He wasn't good with friendship… Not good at being a friend. Never had
to worry about it much. His intellect made up for any shortfalls his lack
of socialisation skills caused. At school, he was bullied unmercifully by
the jocks until one day he showed them how useful he could be, writing
their essays for them and helping them with exams. Almost overnight
he found himself one of the popular crowd but he knew he was only
there by default, that the first time he didn't perform to expectations
he'd be out eating lunch at the geeks' table again, or worse yet, tied up
naked in the girls' restroom. Not once had he ever kidded himself that
the guys, who thumped him on the back when they saw him in the hall,
or called him Rod as if it was an affectionate nickname, were his
friends. He may never have really had any friends but he knew enough
to recognize that these weren't it.
It had never particularly bothered him. Even when he'd first come to
Atlantis and Sheppard had made him part of his team, he'd known it
wasn't because they were friends. It was a purely tactical decision on
Sheppard's part, and he was okay with that. It made sense, after all, to
have the smartest mind in two galaxies on the frontline team, even if, at
the time, he couldn't hit the side of a barn with the weapon they gave
him to carry.
"Hey, McKay, you still awake?" A nudge against his side and Rodney
turned his head and looked at Ronon.
"Can't sleep," he said simply.
"Scared the big, bad wolves are gonna come back for us?" Ronon lifted
his weapon and hefted it in his hand, shooting Rodney a sidelong grin at
the same time. "Pretty sure I got them all."
"Well, yes, unless they're cannibals and more of them come back to
feast on the dead ones and then on us," Rodney bit out acerbically. He
sighed, cradled his injured arm more carefully against his chest then
said, "Sorry. I'm a little tense. I appreciate what you did. I know you
saved my life."
Ronon shrugged. "You would have done the same for me."
"Yes, you would have," Sheppard said.
Teyla reached across and patted Rodney's shoulder gently. "For any of
us," she said softly. "It's what friends do."
Rodney nodded because it was true. He may not have succeeded as
spectacularly as Ronon had but he would have died trying at least.
He was reminded of that story his mother used to read to him when he
was a kid, the one about the three little pigs and how the house that had
withstood the wolf's huffing and puffing had been the one made of
bricks. His friends were a little like that – his metaphorical brick house.
No matter how many wolves came, his friends would be there, by his
side and at his back, through thick and thin. He looked around at them
all. "Yeah, I know," he said, settling back against the cave wall and
closing his eyes. "It's a friend thing. I get it."
