Hello Readers! This is a little accidental story which came about because I was working on three ideas, all of which had stalled for various reasons. So, I thought I'd try a bit of handwriting with a pencil on actual paper to see if that would get things going again, which it sometimes does. And there, in my little green exercise book, were the first few hundred words of this story - alone, abandoned and forgotten about. And I couldn't have that… I hope you like the angst, fluff and undeniable smooshiness that resulted.
A Brilliant Scientist
Warm and dark, heavy and loose, the here and the now and the slowly dispersing pleasure, were the whole of his being. He drifted, floated, his body sweet and sore and smiling, further and further into safety and peace, skin-to-skin, life-to-life, love-to-love.
The skin, the life, the love next to him wriggled, twitched and moved away, letting in air that made cold patches where they had touched. John's body jolted as the mattress shuddered and bounced beneath him. A mildly irritated grunt issued from his so nearly snoringly slack lips.
"Don't go to sleep, John."
Warmth clasped his shoulder and squeezed, then shook.
"John!"
"Geroff."
"We need to talk."
He groaned a negative into the pillow, but then the light snapped on and, though he pressed his face further into the softness, it seeped in, a red glow on the inside of his eyelids.
The hand shook his shoulder again. He ignored it. He couldn't, however, ignore the whispering touch of a single finger, trailing down his side, over his ribs and on, to the soft skin below. John bit his lip. The feather-light touch began to retrace its path, slower this time, back up his ribs and further, further until it reached the dark hollow of his armpit where it first brushed lightly over the thicket of hair and then probed, wriggling its way in amongst the strands, deeper and deeper.
"McKay!" John spun, grabbed the invading hand and jerked its reclining owner toward him. Rodney's chest smacked into his and it was only by bending his head sharply to one side that John avoided a painful clash of foreheads or noses or, worse, someone's forehead to someone's nose.
"Ow! What did you do that for?" Rodney tried to pull away, but John linked his arms around his lover's back, pinioning him.
"Because you asked for it."
"I want to talk to you. And it's not even late." Rodney wriggled, kicking his legs against the mattress.
"I'm tired."
Rodney raised his head from where his cheek was digging into John's collarbone. "And so you should be, Colonel," he leered.
John smirked, unlinked his arms and rolled, releasing Rodney to lie next to him. "Why d'you wanna talk? We're good, aren't we?"
"We're more than good, in my not so humble opinion," replied Rodney. "Which is actually the root of the issue."
"Huh? What are you on about McKay?" John shoved his face into the pillow again.
"No, listen! This is important." Something flicked John's earlobe back and forth which he did his best to ignore. But then there was hot breath on his cheek and the tip of his ear was suddenly warm and wet.
John groaned, not the pleasure-filled groan of appreciation, but a resigned groan that rapidly crescendoed into a snarl as he whipped his ear out of Rodney's range and hauled himself upright. He pulled the pillow up with him and arranged it irritably against the uncomfortable protuberances of the Ancient sculpture at the head of the bed.
"Fine. Talk."
"Ooh, we are Colonel Grumpy this evening, aren't we?"
Rodney smiled at him and then bounced his way upright and tugged more than his fair share of the pillow out from behind John's back.
"I was fine five minutes ago."
"Yes, and I know how averse you are to post-coital conversation."
"I'm not averse, I'm just tired. Pointless meetings'll do that to a guy."
Rodney leant his head on John's shoulder and reached around his chest, giving him an affectionate squeeze. "I know. You'd rather be running around shooting things."
"Or blowing 'em up."
"Of course."
Rodney kissed his cheek and John had to stare very hard at the wall opposite so that he could maintain his disgruntled expression. "What d'you wanna talk about?"
"Hm. Yes. Well." Rodney pulled away and twisted round, so that he faced John with one leg on the floor and the other one crooked out to the side. John glanced down.
"Kinda distracting, McKay."
"Chuh." He tugged the edge of the sheet to cover his lap. "I thought you were tired."
John raised an eyebrow. "You're the one that kept me awake, McKay. You just might have to take the consequences."
"It's impossible to have a normal conversation with you."
"It is if you don't get to the point."
"The point. Hm."
Rodney's fingers interlinked and then separated. He rubbed one ear and then his nose, and an uneasy feeling stirred in the pit of John's stomach. Was it possible he'd just had the best break-up sex ever? That because they were back on Earth, floating in the Pacific, Rodney'd want to call it quits and disappear off into a crowd of admirers and awards?
"Look, here's how I - Wait. What are you looking all grim-faced about? John?"
"Nothing." He couldn't meet Rodney's eyes. Tense muscles in his neck twinged as he gazed fixedly out of the window to his right; at the familiar towers and the unfamiliar view of the bridge beyond. Rodney would go, and he'd be transferred God-knew-where and what would John have then?
A firm touch to his jaw turned his head back toward his friend and lover… ex-lover? Blue eyes scrutinised him as if he were a faulty line of code.
"I've said it before and I'll say it again - you're such an idiot. We had the most spectacular sex not ten minutes ago and you think I'm breaking up with you?"
"I didn't -"
"Oh, you so did! You did, didn't you? I should be insulted by that - by you thinking I'm some kind of 'grab and go,' 'use-em-up-and-spit-em-out,' type." Rodney leant forward and pressed his lips firmly to John's. "You're just lucky I love you, that's all."
A mature, balanced, emotionally in-touch individual might have looked into Rodney's eyes and responded in kind at this point. John recognised he was none of these things and looked, instead, at his hands twisting in the sheet and allowed his hair to flop forward over his face.
"And you love me too," said Rodney, with assurance.
John shrugged and smirked, because shrugging and smirking, along with shooting and blowing things up, were what he did best.
"In fact," continued Rodney, "I think this is It for us."
The It definitely had a capital letter. "It?" John looked up and found a mixed expression of smug satisfaction and trepidation on his lover's face.
"Yes." Rodney nodded, as if acknowledging the brilliance of a well-made plan. "It. That is, I'm quite confident that you're The One - the love of my life, the one I want to have and hold from this day forward and so on."
John's mouth was suddenly as dry as the Afghan desert. His chest held a shout of joy and a scream of despair and both wanted out. He croaked, "Are you asking me to marry you, Rodney?"
"What?" Rodney frowned and rubbed his chin. "Oh. I suppose that did sound like a proposal, didn't it? No."
The shout and the scream both died, to be replaced by relief and disappointment. Then Rodney's fingers did one of those fluttery, snappy things and his sudden grin flashed.
"But now you come to mention it, yes, why not? How about it? You, me and our chosen witnesses? And a very large cake, of course?"
John's gaze returned to his hands, which were making a fair attempt at tearing the sheet in two. This was too much at the end of a long day, when he was already in a weird kind of what-the-hell limbo. He released the tortured bedding and concentrated on breathing in and out, slowly.
"Sheppard?" Rodney poked his sheet-covered shin. "John? A response is customary at this point, I believe, not that I'm an expert on such things, but, you know, if this is to move forward in any way, shape or form, I need something approximating an answer. A grunt would do. A nod. Or a shake. I'm used to extrapolating from your limited repertoire. John?"
John groaned.
"Oh. That's a no, then. Hm." There was an air of hurt in Rodney's chirpy shrug. He soon rallied. "Well, that's okay, because you see what I really intended to say was that I think we should come out. Get our relationship out in the open. Everyone knows anyway, don't they? We know that. And they know that we know that they know. And so on. So, let's just make it official, yes?"
This was torture. Why was Rodney putting him through it? Why was he putting both of them through it? John groaned again, threw back the sheet and swiped his pants up from where he'd thrown them on the floor, because this wasn't a conversation he could have pantless.
"Is that another no?"
John pulled on his pants, but then stalled. Locking himself in the bathroom was tempting, but it would take Rodney less than thirty seconds to get the door open. And hurling himself over to the window and staring broodingly down at the surging ocean seemed a little over dramatic.
The bed bounced and a hand curled over his shoulder and then another hand curled over the other shoulder. "John? What's wrong?"
He shot up from the bed, away from the comforting touch and spun around. "What's wrong?" John ran a hand through his hair and searched the corners of the room for words. He returned to Rodney's upturned face, the questioning, doubtful eyes, the downturned mouth. "You say everyone knows? Everyone?"
Rodney shrugged and his lips parted, but John cut him off.
"Maybe every one of us knows. Everyone who's just made the trip from Pegasus. And, yeah, maybe General O'Neill suspects. But those guys in the meetings I keep getting dragged into? The suits? The top brass? No way. Because if they did, I'd be out of here - I'd be out of here so fast…" He swallowed and closed his eyes. To leave the city? To be forced to leave and never come back? It would be like a part of him had died. Or was that what Rodney was asking? For him to throw the whole lot away - to let it fly on the ocean breeze that blew over the city and past the Golden Gate Bridge. Could he do that? But maybe it was coming anyway. Maybe even if he suddenly became the picture of rigid military discipline, it would make no difference. It was too late.
The warm touch returned to his bare shoulders and hands slid around his back and pulled him close. Rodney's chest pressed against his, warm breath puffed into the crook of his neck and he was squeezed even tighter. John yielded and melted and squeezed in return.
He felt Rodney's lips move against his neck. "Sorry. I know it's not that easy. I know." Rodney pulled away and John opened his eyes. "But don't you think they'd just let it pass? Just for us? World-saving heroes and all that kind of thing?"
All these years and he still didn't get how the military worked. "No," said John, simply. "No."
Rodney grabbed his hand and pulled him down to the bed and they sat, side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder - where they'd been for years now without recognising what they meant to each other until just these last few months.
"Well, then, we'll leave it till we get home. Er… till we get back. To Pegasus." Rodney shook his head. "No, I was right the first time. I think. Maybe. Is Earth home or Pegasus? I don't even know anymore."
"Atlantis is home," said John. "But none of that matters to the top brass." Rodney hadn't been in on the meetings so far. Not the ones with the IOA and the dazzling array of international military insignia and the so-called diplomats with their sharp suits. Whether that was deliberate or not, John wasn't sure, but Rodney hadn't found anything useful in the sifted wreckage at Area 51 so far, which was what had been occupying most of his time. "I don't think they're gonna let us go back. I think… I think this is it."
"What? They want to keep us here? In the Bay?"
John rubbed idly at a gun oil stain on his pants. "I don't know what they want from you. When Woolsey left I didn't get the idea his 'vacation' was voluntary." He took a long, slow, steadying breath. "Me - well, I just think they want someone else in command. And I think they want to strip Atlantis of anything they can use… like, take the Chair back to the Antarctic base, maybe put the Gate somewhere else. I don't know."
"What? They can't do that! They can't take the Chair and the Gate - and they most certainly can't take you away!"
John shrugged. "Well, yeah they can, Rodney. They can do what they like. And as for the Chair - what are they supposed to do? The other one got blown up - Earth's got nothing without ours."
"Huh. That's just ridiculous. They can have the Borgia's Chair - they're not using it."
"Who?"
"Oh, you know - Renaissance world. Where you had a torrid affair with that Lord Protector's daughter."
"Mara? It was a one night stand, McKay. Not even one full night, in fact. And I told you - she was the instigator. I didn't get much choice."
"So, you were, 'Oh, please, no, my virtue!'? Yeah right, then."
"We've been through all this before, Rodney. She offered it up on a plate, I said, sure, why not? And all that was a long time before I knew you were even interested in men, let alone me."
"Yes, well, anyway, that's beside the point."
"You brought it up."
"Just because I don't think all the options are being considered - not even the obvious ones, in fact. There's a perfectly good Chair going to waste without a ZPM to power it and we can easily find something they'll take in trade. Yo-yos or something."
"Yo-yos?"
"Or something."
"Hmm." John rubbed his scratchy jaw. "Well, I can suggest it."
"You're not going to get anywhere with a defeatist attitude like that. It's high time I was in on these meetings. Are you carrying on tomorrow?"
"Yeah, meant to be."
Rodney rubbed his hands together. "Well, then. I'll have a few things to add to the agenda!"
"No. Don't."
"What?"
"The Chair, yeah, that's a good idea. But not us. If I've got any hope of keeping command, that would blow it out of the water."
"Oh, come on. That has to change now. It's the twenty-first century!"
"It won't."
"It might for us."
"Look, just drop it, Rodney. It's not going to change."
"So we have to stay in the closet forever?"
"We might not even get to stay together. They could post me to back to Afghanistan tomorrow."
"They won't do that."
"They could do anything, Rodney. Anything. The political manoeuvring in those meetings makes my head spin. If it's a trade-off between keeping me and keeping the peace between the major powers, I'm going to be the one to take the fall. Any one of them would jump at the chance to get rid of me."
"O'Neill wouldn't."
"He'd do what he had to do. He hasn't made General by not knowing when to sacrifice a pawn."
"You're not a pawn."
"Yes. I am."
"Well, I'm not." The bed jolted as Rodney stood up and his bare feet slapped against the floor as he paced to the window and back. "They can't do without me. And I can't do without you. And I'm more than ready to give it to them straight. Half - No; well over half of the cultures in both galaxies just let people get on and have a relationship with whoever or whatever they want - animal, vegetable or mineral. We're the ones lagging behind here. We need to get with the programme!" He stopped, his clenched fist propped on one hip, his chin jutting out. "What?"
John slapped a hand over his eyes, dragged his fingers down over his nose and mouth, hissing out an exasperated breath.
"What?"
"Okay, so, I get what you're saying, Rodney, but d'you think you could maybe put some pants on?"
"Huh." The naked scientist flicked a dismissive hand. "Clothes are irrelevant at times like this."
"Humour me." He waited until Rodney had retrieved and hopped his way into his boxers.
"Happy now?"
Happy? Happy that he was being batted back and forth like a ping pong ball between the various opposing factions, all vying for a stake in the city? Happy with having to keep his relationship secret, having to hide, to deny, to keep up a permanent front of straight-down-the-line heterosexuality. "No." John shook his head, wearily. "No, Rodney, I'm not happy."
The bright blue eyes faded to a pallid grey. Eagerness and enthusiasm drained away as Rodney shrank into himself, his arms crossed defensively over his chest, his broad, strong shoulders suddenly rounded into uncertainty. "You don't want to, do you? You don't want to take this public. I'm sorry. I thought… I thought… Well, you know what I thought."
John got up and gripped Rodney's forearms. "I do want to. I do, Rodney. Really. But we can't." He ran his hands up and down Rodney's tense biceps. "Look, if they try to transfer me… I'll resign. And then we can do what we want."
"We'd lose Atlantis." Rodney's eyes searched John's soul. Those long eyelashes that could accent a narrow-eyed sneer now highlighted his deep concern. "And I think I'd survive that, but I'm not sure you would. I think you found yourself here - in this city. You found out who John Sheppard was."
"I found you here, Rodney."
The crooked lips twitched, but he sighed and seemed to deflate further, slumping forward to rest his forehead against John's shoulder.
It had been a long time since John had truly wrestled with who he was. Growing up, he'd been angry at the world and at himself when he'd struggled to fit in with what was expected of him. His father had taught him shame and suppression, and these things had been set in concrete by his decision to join the Air Force. But over the years, friends had broken through some of those barriers, and then there'd been Atlantis and Teyla and Ronon and, of course Rodney and all the people who'd accepted him as he was and saw through his defences. But now, the old anger rose again, not for himself but for Rodney.
This man that had saved them all so many times, that could pull solutions from nowhere when all their lives were at stake - this wonderful man that he held in his arms, was beaten by the bigoted homophobia of an outdated, cruel system that would deny them their right to love each other, would deny them the comfort that should be the right of any sentient being in any galaxy. And John could do nothing about it.
Vague hands patted at his back and Rodney slid from his arms, his face downcast. "We should get some sleep," he said. "We can at least talk to them about the Chair tomorrow."
"Yeah."
Rodney tucked the sheet back in and pulled the comforter off the floor. He got into bed and lay down.
John hesitated. "If I could… I would. You know that, right?"
"Hm?"
"I'd come out. I'd say yes. If you were asking. Or I'd even do the asking. Because, you know…"
Rodney held out his hand and John slid into the bed beside him. "I know you would. I know you would, John."
oOo
In the morning Rodney was gone. The chill air on his skin woke John, where both the sheet and the comforter had worked their way around to lie diagonally across his legs and there was no warm body pressed to his on the far-too-small bed.
He'd left no note or email or text and when John tried his radio Rodney didn't respond. When had he gone? And why? An emergency in the lab? They'd found something at Area 51 after all? No. He would've told John about that. He would've woken him.
John showered and dressed.
Last night Rodney had offered him everything. He hadn't meant to propose, but in the end he had. He'd actually asked John to marry him. And maybe it wasn't the most romantic, carefully planned proposal, but neither of them would want all the hearts and flowers stuff anyway. And if John could've said yes, it would have been perfect - an accidental engagement, neither of them able to find the words that any self-respecting Hallmark character would conjure up in a flash. But he couldn't and he hadn't. He'd turned Rodney down.
Had he explained his reasons properly? Probably not. Did Rodney really understand? Maybe. Or maybe he'd gone because he was hurt by John's response, maybe he thought John was ashamed of their relationship - was embarrassed by him, even. Well, realistically, yes, John was embarrassed - because pretty much anything to do with emotions was embarrassing to John. But if the US military suddenly came out in rainbow stripes, he'd set aside his embarrassment, march McKay straight to the Gateroom and kiss him beneath the great ring like it was a giant wreath of mistletoe; just so long as there wasn't an incoming wormhole.
But Rodney had gone. And a tickling chill somewhere in the region of John's lower ribs made him detour to the Control Deck before he went for breakfast.
"Amelia. D'you know where Rodney is?"
"Oh. No, sorry Colonel. We assumed he was going back to Area 51."
The chill became a hollow void. "He took a Jumper?"
"Yes, Sir."
Why would he go back without telling John? Was he running away? Giving himself time to think, to decide whether their relationship was worth continuing if they always had to hide? "And you assumed he was going back to Area 51? He didn't file a flight plan?"
"No. Sorry, sir. If it had been anyone else we would have stopped him. But, Dr McKay…"
John waved away the explanation. "That's okay, Amelia. Uh, you're right. I guess he was heading back to Area 51." Unless he had just lit out, unless he just wanted to get away and didn't care where he went. The edge of the console dug into John's hip. His nonchalant lean would fool anyone, except McKay; he'd see right through to the turmoil beneath. "Maybe you could call up the folks in Nevada and just check? Make sure he got there okay?"
"Will do, sir."
"Let me know. I need to grab something to eat before the meeting." Or maybe just coffee. The idea of food wasn't appealing.
They were already assembling on the mezzanine - the briefcases, the sharp suits, the stiletto heels. He'd respect them more if they carried actual knives instead of cutting away at Atlantis with their policies and protocols.
But after a long morning spent fruitlessly trying to get a word in to defend his city, his people and himself, John was glad there were no gleaming blades within easy reach because he would have been hard put to it to restrain himself. These people weren't open to reasoned argument; they were like vultures quarrelling over a carcass, tearing it to pieces with their shifting pattern of uneasy alliances and tentatively drafted agreements.
"Well, I think I'd call that lunchtime," said General O'Neill, with totally false good humour. "We can carry on having oh-so-much-fun this afternoon." The delegates pushed back their chairs and began to file out and O'Neill's eyes briefly met John's in mutual understanding. Neither spoke until the last flicker of pinstripe made its way out onto the mezzanine.
"They'll destroy it." John's voice rasped with tension and too much strong coffee. "They'll share it out into little pieces that mean nothing."
O'Neill linked his hands behind his head, stretched out his back and then sagged. "The price of world peace."
"You can't buy peace. Not like that."
The General's chair scraped and he stood up, wincing and flexing his knees. "Look, I might not be able to save the city but I'll do my best for you."
"I'm not important."
"Don't talk yourself down, Sheppard."
"I've made mistakes."
"Yeah, well, maybe you should've read the manual for running the military contingent of a ten thousand year old city in a galaxy full of life-sucking vampires. Oh, wait - that hasn't been written yet."
John's smile flickered and died.
"Don't beat yourself up, Colonel. You did the best you could."
"And now it's over."
O'Neill shrugged. "All good things…"
"Yeah."
"Come on, kid. Let's eat before the suits get all the cake."
"Kid?"
"Yeah - kid. You might know all about blowing up hive ships and dodging enemy fire, but you're a total innocent when it comes to all this political crap. And, take my word for it, you're best off staying that way."
John followed O'Neill out of the meeting room. "There's just no point to any of this. They say they have to take the place apart to understand the tech? To share it out? Well, that's crap. McKay and Zelenka already understand how it works."
"Each of the major world powers wants their own people on the case."
"How are we meant to team up and defend the planet if we don't even trust each other?"
"Beats me."
"If they just let us go back to Pegasus we could get them stuff they can rip apart. It's not just the Control Chair on that planet we found - there's a whole ship buried under there with a stardrive."
"Well, you know what they say, Sheppard. A bird in the hand is worth two in the Pegasus Galaxy."
"Yeah, right."
"Colonel Sheppard?"
"Amelia."
"I called Area 51, sir. But Dr McKay isn't there."
He wasn't there. John ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts spinning.
"Problem, Sheppard?"
"Uh, no. No, sir, it's fine. Thanks, Amelia."
The Gate tech returned to her post.
Where had Rodney gone, then? This was too much. They were going to tear Atlantis apart and Rodney had gone and John was being torn apart right now. Things were simple when he just had Wraith to fight or Genii, or hey, both at the same time would be easier than this.
A hand waved in front of his face. "Earth to Colonel Sheppard!"
"Sorry, sir. Uh, yeah, lunch."
"Cake, Sheppard. That's the important thing to remember. I don't know what's going on between you and Dr McKay and I don't want to know, but I find most things look better after a large helping of dessert."
They stepped into the transporter and the white flash took them to the Mess Hall. Along with the distinctive scent of Pegasus-style meatloaf, a babble of bonhomie drifted out as false fronts were maintained between representatives of countries that would happily see each other wiped off the map. He couldn't go in there.
"Come on, Sheppard. You can tell me what kind of meat went into whatever that is they're serving up."
"I think I'd rather eat with a Wraith than them."
"I'm not taking no for an answer." O'Neill took a forcible grip on his arm. "I'm an expert at getting food into reluctant archeologists - don't fool yourself I'll have any trouble with you."
John allowed himself to be towed into the busy dining hall. He couldn't see Ronon or Teyla. They were probably picnicking on one of the piers, having got fed up with the suspicious looks from the delegates. Snatches of conversation emerged from the long table that had been set aside for the visitors.
"...some really fascinating building materials we could use…"
"...bargaining for two of the Gate Ships…"
"...some of the stained glass for my place in the mountains."
John tore his arm away from the General's. "No." He backed toward the door. "I can't do this, sir. I just can't."
He hoped ignoring the General's "Get back here, Sheppard," wouldn't be taken as disobeying a direct order, but John wasn't sure that he cared that much any more. They could transfer him back to Antarctica if they wanted. Or he'd retire. Maybe that would be the better option. He had enough back pay to do what he wanted. Maybe set up as a surf instructor working out of a shack on a beach; any beach. He just didn't care.
A certain allergy-prone scientist would care, though. And, yeah, if this whole deal was going to hell, John might as well come out and have his relationship in the open. And, for Rodney's sake, he'd live in a luxury beachfront property and just work out of a shack on the beach. He and Rodney would get married and live together and if he felt like it (and he might), he'd paint his surf shack all the colours of the rainbow and let his hair grow long and go round in a sarong all day.
Now all he had to do was hand in his resignation, find Rodney and then they could make out in the middle of the Gateroom in front of everyone before leaving to begin their new life.
John marched through the hallways of the city he loved, bitterly constructing fantasy upon fantasy of what his future life could be, plastering layer upon layer over his hurt and his grief, letting his imagination run riot in dreams of flagrant homosexuality after so many years of ruthless repression.
He was just wondering whether Rodney might consider painting his already long eyelashes with mascara and, if so, would John be expected to do likewise and how he would feel about that with all of his normal boundaries stripped completely away, when he rounded a corner and found himself face to face with the President of the United States.
oOo
The President; it was definitely, positively, the President, Henry Hayes, in his second term of office, right there in front of him, saying something-or-other, that John hadn't heard a word of.
There was a hand held out in front of John. He shook it, because it seemed like the thing to do.
Then his arm was jabbed painfully. "Sheppard? John? Are you in there?"
Rodney, his bright blue eyes sparking with light and life, peered into John's face.
"Uh."
Rodney turned toward President Hayes. "He's in there somewhere. I guess he wasn't expecting to just run across you like that."
"Don't worry, Dr McKay. I get that all the time."
"John!" There was another sharp jab. "Say hello to the President."
"Uh. Hello, Mr President."
"Good boy. See? He can speak."
"Rodney, what's going on?"
An arm stretched around John's shoulders and squeezed. "What's going on, Sheppard, is what should have gone on in the first place if I'd been in charge! Er… with all due respect, Mr President."
"Taken as read, Dr McKay." Henry Hayes waved a hand and smiled, genially.
"Okay. What… Uh, where did you go?"
"To Washington, of course! Landed on the White House lawn and insisted on speaking to the man in charge."
"You… you did?"
"He certainly did, Colonel Sheppard."
"Uh, yeah. About that. I'm thinking it's time I quit."
"Rubbish, Sheppard," dismissed Rodney. "How are you going to help me track down more city ships if you resign?"
"What? Sorry?"
"President Hayes here has had a word with a few world leaders and they've agreed it's in everyone's best interests if we go back to Pegasus and see what we can find. With an enlarged international complement of staff, of course."
"Huh?"
Rodney turned to Hayes again. "I'm sorry, Mr President. He's not usually quite as inarticulate as this. Well, no, that's a lie. He's always like this, just sometimes he gets more animated when there's something to shoot or blow up; or when I do this."
Rodney grabbed John by the shoulders of his shirt, looked him straight in the eye and kissed him full on the mouth, hard and wet and full of trademark McKay determination. Then he pulled back and studied John's face, frowning.
"Hmm. I'm not sure that's helped, actually."
"Rodney, what the hell?"
There was a loud bark of laughter and Henry Hayes stepped forward and gave John a resounding slap on the back. "You've picked yourself a live one, there," he said. "Now, shall we send your visitors packing before you both give me the full tour?"
Rodney rubbed his hands together. "Yes, let's do that! This is going to be so much fun. Come on, Sheppard." He linked his arm through John's.
John dug his heels in. "No."
"No?"
He shook his head. "You're gonna have to give me more to go on than that, McKay. You disappear off God knows where and then you come back and you, you know…" (He pulled Rodney aside and lowered his voice.) "... do that. In front of him!" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and followed it with a glance, just in case - but no, that really was President Hayes, standing right there, his hands in the pockets of his grey suit, smiling; smiling genially - because if ever there was someone that could be described as such, this was the man. By all accounts he'd even been genial with Anubis, which John would have paid to have seen.
"I told you where I'd been. Don't you listen?" Rodney huffed and folded his arms across his chest. "I had a thought in the middle of the night - well it was exactly two thirty-six, if you want specifics. So I acted. I went to Washington, had a good old chinwag with the man in charge, sorted out a plan for Atlantis and got him to repeal DADT while I was at it. And that's what I call getting things done. See? I don't have to be threatened with imminent death to be frighteningly clever and efficient - I just need sufficient motivation. And I had it. In spades. You." He poked John in the chest.
John's heart raced beneath the finger drilling into his breastbone. "DADT?"
"Yes, of course. Because have you ever known me to bother with half measures when I'm fixing things? And it needed doing."
"So we can…?"
"Honeymoon in the Pegasus galaxy? Yes. Well, technically there's the minor matter of a sixty day period before it's actually official, but I don't think we need to bother too much about that. Do we?" Rodney ducked around John and addressed his question to the President.
"Blind eyes will be turned."
"Excellent," said Rodney.
"Oh. Uh, right."
The Ancient walls still surrounded him, dark red with a faded patina of gold. But John wouldn't have noticed if the city had suddenly sunk beneath the waves or blasted up into the sky and out of Earth's atmosphere. He suddenly needed a more up-close-and-personal relationship with one of the walls, or any solid surface. The floor was looking attractive. He slid down the wall and sat on it.
"John? John!"
Urgent hands grabbed at his shoulders and shook, and fingers snapped in front of his face.
"Is he okay?"
"I think I may have just upset his world view somewhat. If he was a computer I'd turn him off and on again and install some updated software."
"That's no computer, that's your fiancé."
"He didn't say yes."
"He'll say yes."
"Come on, Sheppard. Time to reboot."
A hand patted the side of his face. Rodney's big blue eyes stared into his.
"There we are. There's the silly grin I know and love."
"Rodney?"
"Yes, hello, that's me."
"Rodney."
"And again, here I am, all present and correct."
"Rodney!"
"Oh for heaven's- Oof!"
John's body took over where his mind refused to process. And if Rodney hadn't been ready for his full body launch, that was too bad, because his arms needed to be around those broad shoulders right now and his lips needed to tell his feelings through kisses instead of words. And it felt like they were getting his point across pretty well, judging by the enthusiastic response from the flattened scientist.
John paused for breath and looked down at him, grinning. Rodney grinned back, his eyes bright, his cheeks flushed.
"Ahem. Far be it from me to interrupt, but…"
"Oh. Sorry." John bounded to his feet and pulled Rodney up alongside him. "Kinda forgot you were there, Mr President."
"Well, that doesn't happen too often," said President Hayes. "But then I've been saying that roughly every half hour since your colleague woke me up this morning, so I'm just going to go with it. Maybe we could carry on now?"
"Uh, yeah. That is, yes, sir! But, um…"
The President raised a quizzical eyebrow.
John stuck out his hand. "Thanks. I mean, really - thanks. A lot. A whole lot." President Hayes took his hand and John gripped it and shook it up and down with as much conviction as he could put into the simple gesture.
"I think you're hurting him, John."
He let go. "Sorry."
"That's okay, son. And you're welcome. Happy to help."
oOo
John radioed Major Lorne. And Lorne met him outside the Mess Hall, with a contingent of Marines in tow.
"Lorne!" John clapped his hands together.
"Colonel?" The Major did a double take. "Uh…"
"President Hayes, this is my Executive Officer, Major Evan Lorne."
"Pleased to meet you, Major." The President stuck out his hand and the dumbfounded Lorne shook it.
"Yes, yes, introductions all round later - let's cut to the chase, shall we?" Rodney twitched impatiently.
John took in the President's indulgent smile at the scientist's total disregard for his lofty status. It seemed Henry Hayes had taken a liking to the man who had completely hijacked his day, if not a large part of his upcoming political strategy. But Lorne was looking at him expectantly. "Major, escort our visiting dignitaries to the Jumper bay and see that they're, er… delivered to the nearest international airport."
Rodney added a rider. "Or, hey, you can run 'em all back to their home countries if they'd prefer." Lorne remained admirably impassive. "Except the President, here - we're keeping him."
"Yes, sir," said the Major.
Good old Lorne. You could always rely on him to deal with the tonne of crap dumped on him on a daily basis. John suspected he actually enjoyed it.
And John certainly enjoyed watching Lorne work on this occasion. His men discreetly infiltrated the Mess Hall, deploying themselves in a wide ring at the perimeter and then gradually drawing in to surround the table of twittering delegates. Lorne addressed the startled group and then firmly but immovably quelled any protests, while the Marines blocked any gaps when the more reluctant politicians threatened to break through.
"You've got a good man, there," said the President.
"One of the best," agreed John.
Lorne glanced over his shoulder at his commanding officer. And General O'Neill, trapped within the cordon, raised his eyebrows, his mild questioning expression not at all disturbed to see the President of the United States lurking unobtrusively by the bussing station. John nodded and O'Neill was allowed to slip through the net as the angry huddle shuffled its way in the direction of the transporter.
"Fancy meeting you here, sir," said O'Neill.
"General." The President nodded.
"Decided to take a hand in the proceedings?"
"Well, Dr McKay informed me that we weren't making the best use of the resources at our disposal."
Rodney, his hands clasped behind his back, gave a smug little rise onto his toes. "It had to be said."
"And you were the man to say it," said the General.
"I do have a certain way with words," agreed Rodney. "And if I offer the benefit of my views and opinions, those in power would do well to listen."
O'Neill cleared his throat, and John thought he might just have caught the word, 'Siberia.' Rodney's cheeks turned pink. Time for a distraction.
"How about that tour now, Mr President? Unless you want to sample the meatloaf?"
"I'll pass on the meatloaf, thank you, Colonel. I enjoyed a rather extended breakfast this morning." He leant forward. "Between you and me, I think the kitchen staff took Dr McKay's dietary requirements as a challenge."
"What, plenty of it and hold the citrus?"
"Ha. He didn't put it quite so succinctly."
"I can imagine."
Rodney took a deep breath but was cut off by General O'Neill. "I'm going to commandeer the Colonel, if that's alright by you, Mr President; with orders to seek out and destroy a decent meal. I'm pretty sure he hasn't eaten today."
"Oh, well, no wonder you weren't tracking earlier," blustered Rodney. "What is it with you and not eating when you're stressed? What've you had? Half a cup of black coffee?" He searched John's face, grabbed his wrist and rested the backs of his fingers against his cheek. "You are such an idiot, Sheppard. Pale, clammy, rapid heart rate - classic signs of low blood sugar, and that's something - well, just one of many things - that I'm an expert on."
"I'm fine."
"Chuh. Don't try that on with me. I'll be the judge of whether my fiancé's fine or not."
"Your what?"
John froze. A possessive arm linked with his.
"My fiancé, General," announced Rodney "That's another thing I've had to sort out. DADT?" He snapped dismissive fingers. "Gone."
"In sixty days," reminded the President.
The General's gimlet eyes fixed onto John's; his first challenge, and one of many, no doubt. Could he keep this man's respect? Would the expression change from careful neutrality to open disgust? John met his gaze, unflinchingly, and curled his free hand over Rodney's arm.
The corner of O'Neill's thin lips twitched just slightly. "If you'll excuse me Mr President, Dr McKay, Colonel Sheppard - I have a certain urgent communication to make."
He saluted the President, turned smartly on his heel and marched directly to the transporter.
"I'm missing something, here," said President Hayes.
"Oh, he's off to tell Daniel Jackson, I expect." Rodney idly ran his fingers over John's hand.
"Dr Jackson?"
"Well, yes, John. Didn't you know? No, of course you didn't. You are, after all, the personification of cluelessness. They've had a 'thing' going for years."
John's fingers tingled as if he was recovering from a stunner blast. Was this relief? Or just incomprehension?
"Right, that's it! I'm sorry, Mr President - the tour'll have to wait. I need to get some calories into this loveable fool before he keels over."
"Lead on, Dr McKay. I can see there are a few curious faces in there. I'll do the rounds while the Colonel's eating."
"Escort," John mumbled. He wasn't so far gone that he'd forget what was due to the President of the United States of America.
"Well, I'm sure that's not necessary here, Sheppard, but if it'll put your fuzzy mind at rest." Rodney's fingers snapped. "Hey, you two, Sergeants Oorah and Buzzcut. Get over here."
"They're Privates McKenzie and Manuel."
"Whatever. Stop dithering over your jello and see to the President!"
"Rodney…"
"What? I'm taking charge today, or hadn't you noticed? So everyone has to do what I say! And then just maybe they'll discover that if they'd done that all along we'd all be a lot better off."
John gave in and allowed himself to be swept along by the whirlwind that was Rodney McKay.
oOo
"So, you call that the South pier?"
"Yes, sir." The President had wanted to round his tour off with a view from the control tower balcony, prior to leaving the city. He gazed out over the waters of the Pacific.
"It used to point south," said John. He'd have spun the thing around just over ninety degrees by now if they'd let him power it up for a couple of minutes. It felt wrong like this and anything which spoiled the perfection of his city should be set right asap, in his opinion.
"Carson did his best," said Rodney.
"Yeah, he got it down in one piece." The fresh wind whipped John's hair and flapped at his shirt. He suppressed an impulse to put his arm around Rodney to protect him from the chill, but then snatched at the impulse before it sank beneath his well-practiced control and reeled it in, like an angler teasing a tricky fish. Because he could do things like that now. In front of everyone. Maybe not all the time - if they really did get to go back to Pegasus, and normal, dangerous business resumed, then he'd have to be the professional. But right now, in the sheltered waters of the bay, with no Wraith within however many light years…
The President shaded his eyes against the lowering sun. "And it flies through space with just a - a shield?"
"A type of forcefield," said Rodney, admirably restraining his usual 'talking to idiots' voice. "Too complex to explain."
President Hayes strolled to the other end of the balcony, his hands in his pockets.
John's arm twitched. He bit his lip. His heart raced and sweat prickled on his brow, but Rodney had stuffed him so full of meatloaf and cake that it had nothing to do with low blood sugar. He wriggled his fingers. And then just went for it, sliding his arm all the way around Rodney's broad shoulders and leaning into his warmth. Perhaps he was allowing Rodney to protect him from the chill as much as the other way around.
"Oh! Hm." Rodney's arm snaked around John's back. "Well, it is a little brisk out here."
John's radio hissed; it was Major Lorne, reporting in.
"All packages safely delivered, Colonel."
"That was fast, Major."
"We were keen, sir. And, uh, I hope I did the right thing - I picked a coupla people up - Woolsey, Zelenka, coupla others."
"Really?"
"Uh… is it true, sir? We're going back?"
"Who's that?" Rodney interrupted. "Is that Lorne?"
"Yeah, it's Lorne."
"Tell him to gather the troops. You can do an announcement. Or I can."
The President turned away from the ocean view. "I've heard it said that I'm pretty good at that kind of thing."
Rodney rubbed his hands together. "There we are then. Let's give everyone the good news."
When Lorne reported that everyone was gathered, John ushered the President inside and he took up a position at the head of the Gate Room staircase. The upturned faces of the assembled expedition were solemn, with many tight jaws and fixed expressions. They were ready for the 'thanks and goodbye' speech; ready to be told 'duty done, time to move on.' Ready to be told it was time to leave the place that had become home.
A tight twist of rope formed all the way from John's throat to deep inside his stomach. He was proud of this group of people; of these soldiers and scientists, the pioneers of the Pegasus galaxy, who had each faced so much danger, from the Airmen and Marines who fought to protect them all, to the kitchen staff who had to do an ordinary job under extraordinary circumstances. These were the people who had stayed the course, either from the very beginning or over the last few years - every single one of them had been a part of something great, part of a team - part of his team. And now they could stay as a team.
John sidestepped closer to Rodney so that their shoulders touched. He should have had faith. How often had Rodney pulled off last-minute miracles? How often had the extremity of life-threatening pressure resulted in a brilliant solution? This time was no different. Rodney had saved them all.
When President Hayes announced that Atlantis would shortly begin a new mission in the Pegasus Galaxy the sea of faces was stunned. Then a twitter of excitement rippled through the room and the figures came to life. Backs were slapped, hands were shaken, there were a few tears and also some wistful gazes from those who had already told John or Rodney that they wanted to stay on Earth. The widest grins and the most heartfelt hugs, however, were between Teyla and Ronon, and the President had to halt proceedings entirely when Ronon bounded up the stairs and engulfed Rodney, actually picking him up and spinning him around. He hugged John as well but the President, thankfully, got away with a vigorous handshake.
"One more thing before I go," said President Hayes when Ronon had subsided into grinning stillness. "As well as working out a plan for your new mission, Dr McKay has also brought another matter to my attention, which has been long overdue for a rethink."
The crowd stilled. Rodney grabbed John's hand and held it tight.
"Officially in sixty days time, but unofficially from now on - for those members of the armed forces who will soon be departing for a galaxy far, far away - you may now both ask and tell any details of your private lives you may wish to share. The fraternization rules still apply, but relationships that do not contravene these, or interfere with your duties will henceforth be permitted."
For a moment there was silence. Jaws slowly dropped and heads shook in disbelief. Rodney's hand was warm and tight around John's as the room held its breath and the President's words reverberated through the fabric of these people's lives. Then someone began to applaud and others joined in until the whole, great space was filled with the roar of clapping hands and, under cover of this comforting layer of white noise, the crowd began to shift in subtle currents, as those who had been maintaining a discreet distance drew together.
The President acknowledged the applause with smiles and waves, but looking out over the crowd, John could see as many eyes on him and Rodney as there were on President Hayes, and the greetings between partners, the touch of hands between Lorne and Parrish, the kiss between Cadman and Mehra, were brief and tentative.
"Someone needs to set an example," said Rodney. "Come here."
Capable hands gripped John's shoulders and manoeuvred him through a quarter turn and Rodney pulled him close to plant a firm, decisive kiss squarely on his lips. Cheers and whoops joined the applause and when Rodney pulled back, red-faced and beaming, there were figures jumping up and down at the edge of John's vision. But his eyes remained on Rodney, on the face of his openly-declared love, his partner-for-life, the man that fitted together with him, that completed him. He and Rodney formed two sides of the same equation; a balancing act of contradictions, similarities and dissimilarities, which added up, for some reason, to being crazy-in-love.
John slid his arms around Rodney's waist and up over his back, drawing him closer and closer, and for once didn't smirk, didn't look away, but held his lover's gaze, locking eyes with the widening black pupils with their halo of blue and letting Rodney see through his barriers of fear and awkwardness to the love below.
He tipped his head to one side as Rodney tipped to the other and their lips met and opened and John pressed his hips into an equal and opposite force as all the pent-up, battened-down desire and need and wonder finally woke and flooded through his mind and body.
He closed his eyes and let the Earth turn on its axis and move through its prescribed path in the solar system, and lost himself in Rodney.
oOo
"Well, I call that a good job well done." Rodney rubbed his hands together and performed a smug little bounce onto his toes, which, seeing as he was naked, had an interesting effect.
"Absolutely," agreed John, admiring the view. He stretched out his legs, dragging the sheet down over his reclining body, purely for the sake of solidarity in nakedness.
"Chuh. You are so easily distracted." Rodney narrowed his eyes. "Hm. You realise I'm going to use that against you all the time now?"
"Not when we're on duty, Rodney."
Rodney waved his hand. "Oh, no need to get all thunder-browed and Colonely on me. Of course, I'll be the picture of professionalism at all times when we're working."
"That'd be new."
"And again: chuh!"
"Are you coming to bed any time tonight?"
"Of course. But I just want to savour the moment. It's not every day that even I pull off a feat of quite such life-changing proportions."
John patted the join between the two mattresses. "There's plenty more moments waiting to be savoured." He stretched out over the adjoining bed, gleefully delivered by a contingent of Marines acting under their own initiative, which was a thing his Marines did extremely well and he'd write that in his next report and recommend them all for some kind of decoration.
"Well, when you put it like that." Rodney bounced onto the extra bed, which had endured ten thousand years of neglect but might not last ten minutes of full-on scientific exploration.
John rolled over to face his lover; no, his fiancé - because that was all agreed now, right down to the cake (rich fruit cake on the bottom layer, with none of that citrus peel, thank you, and then several concentric layers of chocolate cake above.) He grinned like an idiot, because it was definitely a time to be grinning and Rodney would be sure to call him an idiot at some point. Which was rude, but it was one of many codes for the mushy stuff which they might be able to say today, but would usually just let insults stand in for.
Rodney grinned back. "I love you, Colonel Stupid."
"Love you too, Dr Know-it-all." He kissed the tip of Rodney's nose. "And, uh… You know, um… thanks. I, uh… maybe I shoulda put you on the case sooner."
"Well, yes, you should. And I shouldn't've let things go as far as they did."
"It wasn't really down to you, though. It shouldn'ta been anyway."
"Hm. No. Well. Maybe not. But things like that are nearly always down to one of us. And we do usually come up with the best solutions, if not always the most sensible in your suicidal case, which is a thing which will not happen again now that you almost officially actually belong to me."
"I'm not sure that's in the vows, Rodney."
Rodney's eyes narrowed. John wondered if he'd be presented with a thick wad of paperwork in lieu of wedding vows and directed to sign at the bottom, thereby pledging himself, body and soul to one Meredith Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD. It wouldn't be the worst thing that had ever happened.
He yawned. "Well, anyway, today ranks as one of your best."
"It had to though, didn't it?"
John wriggled closer and buried his face in Rodney's chest. "Huh? What?"
"It had to. Because you, er… you said you weren't happy." There was a rasp in Rodney's voice and his chest hitched beneath John's cheek. "And I couldn't have that."
"Oh."
"No, I couldn't have that at all. Not you. Not my John." Gentle fingers caressed his cheek. "You see..." Rodney continued, his voice soft and entirely without his usual snapping, ego-driven sarcasm. "You see, a whole range of things might result when you back a brilliant scientist into a corner." A warm, breathy kiss landed amongst John's hair. "And one of those things, if that scientist is feeling especially brilliant, is happiness."
I hope you enjoyed that lovely fluffliness! Please review if you liked it. More stories are in the pipeline and will emerge soon...
