Fic: Book of Rodney (PG-13)

[selenic76.livejournal.com]

I'm hoping it's still the 11th somewhere around the world... I'm just happy I somehow managed to finish this fic and got to take part in this lovely fest. Hope you enjoy!


Author: selenic76
Title: Book of Rodney (on AO3 | on my LJ)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~5855
Warnings/tags: none of the usual, slight angst, hurt/comfort, mention of death of an original character
Disclaimer: Don't own or profit from them

Summary: No-one hates an unsolved mystery like Rodney McKay, especially if it somehow involves John Sheppard.

Author's notes: I don't know how it happened, but what was supposed to become a short, fluffy little fic, turned into this longish hurt/comfort thing! But I promise, there's a happy ending! Unbetad, all mistakes are mine!

Book Of Rodney

“This time I’m going to win easily...” Rodney muttered out loud, grinning as he headed towards John’s quarters, carrying the tuned to perfection RC car under one arm. No immediate threat from the Wraith and currently no foreseeable peril the Pegasus galaxy or the millennia old city of Atlantis could throw at them left the Expedition members with slightly more free time in their hands, and in Rodney’s opinion nothing helped to ignore the ever present sense of foreboding like racing radio controlled cars along the ancient corridors. It was fortunate that John Sheppard agreed, as he had proven to be a worthy opponent.

Reaching the entrance Rodney waived his free hand at the control crystals, expecting the door to obediently open instead of stubbornly remaining closed, which was exactly what it did.

“Locked? You have your door locked?” Rodney shouted at John through the obstruction, slightly puzzled. He was the first to admit, that he did sometimes rush in without asking, but usually with good reason, at least in his opinion. Yet despite being often vocal about it, John had never been bothered enough to lock Rodney out. He heard rushed sounds of someone moving about, which went on for a while, and then the door finally opened to reveal a slightly flustered John wearing a laid back smile that would have fooled less perceptive people that he hadn’t just been caught doing something he’d rather people not know about. Similar things had started to occur within the last few months or so; at first Rodney had hardly paid attention, but each time something like this had happened, he’d made a mental note—purely out of genuine concern for the well being of the Colonel of course—and they were piling up to a sizeable mound by now. Rodney hoped it wasn’t a sign of something more serious looming on the horizon.

“I’m ready, let’s go,” John said as he swept past the quietly deliberating scientist, carrying his own RC with him. Taking a peek at the room before the door closed with a hiss, Rodney spied an untidy bed, which, in addition to his other observations of John, lead to certain conclusions that, while providing interesting visuals, were not what Rodney wanted to be thinking about in the other man’s presence—but what really threw his mind off was the set of coloured pens and a metal ruler sitting on the side table.

“You comin’ or what?” John shouted from the distance. “Or do you want to forfeit, and admit my superiority?” he added with a cocky smirk, and that was just too much.

“I’ll have you know,” Rodney said, pointing and shaking his finger at the shamelessly smug man as he started walking towards him, “that statistically I’ve won more races than you, by as much as seven percent! I know because I’ve been keeping score, and I intend to improve those numbers today.” John just grinned at him as Rodney rambled on about how the modifications he’d made would guarantee his victory as they made their way to their favourite racing grounds, and the odd sight turned into another stored observation and was promptly forgotten.

~~~

Despite the distraction of the race—which Rodney had won, by a wide margin, and had bragged about for a week until John had beat him during their next meeting, and made Rodney swear he’d find out what he’d done to the car to make it turn corners like that—the unusual items he’d seen in John’s quarters continued to bug Rodney, the vision of them as well as random thoughts of their usage popping into his head at the most inopportune moments. Like when he was supposed to be delivering a lecture about proper lab procedures to the new recruits, i.e. you do not bother Doctor McKay with trivial matters, that’s what Doctor Zelenka is for, and you never ever touch anything without senior staff present, because there are things in Atlantis that will kill you faster than a Planck-scale black hole evaporates by Hawking radiation. Not the right time to be thinking of whether John had a fetish for school related paraphernalia; it had nearly ruined his fearsomely ominous glare.

All that eventually led to Rodney paying more attention to John. Well, even more than he already did. He wasn’t proud of his habit of surreptitiously stealing glances at the hot military commander of Atlantis when John wasn’t looking, but now at least Rodney could tell himself he had a legitimate reason of doing so. No-one hated an unsolved mystery like Rodney. He just wasn’t sure if something was really amiss, or if he was just being his paranoid self.

For one, John had taken to carrying a small cardboard backed notepad with him, into which he occasionally scribbled in some incomprehensible code. Rodney had spied a few glimpses of it over his shoulder, despite John’s efforts of making notes mostly when Rodney wasn’t around. The complicated strings of letters and numbers seemed to make no sense—there were no actual words, no familiar looking mathematical formulae—the whole thing was quietly driving the scientist insane with frustration.

On top of all that, Rodney could swear he’d seen John have longer than the usual ‘what’s up’ or ‘where we at’ discussions with the other scientists working with Rodney, and with Radek more often than most. It irritated Rodney to no end, especially when ever he walked in on them in the middle of their conversation; the two men behaved like they were keeping a secret from him, starting to stutter and clearly changing the subject the minute they spotted Rodney, then awkwardly making their escape. If Rodney had been one to succumb to such emotions, he would have felt jealous of the shy little smiles he had seen the two men share. Much to Rodney’s dismay, all this deleteriously affected his work. Even now, when he should have been thinking about things more quantum in nature, his mind was inexplicably drawn to the puzzle that was John Sheppard.

Just as Rodney was muttering how he really needed another cup of coffee and something to raise his blood sugar levels, the deviously alluring man walked in to the lab, a steaming mug of the caffeine-filled substance in one hand, and a chocolate power bar in another. It was the third time this week this had happened, two times too many to call it a coincidence. While Rodney tried in vain to decide which of the three enticing items to stare at, John walked up to Rodney and sat two of them on his desk. Rodney’s eyes got stuck on the third. John seemed as normal as ever.

“Thought you might be interested in these,” he said casually, “you haven’t left the lab since lunch, and that was an hour ago.” The bastard even had the audacity to say that with a radiant smile.

“Well excuse me if my highly developed brain requires regular doses of nutrition to keep working at its peak parameters, something you want it to go on doing if I am to continue saving your and everyone else’s ass from all the situations of impending doom you military guys seem to get us involved in,” Rodney shot back as he hurriedly peeled the power bar from its wrapping, and began munching on it with happy satisfaction. It was actually quite thoughtful of John, taking time out of his busy schedule to make a special delivery like that—and if that wasn’t another reason to be suspicious of John’s recent behaviour, Rodney thought, then nothing was. When had this precision servicing of Rodney’s needs started?

“Hardly call that nutrition,” John quipped before Rodney could ask him about it, already making his exit while Rodney kept savouring his ‘meal’ and pondering. “Don’t forget to email your sister,” John remarked while stepping through the door and disappearing down the corridor.

“Good point,” Rodney noted, mind suddenly changing tracks; he actually had forgotten about that, and he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t write Jeannie. Rodney heard John stop for a moment, and thought he also detected faint sounds of scribbling, making him think of the coloured pens again. But writing home took precedence, Rodney didn’t want to get sidetracked again. John had already poked him about the email twice today. He knew it wasn’t much, and Rodney couldn’t talk about what was actually going on in Atlantis, not to mention that writing a few words once a month was just about as much sibling duties Rodney could handle—but it was important to him, something he wanted to do for himself, and for his family. Turning towards his computer, Rodney hastily ate the rest of the power bar, and set off to write to his sister.

In the middle of trying to painstakingly find something other to say than ‘Things are quiet, I’m alive, hope you are too’, Rodney idly thought about how lucky he was that John remembered these things better than he did.

~~~

In the back of his mind Rodney had known the seemingly serene state of affairs wouldn’t last long, so while he wasn’t surprised when all hell broke loose a day later, he was still unprepared for the repercussions on himself. One disaster followed another in succession, keeping Rodney and his team of scientists on their feet for hours on end trying to resolve each situation as they arose. Most of them were minor things, but what they lacked in challenge they made up in number, and trying to keep on top of everything—he really should learn how to delegate, but that would require developing a more trusting attitude towards his fellow scientists—had left him drained and wanting to just curl up under covers and sleep for a week.

What better timing for one of the teams to come in hot, followed by stray Wraith fire that took out several of the Gateroom consoles, leaving the Expedition with a non-functional Stargate, and several teams stranded on different off-world locations. It took Rodney and his team nearly two days work without sleep to fix them, and start bringing their people home. They were lucky that time; there were no casualties.

They weren’t as lucky when barely hours later, a worn down power conduit caused an energy spike in one of the recently discovered small labs, sealing in a three member science team. Rodney and Radek worked to exhaustion to reroute power and replace blown out control crystals, tearing out section after section of wall panels covering seawater and age damaged innards of the City.

There were only fragments of memories from the following events, hazy and frayed around the edges due to the combination of sleep deprivation, coffee, and stimulants that kept him working. Most of his memories were of John—of his presence in the background, worried eyes on Rodney, his comforting hand on Rodney’s shoulder, the endless seeming stream of encouraging words instead of threats and demands—and the imagined sound of a giant clock ticking, slicing away seconds at too fast a pace.

Out of the three, two made it out with mild electrical burns. The third, a young woman who had just joined the expedition two weeks ago, had sustained injuries too severe to survive the long hours it took to set them free. Rodney blamed himself. He always did, on the inside at least. What he showed outside was what he needed to project to keep himself, as well as the others together. They were allowed tears, he wasn’t. Not even in the darkness of the quiet corridor, while being dragged half unconscious towards his room.

“John?” Rodney wasn’t sure, but the strong arm at his shoulder felt familiar.

“I’m here buddy,” John replied quietly, almost softly. “Just a little further, then you can sleep all you want.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Rodney heard himself mumble, already envisioning the nightmares he was going to have. John’s hold tightened, and Rodney concentrated on the fingers almost painfully digging into his arm, blanking out other thoughts until he was brought to his room, his jacket and shoes were removed, and he was tucked into bed.

As he drifted to sleep, utterly spent, the last thing on his mind was the sight of equally tired but watchful John sitting in a chair close by, sadly smiling at him and whispering “Go to sleep McKay, before I knock you out myself”, and a warm hand curling around his own.

~~~

He woke to the sound of cautious footsteps and the smell of fresh coffee. Rodney opened his eyes to a room lit by a late afternoon sun and an empty chair, which moments later was taken by a slightly scruffy looking Colonel who shoved a mug under his nose.

“Black, no sugar, cooled enough not to burn your tongue,” John said, sounding tired and gravelly.

“You sleep at all?” Rodney mumbled and rose up so sit on the edge of the bed, took the precious offering and drank half of it in one go. It tasted like heaven, infinitely better than the regular mess hall brew. He looked up at John, confused.

“Ethiopian, freshly ground,” John provided the missing details. “Doctor Pereira had brought a small batch with her, and everyone in the lab agreed it shouldn’t be wasted so they’re drinking it in her honour and—“ Rodney might be terrible with names, but he would never in his life forget that one.

“I should have gotten to her sooner,” Rodney blurted out in a pained whisper, the mug shaking in his hand before falling, spilling on the floor and over his feet the contents that now appeared dark for reasons that did not bear thinking. “I should have been able to save her—“

“It wasn’t your fault,” John interrupted, hand grabbing Rodney’s, holding it firmly, steadying it as well as quelling Rodney’s rising anguish. “There was no way to predict what happened, no faster or more efficient way to save them, nothing more you or anyone could have done. You have to let it go, Rodney, okay?” Rodney nodded involuntarily, wanting to obey John even while his mind rebelled. Looking into the eyes of the weary man, Rodney for the first time truly understood, what a burden it must be for John to be in command, having to be the strongest of them all.

John let go of his hand, and picked up the fallen mug and placed it once more in Rodney’s grip. Then he lifted the thermos and other mug he’d apparently been holding all this time, and poured more of the luxurious liquid for both Rodney and himself.

They raised their mugs in silence, and drank to the lost and the saved.

~~~

What a wonderful thing it would have been, to say that things went back to being normal. In many ways they did; they went on missions, they fought, they survived. There were still those little moments of calm and even happiness that made everything else bearable. Things around Rodney were the same, but he had changed. Maybe he had seen one death too many, or perhaps it was being so tied to these people by the things they had gone through, but Rodney had begun to care about them, more than was healthy for him. If it weren’t for John, Rodney might have opted for reassignment.

Somehow the man had developed a sixth sense about Rodney’s mental state, always showing up to his room with a terrible science fiction movie and a bowl of popcorn just when Rodney was at his lowest and considered leaving Atlantis altogether. He stayed until Rodney fell asleep, or duty called again; or dragging him away from the lab just when he was about to be too drugged or zoned out to start making fatal mistakes. John’s precision in timing was uncanny, but Rodney had decided not to pursue the matter. The reason for such admirable restraint was purely selfish—he enjoyed John’s special care and attention way too much.

Tonight’s flick was some black and white oldie about giant bugs. Rodney was more forgiving of science mistakes in the old classics then the modern monstrosities of movie making, a fact that John had clearly picked up on. He was sitting next to Rodney on the couch, smiling in that goofy but relaxed way he only did when he was really happy. Rodney loved seeing that smile. The small notebook in John’s pocket caught his eye, rekindling his interest in it and his hand automatically reached for the damned thing, guided by his still unresolved curiosity about its contents. This time John didn’t stop him, he just turned to look at Rodney as he pulled the thing out, and nodded his permission before turning back to the screen.

Rodney didn’t dare to open it in front of John, but instead held in his hand for the rest of the movie, and concentrated on watching the happy man beside him, putting aside morbid thoughts for at least another day.

~~~

“I still can’t make any sense of it!” Rodney complained as he moved the controls in an effort to steer his RC past John’s, only to have it blocked by a quick manoeuvre that sent his car careening across the hallway and into a wall, and made him once again groan with frustration.

“And that’s three for Sheppard, nil for McKay,” John smugly gloated as his car passed their chosen imaginary finish line.

“I think the suspension on the right front tire is done for,” Rodney noted with dismay as he picked up his banged up vehicle.

“Guess that makes me the winner this week too,” John said, retrieving his own and returning to Rodney, a smirk on his lips that Rodney had come to think of as appealing as well as severely annoying. “Did you read all of it?” John asked.

“Of course I read all of it, and it’s all equally gibberish to me,” Rodney grumbled, checking for other damage on his car and refusing to admit failure in either venture. “Did you make it with the sole purpose of aggravating me? Writing down meaningless things and teasing me into solving a thing that has no solution?” Page after page of meticulous writing suggested otherwise, but Rodney’s bruised ego refused to believe in the other alternative, that he just couldn’t crack the code even after several weeks. Other than that, he felt better than in ages.

“Even the back of it?” John pointed out, and what kind of a question was that, who wrote anything on the... Rodney turned towards John and caught him looking back with this weird expression, as if he was both waiting and fearing for Rodney to figure things out. Rodney shoved his RC into John’s arms and pulled the notebook out of his jacket pocket—he’d been carrying it around since he got it—and turned it over. And he really had been such an idiot. Written on the cardboard, in John’s mostly legible handwriting, stood the words the blue shirt goes well with his eyes. To say Rodney was stunned was an understatement.

“I think it’s time to show you the book,” John said quietly after a while.

“A book? There’s a book?” Rodney gasped. Well, squealed would be a more accurate word, but he chose not to hear it.

~~~

When he finally got around to it—having retreated to the sanctuary of his own lodgings after receiving the Book with a definite capital B, John leading them to his quarters and retrieving it form under the bed and wordlessly handing it over like he was entrusting Rodney with something invaluable—the idea of invading John’s privacy, no matter how much Rodney itched to get to the bottom of things, felt wrong. Rodney sat on his own, luxuriously comfortable and wide bed that now somehow felt too big, and stared at the inch-thick journal’s black surface. It wasn’t the standard issue kind, with real leather covers and proper binding instead of glue. Loose notes were stuck between the pages, slivers of them peeking out at odd angles. Rodney contemplated pulling one out to get a glimpse of what might be in store for him, but that would have been cheating.

He would have to start at the beginning, and there would be no turning back; returning the book unread would be like stabbing a man who had just taken off his armour for him. Carefully, with trembling hands, Rodney opened the first page and read. And kept reading, taking in everything with ever increasing sense of wonder.

It was all about him, every single page crammed full of detailed information. Like about his allergies, including ponderings about which were real and which made up for occasions that let him avoid eating unsavoury looking things, and a very thorough list of things Rodney couldn’t or wouldn’t eat. Rodney also discovered a whole page dedicated to the various effects low blood sugar levels had on him, with a note in the outer margin to always pack extra power bars for Rodney whenever going off-world. Taped into the inner one was a fold-out strip with several graphs of observed changes in moods at different eating intervals, all neatly drawn with a ruler and different colours. Receiving at last the solution to the simplest thing that had been bothering Rodney seemed to only spawn new ones, like why did any of this matter to John so much he had felt the need to put it down on paper?

There was a large note about reminding Rodney to keep in contact with Jeannie and Madison and Caleb, because no matter what Rodney said, he loved them. Rodney also found several versions of a chart that tried to describe the complicated correlations of amounts of sleep, coffee, and medication, as well as one dedicated purely to caffeine intake and daily dosages and tolerance, and also suggested times to elapse between servings depending on current workload. They were surprisingly accurate.

The list of Rodney’s postures and expressions with corresponding interpretations of his state of mind was uncomfortable reading, mostly because Rodney hadn’t thought of himself as being so transparent, but also due to the fact that it was written on pieces of paper that were folded and tucked between the lengthy and thorough report on ‘things and people that irritate Rodney and are to be avoided if possible’. It was full of small addendums crammed into every available space left by the original lines.

Rodney much more preferred the notes on ‘things that make Rodney smile happily’—racing the RC cars had been heavily underlined. To his delight, Rodney also discovered John had kept record of all the movies they had watched together, to avoid repeated viewings, unless a film had for some reason rated a full five stars on the Rodney scale, a rare occurrence indeed.

Certain bells started ringing, or more like clanging deafeningly in Rodney’s head when he read what John had written about Rodney’s relationships with people. It wasn’t the enlightening analysis of the inner chemistry and social workings of their team, something Rodney vowed to pay more heed to after this, considering how tolerant John, Teyla and even Ronon had been of his behaviour. Nor was it the small chapters on Katie and Jennifer—none of it was nothing compared to the hundreds of minute observations on how Rodney reacted towards the male members of the human species, like for example the body types that turned his head, the level of intellect required for him to show more than a passing interest, or how John had thought there was something going on between Rodney and Radek, considering how well they worked together, up to the point of finishing each others’ sentences.

The whole thing about the shirt and the eyes suddenly stopped being confusing. Not only was John interested Rodney’s behaviour, but in Rodney? As in I-get-jealous-of-others-you-hang-around-with interested, want-to-be-more-than-friends interested, and I-might-be-in-love-with-you interested? The thought blew Rodney’s mind.

On that first reading, Rodney consumed the information, carefully chewing and digesting each and every note made about him, trying to see what ever it was that John saw in him. Then he went through the whole thing again, only this time he read a book that told him everything he could ever want to know about the man called John Sheppard.

The third time, Rodney went through the journal like the genius scientist that he was, and made corrections.

~~~

When John returned from his morning run with Ronon, he found the book laid on his bed, with a neatly written post-it note from Rodney stuck to the cover, saying ‘I made some amendments’. It was so Rodney that John couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head. He should have expected something like that; there was probably even an entry in the journal that started with ‘should Rodney ever read this he would...’ and a variety of predictions. But no matter now much data John had accumulated, he wouldn’t hazard a guess as to what Rodney’s true reaction to the contents would be.

Three days had passed without a word being mentioned about the thing, three days to mull over the question of whether handing it over to Rodney had been the appropriate thing to do or not, and now it sat there, almost glaring at John, daring him to open it. He took a shower, and changed into a clean t-shirt and BDU pants before sitting down on the bed and even considered such a thing.

John knew he’d made the right choice. Ever since he’d scribbled that first remark on the back of the notebook during one dull meeting, through the course of which the complementing colour combination had distracted him in the most unprofessional manner, John had suspected this day would come. It wasn’t that he was scared for himself, he’d survived worse things than a broken heart, but for what this would do to his relationship with Rodney, and how that would affect his team. Always the good soldier, putting you team’s needs above yours, he thought, but with only a hint of bitterness. Maybe that’s what it all boiled down to; Rodney had needed to see the book more than John had needed to hide it. The scientist might be made of tougher material than some, but he was still a civilian, and dealing with things that combat situations brought with them always took its toll sooner or later. Maybe this would in its own weird way help him finally put the guilt behind him.

Shifting into a better position on the bed, John picked up the journal, and opened the first page—it was meaningless to delay any longer, and John wasn’t that resistant to plain and simple curiosity any more than Rodney was.

Underneath his original title ‘Book of Rodney’ was a brief remark that the title could use some work. John chuckled. It had been written half as a joke on a thing John had gotten as a present from Elizabeth—with a suggestion that writing things down might be a form of therapy suited for him, because as she had put it ‘anyone here who says they don’t need any help are lying’, and since seeing the resident psychologist had mostly resulted in forty five minutes of stubborn silence on John’s part. Perhaps, had things gone differently, Elizabeth would have been the one who’d have prodded John to take action sooner.

Instead, John had taken the one intangible thing that had helped him keep sane, and tried to make it into something he could hold on to; by putting his strange fascination for this irritatingly brilliant and seemingly simple yet so incredibly complex man into words, because going after the real thing had seemed pointless and unbefitting his command position. Now he turned that page over, both literally, and figuratively.

His first thought was that Rodney should be kept away from post-it notes for good. There was a minimum of two on nearly every page, and that was in addition to all the things the man had managed to squeeze into the available empty spaces and margins. Most contained some sort of reprimands, pointing out of blatant mistakes, or suggestions on how to yield even more precise results from his resources—those also included some interesting mentions of ‘interrogation techniques’ that Rodney had found to be effective on his ‘minions’. But some were affirmations, reassurances, and thank yous, three things Doctor Rodney McKay didn’t deliver in abundance. There was one next to John’s reminder of making Rodney email Jeannie; just the words ‘thank you’, but in carefully written clear letters that conveyed the depth of their meaning. John smiled, and read on.

The section about the types of men John had seen him take notice of—and John had to admit it was a bit embarrassing to think about the other man having seen it—Rodney had crossed out entirely, and glued on several yellow squares explaining that while the fact that a brain was housed in a pleasant package had its merits, it was in fact the said organ and its ability to keep up a suitably intelligent and preferably witty or even snarky conversation that Rodney rated his interest in men by, and that John scored high on both categories. That at least made it clear in no uncertain terms, that Rodney was a) interested in men as well as women and b) interested in John in particular, which had sort of been the whole point of the aforementioned observations, and John was more than pleased with the revealed result.

Food related entries had clearly suffered lighter damage than others. John had even earned a commendation on spotting some of the rarer items on Rodney’s ‘will not eat’ list. John’s attempts to perfect the calculation of required/allowed coffee intake had only received a small footnote declaring that making a computer program would be more efficient, and that Rodney would have it done by the end of the week. John would have to let Radek know he could stop the development of their version. It was kept on a secure computer, one not connected to the others, and also buried in the depths of several folders of pictures of Radek’s pigeons to ensure it remaining a secret from Rodney.

While many things had inspired long rants that showcased Rodney’s extremely versatile vocabulary, in the end John was more intrigued by the briefer messages; they revealed more about the man who’d written them. John spent the better half of the day examining each addition within the journal, taking time to deconstruct them. He answered a few calls on the radio, nothing urgent, fetched a turkey sandwich MRE and a glass of water from the kitchen, and page by page got closer to understanding what it really meant to be Meredith Rodney McKay.

When he reached the final page, John found a white envelope addressed to him attached to the back cover. Inside was a single sheet of paper.

If you really want to learn about me, meet me at our pier when you’re done reading, I’ll be waiting. Leave the book, bring beer.

How Rodney knew John had some in his fridge was a brainteaser for another day. There was more than enough of the current mystery to solve for the evening.

~~~

The pier was a place of many memories for John, some good, some not so good, most of them including Rodney. Part of him wondered what kind this meeting would turn into. As promised, Rodney was already there when John arrived, dangling his legs over the side and typing away with his laptop. The sky still offered light enough to work by, though the dusk was already creeping in with warm hues. Next to the slightly hunched figure were to packs of MREs, and a bar of chocolate, which had already been opened.

“To answer the obvious question, no, I haven’t been here all day,” Rodney said without turning, having no doubt heard John’s approach, “I merely calculated the most probable time you would arrive, taking into accord your estimated levels of hesitance and impatience when you discovered the journal. I also made a small program that tracked your radio signal and location, keeping me updated on your movements.”

“Or you could have just told me to call you when I was ready,” John pointed out as he sat next to Rodney, placing the refrigerator cold six-pack to his other side. Rodney stopped his fervent typing, and pondered on the notion for a second.

“Yes, I guess that would have been easier,” he eventually agreed. Then he closed the laptop and set it aside, and picked up the MREs and grinned. “Can’t say I won’t take you out on a date, mister clandestine observer. Turkey sandwich?”

“Not exactly what I imagined our first date to be,” John replied, turning down the offering with a shake of his head, tearing instead two beers out of the plastic holder and holding one out. “Not that I exactly imagined us ever going out on one,” he added. Rodney took the can, but somehow they both ended up just holding the cold beverages and staring out over the sea, waiting for something.

“I think I got a little over-enthusiastic with the book,” Rodney finally said, sounding a bit apologetic. “It was surprisingly hard to stop once I started.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that impression,” John told him, a barely controlled smile playing on his lips as he tilted his head up and sighed. “I guess I should be honoured that you found it interesting enough to go through all that trouble.”

“I just...” Rodney paused. His hand reached out to touch John’s arm, fingers squeezing lightly, pleading, so John turned to meet the eyes that watched him with a slightly lost but hopeful expression. “I just wanted to share everything, about me, with you. I still do, if you—“

“Rodney,” John interrupted with a groan, things were getting dangerously close to the whole feelings territory he always struggled with. “You read the book, didn’t you?”

“I should think that’s obvious,” Rodney remarked more defiantly.

“All of it?” John asked, knowing full well it was in provocation, but he needed to drive the point home for good.

“Oh no you don’t,” Rodney took the bate, “I’m not falling for that trick this time, I checked every inch of every page and the covers, and...” John could see the exact moment Rodney got it, his eyes growing wide, their corners crinkling up as a smile spread on his face. “In that case, will you kiss me now because I really don’t want the experience to be ruined by the taste of cheap beer.”

John obliged, and the only thing that spoiled a successful first attempt, was the uncontainable laughter that overtook them both. Their second kiss, now that was all kinds of perfect.

~~~ End ~~~

Comments

[melagan.livejournal.com]

eeeeeeeeeeeee! eeeeeeeeee! eeeeeeeeeee!

Honestly, I'll come up with a more coherent comment later. I'm so glad you let your muse run with this!

[selenic76.livejournal.com]

And I promise to give a more coherent reply once I've had some sleep -_- (past 4AM here, sooo tired) But thank you for the squee, already made me happy ^_^ *squishy hugs*

And I'll have to treat the muse to something nice after this, though the actual writing was a pain...

[sgamadison.livejournal.com]

There are so many things I love about this story that is is hard to know where to start! So much of your love for these characters shines through in the little details, like Rodney being upset over his John-distraction spoiling his ominous glare or John's very organic creation of the Book of Rodney.

On that first reading, Rodney consumed the information, carefully chewing and digesting each and every note made about him, trying to see what ever it was that John saw in him. Then he went through the whole thing again, only this time he read a book that told him everything he could ever want to know about the man called John Sheppard.

The third time, Rodney went through the journal like the genius scientist that he was, and made corrections.

This made me clap my hands with delight. Bravo!

I think the Book of Rodney is the *perfect* title for this book. :D

[selenic76.livejournal.com]

You don't know how much your comment means to me. I really intended to write a short happy fic, one where John had written a 'manual' of Rodney to help him get his attention and maybe win over his heart, but the muses just wouldn't go with that.

The fic was alternately easy and damn hard to write. I loved the fun of the beginning, but then something just happened. I cried every time I went back to the coffee scene. And writing Rodney is always an interesting exercise, since I'm just not a genius :) But some things worked out incredibly well, like that scene you quoted. That was one of the things the muses just threw at me, and I just went "well of course that's what happened!" :D There are things in there that would still need some fine tuning, but perhaps it was good to have a deadline that would force me to let go off the fic, instead of it ending up another WIP. I may take a look at it at some point, just to see if there are any glaring mistakes, but I'm still quite proud of how things turned out :)

Hearing my love for the characters shines through is just the perfect icing on the most wonderful and sweet cake ^_^ Thank you so much for the comment *just wants to hug you silly*

[sgamadison.livejournal.com]

Hey, sometimes the story demands to be told in a certain way. :-)

I think it is good to have deadlines sometime. Sometimes when you aren't fettered by the idea of making something perfect, you allow something organic to evolve. I'm SO glad you posted this instead of letting it languish as a WIP. We never would have gotten to share in this with you otherwise!

[selenic76.livejournal.com]

Sometimes when you aren't fettered by the idea of making something perfect, you allow something organic to evolve.

Amen to that! That's how writing works for me when it's at its best. Longer stories just are more painful to give birth to :D

[melodysparks.livejournal.com]

Loved it

[selenic76.livejournal.com]

Thank you, happy to hear that! ^_^