Ficlet for smallbeer: French Class
Dude, I am, like, on fire tonight. Which probably means I am going to pass out any minute now. But hey, I'm HALFWAY THERE with these babies. Rock.
Comment fic the fifth:
Title: French Class
Rating: PG
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: Tiny tiny one for ‘The Long Goodbye’
Length: ~1500 words
Summary: For smallbeer: ‘John and Rodney have to explain some wacky Earth custom to Ronon.’
French Class
John didn’t want to jump on the bandwagon with the large number of his countrymen who had taken to blaming everything on the French, but that didn’t change the fact that this was totally Dr. Bonnaire’s fault.
They were all enjoying some well-earned team downtime, hanging out in one of the rec rooms and watching The X-Files because Rodney had finally cracked and declared that Ronon and Teyla would never understand episodic television unless they put in some serious time watching it. “I thought you didn’t like TV,” Ronon had said, which set Rodney off again until Teyla separated them with steady hands and a calm, “Perhaps it would be best if we judged for ourselves.”
Now, six hours and a mini-marathon later, they both looked more confused than ever. “I do not understand,” Teyla said, munching a Frito thoughtfully. “How many species of aliens are involved in this?”
John shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t think the people who made the show had any idea.” He stretched out his leg and nudged Rodney’s ankle. “Maybe you should explain the mytharc, Rodney.”
“Oh, please,” Rodney said. He got up and walked over to the snack table, which was arrayed with all the best they could steal or smuggle. “It makes no sense whatsoever. But you’re all missing the point. You have to think of the show as a kind of a farce--”
“I’m leaving,” Ronon said suddenly, standing.
“But why?” John asked, genuinely surprised--it was odd and out-of-character for Ronon to leave when there were still plenty of snacks.
Ronon jerked his head toward the screen. “He keeps losing his gun. It bugs me.”
“A farce!” Rodney said. “A comedy of errors! Plus, you have to admit that Scully is really, really hot...”
Ronon shrugged. “I’m bored with watching the box,” he said.
John was sorry to see him go, but team leader or not, he couldn’t exactly order anyone to stay and watch TV. “We can try again later with something else,” he offered. “Hey, you know what I bet you would really like? Xena.”
Rodney scoffed; Ronon just shrugged again and headed toward the door. At the snack table he paused, looking over the cornucopia of things fried or sugar-coated, or, in a few cases, both. Then he picked up an entire bowl of toffee popcorn and walked off with it.
“Hey!” said Rodney, pausing with a Pringle half in and half out of his mouth. “You’re just helping yourself and then vamoosing? How rude!”
John laughed, as he inevitably did whenever Rodney criticized someone else’s manners. Ronon, however, turned back around with a grunted “sorry.” Then he grabbed Rodney by the back of the neck and kissed him firmly on both cheeks.
John fell off the couch.
“Mmph! Ahh! Wha?” said Rodney, choking on his Pringle. He gathered his wits enough to give Ronon’s shoulders a sharp push. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Being polite,” Ronon said, and John, from his admittedly disadvantageous position on the floor, couldn’t tell whether he was being dense or coy.
“Polite?” sputtered Rodney. “Your idea of being polite is to molest me?”
“That’s not your custom?” Ronon said.
Teyla’s bare toes were dangling just a few inches above John’s face; they gave a slight twitch and John realized that she was trying really hard not to laugh. John pushed himself to his feet. “Ronon,” he said, “who have you been talking to?”
“Doctor Bonnaire.”
“Bonnaire?” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake.” John suddenly felt sorry for every member of the chemistry department, because they were going to pay for this.
“Look,” John said, trying to diffuse the situation. “Bonnaire’s French. The French, they do things a little differently than we do. Generally, we don’t kiss people goodbye like that. If you were in France, it would be polite, but here it’ll just make people feel--”
“Violated?” suggested Rodney.
“--Uncomfortable,” finished John.
Ronon nodded. “So I should not have French kissed McKay.”
John bit his lip--hard--and he still couldn’t stop a bit of laughter from burbling out. For his part, Rodney looked like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to burst into a mad fit of giggles or curl up in a ball and die.
“Um,” said John, slowly, carefully. “A French kiss is something different. But yeah, I’d save the peck on both cheeks for your next trip to Paris.”
“Okay,” Ronon said, and John was just thinking that that was another bullet dodged when Teyla said, “I thought he was Russian.”
“What?” said John, turning on her: she looked perfectly innocent, but John knew by now how deceptive that could be.
“On the show, the character Alex Krycek,” Teyla explained. “I thought he was meant to be from the country of Russia, yet he kissed Agent Mulder in the manner of the French.”
Across the room, Rodney groaned.
“Look, he’s European,” John said; he was never going to argue with people who said TV rotted your brain ever again. “I shouldn’t have said that custom was limited to the French; a lot of Europeans do it, I guess.”
“Like Doctor Zelenka,” said Teyla, who prided herself on her grasp of Earth geography.
“Yes,” said Rodney, snapping his fingers. “Yes, why don’t you go ask him--I’m sure he’d be happy to tell you all about it.”
Teyla smiled at Rodney, like she had expected him to say something like that, but she looked satisfied, and presumably willing to wrestle with the rest of X-Files continuity on her own. Ronon, however, still seemed confused. “So,” he said, “which one of you is European?”
John and Rodney shared a bewildered, exasperated look. “Neither of us,” John said. “The United States and Canada are both in North America.”
“But I thought the custom was European?”
“It is!” And John usually prided himself on being such a patient person.
“Then why do you comply with it?”
“We don’t!” he and Rodney said simultaneously, both sounding equally close to apoplexy, which was worrying.
Ronon crossed his arms over his chest, smiling smugly as if he had just out-maneuvered them in a game of wits. “But I saw you,” he said.
John hadn’t realized that he was still sort of having fun until he abruptly stopped.
“No you didn’t!” Rodney said, too panicked and a beat too slow to boot.
“Ronon,” Teyla said, gentle and firm. John glanced over and saw her shake her head, a silent warning; he tried to feel grateful or relieved, but his heart was still beating like it was trying to fight its way out of his chest. He pointedly didn’t look at Rodney.
Ronon was glancing back and forth between all three of them, his gaze finally settling on Teyla. John could bet that they would be having a talk later. But for now, Ronon’s backtrack was a simple, “Earth is weird.”
“Yes,” said John, letting out a breath, trying to feel the relief that still wasn’t coming. “Yes, it is.”
“I think Ronon and I have had enough television for today,” Teyla said after a moment, getting to her feet.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t want to strain your eyes,” Rodney muttered. Then he said, “Here,” pushing a bowl of pretzels at her as she passed. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Teyla said with a slight bow of her head; she seemed to take the impromptu gift the way it was intended, as a thank you.
“Why are they shaped like this?” Ronon asked, snagging a handful.
“I believe that is a question we should save for another time,” Teyla said, taking Ronon’s elbow, leading him out. The door slid shut behind them.
Silence. John stared at Rodney’s right ankle; he could feel Rodney’s eyes on him, too, somewhere in the region of his knees. “Don’t,” Rodney said after a minute. “You don’t have to say it. We’ve obviously been careless. I know that it means we have to--to--”
“To be less careless,” John said, decisively.
There was another moment’s silence. Then, “Oh, thank God,” Rodney said.
Somehow, without even realizing it, they had crossed the space between them, gotten dangerously close to one another. This was how it happened, John realized. This was how they became careless. He looked at Rodney’s face, the flickering movements of his wide, blue eyes, and though it hurt to do it, he managed to rein himself in.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is--I know this is--”
“Shut up,” Rodney said. “Really.”
John wanted to put his arms around him, feel the warmth and strength of his back. Instead he nodded, slow and solemn. Then, with all the politesse he could muster: “Excuse me, Doctor McKay,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind accompanying me back to my quarters, I’d like to show you something I learned in France.”
************
Comment fic the fifth:
Title: French Class
Rating: PG
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: Tiny tiny one for ‘The Long Goodbye’
Length: ~1500 words
Summary: For smallbeer: ‘John and Rodney have to explain some wacky Earth custom to Ronon.’
French Class
John didn’t want to jump on the bandwagon with the large number of his countrymen who had taken to blaming everything on the French, but that didn’t change the fact that this was totally Dr. Bonnaire’s fault.
They were all enjoying some well-earned team downtime, hanging out in one of the rec rooms and watching The X-Files because Rodney had finally cracked and declared that Ronon and Teyla would never understand episodic television unless they put in some serious time watching it. “I thought you didn’t like TV,” Ronon had said, which set Rodney off again until Teyla separated them with steady hands and a calm, “Perhaps it would be best if we judged for ourselves.”
Now, six hours and a mini-marathon later, they both looked more confused than ever. “I do not understand,” Teyla said, munching a Frito thoughtfully. “How many species of aliens are involved in this?”
John shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t think the people who made the show had any idea.” He stretched out his leg and nudged Rodney’s ankle. “Maybe you should explain the mytharc, Rodney.”
“Oh, please,” Rodney said. He got up and walked over to the snack table, which was arrayed with all the best they could steal or smuggle. “It makes no sense whatsoever. But you’re all missing the point. You have to think of the show as a kind of a farce--”
“I’m leaving,” Ronon said suddenly, standing.
“But why?” John asked, genuinely surprised--it was odd and out-of-character for Ronon to leave when there were still plenty of snacks.
Ronon jerked his head toward the screen. “He keeps losing his gun. It bugs me.”
“A farce!” Rodney said. “A comedy of errors! Plus, you have to admit that Scully is really, really hot...”
Ronon shrugged. “I’m bored with watching the box,” he said.
John was sorry to see him go, but team leader or not, he couldn’t exactly order anyone to stay and watch TV. “We can try again later with something else,” he offered. “Hey, you know what I bet you would really like? Xena.”
Rodney scoffed; Ronon just shrugged again and headed toward the door. At the snack table he paused, looking over the cornucopia of things fried or sugar-coated, or, in a few cases, both. Then he picked up an entire bowl of toffee popcorn and walked off with it.
“Hey!” said Rodney, pausing with a Pringle half in and half out of his mouth. “You’re just helping yourself and then vamoosing? How rude!”
John laughed, as he inevitably did whenever Rodney criticized someone else’s manners. Ronon, however, turned back around with a grunted “sorry.” Then he grabbed Rodney by the back of the neck and kissed him firmly on both cheeks.
John fell off the couch.
“Mmph! Ahh! Wha?” said Rodney, choking on his Pringle. He gathered his wits enough to give Ronon’s shoulders a sharp push. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Being polite,” Ronon said, and John, from his admittedly disadvantageous position on the floor, couldn’t tell whether he was being dense or coy.
“Polite?” sputtered Rodney. “Your idea of being polite is to molest me?”
“That’s not your custom?” Ronon said.
Teyla’s bare toes were dangling just a few inches above John’s face; they gave a slight twitch and John realized that she was trying really hard not to laugh. John pushed himself to his feet. “Ronon,” he said, “who have you been talking to?”
“Doctor Bonnaire.”
“Bonnaire?” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake.” John suddenly felt sorry for every member of the chemistry department, because they were going to pay for this.
“Look,” John said, trying to diffuse the situation. “Bonnaire’s French. The French, they do things a little differently than we do. Generally, we don’t kiss people goodbye like that. If you were in France, it would be polite, but here it’ll just make people feel--”
“Violated?” suggested Rodney.
“--Uncomfortable,” finished John.
Ronon nodded. “So I should not have French kissed McKay.”
John bit his lip--hard--and he still couldn’t stop a bit of laughter from burbling out. For his part, Rodney looked like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to burst into a mad fit of giggles or curl up in a ball and die.
“Um,” said John, slowly, carefully. “A French kiss is something different. But yeah, I’d save the peck on both cheeks for your next trip to Paris.”
“Okay,” Ronon said, and John was just thinking that that was another bullet dodged when Teyla said, “I thought he was Russian.”
“What?” said John, turning on her: she looked perfectly innocent, but John knew by now how deceptive that could be.
“On the show, the character Alex Krycek,” Teyla explained. “I thought he was meant to be from the country of Russia, yet he kissed Agent Mulder in the manner of the French.”
Across the room, Rodney groaned.
“Look, he’s European,” John said; he was never going to argue with people who said TV rotted your brain ever again. “I shouldn’t have said that custom was limited to the French; a lot of Europeans do it, I guess.”
“Like Doctor Zelenka,” said Teyla, who prided herself on her grasp of Earth geography.
“Yes,” said Rodney, snapping his fingers. “Yes, why don’t you go ask him--I’m sure he’d be happy to tell you all about it.”
Teyla smiled at Rodney, like she had expected him to say something like that, but she looked satisfied, and presumably willing to wrestle with the rest of X-Files continuity on her own. Ronon, however, still seemed confused. “So,” he said, “which one of you is European?”
John and Rodney shared a bewildered, exasperated look. “Neither of us,” John said. “The United States and Canada are both in North America.”
“But I thought the custom was European?”
“It is!” And John usually prided himself on being such a patient person.
“Then why do you comply with it?”
“We don’t!” he and Rodney said simultaneously, both sounding equally close to apoplexy, which was worrying.
Ronon crossed his arms over his chest, smiling smugly as if he had just out-maneuvered them in a game of wits. “But I saw you,” he said.
John hadn’t realized that he was still sort of having fun until he abruptly stopped.
“No you didn’t!” Rodney said, too panicked and a beat too slow to boot.
“Ronon,” Teyla said, gentle and firm. John glanced over and saw her shake her head, a silent warning; he tried to feel grateful or relieved, but his heart was still beating like it was trying to fight its way out of his chest. He pointedly didn’t look at Rodney.
Ronon was glancing back and forth between all three of them, his gaze finally settling on Teyla. John could bet that they would be having a talk later. But for now, Ronon’s backtrack was a simple, “Earth is weird.”
“Yes,” said John, letting out a breath, trying to feel the relief that still wasn’t coming. “Yes, it is.”
“I think Ronon and I have had enough television for today,” Teyla said after a moment, getting to her feet.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t want to strain your eyes,” Rodney muttered. Then he said, “Here,” pushing a bowl of pretzels at her as she passed. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Teyla said with a slight bow of her head; she seemed to take the impromptu gift the way it was intended, as a thank you.
“Why are they shaped like this?” Ronon asked, snagging a handful.
“I believe that is a question we should save for another time,” Teyla said, taking Ronon’s elbow, leading him out. The door slid shut behind them.
Silence. John stared at Rodney’s right ankle; he could feel Rodney’s eyes on him, too, somewhere in the region of his knees. “Don’t,” Rodney said after a minute. “You don’t have to say it. We’ve obviously been careless. I know that it means we have to--to--”
“To be less careless,” John said, decisively.
There was another moment’s silence. Then, “Oh, thank God,” Rodney said.
Somehow, without even realizing it, they had crossed the space between them, gotten dangerously close to one another. This was how it happened, John realized. This was how they became careless. He looked at Rodney’s face, the flickering movements of his wide, blue eyes, and though it hurt to do it, he managed to rein himself in.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is--I know this is--”
“Shut up,” Rodney said. “Really.”
John wanted to put his arms around him, feel the warmth and strength of his back. Instead he nodded, slow and solemn. Then, with all the politesse he could muster: “Excuse me, Doctor McKay,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind accompanying me back to my quarters, I’d like to show you something I learned in France.”
************