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trinityofoneOkay, so I swore to myself that I wouldn't post any more fic until I finished responding to comments on Dæmonology, but, well...I'm weak! And I really have to save up what little self-discipline I have in order to get myself to go to the laundromat some time today. Also, I'm feeling kind of blue, and frankly, the “Texas banned marriage!” giggles can only last for so long. Hence:
Title: Eight Ways John and Rodney Gave Themselves Away
Rating: PG
Category: Um, wishful thinking?
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: Vague Season 2
Length: ~1450 words
Summary: Nothing is secret which shall not be made manifest.
Eight Ways John and Rodney Gave Themselves Away
I.
Heightmeyer is the first to find out. She finds out because Rodney tells her. He relates the conversation that followed the revelation of his revelation at their next session:
John: You outed us to your shrink?
Rodney: Right, because she’s known to be such a blabbermouth!
Kate watches Doctor McKay imitate the Colonel’s outrage. The impression is surprisingly good. Or perhaps not so surprising.
McKay’s visits become less frequent after that. Not because Sheppard’s keeping him away, Kate thinks. Because he’s keeping him.
II.
Beckett finds out in one of those awkward conversations you sometimes have to have with your doctor, the type made even worse when said doctor starts blushing about halfway through and can’t stop. But bloody hell, it’s not his fault! He’s a geneticist, for Christ’s sake--genes don’t generally tell you embarrassing secrets about their sex lives and then hit you up for more condoms!
Later, though, after Sheppard’s left, Carson thinks he gets it. The poor man was just as embarrassed as he was--embarrassed and frightened. He dealt with it in his own way; now Carson needs to deal with it, in his.
The next time Rodney’s injured on a mission, Carson does some shuffling and secures his patient a private room. When Rodney finally wakes up, Carson tells John a full hour before he notifies anyone else.
III.
Ronon and Teyla find out almost exactly as John feared they would. Routine mission gone wrong, and John catches a poison dart to the neck. Rodney is discreet, but only up to a point, and apparently, this is it. John passes out with Rodney cradling his head with a fearful intensity that’d be difficult to explain as the actions of two people who are Just Good Friends.
But Teyla never says anything. When John wakes up, she squeezes his hand and smiles at him, eyes full of the same warmth and compassion as always. Then she steps back and lets Ronon pay his respects.
Ronon glances over his shoulder, indicating Teyla with a slight tilt of his head. “So. Me and her. Not against regs?”
John stares at him for a minute. And then he’s laughing; and Ronon’s laughing with him; and they, at least, are cool.
IV.
Zelenka hates the stereotype of the absent-minded professor, of the bumbling scientist who’s trying to see through to the secret center of the universe but can’t keep from tripping over his own two feet. He prides himself on his observational skill.
So when he does finally see it, his main reaction is shock that he hadn’t seen it sooner.
What happens is this: Sheppard picks up a pen. It’s Rodney’s pen, dropped during a briefing in which Rodney is berating them all for being idiots, not appreciating his genius, etc. etc. Midway through this burst of invective, Rodney’s pen, with which he has been gesturing emphatically, goes flying out of his hand. Sheppard bends over and picks it up. Hands it to Rodney. Leans back in his chair and resumes being berated.
There’s no one thing that marks the moment. But suddenly Radek sees a flurry of tiny, fractional things: the ever-so-slight way their fingers brushed as the pen was handed off; the fact that Rodney actually put his rant on hold for the half-second it took to look Sheppard in the eye; the small, self-satisfied smile now curving at the corners of the Colonel’s lips, so different from his usual smirk.
Fractional parts add up to a whole. In Radek’s mind, Rodney and the Colonel click together like puzzle pieces, and suddenly it all makes sense.
V.
Once Zelenka knows, it’s not long before the whole science team knows as well. Not because Zelenka tells them--quite the opposite--but because there seems to be some sort of weird departmental osmosis at work. Hey, it’s Atlantis. Weirder things have happened.
Like the fact that Kavanagh is suddenly less brusque and even oddly civil; like that Simpson won’t stop grinning at him when she thinks his back is turned; like that Miko spent two days close to tears before attaching herself to Radek like a limpet. What, Rodney says later, as John lies back and laughs, is that about?
VI.
Reading people is a large part of Elizabeth’s job, and Elizabeth is very, very good at what she does. Yet she’s always had a hard time when it comes to reading John. Rodney is easy--what little he doesn’t tell you shows clearly on his face and in the movement of his hands. But John is a bit of an enigma, a Rubik’s cube where solving one side only serves to muddle the rest.
Yet it’s John who clues her in. Not Rodney. John.
It’s not something he does, but something he fails to do. John’s hardly a tactile person, yet after every mission, he takes care to check up on all his people, touching their arms or shoulders, reassuring them, reassuring himself, that they are whole and safe and alive.
He’s stopped touching Rodney.
At first Elizabeth braces herself, thinking that they’re fighting again, that an explosion (implosion?) is imminent. But the rest of the time they’re their same obnoxious and endearing selves, so John’s withdrawal cannot be attributed to anger. It’s something else.
Something else; and as Elizabeth turns the sides, studies the available surfaces, she begins to see a pattern. Sheppard’s team will get themselves into trouble, as usual; and as usual, they’ll narrowly escape. Then in the gateroom, as Elizabeth’s heart rate slowly begins to return to normal, she’ll watch Rodney and John circling stiffly around each other, occasionally making eye contact before turning away. It never interferes with their work. They go about their business, and when she sees them again a few hours later, they’ll be fine.
When Elizabeth finally catches the necessary twist, it’s not some hidden trick. It’s perfectly obvious. It’s been there all along.
If Elizabeth could gaze behind closed doors, she thinks she’d see John reassuring himself in a manner that goes far beyond the brush of hands, in a way that renders such casual touches cruel and inadequate. She can’t share in their relief, but she can see it, writ large and lovely on their faces. And for a woman in her position, sometimes, that’s enough.
VII.
Lorne suspects. He doesn’t mean to: it starts out of his genuine shock that Colonel Sheppard seems to not only respect, but actually like and want to hang out with Doctor McKay. Lorne thinks Sheppard is a pretty cool guy, someone whose judgement he would trust both in and out of the field, but this display of--masochism?--just doesn’t seem to fit. So Lorne thinks: maybe I’m missing something. Maybe McKay gets less annoying once you get to know him. Maybe he grows on you.
Yeah. Like a fungus. Four months in and Lorne still has to grit his teeth after even a couple minutes’ exposure. Yet Sheppard always perks up when McKay enters a room, always seems eager to jump through the weird mathematical or gene-based hoops the doctor’ll set out for him, even going so far as to contribute some hoops of his own. They bitch at each other more than they chat, but like rival gangs confronted by the cops, they’ll just as soon turn their combined forces on anyone foolish enough to step into the fray. And together, they are unstoppable.
It’s gotta be the teammate factor, Lorne thinks. He knows from experience that being on a team, especially as they’re organized out of the SGC, can lead to the formation of some pretty tight bonds. Going through the ‘gate with the same three people week after week, you end up dependent on each other for more than just your safety. It’s perfectly natural; it can even be kind of nice.
And there’s nothing Lorne sees between Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay that he hasn’t seen between, say, General O’Neill and Doctor Jackson. But somehow, that isn’t as comforting as it ought to be.
So Lorne suspects. He tries not to, but when faced with the evidence, how can one avoid drawing such inappropriate conclusions?
“You’re staring into space again,” Parrish says. “Also, you’ve got alien wildebeest juice all over your face.”
“Huh?” says Lorne: “Oh, thank you,” as the other man leans over and casually wipes clean his cheek.
VIII.
Nobody tells Colonel Caldwell. And Colonel Caldwell doesn’t ask. But he isn’t blind, and he certainly isn’t stupid.
He also isn’t heartless. People forget that sometimes, he thinks, and gives Doctor McKay and Colonel Sheppard a convivial nod as he passes them in the hallway.
*************
Title: Eight Ways John and Rodney Gave Themselves Away
Rating: PG
Category: Um, wishful thinking?
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: Vague Season 2
Length: ~1450 words
Summary: Nothing is secret which shall not be made manifest.
Eight Ways John and Rodney Gave Themselves Away
I.
Heightmeyer is the first to find out. She finds out because Rodney tells her. He relates the conversation that followed the revelation of his revelation at their next session:
John: You outed us to your shrink?
Rodney: Right, because she’s known to be such a blabbermouth!
Kate watches Doctor McKay imitate the Colonel’s outrage. The impression is surprisingly good. Or perhaps not so surprising.
McKay’s visits become less frequent after that. Not because Sheppard’s keeping him away, Kate thinks. Because he’s keeping him.
II.
Beckett finds out in one of those awkward conversations you sometimes have to have with your doctor, the type made even worse when said doctor starts blushing about halfway through and can’t stop. But bloody hell, it’s not his fault! He’s a geneticist, for Christ’s sake--genes don’t generally tell you embarrassing secrets about their sex lives and then hit you up for more condoms!
Later, though, after Sheppard’s left, Carson thinks he gets it. The poor man was just as embarrassed as he was--embarrassed and frightened. He dealt with it in his own way; now Carson needs to deal with it, in his.
The next time Rodney’s injured on a mission, Carson does some shuffling and secures his patient a private room. When Rodney finally wakes up, Carson tells John a full hour before he notifies anyone else.
III.
Ronon and Teyla find out almost exactly as John feared they would. Routine mission gone wrong, and John catches a poison dart to the neck. Rodney is discreet, but only up to a point, and apparently, this is it. John passes out with Rodney cradling his head with a fearful intensity that’d be difficult to explain as the actions of two people who are Just Good Friends.
But Teyla never says anything. When John wakes up, she squeezes his hand and smiles at him, eyes full of the same warmth and compassion as always. Then she steps back and lets Ronon pay his respects.
Ronon glances over his shoulder, indicating Teyla with a slight tilt of his head. “So. Me and her. Not against regs?”
John stares at him for a minute. And then he’s laughing; and Ronon’s laughing with him; and they, at least, are cool.
IV.
Zelenka hates the stereotype of the absent-minded professor, of the bumbling scientist who’s trying to see through to the secret center of the universe but can’t keep from tripping over his own two feet. He prides himself on his observational skill.
So when he does finally see it, his main reaction is shock that he hadn’t seen it sooner.
What happens is this: Sheppard picks up a pen. It’s Rodney’s pen, dropped during a briefing in which Rodney is berating them all for being idiots, not appreciating his genius, etc. etc. Midway through this burst of invective, Rodney’s pen, with which he has been gesturing emphatically, goes flying out of his hand. Sheppard bends over and picks it up. Hands it to Rodney. Leans back in his chair and resumes being berated.
There’s no one thing that marks the moment. But suddenly Radek sees a flurry of tiny, fractional things: the ever-so-slight way their fingers brushed as the pen was handed off; the fact that Rodney actually put his rant on hold for the half-second it took to look Sheppard in the eye; the small, self-satisfied smile now curving at the corners of the Colonel’s lips, so different from his usual smirk.
Fractional parts add up to a whole. In Radek’s mind, Rodney and the Colonel click together like puzzle pieces, and suddenly it all makes sense.
V.
Once Zelenka knows, it’s not long before the whole science team knows as well. Not because Zelenka tells them--quite the opposite--but because there seems to be some sort of weird departmental osmosis at work. Hey, it’s Atlantis. Weirder things have happened.
Like the fact that Kavanagh is suddenly less brusque and even oddly civil; like that Simpson won’t stop grinning at him when she thinks his back is turned; like that Miko spent two days close to tears before attaching herself to Radek like a limpet. What, Rodney says later, as John lies back and laughs, is that about?
VI.
Reading people is a large part of Elizabeth’s job, and Elizabeth is very, very good at what she does. Yet she’s always had a hard time when it comes to reading John. Rodney is easy--what little he doesn’t tell you shows clearly on his face and in the movement of his hands. But John is a bit of an enigma, a Rubik’s cube where solving one side only serves to muddle the rest.
Yet it’s John who clues her in. Not Rodney. John.
It’s not something he does, but something he fails to do. John’s hardly a tactile person, yet after every mission, he takes care to check up on all his people, touching their arms or shoulders, reassuring them, reassuring himself, that they are whole and safe and alive.
He’s stopped touching Rodney.
At first Elizabeth braces herself, thinking that they’re fighting again, that an explosion (implosion?) is imminent. But the rest of the time they’re their same obnoxious and endearing selves, so John’s withdrawal cannot be attributed to anger. It’s something else.
Something else; and as Elizabeth turns the sides, studies the available surfaces, she begins to see a pattern. Sheppard’s team will get themselves into trouble, as usual; and as usual, they’ll narrowly escape. Then in the gateroom, as Elizabeth’s heart rate slowly begins to return to normal, she’ll watch Rodney and John circling stiffly around each other, occasionally making eye contact before turning away. It never interferes with their work. They go about their business, and when she sees them again a few hours later, they’ll be fine.
When Elizabeth finally catches the necessary twist, it’s not some hidden trick. It’s perfectly obvious. It’s been there all along.
If Elizabeth could gaze behind closed doors, she thinks she’d see John reassuring himself in a manner that goes far beyond the brush of hands, in a way that renders such casual touches cruel and inadequate. She can’t share in their relief, but she can see it, writ large and lovely on their faces. And for a woman in her position, sometimes, that’s enough.
VII.
Lorne suspects. He doesn’t mean to: it starts out of his genuine shock that Colonel Sheppard seems to not only respect, but actually like and want to hang out with Doctor McKay. Lorne thinks Sheppard is a pretty cool guy, someone whose judgement he would trust both in and out of the field, but this display of--masochism?--just doesn’t seem to fit. So Lorne thinks: maybe I’m missing something. Maybe McKay gets less annoying once you get to know him. Maybe he grows on you.
Yeah. Like a fungus. Four months in and Lorne still has to grit his teeth after even a couple minutes’ exposure. Yet Sheppard always perks up when McKay enters a room, always seems eager to jump through the weird mathematical or gene-based hoops the doctor’ll set out for him, even going so far as to contribute some hoops of his own. They bitch at each other more than they chat, but like rival gangs confronted by the cops, they’ll just as soon turn their combined forces on anyone foolish enough to step into the fray. And together, they are unstoppable.
It’s gotta be the teammate factor, Lorne thinks. He knows from experience that being on a team, especially as they’re organized out of the SGC, can lead to the formation of some pretty tight bonds. Going through the ‘gate with the same three people week after week, you end up dependent on each other for more than just your safety. It’s perfectly natural; it can even be kind of nice.
And there’s nothing Lorne sees between Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay that he hasn’t seen between, say, General O’Neill and Doctor Jackson. But somehow, that isn’t as comforting as it ought to be.
So Lorne suspects. He tries not to, but when faced with the evidence, how can one avoid drawing such inappropriate conclusions?
“You’re staring into space again,” Parrish says. “Also, you’ve got alien wildebeest juice all over your face.”
“Huh?” says Lorne: “Oh, thank you,” as the other man leans over and casually wipes clean his cheek.
VIII.
Nobody tells Colonel Caldwell. And Colonel Caldwell doesn’t ask. But he isn’t blind, and he certainly isn’t stupid.
He also isn’t heartless. People forget that sometimes, he thinks, and gives Doctor McKay and Colonel Sheppard a convivial nod as he passes them in the hallway.
*************
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Date: 2005-11-10 04:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-17 05:47 pm (UTC)