contract in and by itself looks flawless, that's the problem."
Great. "There's no loophole? Aren't you lawyers trained to find them?"
"Hah. If lawyers were dogs, I'd be the world-prize-winning Doberman-mastiff mix that makes all other dogs flee with their tails between their legs." Rodney looks both cranky and proud.
If the situation weren't what it is, John would laugh. "But?"
"I have no idea how Assurance managed to replicate the Universal Contract Reform Draft that so far only exists in my head, the future measure to measure all contracts by - incorporating jurisprudence and all court decisions, yadda yadda law - but they did."
"How about unfair price, no equity, lack of proper consideration?"
"Looked all that up, didn't you?" Rodney's eyebrows rise, but John doesn't miss the note of respect in his voice.
"Had in-house counsel explain a few things."
"Yes, well, the lawyers in your father's and brother's company were the ones who drafted the Declaration of Intent in the first place, so frankly I wouldn't trust them with legal action against a parking ticket. But back to your question: No, Assurance offered a price in exchange for the shares that's actually more than fair. It's a good deal - if you only look at the monetary balance."
Just, everything beyond makes this the agreement from hell. The first business contract John has signed in his life, and it seems it will also be his last.
"Don't tell me we're doomed, McKay."
Because there has to be a way out. Has to.
"Well." Rodney tips his head back and gives John another one of these intense stares that John can feel down to his toes. "To put it in something other than Legalese, there are still the circumstances of the formation of this contract left: If we can find and, most of all, prove foul play on Assurance's part, then everything falls into place."
Wait a second. "Foul play?" John feels a slow but hot spark of anger. It tends to burn cold, controlled, but the thought that -
"Your father and brother, maybe their deaths weren't just a lucky coincidence." Jesus. John chokes, and Rodney flinches, hastily adding, "I meant, from Assurance's point of view! The D.C. grapevine tells me there have been other incidents. Deaths that had to be wrongful. I'm sorry to ask this," and he actually looks as if he does, which lets John simmer down a little again, "but what exactly happened? You said it was an accident?"
"Yeah." There's a low roaring sound in his ears, but John keeps talking. "It was a helicopter crash - they were flying westwards, from the estate in Virginia, and were almost at their destination."
"Which was?"
"A power plant near Cheyenne Mountain, in hilly terrain. They wanted to. . .doesn't matter now." John isn't looking at Rodney, but out of the corner of his eye, he can see Rodney reach out as if to touch him, offer some comfort - and draw his arm back again quickly. "So what do you propose, Rodney?"
"I think," Rodney says quietly, and the expression in his eyes is almost a little reckless, "We need to figure out a few things the old-fashioned way."
::
"Rodney, you could've told me your old-fashioned way involved weeks of waiting."
John slouches even deeper into his lounge seat and groans. Rodney tries not to think about this sound. Or about the way John looks, his suit slightly askew and the top buttons on his white shirt opened so that some dark chest hair is peeking out. The challenge is not to replay it, video and audio, behind closed doors.
Right now, the doors are open, if not much longer. The Sugar Café closes at 2am, and Sheppard and he have only made it back here shortly after midnight. Made it into Rodney's favourite spot, where the aroma from the coffee roasted fresh every day wafts by just so. Let the other customers crowd around the nine-foot-wide fireplace to cozy up; he's happy just where is.
Rodney takes another sip of his Espresso Butterscotch Martini (made especially for him with real espresso, not the usual liqueur Rodney would bet doesn't come from hand-picked Ethiopian Arabica beans), then smacks his lips.
"Oh please, spare me the tirade; it's only been ten days, and you've been breathing into my ear for the duration of that. We've been doing all we can."
Despite what John has just insinuated, there is very little sitting on their asses involved - well, not for Rodney. For him, this case so far means phone-calls and letters, folders stamped "confidential," video conferences and invitations, occasionally threats. Threats from Rodney, that is. At this point.
"You can't blame me for the fact that we can't work around the clock because people need sleep." Rodney frowns. "Other people, anyway. And doesn't Teyla need you?"
"Teyla doesn't need anybody, and she's running the company in interim just fine." John stretches his arms out over the back of the cushiony seat and frowns. There's also the tiny hint of a pout. "I got the feeling she needs me least of all people."
"I can see how she'd react badly to seeing a company she's directed sold to a killer corporation." Rodney notes the expression on John's face. "What? It's true."
The real truth is that Rodney wants this case to be waterproof in court. Any investigation is going to have to be spotlessly legal. He and John - who cannot be shaken off, Rodney has learned, and has not minded one bit - can't be out there in the woods picking up helo pieces, although God knows John wanted to do just that and had to be held back by Rodney and Ronon Dex.
John is giving him a dark glower without lifting his mouth from the rim of the beer bottle he's picked up again, and oh, wow. Nice visual. Rodney understands John's frustration, but it'd be a lie if he said he knew what John is going through.
The past few days have given Rodney one near-heart-attack - no matter that Elizabeth laughed; that's totally what it...could have been, possibly - two screaming matches, and three times where he had to make promises of money and/or unspecified future favors.
These past few days have also given him John for almost 24/7. Sheppard did fly out East to attend the funeral and returned taciturn, in a vaguely brooding mood for two days. Otherwise, though, he's been hell-bent on dropping in at all possible and impossible hours, leaning intently and shoving his hands into his suit pockets, eyes going all dark and dangerous. Rodney's still reeling from how it makes him feel, and not in the least because he thinks for once he might even stand a chance, because there's no way John is half as straight as John's employer wishes him to be. Well, no: If the mention of his ex-wife at the funeral and some female ambassador named Chaya - whom Rodney hated upon hearing - was any indication, half as straight he does seem to be.
It's the other half Rodney's interested in.
If Rodney weren't busy, he'd - actually, it's entirely possible he's been using that as an excuse for years now. Time to wake up and smell the coffee, so to speak - perhaps even cheer up John at the same time.
"Um, just for the record, I appreciate your input a great deal."
John's only answer is a snort.
"No, really; it takes dedication to deal with lawyers. You wouldn't go home even when Cadman showed up to tease us."
"She was actually kind of fun."
"Of course you'd think so."
Rodney can't help that this comes out a little sourly. Cadman and John both have the smirky thing going on, all ease on the outside and stubborn determination just beneath; Rodney was oddly worried they'd get along too well. Not that Cadman isn't dating that Scottish M.D. who occasionally waits for her in the lobby and talks about fishing.
But really, everyone could see Sheppard is the far better catch.
As if he overhead that thought, Sheppard throws Rodney a sideways look. He's lightened up a little, although that doesn't stop him from fidgeting and frowning and generally acting more like a fifteen-year-old boy than the thirty-eight-old pilot he is. God help Rodney, he finds that almost charming. And he should clearly try harder to make some attempts at meaningful conversation.
"So, since we're both here -" and oh, wow, John starts looking alarmed, "-why don't you share how you came to be an Air Force major in Antarctica?"
The with your background is only implied, but from the way John's mouth curves sardonically, it has gotten through loud and clear. "Tell you what, Rodney: I'll tell you if you tell me how you came to be a big-time lawyer."
"Oh, for - what is this, this fifth grade?"
John just makes a face, one of his many faces managing to display a wide variety of reactions. Right now, it's wry affirmation.
Rodney studies the trendy ceiling for a second or so. "Fine, tit for tat, and oh my God, you actually still think that's a hilarious expression!" John's face smoothes out again immediately, but the glint in his eyes doesn't disappear. "Whatever, Sheppard. I could give you the glib answer that I give to fawning reporters, or I could give you the off-putting details of my gruesome childhood."
That actually does get John's attention, if him turning towards Rodney and rubbing his neck is any indication.
"That bad?"
"I was a child prodigy with severe allergies whose parents got divorced when I was seven; how carefree and golden do you think my days were? My father the physics professor fled the scene as if my mother, sister, and I carried the plague, moved to the US and left us in Canada."
John winces. "Ouch."
"You can onomatopoey that out loud. My mother taught high school English and Latin, in one of the few schools offering it and acting very proud about their language program in general." Gone were the days of Jeannie and him fighting over who got to play with the hammer machine or the centrifuge in the little physics set his father had created from scratch. "We were read poetry, taught ablatives and locatives, and instructed to question mindless authority."
Rodney knows there's a disgruntled tone to his voice, but really, he's mostly over it. He has a good life, it's just: he could have had one that's even better.
"And you didn't like that much."
"Well, naturally I was brilliant in school." Rodney eyes John, who's still looking at him with curiosity, not that fake nonchalance he so often displays. "But all the high school subjects didn't open enough avenues for real success or an actual career with intellectual potential."
"But law did?" John sounds dubious; of course he would. Rodney has had his new client checked out: maths and aeronautical engineering.
"Well, I realised law was the language of the ruling class early on."
"Really?" John drawls out the word, and yes, there's the eyebrow again.
Ah, fond memories. "My province held this essay contest that - well, you'll have never heard about it, but I won it with a rousing essay about the theoretical value of a North America not dominated by the United States cultural and economic imperialism."
"You wrote that?"
"It was simply a thought experiment. Rousing enough, though: The next day, the CIA was knocking on my mother's door. We had some lovely time with lawyers and US government representatives in the next few weeks....but it got me thinking. Studying, ultimately, with scholarships from here to Novosibirsk, although I settled for the top schools in the good old US of A, obviously, eventually focusing on contracts as the backbone of society. It gave me all these chances."
"To bludgeon people with your brain?" John's voice is deceptively mild, but Rodney's pretty sure the question is genuine. Not that he doesn't know the answer already.
Rodney blinks. "That's an appallingly simplistic explanation of my Canadian American Dream story."
"True, though."
Rodney's blackberry chirps, and he flicks it open with what he hopes passes for an apologetic glance. He knows his face freezes as soon as he sees the name, the "CALL BACK IMMEDIATELY, FROM THE SECURE LINE IN THE LAW FIRM ONLY! MATTERS OF NATIONAL, POSSIBLY INTERNATIONAL SECURITY!" message.
Richard Woolsey is guilty of many interpersonal crimes, but ruining Rodney's night out with Sheppard is a new one. "I'll have to get this, in the office, alone. See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
There's a certain, actually fairly large measure of comfort in John's warm, irony-free smile.
::
"There you are!"
Rodney turns on his heel, a mixture of glee, worry, and sympathy all over his face. He waves John over; not that John needs the incentive.
This has got to be important. Sure, it's late already, but John hasn't been sleeping all that much, anyway. He hasn't since that message Rodney got three nights ago while they were in that bar. He ambles over to the desk where Rodney is standing and triumphantly waving a letter.
"Okay, so, I just got back this report from my private investigator - not the one who turned out to be an industrial spy for W.R.TecH, not the one who suddenly went to take a year's vacation somewhere in Europe - but the one who's now working with the Cheyenne police and the Air Force?"
John remembers, but he also remembers Rodney being evasive about that latter part. "Air Force major right here. Why didn't you ask me?"
"Oh, you are not - and these are not - let's just say these connections aren't official, not by a long shot." Sketchy, especially for a guy as prone to share his victories as Rodney, but John isn't about too press him for details. He wants the big picture, now.
And Rodney gives him just that.
About the long-term corporate strategies discovered via an employee called Fran (no last name, of course) in the Assurance Inc. headquarters in Delaware.
About the people bought, fired, or killed according to plan.
About three cut cables on the helicopter owned by Patrick and Dave Sheppard.
Rodney is unable to keep still as he's talking. John, on the other hand, grows colder and stiller, until he feels like stone.
"I'll fucking kill them," he says, finally, when Rodney's words have trickled to a stop.
And the thing is, the thing is that this is not an empty threat. He can fly helicopters, too, or a small aircraft that can easily reach Delaware; he may be on leave, but he knows where to get a plane, get the fuel tank loaded up all the way and -
"John!"
He blinks, sees Rodney staring at him, then barking out a laugh. "You'll stay the hell away from them; you're no John Wayne, no matter what you think. And I say that as both your lawyer and....and as your friend, John. There won't be a nano-speck left of Assurance left when I'm done with them. Sam has given me some input that's admittedly incredibly helpful, Woolsey has managed to shield you and other target companies, and now Caldwell at the FBI has evidence, the hard stuff, that will put the bad guys behind bars for life."
Wait a sec, after listening to Rodney talk about his job for so long now - "That's not what you usually do."
Rodney looks down, a flush high on his cheeks. "No, I personally will pursue only the part where we are tearing that contract into a million pieces. Legally, I mean; I've already filed the statement of claim with the civil court; my contact, the relevant judge, gave me a nod not to worry. The sale of the Sheppard Gas Company won't go through."
Good. That's good. John knows it is.
"But I thought you'd, uh. Beyond the SGC business, you'd want to know what happens to the ones responsible for the crime of your father's and brother's murder."
He pauses, then steps forward and puts a hesitant hand on John's shoulder. His hand is large and warm, and suddenly, the ground's a lot steadier under John's feet again. "I know you've got those bastards in your head, but you need to trust me - trust all of us. We're your team. We won't let you down."
Okay. Right. "So now what?" John says, and his voice sounds dull even to his own ears.
"So now we go get drunk," Rodney said decisively.
"Okay."
Turns out John doesn't need to do much, which helps: just walk side-by-side with Rodney down to the law firm parking lot where Rodney's Prius is parked. He's gotten a ride in it before, of course, but it's still startling to see a high-powered attorney like Rodney drive a...puddlejumper like this and not something big and cool and fast.
They get in, Rodney's hand touches the start button, and for some crazy reason, that's the moment when John doesn't feel so numb any more.
"Wait, Rodney -" Rodney freezes, then obediently lifts his finger, and John feels himself smile. "I just wanted to say...thanks. For everything."
"Oh, right. Of course." There's something almost like embarrassment in his expression. Which can't be; this is Rodney McKay. "You're paying my rather handsome fees, after all."
John is, and he isn't; he's good with numbers, always has been. When he skimmed the preliminary client report of hours Rodney has billed, they were nowhere near the time they've spent together, and a lot of the expenses John knows Rodney's incurred - mostly because yeah, he was looking over McKay's shoulder the whole time - don't even appear.
One of Rodney's little - okay, large - contracts, with services rendered and money paid for them? John doesn't think so, not with what they've shared, but there's only one way to test it.
John breathes in and out; on the exhale, he puts his hand on Rodney's shoulder, a shoulder with muscles underneath that John has only imagined but not seen, not yet.
Rodney jumps a little under his touch, but not away. He immediately twists around to face John. Even in the ecologically responsible interior light of the Prius, Rodney's eyes are very, very blue. "Uh, hi."
John's trying to ask whether this is okay without actually asking the question; he thinks the way Rodney has turned toward him is his answer.
"Hey there," John says quietly, and leans in. The position is awkward as hell, but Rodney's nice, Rodney's much nicer than people think because he, too, bends his upper body and finally, finally lets his mouth brush against John's.
Soft lips, hard stubble, and the latter sends a zing of heat through John. He's not really this kind of guy; he has kissed other men, but he does it rarely, and it's been so fucking long. Rodney - John has no idea how often Rodney does this, but the little sound he makes is hungry, and then his hand is on John's jaw, cupping him, turning him one-two-three into a better position, and oh, wow, Rodney can kiss. Bold and ingenious and hot enough to make John think clothes are overrated, totally overrated, and -
"Fuck the drinks," John growls, and he only lets go of the lapels of Rodney's suit because he's not quite sure how he came to grip them in the first place.
Rodney draws back a little, his wide mouth pinker than it was, and just the way he looks at John makes John shift to accommodate the tightness around the seat of his pants. "Definitely. I have a better idea."
::
John can't fully suppress the shiver, and he knows his face is red not simply because it's pressed into the pillow. Rodney's hands on his body are sure, strong, and other things he hadn't been aware he wanted quite so much.
He's all warm and pliant, but it still chokes a startled laugh out of him when Rodney grips his hip as well as his shoulder and flips him deftly onto his back.
"Hey!" John blinks at the sudden influx of light, but mostly he blinks at Rodney.
"I'd like to see your face." Blunt, but there's something underneath the usual attitude that makes John's chest constrict, just a little.
He's not good dealing with that sort of feeling. "And who gave you the right to -" okay, there's no way to make this sound not funny, "manhandle me?"
Rodney's hands still, although the skin of John's thigh is still tingling where they touch, where Rodney's pale hand curls around John's leg in a way that's weirdly possessive. Also, hot as hell.
"You did, if not in so many words." Rodney isn't afraid of eye contact, and that's good; that makes one of them. "Not that it's a right, precisely."
"Damn straight." John rasps. "It's a privilege."
What this really is is - new. This is not the first time he's done this; he's no fucking virgin. John has, in the past, wanted to get fucked, yes, but he hasn't wanted to be watched. No-strings orgasms. Stress relief. With guys, he wasn't interested in feeling too many things, or worse, being responsible for someone else's feelings. He's almost - angry at Rodney making him talk. Making him engage.
"Of course it is." Rodney's face doesn't give anything away, and it strikes John that no matter what the kids at the firm say, Rodney could beat them all at poker if he wanted to - he just can't be assed to care about concealing his intentions in everyday life. "Attorney - client privilege."
When John moans this time, it's not from pleasure, except that through this treacherous surge of...fondness and amusement, it totally, absolutely is. "I hate you."
But Rodney grins a surprisingly wicked little grin, and John suspects they both know it's not true. He's an Air Force major on bereavement leave; there are a hundred official reasons why he shouldn't have sex with a man and a thousand personal reasons for not getting involved.
But this is Rodney, who's the most involving guy John has ever met, who puts all his heart into what he does.
"You know, John, the evidence doesn't quite support you hating me."
John distinctly thinks that Rodney gripping said evidence and slowly stroking it up and down in a tight but not too tight grip constitutes cheating.
"Just a - oh, fuck, do that again - physical reaction."
"Physical, hmm?" Rodney looks on him as if he's giving John's words serious thought. "So you're saying you feel nothing?"
"Oh, I feel something, all right," which comes out really, really breathless.
"Just here?" Jesus. A little twist on the upstroke, a thumb swept across, and fuck, that's good, but what's also good is Rodney's other hand slowly running up his belly, past his navel, fingers splaying across his chest, just over his heart.
John doesn't know if Rodney is fucking with him - okay, no, that he knows - but John's pulse is racing, and he is...he's a lot more naked than he's ever been before.
But Rodney doesn't hide anything. Rodney is looking him straight in the eye, and what John sees there - yeah. This isn't just about buddies, about bodies, and if John's honest, with himself, anyway, it never was, not since the day they met. Rodney doesn't hold back what he feels; whom he feels it for.
So, maybe John should try that, too. It's only fair.
And when he bends upwards, strains forward to kiss Rodney without losing eye contact - when he sees Rodney's brilliant smile, he knows he's understood.
::
**
Poll Vote for this story
Author: monanotlisa
Team: Away
Prompt: Quid pro quo
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard (other pairings in past & background)
Rating: R
Warnings: none given
Summary: The road taken.
Author's Notes: My most profuse thanks to four ladies without whom -- no hyperbole -- the story wouldn't exist like this: busaikko, who was there for me when I needed her and made both brilliant and extensive suggestions, smittywing without whom the plot wouldn't hold water (or any other liquid for that matter: holes, people), auburnnothenna whose kick-assedness needn't be mentioned, except that it totally does, and so-spiffed, an artist and kind soul who took pity on me (and also care of some phrases). They rock; remaining mistakes or structural problems are mine, all mine.
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**
::
John is flying, and he hates every minute of it.
Passenger planes, whether civilian or military, have never sat well with John. Not just because John didn't sit well in them; it was enough not to be in the pilot's seat.
Now, of course, there's the letter in his hand.
Colonel Sumner delivered it personally, as awkward in giving his condolences as John was accepting them. They took refuge in military formality: Major, I regret to inform you, and a litany of yes, sirs and no, sirs.
The words are blurry when he tries to re-read the letter now, but he remembers them, along with the sensation he'd had while reading. Talk about free-falling, your stomach dropping out, pulling too many Gs. Any old metaphor will fit.
Or did fit. Right now, John feels very little except for hating the flight. It's not the calm after the storm that he felt when he first came to McMurdo, to the end of the world. He knew what to expect, then: nothing.
Now, leaving the station, he returns to everything.
::
Rodney's hand is almost on the handle of his office door when he - well, he actually hears them long before he spots them. Laura Cadman has the dirtiest giggle outside the Castro, and Ronon Dex's rumbling laugh is rumoured to scare opposing counsel into silence and make juries smile like the - slightly theoretical - sun over the Golden Gate Bridge.
All in the same trial.
Clutching his file not at all like a shield, Rodney turns to see Cadman and Ronon by the water cooler two doors down the hallway. "Don't you two have anything better to do? Wait, silly me, of course you don't; you're in the torts department. Clearly, you're in the midst of a new and in-depth deliberation on the concept of slander."
"Aw, Rodney." She may be only a Junior Associate fresh out of law school, but Cadman's nothing at all like her peers, who tend to be wide-eyed and can often be found huddling in the dark corners of the law firm's library. No. Laura Cadman is completely fearless, wears that most infuriating smirk in the world (and, Rodney not so secretly supposes, all other worlds as well). "I thought you didn't do torts - didn't practice them as a field of law, I mean."
Rodney can't cross his arms because he has a somewhat cumbersome file in his hands, so he settles for a huff. "Since when does an attorney need to practice tort law to know what it is? Wrongful acts, other than breaches of contract by one person against another or his or her property, for which civil action can be brought and damages claimed. It cannot possibly get any simpler than that."
"Down with defamation, too, I see."
Cadman - she actually waggles her eyebrows at him. Since that time the two of them got stuck in the elevator together overnight and well into the next day, she can't be dissuaded from her belief they share some sort of bond. Yes, yes, Rodney told her a few personal things, and her attitude hadn't been entirely without merit when he thought he was about to suffocate, but still.
"Right, the genius that built up this firm - now it's a civil wrong recognized as grounds for a lawsuit? My legal skills made it possible for outclassed novices like you to pay your bills and wear your tiny, respectively over-sized suits." An eye-roll is the least Rodney can do.
"It's not your legal skills." Ronon eyes him with the usual keen amusement that makes Rodney feel simultaneously too small or too large for his skin. It doesn't help that Ronon is draped over the reservoir of the cooler in a way that's most likely illegal in four Southern States. "Tort's in your personality."
Oh, please, that one's almost too easy. "That would be my winning personality, you mean? Accounting for me not having a lost a case since the eighties?"
"If you don't count the Teal C. proceedings, you mean." Elizabeth, always one for proper hydration, rounds the corner just in time for that little aside.
For some reason and unlike Rodney, Elizabeth doesn't believe in mental sparring matches with the Associates. Instead, she believes in things like polite and friendly work environments and computer systems free of complex simulation games. There's a reason she's the Partner responsible for all administrative matters at the highest level. That said, Rodney realises fully well that she's also an authority in everything pertaining to international law, public and private.
She is not, however, the best contract lawyer on Earth - he is. "Elizabeth, we've gone over this: It wasn't even possible in 48 hours. No one knows contracts better than I do, and for the record, if anyone did? She also wouldn't have cracked that case."
Thankfully, neither Cadman nor Ronon - who have fallen respectfully silent upon Elizabeth's arrival - nor Elizabeth herself use that opportunity to compose another ode on Samantha Carter, who does absolutely everything civil law and is currently Head Partner in the East Coast offices. She probably builds orphanages in her copious free time between midnight and 2am.
All of which Rodney could easily overlook if she weren't the most attractive woman he's ever met. And, possibly, if she didn't turn down his advances every single time.
Thank God for the really most-attractive men of this city.
As soon as he has some free time again, Rodney will get around to having a meaningless yet sexually satisfying fling with a pretty boy.
As soon as he has some free time again.
::
"Major Sheppard!"
John's heard about the American lawyer who's been wanting to talk to him. The New Zealand airbase isn't that big in the first place, at least not for a soldier on transit back to the States. Until now, John's managed to practice tactical avoidance, but he's been spotted and forces himself to halt and wait, cursing mentally.
Usually, John does have better reflexes. But given the current situation, he can't muster the energy to dodge this guy.
Who stops about two feet from him and makes a stiff little half-bow. "Very pleased to finally meet you, Major Sheppard. I'm Niam from Assurance Inc."
"Niam..?" John waits for more, but the guy just smiles and nods. "Sorry, pal, missed your last name there?" Or maybe it's his first.
"You didn't." A beatific smile. "I'm here for Assurance Inc. Consider me the face of the company."
John flips the proffered business card, and true enough: Assurance Inc. in angular letters, with the name "Niam" in fairly small print towards the bottom half of the card.
"Might I talk to you about a business matter of extreme importance?" Niam sounds imploring and earnest.
John wants to say no, he mightn't. He may be on bereavement leave, but he's not home yet; he can't possibly deal with matters of the estate at this point. He isn't sure how this guy got here, got to him, in the first place. But then again, it doesn't look like he'll go away on his own. And John's flight isn't leaving till the next morning. So, what the hell.
"I guess."
Over coffee in the mess, John learns that the guy has come all the way to the Southern Hemisphere for John, in need of his, John's, assistance on Assurance Inc.'s latest mission for growth and progress.
"...what do you do, again?"
"We deal in power."
Figures.
"And we need you to help us with just a moment of your time, Major Sheppard." Niam's blandly benign expression never disappears, and his voice never wavers while he explains that there is a last but necessary step in their current acquisition procedures, that this cannot wait until their return to the US.
John doesn't give a damn about the power supply company Niam works for, seems to fucking exist for, and he doesn't give a damn about any "declarations of intent" his father and brother gave them about selling a few stocks. John's barely glanced at the papers held out so politely, and the way Niam offers his sleek silver pen to him is annoying as hell.
Also, while John isn't exactly a stickler for formality, the fact that the guy refuses to even give out? Is kind of creepy, no matter how often he smiles that vague smile, uttering some sound byte about "corporate identity" and "being one with Assurance Inc."
Still, whatever that pre-contract is, it can as well be turned into a real contract now, for all he cares.
John's got bigger worries than some lawyerly deal.
Much as he's been...not waiting for, but at least not entirely discounting his father's death, he never expected a double funeral. Dave, too, is dead, which makes John the last of the Sheppards. It'd be funny if it weren't so sad. The prodigal son with a twist: John is coming home, only that the other two men of the tale are dead.
::
Rodney can't even hear the - admittedly gentle - pop of the champagne cork over the commotion from the spectators.
He's all for celebration, as long as said celebration involves his person and his achievements, which this one does. He also likes being on television - although in retrospect, he could have polished that Harvard Speech on Leadership a little more - and oh, TV is definitely present here.
Still, as soon as the camera pans away from his face and instead focuses on the CEO and the Vice President's wider-than-wide grins, Rodney steps off the podium with barely another glance. He's done his part and then some, secured coverage of his brilliance in the transaction, but the focus of the press is back on the implications of the biggest company merger of the year, the one that will change the utilities sector in this country forever, etcetera etcetera.
Rodney doesn't need to hear about the great shifts in markets, about the changes and the new player in the game that has put the near-monopoly of W.R.TecH. under pressure. He's written some of the contracts involved himself.
"Not basking, Rodney? This is not like you." It's a testament to Radek's character that under the gently accented sarcasm, there's a decent dose of honest care for Rodney's well-being. Radek Zelenka might have been originally a Partner in the Prague office, but as far as Rodney's concerned, he's on permanent loan to San Francisco. Radek has a knack for finding flaws in drafts and the finished contract that no one else can see, and what's more, he can fix them. He's not up to Rodney's level of expertise, of course, but then, who is?
Question completely rhetoric.
"I'm just basking without much of an audience...and can, off the top of my head, think of a million better ways to spend my precious time."
"By, say, starting on the next case?" Radek pushes his glasses up his nose, and his smile lies halfway between fondness and resignation. "Still plenty of time for that when you get back to the office at 11:30pm."
"Yes, yes, mock my efforts to keep the firm afloat in the turbulent streams of time - you'll thank me in the next recession. You certainly should." Rodney checks his own watch; definitely enough time to bill a few more hours. In theory, not legal practice, though. "For now, I'll actually call it a day."
Radek eyes him. "Why do I feel that even though you say that, it's not because you heed Elizabeth's and my advice to take it easy once in a while?"
Entirely too perceptive, entirely too true. Rodney puts his champagne glass down on a table they pass on the way out and struggles to get into his coat. "Because there actually is no new case on my desk, yes, thank you -" Radek has, with a long-suffering sigh, taken the briefcase out of his hand, "small files, of course, everyday-week-month matters, but nothing that could even remotely constitute a challenge."
Radek hands him back the briefcase, already distracted by the gentle ping of his Blackberry, already starting to read and type an answer. But he, too, can multi-task; it's one reason Rodney has real respect for him. "So, you're basically ready to acquire another contract issue?"
Hah, not likely. "Acquisition is for East Coast brown-nosers. I'll let the client come to me; after today's deal is broadcast? Not a problem?"
"How very Mohammed of you."
"Huh, considering the mountains of paperwork most likely involved…."
::
Whatever John expected, the woman meeting him in the lobby of the Sheppard Gas Company doesn't fit the bill. Small and lithe with a shock of fine black curls, she looks more like a yoga instructor than the head of the board of directors' in his father's and brother's business. But once she stands right in front of him, John knows without a doubt that yeah, she's the one who's kept everything together ever since the crash. Impossible to miss the aura of command about her, steady and sure.
He shakes her hand, feeling like a school-boy by comparison. "Hey. I'm John Sheppard."
"I gathered as much, yes. Welcome to the SGC, John. I'm really sorry for your loss." The smile on her face is kind, as if she genuinely cared. "Teyla Emmagan."
He gives her the ghost of a charming smile "Yeah, thank you. Nice to meet you, Teyla Emmagan." He lets the name roll off his tongue, testing it.
She notices. Of course. There's not a whole lot she doesn't notice, he'd bet. "Just Teyla, for you. You'd like to ask where my name comes from, John?"
"No!" He thinks for a moment. The offer sounded genuine and friendly. John thinks she must've deliberately chosen a topic of conversation far removed from the more serious talks they'll have to have. "Maybe?"
"Old Cornish name, from 'agan,' to own or possess, 'más,' which means virtuous, and finally Teyla from 'týlu,' meaning family. I'm basically a family of my own, full of virtue."
John says just what he feels. "Wow."
"Quite." Her mouth is still in a serene curve, but the skin around her eyes crinkles. "My mother had what you could call a deep and abiding love for her regional heritage."
"And your father?"
"Had a deep and abiding love for my mother. Of course, they both passed away a long time ago." Teyla closes her eyes for a second, her voice softened. "I remember everybody knowing so very well what was best for me, how to grieve - and how not to. I won't be giving you any advice, let alone judge your choices when it comes to your personal life, John."
He's just about to mumble a reply to that when she looks him straight in the eye again. "I will, however, tell you in no uncertain terms what I think you should do regarding the company. There are more fates than just yours involved, after all."
It's a lot to take in, but, "Okay."
Because suddenly, John thinks it might just be, in the end.
"Shall we head to the managers' offices?" Teyla's smile confirms his feelings. When she starts walking up the steel stairs, motioning for John to follow her, he dutifully does just that. "There are many things to talk about regarding the future of the company. You won't be familiar with any of its current issues, I assume."
John falls into step next to her, a little glad to be able to contribute something on-topic. "Except for the Assurance deal. I kind of took care of that on the way."
Teyla stops abruptly enough for John to almost stumble. "You took care of what?" No, that's not relief on Teyla's face, not even close. "You made a deal with Assurance Inc.?"
"Yeah?"
"Oh, John." Her stricken expression gives John the gist of what comes next. "They are an abomination - a huge corporation out of Delaware that take over local and regional utilities companies like your father's and your brother's business. They assimilate them into the mother company - fire everybody, hire only their own employees. Hundreds and hundreds of lives depend on this, often people your family knew for decades."
That's - okay. It sucks, both these fuckers' strategy and his actions. "Teyla, I read all the papers before they signed; they were only buying a fraction of the stock - less than fifty percent."
"John. They didn't have to. They already own half of the shares. We used to have them under control, or rather: were able to withhold control from them. Now they can take over completely."
Like hell they will. Over John's cold, dead body. "So let's stop them!"
Teyla's smile at that has teeth, and it dawns on John that he really fucked this one up. All he had been thinking of, until now, was his past, some company that belonged to a life where he felt he didn't belong. For the first time, he thought he could just finish what his father and brother had started: what they'd wanted.
Too little, too late.
And yet, John isn't willing to give up. "C'mon, Teyla; you're the head of the board of directors - there must be something we can do!"
Teyla purses her lips thoughtfully and gives him a level stare. "There is nothing we can do, John, trust me."
Okay, these words make no sense, because Teyla is actually looking a bit hopeful there. "But?"
"I said, nothing we can do."
::
Rodney distinctly remembers telling Chuck to keep everybody out. He even remembers clarifying that yes, that absolutely included filthy-rich new clients, messengers announcing lottery wins, and Samantha Carter on a silver platter in a gold bikini.
The guy leaning in - or rather, against - the doorframe doesn't look like he belongs in any of these categories.
Tousle-haired, he is wearing a charcoal Hugo Boss suit that brings out the hazel in his eyes, the outfit completed tastefully by a handkerchief in matching shades of grey, but the suit itself doesn't fit very well. It looks as if it belonged to a friend. None too young, he's still good-looking enough to announce lottery wins for a living. And obviously, there's no gold bikini in sight, although Rodney is suddenly and seriously seized by the desire to see him wearing one.
Or even less, of course.
"The modelling agency is five floors down." Contrary to popular opinion, Rodney can be civil, in the non-legal sense. This just isn't one of those times.
The guy grins, however, as if vaguely amused. Rodney re-adjusts his attitude because okay, wow. Lips.
"Fine, fine: Hello, you've reached the office of Rodney McKay, can I help you?"
"John Sheppard. And yeah, you can help me. Or so I'm told."
"Told by the little men in your boob tube?"
Again, no confusion; instead, Sheppard's mouth quirks upwards as if Rodney had just told him a particularly pleasant joke. "By Teyla. Teyla Emmagan."
That explains why Sheppard passed through The Iris - the front lobby - where Chuck reigns supreme. Not to mention why he's unfazed by the full Rodney McKay experience: He's been warned in advance by an expert. Rodney's a little disappointed and a lot intrigued. Who is this John Sheppard: an old friend of hers? New boyfriend? Teyla always did have a soft spot for pretty boys. Rodney knows this from experience and is still deeply grateful for that fact, although he wouldn't confess to it even under torture.
"Well, I'm hoping she gave out nothing more than this recommendation." Rodney regrets his words as soon as they're out.
"What else would she have shared?" Sheppard's lazy drawl doesn't mask the curiosity Rodney knows must be behind it.
"Ancient history," Rodney grumbles, but frankly, he's torn: If John Sheppard is just a friend, there's no harm in sharing. "Which you probably have no right to know in the first place."
"Hey, hey, McKay." Sheppard raises these two terrifically expressive eyebrows of his. "I got back to the US yesterday and that's when I met Teyla for the first time." He looks down, but it's too calculated a move to be anything but a feint. "Wouldn't have thought you two had a history, though."
Oh, for - no way Rodney's going to respond to that. It's cheap, a silly, outdated game of masculinity. He's not going to say - "So you thought wrong, didn't think of the oldest story in the book: Boy in law school meets girl in business school with a minor in law, girl in business school gets boy in law school, boy in law school loses girl in business school."
"Sounds tragic."
"Oh, it was; she once mentioned my hubris brought about the downfall of our relationship." Rodney frowns. "She could have been joking; it was hard to tell sometimes."
"Hubris? I would never have thought." Sheppard says, and it's too serious to be anything but mockery. His smile is warm, though.
To his great surprise, Rodney finds himself smiling back. "That was my first impression of you, too, but I'm re-assessing the evidence. But enough of banter; I just finished a case and can offer you a seat. So sit down and tell me what happened."
Sheppard does, lets himself fall into the chair across from Rodney. When he starts to speak again, his whole posture changes into an uneasy, tense slump. "Basically? I have a problem because I signed a contract."
Rodney grabs for a sheet of paper with one hand and a ballpoint pen with the other. "Then you've come to the right place. Shoot, Sheppard."
::
John can't tell whether it's the dazed look he must be sporting, or the fact that he leaves empty-handed, having had the copies of the contracts taken out of his hands, but the tall - whoa, seriously tall - lawyer by the water cooler looks up and gives John a sympathetic grin.
"You all right?"
He's - actually, John thinks he is, now. Teyla's recommendation made sense, of course. But John didn't fully believe he could or even should see a lawyer, pretty much until Rodney looked at him. And until he took a look at Rodney.
"I'm fine. Just feeling a lot like I had a close encounter of the first kind."
"McKay has that effect on people." A fluid line of movement, away from the wall, towards John. "Ronon Dex, Junior Associate."
John shakes the hand offered. "John Sheppard. So, you've worked with Rodney McKay for a bit already?"
The immediate answer is a raised eyebrow. "No one works with Rodney McKay. Some work for him."
If this is a typical law firm, John's had the wrong idea about lawyers all along. He doubts it, although his own personal experience probably colors his judgement. "Let me guess, you don't."
"True." Dex jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Different department. I work torts."
Torts. John squints at him. "Assault, battery, that sort of thing?"
"Nah. Had enough of aggression and intentional harm for a lifetime. Negligence and strict liability - think products that are defective, where it's not about fault but that people got hurt." Dex looks at him with new interest. "Familiar with law?"
"Not really, not like you." John's run-in with the Uniform Code of Military Justice after the Afghanistan clusterfuck hardly means he knows law, let alone the civilian kind. "I'm in the Air Force."
"A flyboy. Wouldn't have thought." Dex throws him another look that's both mocking and respectful. "Came here via JAG."
Now that explains the enough-harm-for-a-lifetime bit, and also the body. Soldiers tend to keep in shape - force of habit. "Aren't you a little young for that?"
At that, Dex runs a hand through hair that's short but not regulation-short. Good choice. John doesn't get why some guys keep the buzz cut.
"Nope. Joined the Army at seventeen, got wounded in -" he hesitates, and for a moment, he looks even younger than his age. "- battle. Had to look for something new."
"And you chose law school?" It's not that strange a concept where John comes from, both his home and the Air Force. It's just not something John himself would've considered.
"Was an office manager at JAG. Realized that anything they could do, I could do better." Dex's grin is wolfish, and John thinks screw his youth; he doesn't want to sit on the bench opposite of Ronon Dex in court. "So I went to law school, and here I am."
Which seems to work for him, so hey. "Cool."
::
Without a hitch in his writing Rodney peers at the display and presses the phone's loudspeaker button. "How important is it?"
"You tell me, Rodney." He can hear the wry smile in Elizabeth's voice. "I'm getting back to you about your questions. Also? Good morning."
"Yes, yes, good morning, better day, best evening ever to you. What did your spies in D.C. tell you?" He's wide awake. Not that he wasn't before, thanks to three cups of his special Peet blend...but there's something about research results that trumps even the caffeine in his dark roast coffee.
"I did ask Stephen -"
"Caldwell's still in Washington? I thought he'd wanted to, you know, rise up and soar like eagles?"
"Rodney."
"Sorry, carry on."
"The long story is - too long for the hours we can bill; the short version is that Assurance Inc. constitutes the new power in the energy sector, targeting utilities companies all over the nation, leaving a trail of destruction."
Huh. Elizabeth isn't prone to dramatics, usually. "Well, Mergers and Acquisition of companies? A tough business."
"Not tough like this." She hesitates, which is unlike Elizabeth. "I rung up Richard as well, and listened to his current pursuits for fifty-three minutes."
A new record, Rodney notes absently; no one has ever managed to get information out of Woolsey in under an hour. It can't be that the guy is actually busy. As far as Rodney's concerned, the International Oversight Committee is just what it says on the label: an oversight, an government institution not provided with enough work. "And in minute fifty-four?"
"Richard mentioned that this isn't just about employees fired at will, about companies broken down into component parts easily discarded. There have been suspicious events."
"Define suspicious."
"You have your own Merriam-Webster, Rodney; you don't need me." She doesn't sound unkind, but she moves on immediately. "He mentioned fires in generator rooms of the target companies. Water leaks in the documentation centers. CEOs in their early forties suddenly dying from heart attacks. Then, Assurance Inc. moves in. I think the idiom Richard used was, 'ripe for the picking,' and Rodney?"
"Yes?"
"I never wanted hear words like these from his mouth."
Rodney winces in sympathy. "Okay, I see you what you mean."
"I knew you would." A thoughtful pause, but Elizabeth never wastes time, not her own and not that of other people. Rodney loves her for it. "So why did your John Sheppard sign the contract with Assurance? Extortion or fraud?"
"Try 'dumbness.'"
"Don't put that in your memo, please."
"Come on, it's not as if I were unprofessional 24/7." Not that Rodney didn't think about making just such a note for about a hundredth-second. "In actuality, he isn't half as dumb as he pretends to be. There was both pressure and trickery involved, and he was grieving, although hmm, I don't think he quite realized that. In any case, it'll be hard to prove that this wasn't still within the boundaries of a legitimate transaction."
"Rodney, I'm confident you can get him out of this obligation."
"So am I."
John Sheppard also seems to have confidence in Rodney, and surprisingly enough, that's the biggest incentive Rodney's had in a while.
::
John makes his way through the large, round doors in their peculiar blue, past the lobby with the friendly but firm Canadian receptionist, past an open door that he can't resist peeking inside. He sees a strawberry-blond lawyer bent over file folders with a look of concentration as intense as if she were defusing a bomb.
Maybe it's not so different from war, legal work. John will have to ask Ronon Dex at some point.
He lifts his hand to knock on Rodney's door, then thinks better of it. The last time he rapped his knuckles on Rodney's door - wood that's thick and dark but, John would bet, rain-forest safe - there was no reaction, McKay being too deeply entrenched in his papers.
John walks in and, just as expected, Rodney doesn't even look up from the file in front of him. Of course his desk doesn't face the door directly but is aligned perpendicular to it, allowing the light from the large glass windows to stream in from Rodney's left and the front. Well-placed corner offices have their perks, John thinks.
Compared to the relative tidiness of parts of the office when John first visited, it now looks if a paper hurricane has it. That said, it's true what Dex told him: That Rodney never has more than one file open on his desk, as a form of discipline. The result is that all the other files, memos, and important documents are piled haphazardly over the chairs, the bookshelves, and on the sill of a window that John hopes is sealed shut.
It only makes sense to hover, to study Rodney for a moment. It's not like he leaves John a lot of room for quiet contemplation once the conversation has started. John has always considered himself a bright guy, but following McKay's fast yet long trains of thought is a challenge. It doesn't surprise him that others find Rodney intimidating, but if John had to pinpoint his own impression he'd settle for, well, impressed.
There's understanding and some serious passion beneath the impatient façade. John likes that, has always been able to empathise with people like that. He chose wings a long time ago and left everything else behind; somehow, he's pretty sure Rodney did the same with law. For law.
He'd be surprised if Rodney had a family or, as the first step, a wife, and whoa, where did that came from? John isn't really that curious about Rodney McKay, is he? He's here on business; time to get his head out of the clouds.
"Heya." He takes the last few steps separating him from Rodney's desk and, when Rodney finally does look up, gives him a nod of greeting. Rodney isn't into handshakes and polite phrases. It's a relief, after having been Stateside for a few days now, where pretty much everybody John meets is into that. Even Teyla, who's warm-hearted inside, cherishes these outside rituals.
"Oh, hi, Sheppard. Sit down."
It's a nice offer, even more so coming from McKay, but John takes one look at the two chairs and the stacks of files on their seats and knows it's not going to happen. Unless -
"C'mon, don't stand around like you're casing the place." Rodney absently pats the edge of his desk, and for a really bizarre moment, John thinks that's where he wants him to sit.
Actually. What the hell. Right?
John ambles over and hops onto the desk, the only remaining empty horizontal surface in the room after all, immensely gratified to see Rodney's eyes open wide to look him up and down. It really shouldn't be so much fun to see Rodney a little off-balance. "What've you got for me, McKay?"
"Ah, hmm." Rodney glances away from John, at his papers full of scribbled handwriting. Up close and personal, he has really long eyelashes.
"This contract seals your company's fate, Sheppard."
Way to kill the mood he didn't even know existed a second ago. John sighs and leans forward. "I knew that one, Rodney."
A sharp look, and despite the slight color in Rodney's cheeks, he's back to old form. "What I meant, Major Smartypants, is that the contract in and by itself looks flawless, that's the problem."
Great. "There's no loophole? Aren't you lawyers trained to find them?"
"Hah. If lawyers were dogs, I'd be the world-prize-winning Doberman-mastiff mix that makes all other dogs flee with their tails between their legs." Rodney looks both cranky and proud.
If the situation weren't what it is, John would laugh. "But?"
"I have no idea how Assurance managed to replicate the Universal Contract Reform Draft that so far only exists in my head, the future measure to measure all contracts by - incorporating jurisprudence and all court decisions, yadda yadda law - but they did."
"How about unfair price, no equity, lack of proper consideration?"
"Looked all that up, didn't you?" Rodney's eyebrows rise, but John doesn't miss the note of respect in his voice.
"Had in-house counsel explain a few things."
"Yes, well, the lawyers in your father's and brother's company were the ones who drafted the Declaration of Intent in the first place, so frankly I wouldn't trust them with legal action against a parking ticket. But back to your question: No, Assurance offered a price in exchange for the shares that's actually more than fair. It's a good deal - if you only look at the monetary balance."
Just, everything beyond makes this the agreement from hell. The first business contract John has signed in his life, and it seems it will also be his last.
"Don't tell me we're doomed, McKay."
Because there has to be a way out. Has to.
"Well." Rodney tips his head back and gives John another one of these intense stares that John can feel down to his toes. "To put it in something other than Legalese, there are still the circumstances of the formation of this contract left: If we can find and, most of all, prove foul play on Assurance's part, then everything falls into place."
Wait a second. "Foul play?" John feels a slow but hot spark of anger. It tends to burn cold, controlled, but the thought that -
"Your father and brother, maybe their deaths weren't just a lucky coincidence." Jesus. John chokes, and Rodney flinches, hastily adding, "I meant, from Assurance's point of view! The D.C. grapevine tells me there have been other incidents. Deaths that had to be wrongful. I'm sorry to ask this," and he actually looks as if he does, which lets John simmer down a little again, "but what exactly happened? You said it was an accident?"
"Yeah." There's a low roaring sound in his ears, but John keeps talking. "It was a helicopter crash - they were flying westwards, from the estate in Virginia, and were almost at their destination."
"Which was?"
"A power plant near Cheyenne Mountain, in hilly terrain. They wanted to. . .doesn't matter now." John isn't looking at Rodney, but out of the corner of his eye, he can see Rodney reach out as if to touch him, offer some comfort - and draw his arm back again quickly. "So what do you propose, Rodney?"
"I think," Rodney says quietly, and the expression in his eyes is almost a little reckless, "We need to figure out a few things the old-fashioned way."
::
"Rodney, you could've told me your old-fashioned way involved weeks of waiting."
John slouches even deeper into his lounge seat and groans. Rodney tries not to think about this sound. Or about the way John looks, his suit slightly askew and the top buttons on his white shirt opened so that some dark chest hair is peeking out. The challenge is not to replay it, video and audio, behind closed doors.
Right now, the doors are open, if not much longer. The Sugar Café closes at 2am, and Sheppard and he have only made it back here shortly after midnight. Made it into Rodney's favourite spot, where the aroma from the coffee roasted fresh every day wafts by just so. Let the other customers crowd around the nine-foot-wide fireplace to cozy up; he's happy just where is.
Rodney takes another sip of his Espresso Butterscotch Martini (made especially for him with real espresso, not the usual liqueur Rodney would bet doesn't come from hand-picked Ethiopian Arabica beans), then smacks his lips.
"Oh please, spare me the tirade; it's only been ten days, and you've been breathing into my ear for the duration of that. We've been doing all we can."
Despite what John has just insinuated, there is very little sitting on their asses involved - well, not for Rodney. For him, this case so far means phone-calls and letters, folders stamped "confidential," video conferences and invitations, occasionally threats. Threats from Rodney, that is. At this point.
"You can't blame me for the fact that we can't work around the clock because people need sleep." Rodney frowns. "Other people, anyway. And doesn't Teyla need you?"
"Teyla doesn't need anybody, and she's running the company in interim just fine." John stretches his arms out over the back of the cushiony seat and frowns. There's also the tiny hint of a pout. "I got the feeling she needs me least of all people."
"I can see how she'd react badly to seeing a company she's directed sold to a killer corporation." Rodney notes the expression on John's face. "What? It's true."
The real truth is that Rodney wants this case to be waterproof in court. Any investigation is going to have to be spotlessly legal. He and John - who cannot be shaken off, Rodney has learned, and has not minded one bit - can't be out there in the woods picking up helo pieces, although God knows John wanted to do just that and had to be held back by Rodney and Ronon Dex.
John is giving him a dark glower without lifting his mouth from the rim of the beer bottle he's picked up again, and oh, wow. Nice visual. Rodney understands John's frustration, but it'd be a lie if he said he knew what John is going through.
The past few days have given Rodney one near-heart-attack - no matter that Elizabeth laughed; that's totally what it...could have been, possibly - two screaming matches, and three times where he had to make promises of money and/or unspecified future favors.
These past few days have also given him John for almost 24/7. Sheppard did fly out East to attend the funeral and returned taciturn, in a vaguely brooding mood for two days. Otherwise, though, he's been hell-bent on dropping in at all possible and impossible hours, leaning intently and shoving his hands into his suit pockets, eyes going all dark and dangerous. Rodney's still reeling from how it makes him feel, and not in the least because he thinks for once he might even stand a chance, because there's no way John is half as straight as John's employer wishes him to be. Well, no: If the mention of his ex-wife at the funeral and some female ambassador named Chaya - whom Rodney hated upon hearing - was any indication, half as straight he does seem to be.
It's the other half Rodney's interested in.
If Rodney weren't busy, he'd - actually, it's entirely possible he's been using that as an excuse for years now. Time to wake up and smell the coffee, so to speak - perhaps even cheer up John at the same time.
"Um, just for the record, I appreciate your input a great deal."
John's only answer is a snort.
"No, really; it takes dedication to deal with lawyers. You wouldn't go home even when Cadman showed up to tease us."
"She was actually kind of fun."
"Of course you'd think so."
Rodney can't help that this comes out a little sourly. Cadman and John both have the smirky thing going on, all ease on the outside and stubborn determination just beneath; Rodney was oddly worried they'd get along too well. Not that Cadman isn't dating that Scottish M.D. who occasionally waits for her in the lobby and talks about fishing.
But really, everyone could see Sheppard is the far better catch.
As if he overhead that thought, Sheppard throws Rodney a sideways look. He's lightened up a little, although that doesn't stop him from fidgeting and frowning and generally acting more like a fifteen-year-old boy than the thirty-eight-old pilot he is. God help Rodney, he finds that almost charming. And he should clearly try harder to make some attempts at meaningful conversation.
"So, since we're both here -" and oh, wow, John starts looking alarmed, "-why don't you share how you came to be an Air Force major in Antarctica?"
The with your background is only implied, but from the way John's mouth curves sardonically, it has gotten through loud and clear. "Tell you what, Rodney: I'll tell you if you tell me how you came to be a big-time lawyer."
"Oh, for - what is this, this fifth grade?"
John just makes a face, one of his many faces managing to display a wide variety of reactions. Right now, it's wry affirmation.
Rodney studies the trendy ceiling for a second or so. "Fine, tit for tat, and oh my God, you actually still think that's a hilarious expression!" John's face smoothes out again immediately, but the glint in his eyes doesn't disappear. "Whatever, Sheppard. I could give you the glib answer that I give to fawning reporters, or I could give you the off-putting details of my gruesome childhood."
That actually does get John's attention, if him turning towards Rodney and rubbing his neck is any indication.
"That bad?"
"I was a child prodigy with severe allergies whose parents got divorced when I was seven; how carefree and golden do you think my days were? My father the physics professor fled the scene as if my mother, sister, and I carried the plague, moved to the US and left us in Canada."
John winces. "Ouch."
"You can onomatopoey that out loud. My mother taught high school English and Latin, in one of the few schools offering it and acting very proud about their language program in general." Gone were the days of Jeannie and him fighting over who got to play with the hammer machine or the centrifuge in the little physics set his father had created from scratch. "We were read poetry, taught ablatives and locatives, and instructed to question mindless authority."
Rodney knows there's a disgruntled tone to his voice, but really, he's mostly over it. He has a good life, it's just: he could have had one that's even better.
"And you didn't like that much."
"Well, naturally I was brilliant in school." Rodney eyes John, who's still looking at him with curiosity, not that fake nonchalance he so often displays. "But all the high school subjects didn't open enough avenues for real success or an actual career with intellectual potential."
"But law did?" John sounds dubious; of course he would. Rodney has had his new client checked out: maths and aeronautical engineering.
"Well, I realised law was the language of the ruling class early on."
"Really?" John drawls out the word, and yes, there's the eyebrow again.
Ah, fond memories. "My province held this essay contest that - well, you'll have never heard about it, but I won it with a rousing essay about the theoretical value of a North America not dominated by the United States cultural and economic imperialism."
"You wrote that?"
"It was simply a thought experiment. Rousing enough, though: The next day, the CIA was knocking on my mother's door. We had some lovely time with lawyers and US government representatives in the next few weeks....but it got me thinking. Studying, ultimately, with scholarships from here to Novosibirsk, although I settled for the top schools in the good old US of A, obviously, eventually focusing on contracts as the backbone of society. It gave me all these chances."
"To bludgeon people with your brain?" John's voice is deceptively mild, but Rodney's pretty sure the question is genuine. Not that he doesn't know the answer already.
Rodney blinks. "That's an appallingly simplistic explanation of my Canadian American Dream story."
"True, though."
Rodney's blackberry chirps, and he flicks it open with what he hopes passes for an apologetic glance. He knows his face freezes as soon as he sees the name, the "CALL BACK IMMEDIATELY, FROM THE SECURE LINE IN THE LAW FIRM ONLY! MATTERS OF NATIONAL, POSSIBLY INTERNATIONAL SECURITY!" message.
Richard Woolsey is guilty of many interpersonal crimes, but ruining Rodney's night out with Sheppard is a new one. "I'll have to get this, in the office, alone. See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
There's a certain, actually fairly large measure of comfort in John's warm, irony-free smile.
::
"There you are!"
Rodney turns on his heel, a mixture of glee, worry, and sympathy all over his face. He waves John over; not that John needs the incentive.
This has got to be important. Sure, it's late already, but John hasn't been sleeping all that much, anyway. He hasn't since that message Rodney got three nights ago while they were in that bar. He ambles over to the desk where Rodney is standing and triumphantly waving a letter.
"Okay, so, I just got back this report from my private investigator - not the one who turned out to be an industrial spy for W.R.TecH, not the one who suddenly went to take a year's vacation somewhere in Europe - but the one who's now working with the Cheyenne police and the Air Force?"
John remembers, but he also remembers Rodney being evasive about that latter part. "Air Force major right here. Why didn't you ask me?"
"Oh, you are not - and these are not - let's just say these connections aren't official, not by a long shot." Sketchy, especially for a guy as prone to share his victories as Rodney, but John isn't about too press him for details. He wants the big picture, now.
And Rodney gives him just that.
About the long-term corporate strategies discovered via an employee called Fran (no last name, of course) in the Assurance Inc. headquarters in Delaware.
About the people bought, fired, or killed according to plan.
About three cut cables on the helicopter owned by Patrick and Dave Sheppard.
Rodney is unable to keep still as he's talking. John, on the other hand, grows colder and stiller, until he feels like stone.
"I'll fucking kill them," he says, finally, when Rodney's words have trickled to a stop.
And the thing is, the thing is that this is not an empty threat. He can fly helicopters, too, or a small aircraft that can easily reach Delaware; he may be on leave, but he knows where to get a plane, get the fuel tank loaded up all the way and -
"John!"
He blinks, sees Rodney staring at him, then barking out a laugh. "You'll stay the hell away from them; you're no John Wayne, no matter what you think. And I say that as both your lawyer and....and as your friend, John. There won't be a nano-speck left of Assurance left when I'm done with them. Sam has given me some input that's admittedly incredibly helpful, Woolsey has managed to shield you and other target companies, and now Caldwell at the FBI has evidence, the hard stuff, that will put the bad guys behind bars for life."
Wait a sec, after listening to Rodney talk about his job for so long now - "That's not what you usually do."
Rodney looks down, a flush high on his cheeks. "No, I personally will pursue only the part where we are tearing that contract into a million pieces. Legally, I mean; I've already filed the statement of claim with the civil court; my contact, the relevant judge, gave me a nod not to worry. The sale of the Sheppard Gas Company won't go through."
Good. That's good. John knows it is.
"But I thought you'd, uh. Beyond the SGC business, you'd want to know what happens to the ones responsible for the crime of your father's and brother's murder."
He pauses, then steps forward and puts a hesitant hand on John's shoulder. His hand is large and warm, and suddenly, the ground's a lot steadier under John's feet again. "I know you've got those bastards in your head, but you need to trust me - trust all of us. We're your team. We won't let you down."
Okay. Right. "So now what?" John says, and his voice sounds dull even to his own ears.
"So now we go get drunk," Rodney said decisively.
"Okay."
Turns out John doesn't need to do much, which helps: just walk side-by-side with Rodney down to the law firm parking lot where Rodney's Prius is parked. He's gotten a ride in it before, of course, but it's still startling to see a high-powered attorney like Rodney drive a...puddlejumper like this and not something big and cool and fast.
They get in, Rodney's hand touches the start button, and for some crazy reason, that's the moment when John doesn't feel so numb any more.
"Wait, Rodney -" Rodney freezes, then obediently lifts his finger, and John feels himself smile. "I just wanted to say...thanks. For everything."
"Oh, right. Of course." There's something almost like embarrassment in his expression. Which can't be; this is Rodney McKay. "You're paying my rather handsome fees, after all."
John is, and he isn't; he's good with numbers, always has been. When he skimmed the preliminary client report of hours Rodney has billed, they were nowhere near the time they've spent together, and a lot of the expenses John knows Rodney's incurred - mostly because yeah, he was looking over McKay's shoulder the whole time - don't even appear.
One of Rodney's little - okay, large - contracts, with services rendered and money paid for them? John doesn't think so, not with what they've shared, but there's only one way to test it.
John breathes in and out; on the exhale, he puts his hand on Rodney's shoulder, a shoulder with muscles underneath that John has only imagined but not seen, not yet.
Rodney jumps a little under his touch, but not away. He immediately twists around to face John. Even in the ecologically responsible interior light of the Prius, Rodney's eyes are very, very blue. "Uh, hi."
John's trying to ask whether this is okay without actually asking the question; he thinks the way Rodney has turned toward him is his answer.
"Hey there," John says quietly, and leans in. The position is awkward as hell, but Rodney's nice, Rodney's much nicer than people think because he, too, bends his upper body and finally, finally lets his mouth brush against John's.
Soft lips, hard stubble, and the latter sends a zing of heat through John. He's not really this kind of guy; he has kissed other men, but he does it rarely, and it's been so fucking long. Rodney - John has no idea how often Rodney does this, but the little sound he makes is hungry, and then his hand is on John's jaw, cupping him, turning him one-two-three into a better position, and oh, wow, Rodney can kiss. Bold and ingenious and hot enough to make John think clothes are overrated, totally overrated, and -
"Fuck the drinks," John growls, and he only lets go of the lapels of Rodney's suit because he's not quite sure how he came to grip them in the first place.
Rodney draws back a little, his wide mouth pinker than it was, and just the way he looks at John makes John shift to accommodate the tightness around the seat of his pants. "Definitely. I have a better idea."
::
John can't fully suppress the shiver, and he knows his face is red not simply because it's pressed into the pillow. Rodney's hands on his body are sure, strong, and other things he hadn't been aware he wanted quite so much.
He's all warm and pliant, but it still chokes a startled laugh out of him when Rodney grips his hip as well as his shoulder and flips him deftly onto his back.
"Hey!" John blinks at the sudden influx of light, but mostly he blinks at Rodney.
"I'd like to see your face." Blunt, but there's something underneath the usual attitude that makes John's chest constrict, just a little.
He's not good dealing with that sort of feeling. "And who gave you the right to -" okay, there's no way to make this sound not funny, "manhandle me?"
Rodney's hands still, although the skin of John's thigh is still tingling where they touch, where Rodney's pale hand curls around John's leg in a way that's weirdly possessive. Also, hot as hell.
"You did, if not in so many words." Rodney isn't afraid of eye contact, and that's good; that makes one of them. "Not that it's a right, precisely."
"Damn straight." John rasps. "It's a privilege."
What this really is is - new. This is not the first time he's done this; he's no fucking virgin. John has, in the past, wanted to get fucked, yes, but he hasn't wanted to be watched. No-strings orgasms. Stress relief. With guys, he wasn't interested in feeling too many things, or worse, being responsible for someone else's feelings. He's almost - angry at Rodney making him talk. Making him engage.
"Of course it is." Rodney's face doesn't give anything away, and it strikes John that no matter what the kids at the firm say, Rodney could beat them all at poker if he wanted to - he just can't be assed to care about concealing his intentions in everyday life. "Attorney - client privilege."
When John moans this time, it's not from pleasure, except that through this treacherous surge of...fondness and amusement, it totally, absolutely is. "I hate you."
But Rodney grins a surprisingly wicked little grin, and John suspects they both know it's not true. He's an Air Force major on bereavement leave; there are a hundred official reasons why he shouldn't have sex with a man and a thousand personal reasons for not getting involved.
But this is Rodney, who's the most involving guy John has ever met, who puts all his heart into what he does.
"You know, John, the evidence doesn't quite support you hating me."
John distinctly thinks that Rodney gripping said evidence and slowly stroking it up and down in a tight but not too tight grip constitutes cheating.
"Just a - oh, fuck, do that again - physical reaction."
"Physical, hmm?" Rodney looks on him as if he's giving John's words serious thought. "So you're saying you feel nothing?"
"Oh, I feel something, all right," which comes out really, really breathless.
"Just here?" Jesus. A little twist on the upstroke, a thumb swept across, and fuck, that's good, but what's also good is Rodney's other hand slowly running up his belly, past his navel, fingers splaying across his chest, just over his heart.
John doesn't know if Rodney is fucking with him - okay, no, that he knows - but John's pulse is racing, and he is...he's a lot more naked than he's ever been before.
But Rodney doesn't hide anything. Rodney is looking him straight in the eye, and what John sees there - yeah. This isn't just about buddies, about bodies, and if John's honest, with himself, anyway, it never was, not since the day they met. Rodney doesn't hold back what he feels; whom he feels it for.
So, maybe John should try that, too. It's only fair.
And when he bends upwards, strains forward to kiss Rodney without losing eye contact - when he sees Rodney's brilliant smile, he knows he's understood.
::
**
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