a part time thing, a paper ring
When Rodney sits down next to him on the pier and kills two bottles of Molson's before choking on the query, all John can think of is how this is not the first time someone has come to him with that question.
And so, do you, I wanted to say, that is, I was wondering...
He remembers just having completed his training, going out to celebrate his last few weeks of not-yet deployment with non-military college friends. Around the third beer or so, their group had been joined by this person, and in a way that had never happened to Patrick Sheppard's son before, he and that person had just... clicked. He remembers being just buzzed enough to not be surprised to click that instantly and thoroughly with another man.
They'd liked the same music (Cash), sports (football, though different teams), things that went fast (John: planes, Brad: cars). To their friends' utter mortification, they'd even been able to have a few conversations about math. So naturally, they'd gone out for a beer the next night, and the night after that. John had been equally thrilled and scared at what had to be flirtation. It had been exhilarating, felt a lot like the second after taking off the ground.
Not even the day his chopper went down had his heart been beating so hard as when, on the third night, Brad had presented John with a photo of his soon-to-be wife and smiled invitingly at him.
So, Johnny, what d'you say?
John hadn't said no that night. He'd told himself it might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, an experience everyone would tell him no guy could afford to pass up. He'd misjudged how much he would be effected by what he couldn't have, had been too young and stupid to care enough.
Two weeks later, they'd asked.
Only one time after that had he almost broken, had gone so far as to look them up. When John had been at his lowest after Afghanistan, they'd had two kids and been expecting the third one. Airman Captain Major Colonel Sheppard had never seen either Brad nor Linda again.
...because, you know, that would be really perfect...
This time, when his ears are ringing with the same meaningin McKay's halting words, he has to remind himself that he's in Atlantis, not California. He's sitting on a pier in a casual shirt and uniform pants, not on a couch half-naked.
This time, things are different.
Rodney doesn't like the same music as John. He believes Johnny Cash is a representation of all things unfortunate about the American way of living. The only sport he'll ever volunteer to watch is hockey, and even then he's likely to turn off the game for something more interesting. He (re)builds John vehicles that go as fast as anything, but when John lets him take the copilot's seat for the test run, he bitches about safety issues the entire time.
He coaxes out John's inner mathematician, loses the occasional game of chess and even prime-not-prime, but when he really delves into the heart of matters, his theories leave John far behind.
...anyway, will you?
Rodney would never invite John to a threesome. He'd never hurt him that way by offering him a parody of the next best thing. He may not be able to give exactly what John (needs) wants, but in a way no-one else has ever wanted to, he offers up every other bit of himself.
It's why this time after finding out the person he clicks with is engaged, he lets himself stay not just in the vicinity, but in the man's life. He asks Rodney out for car races and beers and jumper rides, again and again and again. There are cancellations - after all, there's a fiancée to think of now. Still, more often than not, when John calls, Rodney comes.
And when Rodney tentatively, haltingly asks, he says "Yeah, Rodney, I'll be your best man."
It's enough.
It will be enough.
*