New SGA Fic: Help Wanted, PG-13, 1/1
Help Wanted
by Suz
Disclaimer - SciFi/Producer-type-people own everything. Damn.
Well, damn. It's a SGA fic. And it's McShep! I'm not quite sure what happened. My nel was blue and I was trying to cheer her up, and this happened :) This is dedicated to her. *smooch* I love you.
Many, many thanks to my nel and Bonnie for pointing out things that sucked *g*. You both kick ass.
McKay/Sheppard. Complete and utter AU. Feedback would rock the socks I'm wearing that have little Canadian flags on him (ha! How appropriate *g*).
*
Rodney didn't get it.
Sure, yeah, he knew his people skills could use some work, but just exactly what people skills were required to work at McDonald's? What great understanding of the human psyche preceded the words, "Would you like fries with that?"
But no - the pimply-faced reject that even he'd be afraid to be seen hanging out with had said, "I don't think you have the right attitude for the job," before offering him a voucher for a free drink.
Muttering as he marched down the drizzle-dampened street, Rodney tore the voucher in half, then again, and then again until he suddenly let go of the remains, letting them blow out of his hands and onto the ground.
An old lady passing him tutted her disapproval.
All he wanted was to get some extra money to help him through university - the courses were all paid for, but there were other things he had to consider like, say, eating - but everywhere he went it seemed as if everyone was determined not to give him a job.
What the hell did he ever do to anyone? (and no, blowing up Susie Kingston's pants in third grade didn't count because she'd definitely had it coming).
And then, like a beacon in the night - or some other more apt metaphor that escaped him right now but he'd definitely think of later - he saw the sign:
HELP WANTED
In a coffee house window.
Of *course*! Why didn't he think of this before?
Rushing into the shop, Rodney breathed in the heady, caffeine-filled atmosphere. *This* was what he'd been searching for. Rodney and coffee went together like peanut butter and jelly, rootbeer and ice cream, Scarecrow and Mrs King; like the fusion of the protons and neutrons that formed a helium nucleus. It was his firm conviction that caffeine would likely be the only constant companion in life, and that thought didn't bother him at all. Most of the people he interacted with on a daily basis had a lower IQ than most coffee plants.
Yes, yes, this was an *excellent* plan. He'd work here and actually enjoy what he was doing - even if he did have to deal with annoying, dim-witted customers - because there was coffeeee-
"Can I help you?"
Oh. Right. He actually had to get the job first. Plastering on a fake smile (and it looked fake, he knew it did, but he did it anyway), Rodney turned towards the counter.
The guy standing there was pretty tall, dark hair; had that general I-can-get-laid-by-anyone look but didn't really seem like he was aware of it.
Rodney hated him.
"I need a job," Rodney said, but realised afterwards he was actually demanding the job, not asking about it. Oops. "What I mean is..."
"You saw the help wanted sign and you'd like to inquire about working here?" the guy offered, smirking a little.
Which was not hot. At all.
"It's like you read my mind," Rodney answered. "Seriously," he continued, "I really like coffee and I really need a job so it just seems like the perfect solution."
The guy lifted an eyebrow (which was also not in the least bit attractive). "You do understand that *if* you work here, you won't actually be able to drink all the coffee you're serving?"
"Of course, of course, of course," Rodney snorted. "But I am something of a coffee connoissuer, if you like, so I'll be able to help any of your highbrow customers with suggestions and information on special blends."
Lifting both eyebrows this time, the guy made a point of looking around at his customers - students and bums who'd managed to scrounge up enough money for a hot drink - before looking back at Rodney.
Time to bring out the big guns. "I can do math in my head and I'm never wrong."
Bringing up his right hand, the guy rubbed it across the bottom of his jaw, squinting at Rodney. "You going to college?"
"University," Rodney corrected automatically.
"So, college," the guy grinned, lowering his hand.
Biting his tongue to stop himself correcting him again - why Americans insisted on referring to all post-school education as college, he'd never know - Rodney nodded.
"Well we'll have to work around your classes but that shouldn't be a problem. What's your schedule like?"
Wait a minute. Rodney's eyes widened. "You mean I have it?"
"Provided you don't drink me out of business, yeah," the guy grinned again, which was really...uh, not nice at all, "you have it."
Staring at the extended hand for a few seconds, Rodney mentally shook his head before reaching out to shake the hand. "Thank you! Thank you *so* much! A few more weeks and I would have been formulating ways to mutate dirty laundry into food."
Obviously amused (right now Rodney didn't care), the guy shrugged. "Not a problem at all, uh...?"
"Oh, Rodney!" he exclaimed. "Rodney McKay." It was just about then that he realised they were still shaking hands, so he quickly stopped and pulled his hand away. Didn't want his new boss to get the idea that he wanted to grope him or do something else incredibly inappropriate. Nope.
The guy nodded, then gestured to himself. "John Sheppard. You can call me John. So," You can call me John continued, "let's figure out a time that's not so busy when you can come back and I can show you the ropes."
Fervent though his imagination was, Rodney was sadly aware that had nothing to do with bondage.
*
The espresso machine hated him. In fact, Rodney was pretty sure that when it was alone at night, the espresso machine thought up new and annoying ways to make his life harder. It held this senseless, vindictive grudge against him that he just couldn't explain. All Rodney had ever done was be good to coffee - he practically worshipped coffee - and this was how it treated him?
Grunting, Rodney yanked on the handle.
"Easy, easy!" John appeared from somewhere, covering Rodney's hand with his own. "I told you, McKay, it requires a certain touch. Let Kathy deal with the espressos until you get the hang of it."
"You don't understand," Rodney complained, "I've built nuclear bombs!"
Removing his hand, John blinked and took a step back. "You've built nuclear bombs?"
"Well," Rodney shrugged, turning away from The Evil Espresso Entity, "they were working models. But the point is," he continued, quickly moving on, "I've never had to 'work' with technology. It's always done whatever I've wanted it to - it's *easy*. It comes naturally. Everything I've ever taken apart I've put back together - usually better. Except for..." Frustrated, he waved his towel at the damn thing.
"The espresso machine from hell?" John asked.
"Yes!"
Sighing, John shook his head. "Rodney..."
"Yes?"
Leaning towards him, John held his gaze. "You can't do everything. Deal with it."
He'd only been working there a few weeks, and it was creepy how well John knew him already. In fact, he was kind of amazed that he hadn't been fired yet. Not that his work wasn't up to his usual excellent standards - Rodney saw no point in working if you were going to do anything less than a brilliant job - but when you only had so many employees, you'd think it would make sense that they were able to effectively use all of the necessary equipment.
It didn't seem to bother John, though, so for once Rodney kept his mouth shut before he talked himself out of a job.
And John was still there. Not moving. Mere inches from Rodney's face.
"Okay, I'll work on it," he mumbled, moving away from the espresso machine - and the man standing next to it.
Later that night, Rodney was doing everything he could to shove John out the door. Kathy had already left to meet some guy she was dating.
("He's, like, so totally awesome."
Rodney had rolled his eyes. "Does he, like, come from the same planet you do?"
Kathy had flipped him off. "Do you, like, want me to tell the boss man you've been drooling all over him?"
Rodney froze. "Want a drink before you go?")
John apparently had plans to do something specific at home, so when he'd asked Rodney if he'd mind locking up, Rodney had jumped at the chance.
"You're sure you remember how to do everything? The locks, the alarm?" John asked as Rodney escorted him to the door. All the customers were gone and most of the clean-up was done, so there really wasn't much left to do.
"Oh please, I'm fine," Rodney insisted, "I've done it thousands of times by myself." John looked at him. "Okay, twice. But I have an excellent memory, as I'm sure you'll agree."
Laughing in obvious exasperation, John cocked his head to the right. "You're something else, you know that, Rodney?"
Rodney barely held in a grin. "Yes. Yes I do."
Chuckling again, John headed out the door. "See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," Rodney agreed, watching him look for traffic as he crossed the darkened street. When John was safely on the other side, he closed the door and locked it.
Walked towards the espresso machine.
Glared at it.
"Just you and me now, my little friend."
*
The inside of an espresso machine was really quite interesting. Rodney found many components he was familiar with, and it reassurred him that he was doing the right thing. Not that he ever really doubted himself, but he did recognise that this whole situation could be perceived as underhanded and sneaky.
That was actually kind of cool.
Quite frankly, after a while he was disgusted with whoever had built the thing. There was no wonder it kept breaking down all the time and God knew the last time it'd been serviced. After cleaning out enough coffee residue to almost make him sick of the very idea of caffeine, Rodney set about making things better.
And this was fun, really, it was what he'd been born to do, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself and nearly done when there was a noise at the door.
He wasn't overly concerned. It wasn't the dead of night, and there was always someone who wanted coffee (he should know), but when he looked up from the table he was working on he saw who was standing on the other side of the glass door.
John.
Crap.
"McKay?" John asked, voice muffled through the glass, as he took out his own set of keys and started unlocking the door - and no doubt turning off the alarm, too.
Making sure the last piece was screwed firmly in place, Rodney slid the casing of the espresso machine back on, and just as it clicked in the door swung open.
"What the hell are you doing?" John demanded, looking incredibly angry and not in the least bit hot.
"Uh, cleaning," he lied, sneaking the towel out from where it was still hooked in his pants and rubbing the machine.
"McKay..." John all but growled.
"Okay!" He threw his hands up in the air, standing. "I made it better. It'll work much more efficiently now and won't break down all the time. Here, I'll show you." Picking up the machine, he carefully carried it behind the serving counter and started hooking it back up.
"McKay."
Rodney was plugging it into the wall. "No, really, just wait five seconds and-"
"McKay!"
Shocked, Rodney stumbled back, back pressing against the counter.
"The point," John glared, advancing towards him, "isn't that you've made it better, or more efficient - hell, I don't care if you turned it into a TV that only shows porn. The point, Rodney, is that you're not in charge - *I* am. And if you want to do something like this, you discuss it with *me* first. Understood?"
Rodney was either about to come or pass out. It could go either way. "Understood," he cleared his throat, hands clinging onto the edge of the counter behind him. "Have I just lost my job?" He was a little afraid to ask, but he really needed to know.
Straightening up, John rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "No, Rodney, you haven't lost your job. But if you keep doing this you will, okay?"
"Okay," Rodney breathed out shakily, slowly pushing himself away from the counter. "So...you want to see the EMH in action?"
Letting his hands fall, John frowned. "EMH?"
"Espresso Machine from Hell," Rodney grinned.
Huffing out a laugh, John leant against the counter. "Sure, McKay."
As Rodney got the machine going (all by himself, without *any* help), he glanced over towards John. "So...what are you doing here, anyway? Checking up on me?" he joked.
"Uh," John began, "well, actually..." He looked away, scratching at his neck.
Thumping the mug he'd been holding down next to the EMH, Rodney put his hands on his hips. "Were you *checking up* on me?!"
"It's not like it's just you, McKay!" John held out his hands. "It's not like I'm singling you out! I do it with all new staff the first few times they lock up by themselves. I'd be stupid not to make sure they're locking up properly - I have a business to look after *and* a boss to report to myself."
"I cannot believe this," Rodney huffed, seriously offended, picking the mug up and then thumping it back down again, "all this time."
"It was three times," John said dryly.
Rodney ignored him. "I thought that you trusted me, but instead you were sneaking around waiting for me to screw up."
"Like, say, taking apart a perfectly functional espresso machine?"
"But do you see how functional it is *now*?" Rodney yelled, pointing towards it. "All this time," he couldn't believe it, "I thought that you might actually like me. I thought that we were friends. I thought that we might be *more* than..." Oh God, why couldn't he *ever* keep his mouth shut? "...and by more than friends I mean best buddies, friends for life, the kind of people who exchange kidneys, you know? Did I mention I have trust issues?"
Frowning, John squinted at him. "Rodney, do you *like* me?" He seemed entirely too relaxed about the possibility.
"Of course I like you," Rodney breathed, picking up the mug and really not sure what he was supposed to do with it. "I wouldn't work under...uh with you if I didn't like you. You're a nice guy. You help old ladies across the street. Or at least I'm reasonably sure you do in your spare time, which I don't actually know anything abou-"
"You know, this actually makes a lot of sense," John said, as if it was a problem that'd been bugging him for a while.
"Oh?" Rodney asked, clutching the mug.
Regarding Rodney carefully, John took a step towards him. "You know you've seriously invalidated that things warranty, right? That'll be a problem if it ever breaks down."
Putting down the mug - but not, definitely not looking away because things were looking really good right now - Rodney had an easy solution. "I'll build you a new one."
John shrugged, smirking as he moved closer. "Deal."
Damn, Rodney loved his job.
~FINIS
by Suz
Disclaimer - SciFi/Producer-type-people own everything. Damn.
Well, damn. It's a SGA fic. And it's McShep! I'm not quite sure what happened. My nel was blue and I was trying to cheer her up, and this happened :) This is dedicated to her. *smooch* I love you.
Many, many thanks to my nel and Bonnie for pointing out things that sucked *g*. You both kick ass.
McKay/Sheppard. Complete and utter AU. Feedback would rock the socks I'm wearing that have little Canadian flags on him (ha! How appropriate *g*).
*
Rodney didn't get it.
Sure, yeah, he knew his people skills could use some work, but just exactly what people skills were required to work at McDonald's? What great understanding of the human psyche preceded the words, "Would you like fries with that?"
But no - the pimply-faced reject that even he'd be afraid to be seen hanging out with had said, "I don't think you have the right attitude for the job," before offering him a voucher for a free drink.
Muttering as he marched down the drizzle-dampened street, Rodney tore the voucher in half, then again, and then again until he suddenly let go of the remains, letting them blow out of his hands and onto the ground.
An old lady passing him tutted her disapproval.
All he wanted was to get some extra money to help him through university - the courses were all paid for, but there were other things he had to consider like, say, eating - but everywhere he went it seemed as if everyone was determined not to give him a job.
What the hell did he ever do to anyone? (and no, blowing up Susie Kingston's pants in third grade didn't count because she'd definitely had it coming).
And then, like a beacon in the night - or some other more apt metaphor that escaped him right now but he'd definitely think of later - he saw the sign:
HELP WANTED
In a coffee house window.
Of *course*! Why didn't he think of this before?
Rushing into the shop, Rodney breathed in the heady, caffeine-filled atmosphere. *This* was what he'd been searching for. Rodney and coffee went together like peanut butter and jelly, rootbeer and ice cream, Scarecrow and Mrs King; like the fusion of the protons and neutrons that formed a helium nucleus. It was his firm conviction that caffeine would likely be the only constant companion in life, and that thought didn't bother him at all. Most of the people he interacted with on a daily basis had a lower IQ than most coffee plants.
Yes, yes, this was an *excellent* plan. He'd work here and actually enjoy what he was doing - even if he did have to deal with annoying, dim-witted customers - because there was coffeeee-
"Can I help you?"
Oh. Right. He actually had to get the job first. Plastering on a fake smile (and it looked fake, he knew it did, but he did it anyway), Rodney turned towards the counter.
The guy standing there was pretty tall, dark hair; had that general I-can-get-laid-by-anyone look but didn't really seem like he was aware of it.
Rodney hated him.
"I need a job," Rodney said, but realised afterwards he was actually demanding the job, not asking about it. Oops. "What I mean is..."
"You saw the help wanted sign and you'd like to inquire about working here?" the guy offered, smirking a little.
Which was not hot. At all.
"It's like you read my mind," Rodney answered. "Seriously," he continued, "I really like coffee and I really need a job so it just seems like the perfect solution."
The guy lifted an eyebrow (which was also not in the least bit attractive). "You do understand that *if* you work here, you won't actually be able to drink all the coffee you're serving?"
"Of course, of course, of course," Rodney snorted. "But I am something of a coffee connoissuer, if you like, so I'll be able to help any of your highbrow customers with suggestions and information on special blends."
Lifting both eyebrows this time, the guy made a point of looking around at his customers - students and bums who'd managed to scrounge up enough money for a hot drink - before looking back at Rodney.
Time to bring out the big guns. "I can do math in my head and I'm never wrong."
Bringing up his right hand, the guy rubbed it across the bottom of his jaw, squinting at Rodney. "You going to college?"
"University," Rodney corrected automatically.
"So, college," the guy grinned, lowering his hand.
Biting his tongue to stop himself correcting him again - why Americans insisted on referring to all post-school education as college, he'd never know - Rodney nodded.
"Well we'll have to work around your classes but that shouldn't be a problem. What's your schedule like?"
Wait a minute. Rodney's eyes widened. "You mean I have it?"
"Provided you don't drink me out of business, yeah," the guy grinned again, which was really...uh, not nice at all, "you have it."
Staring at the extended hand for a few seconds, Rodney mentally shook his head before reaching out to shake the hand. "Thank you! Thank you *so* much! A few more weeks and I would have been formulating ways to mutate dirty laundry into food."
Obviously amused (right now Rodney didn't care), the guy shrugged. "Not a problem at all, uh...?"
"Oh, Rodney!" he exclaimed. "Rodney McKay." It was just about then that he realised they were still shaking hands, so he quickly stopped and pulled his hand away. Didn't want his new boss to get the idea that he wanted to grope him or do something else incredibly inappropriate. Nope.
The guy nodded, then gestured to himself. "John Sheppard. You can call me John. So," You can call me John continued, "let's figure out a time that's not so busy when you can come back and I can show you the ropes."
Fervent though his imagination was, Rodney was sadly aware that had nothing to do with bondage.
*
The espresso machine hated him. In fact, Rodney was pretty sure that when it was alone at night, the espresso machine thought up new and annoying ways to make his life harder. It held this senseless, vindictive grudge against him that he just couldn't explain. All Rodney had ever done was be good to coffee - he practically worshipped coffee - and this was how it treated him?
Grunting, Rodney yanked on the handle.
"Easy, easy!" John appeared from somewhere, covering Rodney's hand with his own. "I told you, McKay, it requires a certain touch. Let Kathy deal with the espressos until you get the hang of it."
"You don't understand," Rodney complained, "I've built nuclear bombs!"
Removing his hand, John blinked and took a step back. "You've built nuclear bombs?"
"Well," Rodney shrugged, turning away from The Evil Espresso Entity, "they were working models. But the point is," he continued, quickly moving on, "I've never had to 'work' with technology. It's always done whatever I've wanted it to - it's *easy*. It comes naturally. Everything I've ever taken apart I've put back together - usually better. Except for..." Frustrated, he waved his towel at the damn thing.
"The espresso machine from hell?" John asked.
"Yes!"
Sighing, John shook his head. "Rodney..."
"Yes?"
Leaning towards him, John held his gaze. "You can't do everything. Deal with it."
He'd only been working there a few weeks, and it was creepy how well John knew him already. In fact, he was kind of amazed that he hadn't been fired yet. Not that his work wasn't up to his usual excellent standards - Rodney saw no point in working if you were going to do anything less than a brilliant job - but when you only had so many employees, you'd think it would make sense that they were able to effectively use all of the necessary equipment.
It didn't seem to bother John, though, so for once Rodney kept his mouth shut before he talked himself out of a job.
And John was still there. Not moving. Mere inches from Rodney's face.
"Okay, I'll work on it," he mumbled, moving away from the espresso machine - and the man standing next to it.
Later that night, Rodney was doing everything he could to shove John out the door. Kathy had already left to meet some guy she was dating.
("He's, like, so totally awesome."
Rodney had rolled his eyes. "Does he, like, come from the same planet you do?"
Kathy had flipped him off. "Do you, like, want me to tell the boss man you've been drooling all over him?"
Rodney froze. "Want a drink before you go?")
John apparently had plans to do something specific at home, so when he'd asked Rodney if he'd mind locking up, Rodney had jumped at the chance.
"You're sure you remember how to do everything? The locks, the alarm?" John asked as Rodney escorted him to the door. All the customers were gone and most of the clean-up was done, so there really wasn't much left to do.
"Oh please, I'm fine," Rodney insisted, "I've done it thousands of times by myself." John looked at him. "Okay, twice. But I have an excellent memory, as I'm sure you'll agree."
Laughing in obvious exasperation, John cocked his head to the right. "You're something else, you know that, Rodney?"
Rodney barely held in a grin. "Yes. Yes I do."
Chuckling again, John headed out the door. "See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," Rodney agreed, watching him look for traffic as he crossed the darkened street. When John was safely on the other side, he closed the door and locked it.
Walked towards the espresso machine.
Glared at it.
"Just you and me now, my little friend."
*
The inside of an espresso machine was really quite interesting. Rodney found many components he was familiar with, and it reassurred him that he was doing the right thing. Not that he ever really doubted himself, but he did recognise that this whole situation could be perceived as underhanded and sneaky.
That was actually kind of cool.
Quite frankly, after a while he was disgusted with whoever had built the thing. There was no wonder it kept breaking down all the time and God knew the last time it'd been serviced. After cleaning out enough coffee residue to almost make him sick of the very idea of caffeine, Rodney set about making things better.
And this was fun, really, it was what he'd been born to do, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself and nearly done when there was a noise at the door.
He wasn't overly concerned. It wasn't the dead of night, and there was always someone who wanted coffee (he should know), but when he looked up from the table he was working on he saw who was standing on the other side of the glass door.
John.
Crap.
"McKay?" John asked, voice muffled through the glass, as he took out his own set of keys and started unlocking the door - and no doubt turning off the alarm, too.
Making sure the last piece was screwed firmly in place, Rodney slid the casing of the espresso machine back on, and just as it clicked in the door swung open.
"What the hell are you doing?" John demanded, looking incredibly angry and not in the least bit hot.
"Uh, cleaning," he lied, sneaking the towel out from where it was still hooked in his pants and rubbing the machine.
"McKay..." John all but growled.
"Okay!" He threw his hands up in the air, standing. "I made it better. It'll work much more efficiently now and won't break down all the time. Here, I'll show you." Picking up the machine, he carefully carried it behind the serving counter and started hooking it back up.
"McKay."
Rodney was plugging it into the wall. "No, really, just wait five seconds and-"
"McKay!"
Shocked, Rodney stumbled back, back pressing against the counter.
"The point," John glared, advancing towards him, "isn't that you've made it better, or more efficient - hell, I don't care if you turned it into a TV that only shows porn. The point, Rodney, is that you're not in charge - *I* am. And if you want to do something like this, you discuss it with *me* first. Understood?"
Rodney was either about to come or pass out. It could go either way. "Understood," he cleared his throat, hands clinging onto the edge of the counter behind him. "Have I just lost my job?" He was a little afraid to ask, but he really needed to know.
Straightening up, John rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "No, Rodney, you haven't lost your job. But if you keep doing this you will, okay?"
"Okay," Rodney breathed out shakily, slowly pushing himself away from the counter. "So...you want to see the EMH in action?"
Letting his hands fall, John frowned. "EMH?"
"Espresso Machine from Hell," Rodney grinned.
Huffing out a laugh, John leant against the counter. "Sure, McKay."
As Rodney got the machine going (all by himself, without *any* help), he glanced over towards John. "So...what are you doing here, anyway? Checking up on me?" he joked.
"Uh," John began, "well, actually..." He looked away, scratching at his neck.
Thumping the mug he'd been holding down next to the EMH, Rodney put his hands on his hips. "Were you *checking up* on me?!"
"It's not like it's just you, McKay!" John held out his hands. "It's not like I'm singling you out! I do it with all new staff the first few times they lock up by themselves. I'd be stupid not to make sure they're locking up properly - I have a business to look after *and* a boss to report to myself."
"I cannot believe this," Rodney huffed, seriously offended, picking the mug up and then thumping it back down again, "all this time."
"It was three times," John said dryly.
Rodney ignored him. "I thought that you trusted me, but instead you were sneaking around waiting for me to screw up."
"Like, say, taking apart a perfectly functional espresso machine?"
"But do you see how functional it is *now*?" Rodney yelled, pointing towards it. "All this time," he couldn't believe it, "I thought that you might actually like me. I thought that we were friends. I thought that we might be *more* than..." Oh God, why couldn't he *ever* keep his mouth shut? "...and by more than friends I mean best buddies, friends for life, the kind of people who exchange kidneys, you know? Did I mention I have trust issues?"
Frowning, John squinted at him. "Rodney, do you *like* me?" He seemed entirely too relaxed about the possibility.
"Of course I like you," Rodney breathed, picking up the mug and really not sure what he was supposed to do with it. "I wouldn't work under...uh with you if I didn't like you. You're a nice guy. You help old ladies across the street. Or at least I'm reasonably sure you do in your spare time, which I don't actually know anything abou-"
"You know, this actually makes a lot of sense," John said, as if it was a problem that'd been bugging him for a while.
"Oh?" Rodney asked, clutching the mug.
Regarding Rodney carefully, John took a step towards him. "You know you've seriously invalidated that things warranty, right? That'll be a problem if it ever breaks down."
Putting down the mug - but not, definitely not looking away because things were looking really good right now - Rodney had an easy solution. "I'll build you a new one."
John shrugged, smirking as he moved closer. "Deal."
Damn, Rodney loved his job.
~FINIS