TEAM PEACE: Top of the World, "Atmosphere"

[fluffyllama]

Title: Atmosphere
Author: indy_go ( interview)
Team: Peace
Prompt: Top of the World
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Nowhere else to go but up.
Notes: Thanks a bajillion to my most excellent beta, newredshoes. She brought coherence to chaos, and reminded me that adverbs, like cookies, are a sometimes food. <3

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1. Now:

Rodney feels that the central spire of Atlantis kind of resembles the Space Needle.

"It does not," says John. He picks up the thermos and tops off both their drinks. It's chilly on the highest balcony in the tallest tower of the city, but it offers a kind of solitude that even the pier can't manage. Down there, it felt like everybody was watching. Up here they're entirely on their own.

"I didn't say it was a replica, just that it reminds me of it." Rodney holds the warm mug in his hands for a moment before taking a drink. "Mm. Did you ever read the book about the Wheedle?"

John reaches for another cookie, brow furrowed. "The Sonics mascot? I didn't know there was a book about it."

A dismissive gesture. "The book was first. We went to Seattle for vacation when Jeannie was little and came home with a copy. She made me read it to her constantly. Basically the Wheedle was a big orange fluffy thing whose nose was the blinking red light on top of the Needle."

John chuckles, the sound a warm rumble in the small alcove. "That's some high-quality literature, McKay."

The huff that escapes Rodney is more laugh than anything else. They subside into companionable silence, sipping their coffee and looking out over the city.

"Reminds me of Europe," John says suddenly. Rodney looks at him, eyebrow raised, and John elaborates. "Cathedrals. They're like this. With skyscrapers, the uppermost decks are all tourist attractions, glass partitions and stuff. There's tourists at the cathedrals, too, but there... it's like you could just fall out into thin air at any moment." He uncrosses his ankles, rests them on the railing, recrosses them. "Like you're really up in the sky."

Rodney considers this. "Is that why you used to climb mountains? To fly without a plane?"

That earns him a wry look. "How very poetic of you."

"You're stalling."

"No, just mocking." John blows out a breath and shifts back in his seat. "I guess so. Sort of. I mean, mostly I did it because my dad thought it was stupid and reckless. And it was. But it was also pretty amazing, to be up there where the air's so thin and everything's so... sharp."

"Did you know," Rodney says after a moment, "that Everest isn't really the tallest mountain in the world?"

It's John's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Don't tell me. Canada's got a bigger one they're not telling anybody about, right?"

"Ha. No, it's your country's claim to fame, as a matter of fact: Mauna Kea, in Hawaii. I spent a summer there during college, working at the observatory. If you measure from the foot of the mountain, which is on the floor of the Pacific Ocean, Mauna Kea's got several thousand feet on Everest."

"You're kidding. I've been there -- well, Hawaii anyway -- and didn't even realize." John scrunches his face up into a thoughtful expression. "Kind of like an iceberg, huh? A lot more going on than you think at first sight."

2. It began like this:

"Oh, hey," said Sheppard. There was a book tucked under his arm. "Sorry. Didn't know anybody else came up here."

Surprised, Rodney sat up so fast he dropped his iPod. "Major. Yes, I-- Yes." He pulled the headphones from his ears, fingers tangling in the cord.

They eyed one another, just a little bit wary. "I can--" Sheppard jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. "Leave you to it."

Awkwardly, Rodney shifted over on the bench to make room. "No, it's fine. Sit. I was just, you know."

A wry smile tugged at Sheppard's mouth, and he sat. "Hiding?"

Rodney barked out a laugh. "You too, huh?"

"Yeah." The book remained unopened on Sheppard's laugh, so Rodney didn't turn his music back on. That would've been rude. Only now they were just both sitting there, staring out over the city.

This was awkward.

Then:

"Where are you from?" Sheppard asked, and when Rodney rolled his eyes he added, "More specifically than Canada, I mean."

It was a getting little chilly, so Rodney set down his iPod and tucked his hands into his armpits. "Vancouver, originally. But I went to college when I was fifteen and have been moving around ever since." He paused. "Um. You?"

Sheppard stretched out his long legs, which looked weird in jeans rather than black canvas. "California. And really? Fifteen? That's pretty young. Did you get homesick?"

A small snort. "No. Believe me, it was a major lifestyle improvement. Although my growth spurt didn't hit till I was sixteen, so my first year sucked big time."

"Mm," hummed John sympathetically. "All those hormones and nowhere to put 'em?"

Rodney groaned at the memory. "Oh my God. All the girls kept telling me how sweet and cute I was. My lab partner actually ruffled my hair and said how much I reminded her of her little brother. And then, because she had actually touched me, I had to hide my hard-on for the rest of class."

Sheppard laughed, a ridiculous and unflattering noise, and the sound of it made Rodney's mouth twitch into a smile.

Still grinning, Sheppard tipped his head back against the wall. Rodney, watching him sidelong, relaxed his shoulders a little. Then Sheppard blew out a breath. "Hey, so. I was gonna find you later anyway. You did good yesterday, with the energy thing. I think you should join my team."

Brows knitting together, Rodney turned to look fully at Sheppard. "Team? What team? Aren't we all on the same team?"

"Gate team," Sheppard elaborated with a shrug. "Weir says I'm heading up a team, and I need a scientist. I think you'd be good."

Rodney blinked rapidly. "I think you'll end up wanting to kill me," he blurted, and immediately flushed up red.

Snorting, Sheppard slouched lower on the bench. "Yeah, probably. But I promise I'll give you a running start."

For a moment there was only the wind, gusting up over the buttresses. "Can I think about it?" Rodney asked finally.

Another shrug. "Sure." Then he opened his book, the conversation apparently over.

Rodney put his headphones back on, but didn't press play. The wind was muffled and every couple of minutes he could hear the crisp snap of a turning page and his palms were kind of sweaty. He thought of Siberia, and Jeannie, and even this place; all the things he'd run away from, been chased to. "Okay," he said eventually, not looking over at Sheppard.

"Cool," said Sheppard.

3. And some time after that:

He hadn't been in his quarters, or the mess, or the shooting range, or his office. Rodney hadn't really expected to find Sheppard in any of those places, but he put off going to the tower because he was too damn tired for all the stairs.

As expected, there was Major-- Colonel Sheppard, head bowed so low that for a moment Rodney thought he was sleeping. But no. "Hey," Sheppard grunted.

"Hey," replied Rodney, feeling suddenly nervous. "Are you. Um. How are you?" He sat.

"Fine. You?"

Nodding rapidly, Rodney sketched his hand through the air. "Good. Fine. I had Carson sweep me again for excessive levels of radiation, and I suspect that hanging upside down by one ankle has done something unfortunate to my Achilles tendon, no matter what Carson says, and-- well. Yes. Fine."

Sheppard finally turned his head to squint at Rodney. "Why are you acting like a chipmunk on speed?"

Rodney deflated. "Oh, shut up. I'm trying to be here in your hour of need, or whatever."

That got Sheppard to laugh a little, which made Rodney feel slightly -- very slightly -- better. "I'm in my hour of need?"

And now Rodney was back to uncomfortable. "Well, you know. Ford."

Not looking at all surprised, Sheppard shrugged. "Caldwell was right. I should've been able to bring him in."

"Yeah, well." Rodney slumped against the wall. "It wasn't just you that tried to stop him. Even Conan--"

"Ronon."

"--Right, that's what I said, even he couldn't stop Ford and that man is seven feet tall and has arms like middle-aged oak trees."

They shared a look. "He is pretty scary," Sheppard replied, which was such a non-answer that Rodney sighed. "I really am okay," Sheppard continued. "Just... bummed out."

Rodney snorted. "Surf's up, dude."

Whack went Sheppard's hand on Rodney's arm, and he stood. "Just for that you're gonna get me some pie. Come on."

Adopting a put-upon expression, Rodney went.

4. And then, Doranda.

Sheppard came to the balcony twice, saw Rodney, made a crappy excuse, and left.

The third time he stayed, and Rodney knew he was forgiven.

5. The Sunday after The Sunday:

"Sheppard." Rodney sounded weary even to his own ears. "Go away. I'm fine."

Sheppard huffed a humorless laugh and dropped onto the bench. "Here." He handed over a napkin-wrapped sandwich and an apple. "You missed lunch and dinner."

"I'm not hungry," said Rodney, even as he unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. "Was that all? Because I was actually working on something."

"Whatever. Just wanted to make sure you weren't gonna throw yourself off the ledge or something." Sheppard's voice was tinged with wry amusement, but Rodney knew if he looked he'd see kindness in his eyes. And that, quite abruptly, made Rodney furious.

"Look, fuck off, Sheppard. I'm sorry if I'm not recovering from the death of my-- our friend as quickly as everyone would like. It doesn't work like that. You of all people--"

A quick, sharp jab of Sheppard's elbow to his ribs. "Knock it off." Now Sheppard sounded exasperated. "Finish your damn sandwich. Then if you still wanna yell, feel free."

And Rodney knew he was right, knew that he needed to eat even if it felt like he'd never be hungry again, knew if he just ate the fucking sandwich the irrationality would fade a little, but right now he wanted the anger. It was better than the gnawing emptiness of another death on his hands. Not just any death. Carson. He growled, hand coming up, and the sandwich sailed over the railing, his pulse hammering in his throat.

It was suddenly very quiet.

"You're even worse at this than I am," said John, digging in his pocket and pulling out his Swiss army knife. He opened the blade and picked up the apple, slicing out a section of it and handing it to Rodney.

For lack of anything better to do with his hands or his mind, Rodney ate it.

After a while the apple was gone, taking the adrenaline with it. Rodney wondered if he could just sleep up here. It would probably be better than going back down to everything.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this," John said, sounding aggrieved, "but Rodney, you gotta know you're not alone."

A faint snort. "Did Heightmeyer give you cue cards?"

"Nah. Got it memorized, by now."

Rodney looked down at his own hands, flicked away a bit of peel wedged under his thumbnail. "Not like you're some kind of emotionally intelligent wunderkind."

The pocket knife flashed a little in John's hands as he played with the attachments, pulling out the scissors, the file, the corkscrew. "This isn't a fault thing, Rodney. I've been doing this long enough to realize when a death is or isn't my fault. Or yours."

"If I had gone--"

"Shut up." The knife clattered to the ground and John's fingers were wrapped around Rodney's wrist like a vice. "No. There is no if, Rodney. It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't my fault, and it wasn't anybody's fault, not even Carson's. It just-- was."

His wrist was starting to hurt, but Rodney didn't try to take it out of John's grip.

"Say it," said John, low and grating.

"Can't," whispered Rodney. He couldn't look away from John's eyes.

The grip loosened. His hand traveled up to rest on Rodney's shoulder. "Have to," John replied. His voice had lost its edge. "Can't carry it forever."

And finally Rodney nodded, took in a deep, shaking breath. "Can you just," he began, grasping for any kind of normal. "Just talk? About-- duty roster. Inventory. Don't care."

John's hand tightened for a moment before slipping away. Rodney could still feel the warmth, though.

"What, you wanna hear about how Simmons and Mikesell are on KP for a month 'cause they short-sheeted all the NCOs' beds?"

Rodney barked a short laugh. Something loosened in his chest. "Yeah. I wanna hear about that."

6. And some nights were easier:

"It's kind of nice that this is just your average meteor shower," reflected Rodney. "As opposed to the usual oh-my-god-asteroid-coming-right-at-us crap I've come to expect."

"Word," John agreed, and laced his fingers behind his head, chin tipped up toward the sky.

Suppressing what might have become a giggle without intervention, Rodney kicked him in the shin. "Stop picking up slang from the Marines. You're way too old for that shit."

"This from the man who said Oh snap to Zelenka last week," John fired back, jabbing his pointy, pointy elbow into Rodney's side.

"Ow! Stoppit." Things descended into a slap fight, and might have gone further downhill into girlish squeals, had a particularly bright meteor not streaked across the night sky at that moment.

They both froze. "Woah." John hauled Rodney back up onto the bench, not taking his eyes off the trailing blaze. "That... is pretty awesome."

Rodney felt his mouth split into a grin. "It totally is," he agreed.

"Kind of makes a guy believe in..." John waved expansively toward the upper atmosphere. "Something."

"Yeah," Rodney agreed again, and turned to find John blinking at him in surprise. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" John's eyebrows were in danger of losing themselves in his hair. "I never figured you for anything but an atheist."

"Well." Feeling unaccountably embarrassed, Rodney gave a shrug and turned his gaze back to the shower. "Agnostic at best. A few years ago I probably... but really, the universe is just so, so ordered, you know? So full of patterns and perfection and balanced equations. I kind of like the idea that there's something that put it all together, and now it's waiting to see if I can figure out how it all goes together."

John's eyebrow twitched. "But not the Ascended?"

"Ha. Those asshats? No." Rodney sighed and stretched, wishing for his desk chair instead of the not-at-all-ergonomic bench. "I don't know. The existence of some kind of supreme being isn't provable, at least not at the moment, but it's not disprovable, either."

The lopsided smile on John's face made him look deranged. "Well, well, McKay. You contain multitudes."

"Damn straight. Hand me a cookie."

7. Which leads us back to now.

"Yes," says Rodney, deadpan. "Just like an iceberg, except entirely devoid of--" His radio crackles.

"Rodney, this is Radek. Can you come look over the results of testing? Is ready."

"Hang on," he says to John, and taps his mic on. "Can it wait? I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"Oh. Yes, is fine. I only thought you wanted results as soon as they were available."

"That's okay." Rodney peers sidelong at John, who is watching him openly. "We'll do it tomorrow." He clicks off the radio and takes a sip of his coffee, suddenly unsure where to look.

"You can go, if you need to," John says, bemused. "This is the naquadah decay test, right? I know you've been wanting to finish that."

"No, no. I mean, well. Yes, but no. This is very--" Rodney twirls his hand. "Relaxing, and Keller says I need to watch my blood pressure. So."

The wind gusts and John slides closer, pressing their arms together from shoulder to elbow. He is very warm. "Yeah, you do need to watch that," he murmurs. "Wanna keep you around, McKay."

There isn't any more coffee in his cup, Rodney discovers, when he tries to take another sip. "I'm not opposed to being kept," he says, and then blanches. "I mean--"

And then John laughs, really laughs, and gently takes the empty cup from Rodney's hands, setting it aside. "Really?" he asks, nudging Rodney's knee with his own. "Does that mean I can keep you?"

And just like that, Rodney knows it's all showing on his face, knows he couldn't claim plausible deniability if his life depended on it. "Don't be stupid," he says, faintly. "You know you can."

Calloused fingertips brush Rodney's cheek, drift over to his mouth. Rodney's eyes slip closed. Half a moment later John's mouth is on his, warm and a little chapped, and somehow Rodney's hand is in John's hair. Then John parts his lips and the inside of his mouth is even warmer, so sweet and soft and welcoming that it makes Rodney's chest ache.

When they finally break apart, Rodney's head drops to John's shoulder. "Please don't be fucking with me," he murmurs, eyes squeezed shut against the soft fleece.

A hand cups the back of his head. "Not fucking with you," John whispers, his breath ghosting against the shell of Rodney's ear.

Rodney shivers and presses closer. "Okay," he says finally.

"Okay," replies John, and keeps holding on.

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