Fic: Four Things Rodney Did for John
Title: “Four Things Rodney Did For John That John Never Knew About (And One That He Did).”
Author:kristen999
Word Count: 2,000-
Notes: Written for neevebrody . Merry Christmas!
Thank you to mischief5 for the swift, wonderful beta and to friendshipper for being a sounding board.
----
In the early days of the expedition, in between mapping the city, scouring every Podunk town for ZPMs, and repairing ancient tech with silly putty and pantyhose-Rodney would go down to the firing range and attempt shooting a gun.
He kept the target in his room, the unmarred paper a reminder of how much practice he needed.
“Don't start off so far, Doc,” Ford would tell him. “Ten meters is a respectable distance.”
“Chances are you'll be attacked at close-range,” Stackhouse lectured. “And it’d help if you didn’t drop it.”
But he dropped the weapon all the time, the kickback scaring the crap out of him, or jarring his wrist.
For every bruise and strain, he vowed not to waste his precious time; or better yet, his dexterity. Then there’d been an off-word incident with a ten-thousand-year-old Wraith and he returned to the range and tried again.
After several months, the sides and bottom of the wrinkled paper target was layered with holes.
“Not bad, Doc,” a marine complimented.
While the grunts debated headshots, Rodney took a more practical approach. It was physics after all. Distance between shooter and target, caliber of ammunition, and number of shots fired. His goal was to aim straight and shoot a spray of bullets, increasing the chance of hitting something.
Of course, there was a huge difference between paper and flesh and bone, and if he thought about that too much, he'd run to the trashcan and vomit.
One day while finishing a trade agreement, his team walked right into a Genii ambush. Forget good, old-fashioned sneers, or threats. The Genii were out for blood, still supremely pissed over losing sixty men to a failed invasion.
Outnumbered and pinned down. Sheppard yelled, “I'll draw away their fire. As soon as you see your chance, head to the gate!”
A run through the forest and a barrage of bullets later, Rodney was dialing the DHD with Sheppard hot on their heels, yelling, “Go, go!”
Rodney was one step away from entering the wormhole when he saw one of the Genii sneak up behind Sheppard at take aim. “Gun!” he screamed, yanking out his Beretta and squeezing the trigger until the weapon clicked empty.
“Move it!” Sheppard yelled and they went tumbling through the gate.
During dinner, when Rodney's mouth was filled with meatloaf, Sheppard chose that moment to say, “Thanks, for what you did on the planet. That was a real lucky shot.”
Ford opened his mouth to blabber about Rodney’s late night practice, but Rodney kicked him under the table and said instead. “Thanks, but perhaps next time, try not being such a hero.”
-----
Rodney didn't care about driving tiny, white balls off the pier, and while this particular sport involved energy, mass, and acceleration, those principles had better applications. The one thing worse than wasting time on golfing was the money spent for equipment. Unless clubs could cook you breakfast, why should anyone spend that much on them?
When Lorne showed up at his doorstep babbling about a game gone array and how said clubs had become makeshift swords in a mock battle. Rodney still didn't care.
“But they were Colonel Sheppard's.”
It was times like these when Rodney wished for the medieval ways of punishing people for misconduct and other idiotic things. “I'm taking a jumper and you're coming with me.”
“Seriously?” Lorne gaped. “I was hoping you’d tell me what would be a good bribe? The colonel's already caught up on all his paperwork for the month.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before doing live action role playing on the pier.”
The whole idea of going under millions of metric tons of ocean-again-was on the same list as fun things like tonguing a wraith and annual physicals.
Rodney paused outside the hatch, palms sweaty, heart pounding, and tried not to think what he was about to do.
“You sure about this, Doc?” Lorne wondered for the third or fourth time.
“The clubs are made of titanium; considering there’s practically nil of that mineral on the ocean surface, it shouldn’t take long locating it.”
Lorne raised an eyebrow. “And retrieval?”
Waving a hand in annoyance, Rodney snorted. “Please. I've been waiting for an excuse to test out the new robotic arms I installed on Jumper Three months ago.”
The search for two lone golf clubs scattered about by currents stretched two hours too long. Lorne never once asked why this mission was so important; he probably went along just to humor the guy responsible for saving his ass on a regular basis.
With an ‘aha’ and twenty minutes of the worse video game simulation program known to man, the automated arms worked and Operation Save Sheppard’s Clubs was successful.
With the mission complete, Rodney ushered Lorne away to go cause havoc elsewhere and sat down to wipe the clubs clean of silica and stringy plankton. Sighing, thanking all that was holy for surviving another dive under the ocean, he slipped the clubs back inside the tattered, black leather satchel.
Hefting the heavy thing over his back, he situated the gear where Sheppard left it for practice inside a large container he kept on the pier. With one final look, Rodney rubbed his fingers over the plastic tag used for traveling abroad.
Inside the cracked plastic it read- John, happy fifteenth birthday. Love, Dad.
-----
The arrival of the Daedalus always meant supplies and bleary-eyed newbies bumbling about the halls like high school freshmen. Having fresh stocks of coffee, the latest DVDs, and porn brought a smile to Rodney's face, but nothing compared to the thrill of mail time. With grabby hands of glee, he didn't wait to tear-open his sister's care package, knowing it would be filled with specially freeze-dried brownies and cookies, not to mention much-needed re-supplies of socks and underwear.
Sam watched with a bemused smile. “With the midway station out of commission, these little gifts from home take on a whole new meaning.”
“Yeah, well, it's nothing compared to the first year we were here,” Rodney replied, hardly paying her attention.
Clearing her throat, Sam fingered another small parcel. “So, there's this strange standing order regarding items sent to Colonel Sheppard from the Secretary of the Air Force?”
“Oh, um. Yeah.” Taking the package, he placed it inside his own and closed the box. “Thanks.”
“I know what’s inside the box, Rodney. Dr. Weir suggested it for him, but I’m John’s CO now.”
“Yeah, well Sheppard refuses them and Elizabeth and I worked out an arrangement.”
His answer wasn't what Sam expected, but she didn't push the issue further.
Carrying the package to his quarters, Rodney unwrapped it, and gently opened the black case, revealing a bronze medallion with an eagle with its wings upraised, standing upon two curving branches of laurel. Above and behind the eagle was a five-pointed star. Flipping the medal over, Rodney read the words "United States of America" and "Meritorious Service."
Sighing, Rodney pulled out a mahogany box and placed it with John's Silver Star and other medals.
Maybe one day, when John didn't view them as reminders for all the times he'd failed, Rodney would give them to him.
-----
“Rod'y?” John whispered.
“Shhhsh, yeah, I'm here,” he replied, wrapping his arms tighter around him.
“I...I can't see.”
“Neither can I, so we're even in that regard.”
Being locked inside a pitch-black cell set off all kinds of terror for him, but Rodney couldn't succumb to it. Sure, it'd be a hell of lot easier to be freaked the fucked out, but those assholes shot John up with enough drugs that he hadn't stopped hallucinating since.
“No!” John screamed, bucking and squirming with so much strength, Rodney held on for dear life.
“Whatever you see or hear, it's not there,” he whispered in his ear. “I promise.” John went slack in his arms, and Rodney thanked whatever higher power was looking after them for small mercies. The last time he'd released John, the colonel had crawled away and panicked so badly, it was miracle he hadn't stroked out.
There was no way he'd let him go again. Stroking his sweat slicked hair, Rodney offered reassurances, entwining his fingers with John's. “I've got you.”
Minutes, hours, days: who really knew how long they'd been left to rot in their cell, but when John started shaking again, Rodney squeezed his hands until he stilled.
A squad of marines, led by Teyla and Ronon, finally showed up after taking their sweet time to rescue them. Upon witnessing the scene before them, both teammates exacted all kinds of hell on those responsible for what happened.
After a post mission check-up and really bland infirmary food, Rodney waited with Teyla and Ronon in chairs around John's bed. It took way too long for the mini-pharmacy to be flushed out of John's system, and early the following morning, they were greeted by a pair of familiar hazel eyes.
“Hey?”
“It's about time you woke up,” Rodney replied with only slightly less bite to his usual bark. “How do you feel?”
Running a hand through his mussed hair, John groaned. “Like I got hit by a truck. What happened?”
“You don't remember?” Teyla asked.
“No.” Sitting up straighter in bed and wincing, John settled for turning his head in Rodney’s direction. “Do you mind filling me in?”
Rolling his eyes, Rodney sighed dramatically. “We were captured. You were drugged. Same old same old.”
“Drugged? Did I do anything...”
“You slept most of the time and recited really bad poetry, but for the most part, it was fairly boring,” Rodney answered, much to John's relief.
------
On Rodney's birthday, he went to a planet with the most beautiful green skies and fields of lavender and gold. Of course, such a wonderful world had to be filled with a paranoid, distrustful population armed with energy weapons.
When the head guy with an unpronounceable name tried to shoot John, Rodney pushed him out of the way and got zapped. The world spun in an array of fantastic colors and he woke up to a penlight and really annoying equipment. After some monitoring and a battery of tests, he was released and went straight to his quarters for a nap.
He hadn't expected to find John waiting for him outside his door. “Whatever you want, it can wait. I have an appointment with my bed.”
But John followed inside, snagged his arm and what was with the manhandling after nearly having his brain fried? “Hey,” he growled.
“You jumped in front of me,” John accused.
“No, I pushed you away.” Staring where John's long fingers were wrapped around his bicep, Rodney lost part of his voice. “Um...”
But John didn't let go. “I thought...for a second I was sure you were...”
“I'm perfectly alive, a bit frayed on the edges,” Rodney smiled and stared at those lovely fingers planted on his skin.
Releasing his grip, John slid his hand across Rodney's shoulder and rested it at the nape of his neck. “Don't ever do that again.”
And before Rodney could utter 'what the hell?” John pulled him close, their bodies brushing each other as warm lips met his. Shock and endorphins coursing through him, Rodney dug his fingers into the back of John's shoulders. “Finally,” he growled, before taking John's mouth for a longer, heart-pounding, second kiss.
Reeling and a bit lightheaded, Rodney buried his forehead into John's chest, breathing in sweat and earth, and the slight scent of gun oil. Pulling his head away, he looked wet his lips. “What...I mean...why? It's not like we both haven't almost died before.”
Panting slightly from adrenaline, his cheeks and tips of his ears slightly pink, John shook his head. “I wasn't sure if you...that is...”
“Yes, since...” Rodney swallowed. “For longer than you think.”
Smiling, John slid his fingers around Rodney's waist. “Then we shouldn't waste another minute.”
“No, let's not do that,” Rodney grinned and went for three for three.
Author:kristen999
Word Count: 2,000-
Notes: Written for neevebrody . Merry Christmas!
Thank you to mischief5 for the swift, wonderful beta and to friendshipper for being a sounding board.
----
In the early days of the expedition, in between mapping the city, scouring every Podunk town for ZPMs, and repairing ancient tech with silly putty and pantyhose-Rodney would go down to the firing range and attempt shooting a gun.
He kept the target in his room, the unmarred paper a reminder of how much practice he needed.
“Don't start off so far, Doc,” Ford would tell him. “Ten meters is a respectable distance.”
“Chances are you'll be attacked at close-range,” Stackhouse lectured. “And it’d help if you didn’t drop it.”
But he dropped the weapon all the time, the kickback scaring the crap out of him, or jarring his wrist.
For every bruise and strain, he vowed not to waste his precious time; or better yet, his dexterity. Then there’d been an off-word incident with a ten-thousand-year-old Wraith and he returned to the range and tried again.
After several months, the sides and bottom of the wrinkled paper target was layered with holes.
“Not bad, Doc,” a marine complimented.
While the grunts debated headshots, Rodney took a more practical approach. It was physics after all. Distance between shooter and target, caliber of ammunition, and number of shots fired. His goal was to aim straight and shoot a spray of bullets, increasing the chance of hitting something.
Of course, there was a huge difference between paper and flesh and bone, and if he thought about that too much, he'd run to the trashcan and vomit.
One day while finishing a trade agreement, his team walked right into a Genii ambush. Forget good, old-fashioned sneers, or threats. The Genii were out for blood, still supremely pissed over losing sixty men to a failed invasion.
Outnumbered and pinned down. Sheppard yelled, “I'll draw away their fire. As soon as you see your chance, head to the gate!”
A run through the forest and a barrage of bullets later, Rodney was dialing the DHD with Sheppard hot on their heels, yelling, “Go, go!”
Rodney was one step away from entering the wormhole when he saw one of the Genii sneak up behind Sheppard at take aim. “Gun!” he screamed, yanking out his Beretta and squeezing the trigger until the weapon clicked empty.
“Move it!” Sheppard yelled and they went tumbling through the gate.
During dinner, when Rodney's mouth was filled with meatloaf, Sheppard chose that moment to say, “Thanks, for what you did on the planet. That was a real lucky shot.”
Ford opened his mouth to blabber about Rodney’s late night practice, but Rodney kicked him under the table and said instead. “Thanks, but perhaps next time, try not being such a hero.”
-----
Rodney didn't care about driving tiny, white balls off the pier, and while this particular sport involved energy, mass, and acceleration, those principles had better applications. The one thing worse than wasting time on golfing was the money spent for equipment. Unless clubs could cook you breakfast, why should anyone spend that much on them?
When Lorne showed up at his doorstep babbling about a game gone array and how said clubs had become makeshift swords in a mock battle. Rodney still didn't care.
“But they were Colonel Sheppard's.”
It was times like these when Rodney wished for the medieval ways of punishing people for misconduct and other idiotic things. “I'm taking a jumper and you're coming with me.”
“Seriously?” Lorne gaped. “I was hoping you’d tell me what would be a good bribe? The colonel's already caught up on all his paperwork for the month.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before doing live action role playing on the pier.”
The whole idea of going under millions of metric tons of ocean-again-was on the same list as fun things like tonguing a wraith and annual physicals.
Rodney paused outside the hatch, palms sweaty, heart pounding, and tried not to think what he was about to do.
“You sure about this, Doc?” Lorne wondered for the third or fourth time.
“The clubs are made of titanium; considering there’s practically nil of that mineral on the ocean surface, it shouldn’t take long locating it.”
Lorne raised an eyebrow. “And retrieval?”
Waving a hand in annoyance, Rodney snorted. “Please. I've been waiting for an excuse to test out the new robotic arms I installed on Jumper Three months ago.”
The search for two lone golf clubs scattered about by currents stretched two hours too long. Lorne never once asked why this mission was so important; he probably went along just to humor the guy responsible for saving his ass on a regular basis.
With an ‘aha’ and twenty minutes of the worse video game simulation program known to man, the automated arms worked and Operation Save Sheppard’s Clubs was successful.
With the mission complete, Rodney ushered Lorne away to go cause havoc elsewhere and sat down to wipe the clubs clean of silica and stringy plankton. Sighing, thanking all that was holy for surviving another dive under the ocean, he slipped the clubs back inside the tattered, black leather satchel.
Hefting the heavy thing over his back, he situated the gear where Sheppard left it for practice inside a large container he kept on the pier. With one final look, Rodney rubbed his fingers over the plastic tag used for traveling abroad.
Inside the cracked plastic it read- John, happy fifteenth birthday. Love, Dad.
-----
The arrival of the Daedalus always meant supplies and bleary-eyed newbies bumbling about the halls like high school freshmen. Having fresh stocks of coffee, the latest DVDs, and porn brought a smile to Rodney's face, but nothing compared to the thrill of mail time. With grabby hands of glee, he didn't wait to tear-open his sister's care package, knowing it would be filled with specially freeze-dried brownies and cookies, not to mention much-needed re-supplies of socks and underwear.
Sam watched with a bemused smile. “With the midway station out of commission, these little gifts from home take on a whole new meaning.”
“Yeah, well, it's nothing compared to the first year we were here,” Rodney replied, hardly paying her attention.
Clearing her throat, Sam fingered another small parcel. “So, there's this strange standing order regarding items sent to Colonel Sheppard from the Secretary of the Air Force?”
“Oh, um. Yeah.” Taking the package, he placed it inside his own and closed the box. “Thanks.”
“I know what’s inside the box, Rodney. Dr. Weir suggested it for him, but I’m John’s CO now.”
“Yeah, well Sheppard refuses them and Elizabeth and I worked out an arrangement.”
His answer wasn't what Sam expected, but she didn't push the issue further.
Carrying the package to his quarters, Rodney unwrapped it, and gently opened the black case, revealing a bronze medallion with an eagle with its wings upraised, standing upon two curving branches of laurel. Above and behind the eagle was a five-pointed star. Flipping the medal over, Rodney read the words "United States of America" and "Meritorious Service."
Sighing, Rodney pulled out a mahogany box and placed it with John's Silver Star and other medals.
Maybe one day, when John didn't view them as reminders for all the times he'd failed, Rodney would give them to him.
-----
“Rod'y?” John whispered.
“Shhhsh, yeah, I'm here,” he replied, wrapping his arms tighter around him.
“I...I can't see.”
“Neither can I, so we're even in that regard.”
Being locked inside a pitch-black cell set off all kinds of terror for him, but Rodney couldn't succumb to it. Sure, it'd be a hell of lot easier to be freaked the fucked out, but those assholes shot John up with enough drugs that he hadn't stopped hallucinating since.
“No!” John screamed, bucking and squirming with so much strength, Rodney held on for dear life.
“Whatever you see or hear, it's not there,” he whispered in his ear. “I promise.” John went slack in his arms, and Rodney thanked whatever higher power was looking after them for small mercies. The last time he'd released John, the colonel had crawled away and panicked so badly, it was miracle he hadn't stroked out.
There was no way he'd let him go again. Stroking his sweat slicked hair, Rodney offered reassurances, entwining his fingers with John's. “I've got you.”
Minutes, hours, days: who really knew how long they'd been left to rot in their cell, but when John started shaking again, Rodney squeezed his hands until he stilled.
A squad of marines, led by Teyla and Ronon, finally showed up after taking their sweet time to rescue them. Upon witnessing the scene before them, both teammates exacted all kinds of hell on those responsible for what happened.
After a post mission check-up and really bland infirmary food, Rodney waited with Teyla and Ronon in chairs around John's bed. It took way too long for the mini-pharmacy to be flushed out of John's system, and early the following morning, they were greeted by a pair of familiar hazel eyes.
“Hey?”
“It's about time you woke up,” Rodney replied with only slightly less bite to his usual bark. “How do you feel?”
Running a hand through his mussed hair, John groaned. “Like I got hit by a truck. What happened?”
“You don't remember?” Teyla asked.
“No.” Sitting up straighter in bed and wincing, John settled for turning his head in Rodney’s direction. “Do you mind filling me in?”
Rolling his eyes, Rodney sighed dramatically. “We were captured. You were drugged. Same old same old.”
“Drugged? Did I do anything...”
“You slept most of the time and recited really bad poetry, but for the most part, it was fairly boring,” Rodney answered, much to John's relief.
------
On Rodney's birthday, he went to a planet with the most beautiful green skies and fields of lavender and gold. Of course, such a wonderful world had to be filled with a paranoid, distrustful population armed with energy weapons.
When the head guy with an unpronounceable name tried to shoot John, Rodney pushed him out of the way and got zapped. The world spun in an array of fantastic colors and he woke up to a penlight and really annoying equipment. After some monitoring and a battery of tests, he was released and went straight to his quarters for a nap.
He hadn't expected to find John waiting for him outside his door. “Whatever you want, it can wait. I have an appointment with my bed.”
But John followed inside, snagged his arm and what was with the manhandling after nearly having his brain fried? “Hey,” he growled.
“You jumped in front of me,” John accused.
“No, I pushed you away.” Staring where John's long fingers were wrapped around his bicep, Rodney lost part of his voice. “Um...”
But John didn't let go. “I thought...for a second I was sure you were...”
“I'm perfectly alive, a bit frayed on the edges,” Rodney smiled and stared at those lovely fingers planted on his skin.
Releasing his grip, John slid his hand across Rodney's shoulder and rested it at the nape of his neck. “Don't ever do that again.”
And before Rodney could utter 'what the hell?” John pulled him close, their bodies brushing each other as warm lips met his. Shock and endorphins coursing through him, Rodney dug his fingers into the back of John's shoulders. “Finally,” he growled, before taking John's mouth for a longer, heart-pounding, second kiss.
Reeling and a bit lightheaded, Rodney buried his forehead into John's chest, breathing in sweat and earth, and the slight scent of gun oil. Pulling his head away, he looked wet his lips. “What...I mean...why? It's not like we both haven't almost died before.”
Panting slightly from adrenaline, his cheeks and tips of his ears slightly pink, John shook his head. “I wasn't sure if you...that is...”
“Yes, since...” Rodney swallowed. “For longer than you think.”
Smiling, John slid his fingers around Rodney's waist. “Then we shouldn't waste another minute.”
“No, let's not do that,” Rodney grinned and went for three for three.