Word Count: 1011
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Author's Note: For Laura/pictureplaces. Also, the first time I've written in SGA, so I hope it's okay. Lemme know, yeah?
“Hey.” John drops down by Rodney in the mess, limbs a messy sprawl over the seat.
Rodney barely looks up even as his foot brushes against John’s and hooks around his ankle, absorbed in his laptop. “What? Oh, yes, hi. Look at this, Colonel. The simulations are off; there’s something wrong with Radek’s math. Fix it.”
John rolls his eyes but pulls the laptop towards him, twisting it to face him with a reckless manoeuvre that has Rodney’s eyes flashing with concern for the hardware.
In retaliation, Rodney snags John’s chocolate muffin and sinks his teeth into it viciously.
John, the bastard, doesn’t even care. “Look, here, he’s extrapolated this, but it’s still on a basis of pi, which-“
“Is wrong, yes, yes, obviously.” Rodney snaps his laptop shut with more care than he’s ever shown anything and stands, tapping his foot impatiently when John looks up at him, eyebrows crinkled. “Well? Are you coming?”
Rodney snaps his fingers at John impatiently, once, twice, three times. “C’mon, I know you’re not quite as stupid as your hair implies. We’re gonna go try the simulation again. You’ve been harassing me about this stupid weapon for weeks, and now, of course, is your chance to see it, but no, you’d rather stay here with your sandwich.” Rodney pauses. “What type of sandwich?”
John grins, looks down. “Cheese and not-beef.” He says cheerfully, rising and slapping it into Rodney’s chest. “S’all yours.”
“McKay. Mckaaaay. C’mon, Rodney. Move over. Seriously, just, mo-”
Rodney whirls around angrily, a smear of dust highlighting his face. “What? What is it, Sheppard, that cannot wait five minutes? Are you really so deprived of a companionship that you have to come and annoy me? Go and play knives with Ronon! Or let Teyla beat you up! Or, or…just go and do something that isn’t irritating me, and go somewhere that isn’t here. Now. Shoo!” Rodney flaps his hands at Sheppard irritably, already turning back to the’ jumper repairs.
“Hey. Here I am, offering to help you with your tedious, tedious ‘jumper repairs, and you rebuff me. And you wonder why people don’t like you.”
“People don’t dislike me because I don’t let them help, they dislike me because they are jealous of my obviously superior intellect and my good looks. Besides, you like me.”
“Yeah? You so sure of that?”
“Well, yes. Why else would you’ve been at my place every night this week watching Firefly with me?”
“I could just have a crush on Inara.”
“And you could just have borrowed it.” Rodney paused to raise an eyebrow at John. “And really? Inara? I’m partial to Mal, myself. But hey, water finds it’s own level.”
John’s mouth dropped open, just a little. “Did you just call me a whore?”
“A companion, yes. Okay, look, if you can get under there and connect those two wir- yes, yes, like that, exactly. Now. I bullied Simpson into giving me her new Who, so, shall we?”
“You have new Doctor Who?” John scrambles to his feet, eyes bright. “Since when?”
“Since, oh, about 0900.”
“And you didn’t tell me at lunch?”
“Well, you and Ronon were so busy conversing in monosyllabic grunts that I hated to disturb you. Now, c’mon. I think Captain Jack is back in this one, and I know you have a thing for him.”
“And you don’t? Especially in Torchwood.”
Rodney snorts, rolling his eyes. “Careful, your geek is showing,” He says, and shoves his kit into John’s hands, already walking away.
“Jesus Christ, John, just, just please don’t die. We’re gonna get out of here, Teyla and Ronon’ll come in guns blazing and sticks twirling and just please, Sheppard, John, just stay with me. Okay?”
Rodney’s breath stutters out of his lungs with relief when finally, finally John’s eyes open, groggy and dazed from sleep and morphine.
“Wha’ appen’?” John mutters, lifting a (fragile, fragile) hand up, frowning at the IV there.
“What happened? I’ll tell you what happened! You touched something you shouldn’t have, that’s what happened. What on earth in that jar of hair gel that passes for your brain made you think that touching foreign Ancient Tech was a good thing? You nearly died!” Rodney slows down a little, eyes wide. “You nearly died.”
“Hey.” John’s hand scrabbled over the sheets until he found Rodney’s, and he entwined their fingers gently, squeezing. “I’m not. It’s okay.”
“Yeah.” Rodney scrubs his free hand roughly over his face, grimacing at the stubble. “When Carson lets you out, we’re having a lesson on what not to touch, you and me. Okay?”
John looks over his shoulder inquisitively, already slowing his pace to allow Rodney to catch up. “What’s up, buddy?”
“Listen, the scientists are having a sci-fi night tonight. You want in? We’ll even share our ice cream.”
John raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “You’re inviting me to a scientist night? Am I even smart enough to attend?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re at least as smart as Miko, about twice as smart as Kavanagh, though that’s a given. Anyway. I want you there. Plus, there’ll be alcohol. Harsh as hell, from Radek’s underground still, but still, alcohol.”
John shrugs, head tilting to the side, a soft smile dancing across his lips. “That’s quite a compliment, there, McKay.”
“Please. You’re only half as stupid as you like people to think. The ranking order of intelligence on Atlantis goes me, of course. Then you and Zelenka. Then Elizabeth, Teyla and Ronon, Miko, Simpson, my physicists, then the rest of the scientists, then Kavanagh, then the military. Then Heightmeyer.” Rodney looks away, rolling his eyes. “Psychology isn’t even a science.”
“Y’know, I reckon Heightmeyer reckons differently. So, what time are you gonna pick me up?”
Rodney looks at him in confusion. “What?”
“Well, you know. I’m not going into the lions’ den all on my lonesome.”
“Come out with me tonight. You can help me name constellations.”
“What, like on a date?”
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →