Macky

Fic: Kickoff

2008-09-15T08:17:11Z

Title: Kickoff
Author: Macky
Genre: Romance, Pre-slash, McShep
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2500
Summary: John is back in the game.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: Spoilers for Quarantine. Doesn't necessarily follow the canon established after that. Sequel to Second String Theory. Watch out for cliche sports metaphors.

John stopped short in front of the door. He wasn’t really sure what he was planning to say, or do, but he figured he had to do something. It wasn’t every day your best friend almost-proposed-to-and-ended-up-accidentally-breaking-up-with his girlfriend. And damn her, Katie had spread the story all over the base. Well, not really, John grudgingly admitted, but she might as well have. She’d told a couple of the other botanists, who’d told some of the chemists, who’d told the physicists, who’d let it slip to the Marines, who had spread the story all over the base. There were still several Marines (mostly new recruits) who had a grudge against McKay, and they’d been all too happy to hear about his freak-out and subsequent humiliation. Which brought John back to the reason he was standing in front of Rodney’s door with a chess board, Dr. Who, and a really big bottle of Athosian moonshine. The situation called for a time-out, and John was pretty sure Rodney wouldn’t take one on his own. So John was going to coach him through it, get him back on his feet and back into gear.

Secretly, John was glad things had gone down like they did. He’d been playing this game since Katie’s arrival, waiting for his chance to get the ball, and finally she’d fumbled. He’d long since lost what little home field advantage he‘d started out with. Katie had quickly made a place for herself in Atlantis, joining clubs and making friends and appropriating way more space for her plants than was really necessary. She knew more people than John did, and certainly had a more active social life. It wasn’t fair. But it wasn’t fair to Rodney, either, to take joy in his pain, so John tried to school his expression (which was currently cycling between happiness, relief, and guilt, the combination of which had earned him several odd looks at dinner, from a confused Ronon and a frustratingly knowing Teyla) and knocked on the door.

“Go. The hell. Away. Whoever you are.” Rodney’s voice was loud but muffled from the other side.

“Rodney,” John drawled, hoping he sounded casual and friendly. “Open the door. I’ve got a present for you.”

“Nnngah!” came the frustrated reply. “I don’t want a present, I want you to go away.”

“And I want to not be standing in the hall yelling,” John answered, concentrating on opening the door. It reluctantly slid open (Rodney must have been trying awfully hard to keep it closed), stopping at halfway. John eased through and it closed behind him.

The room was a mess. There were clothes scattered all along one wall, what looked like pieces of electronics half-shoved under the bed, and the desk was one big stack of papers and computers. Rodney himself was spread-eagled on the bed (and John really wasn’t going to think about that too much), still fully clothed.

“Damn it, Sheppard, I said go away.” Rodney didn’t even open his eyes. He waved a hand in John’s general direction, probably intending it to look menacing, but John ignored it.

“I brought chess,” John offered. “And the new Dr. Who. And I managed to wheedle some alcohol out of Teyla, so get up and stop feeling sorry for yourself and let’s get this party started.” He hoped he was going about it the right way; it was hard to tell when McKay needed encouragement and when he just needed a kick in the ass.

“Excuse me, but I am not feeling sorry for myself. I am simply trying to get some sleep, which is not that uncommon at eleven o’clock at night, and you’d think that as much as I do for this city, I’d be entitled to a night of rest at least, oh, once a week or so. So you’ll excuse me for saying, but get the fuck out of my quarters.”

Whoops. Wrong tactic.

“Geez, sorry, McKay, I didn’t mean it like that,” John said. “I know today sucked majorly for you, and I didn’t think you’d want to be alone. That’s all.”

There was a long silence, Rodney still with his eyes closed and John praying that Rodney would accept his unspoken apology.

“Look, I don‘t know what you want from me,” Rodney said, finally looking at John. “You probably came here out of some misguided feeling of team responsibility, and thank you, by the way, for not bringing Ronon or Teyla. You thought you’d get me drunk, and that I’d forget all about the utter disaster that is my life and wake up tomorrow with a hangover and a new lease on life. But you should know by now that it wouldn‘t have worked. Besides the fact that I have a ridiculously high alcohol tolerance, thank you Siberia, it’s not like I can just shut my brain off. Some of us don’t have that luxury. I just blew what was probably my only chance at a normal life, and I think I deserve to wallow in that for a little while. God, what’s wrong with me? Katie’s beautiful, smart, and she would have said yes. She would have said yes, Sheppard. I could have been engaged.”

“Did you want to be?” John asked frankly, hoping it wasn’t the wrong question. Rodney looked at him, hard, and then closed his eyes again.

“Yes. No. I wanted, I want, to have something real. I want to be able to relate to Jeannie, to have someone to come home to after a mission, someone to eat meals with. That kind of thing.”

“You eat meals with us.” John tried not to whine. But Rodney wasn’t getting it. He was on a team, not just a gate team, but a real, life-changing, we’re-each-other’s-family team. There was nothing more real than that.

“That’s different. You guys have to put up with me, it’s your job,” Rodney opened his eyes, but looked away. “And yeah, I get that we’re all friends. But don’t you ever want more than that?”

“Hell, yeah,” John said roughly, before he could stop himself. Shit. Rodney looked up in surprise.

“Okay. Then you understand. I almost had that, almost had more, and I screwed it up. How would you feel?”

John knew the question was rhetorical, but that didn’t stop his stomach from answering. He had screwed it up, he’d been screwing it up from the very beginning. Letting Katie get the upper hand. Letting Rodney think no one would ever want him. He’d spent the last year on the bench, watching the action and telling himself it couldn’t go any other way. Convincing himself that Rodney would figure it out and come back to him. Thinking that he could take home the prize without getting his hands dirty. And damn bad timing, that had to end. Now.

“I’d feel pretty shitty, McKay,” John answered, carefully setting everything down on the floor and moving to the edge of the bed. “But you’ve got to know, it wasn’t your fault.”

Rodney scoffed. “Sure it wasn’t. I had the ring, she was waiting for me to ask, and what did I do? I freaked and ran. How is that not my fault?”

“What I mean is, you didn’t screw up your whole life. So maybe you won’t marry Katie. So what?”

“So, it’s not like I’ve got a lot of options. We’re in the Pegasus Galaxy here, in case you forgot. And unlike you, I’m not interested in relationships with uneducated, superstitious alien women.”

“I’m not, either,” John automatically replied.

“Of course not, you just throw yourself at every woman who walks by,” Rodney rolled his eyes. John didn’t think that deserved a response. Instead, he sat down on the bed, eliciting raised eyebrows from McKay.

“I’m just saying,” John said slowly, “that I think you’re selling yourself short. I’m sure there are plenty of people in Atlantis who would be happy to be in a relationship with you.”

“Oh yeah?” Rodney sneered. “Name one.”

Game time. Fuck. It was now or never, John knew. Like Rodney, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t get another chance at this. But unlike Rodney, he had all the facts. Fact one: There actually were women, several, that would jump at the chance to date Rodney. Fact two: These women were all fairly intelligent, pretty enough, and acclimated to Rodney’s mood swings. Fact three: If John answered the question with their names, it would be a week--tops--before Rodney asked one of them out. Fact four: John had spent the last three years pretty much in love with Rodney McKay, and he didn’t see himself getting over that any time soon. Fact five: There really wasn’t a fact five, but it didn’t matter, because facts one through three were enough to tell John what he already knew. Rodney deserved the best, he deserved a complete list of names to pick and choose from, but John couldn’t give it to him. And he couldn’t exactly ignore the question, either, because that would just reinforce what Rodney already believed. John was screwed, catch-22, and he couldn’t make himself speak.

“See? You can’t. Really, I appreciate the gesture, but I’d like to mourn the death of my normalcy in peace, so if you’ll leave. I’ll probably feel better in the morning, and you can give me your buck-up talk then, after I’ve had a couple of pots of coffee, of course, because I doubt I’ll get any sleep tonight. I promise I won’t let this get in the way of saving everyone’s asses, like I do on a regular basis, so don’t worry.”

John took a deep breath and tried not to throw up.

“Me.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Rodney asked, genuinely confused. Crap. It had been hard enough to say the one word--now he had to explain it, too.

“Me,” John said again, hoping it would sink in. Rodney just stared at him, annoyance and worry flickering on his face, and John thought he was going to be sick. Something must have showed on his face (abject terror, maybe?), because Rodney’s expression slowly morphed into confusion, followed by surprise, followed by disbelief, and finally settled on some combination of the three.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Rodney practically yelled.

John winced. Not the response he had been hoping for, though he wasn’t really surprised. It wasn’t fair to expect anything better than that. He shrugged.

“You asked,” he said simply, and stood up. A hand on his arm stopped him from getting any further. He looked down to find Rodney gripping his jacket sleeve tightly, fingers white. A quick glance up told him that Rodney’s expression had changed again, now resembling the face he made when confronted with a stubborn piece of Ancient tech. John wasn’t sure he liked it, but he wasn’t sure he didn’t, either.

“You have got to be joking,” Rodney said, softly this time. “But you aren’t, are you. Damn.”

“Sorry,” John said politely, trying to pull his arm out of Rodney’s reach. He’d said it, he’d thrown the pass, and so much for Hail Mary; he’d just be happy to get out of Rodney’s room without getting punched.

“Sorry? Sorry? Sorry doesn‘t work for me, Sheppard. How long?” Rodney’s voice was demanding, though he’d finally let go. “Damn it, John, how long?”

“Three years, maybe four, hard to keep track sometimes,” John answered.

“That’s before Katie. How could you let me date a botanist?” Rodney was close to yelling again, and John was really confused. He tried to look properly apologetic, to calm Rodney down, but he was pretty sure he just came off as ill.

“Um, sorry?”

“Again with the sorry!” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously you wouldn’t understand, but I for one am not going to waste any more time.”

John didn’t see it coming, and was almost knocked over sideways when Rodney lurched onto his feet and grabbed him by the head, pulling him into a frighteningly hard kiss. Rodney was all teeth and tongue, and it was all John could do to grab on to Rodney’s elbows and try to stay standing. When Rodney finally pulled back, John was gasping and was more confused than he’d ever been in his life, and that was saying something.

“Idiot,” Rodney said fondly, stroking the side of John’s head.

“What the hell is going on?” John managed to ask, leaning into the touch despite himself.

“What do you think? We’re making out, and then I’m pretty sure there will be sex. Really, really good sex. Unless you want to wait, though you’ve apparently been waiting for four years, and really, how much time does a guy need?” Rodney made to move into another kiss, but John managed to hold him back, though it felt wrongwrongwrong.

“I don’t get it.” John felt stupid, but moments ago Rodney had been ready to punch his lights out, and now he was talking about sex? Somewhere John had missed the connection.

“You said you want me,” Rodney whined, and god, the whining. John closed his eyes and steeled himself against it.

“Yes, I said that. And if I remember, you said, and I quote, ‘Are you fucking kidding me.’ Actually, you yelled it.”

“Well, yeah. You spent four years chasing after alien priestesses--”

“--hey--”

“--driving me nuts, and if you’d just told me in the beginning, I wouldn’t have to worry about the total humiliation I’m going to face when I go back to work tomorrow.”

“You would have proposed to Katie?” John asked, which was rewarded with a smack in the head.

“Good lord, how are you this dumb? I never would have dated her in the first place. I would have been too busy dating you.”

John stopped short. “So--you’re saying--”

“I’ve had a crush on you practically since we got here. How did you not know this? The first thing Ronon ever said to me, well after he’d been here a while, anyway, was telling me to go for it. And Teyla thinks it’s cute, which if I could beat her up, I would, but she’d kick my ass. I can’t believe you’re that dense.”

John felt like he should be offended, but he could feel the goofy grin taking over his face. Rodney liked him. Rodney had a crush on him. And Rodney had kissed him, and meant it, and wanted them to have really, really good sex, and it didn’t get much better than that.

“You look ridiculous,” Rodney said.

“But you like it,” John countered hopefully. Rodney just grinned back.

“Sure do,” he said.

John had no choice but to kiss him, so he did. And the stands erupted in cheers, and the home team caught the winning touchdown, and it didn’t even matter, because John had just joined the only game he’d ever really cared about, and it turned out he’d already won.

Drabble: Devil Can't Keep Me

2008-06-21T02:00:08Z

Title: Devil Can't Keep Me
Author: Macky
Word Count: 100
Summary: Dean wakes up.
Warnings: PG rating.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: For the Supernatural 100 "Together" challenge. Spoilers for the end of S3, even though I haven't seen it. Takes place after S3, if I have my timing correct.Fic:

When Dean wakes up, he’s covered in sweat and mud and surrounded by walls of dirt that go six feet high around him. He takes a moment to freak out, and breathe, and try to forget the (literal) hell he’s just been through. But he’s alive, and he can see the stars, and below them he can see Sam’s face and he should’ve known that Sam wouldn’t leave well enough alone. Should’ve known Sam would come for him, that there was no place Dean could go that Sam wouldn’t follow. No place—-even Hell—-that could stop them being together.

Fic: For the Next Ten Minutes

2007-11-29T01:48:38Z

Title: For the Next Ten Minutes
Author: Macky
Genre: pre-slash
Rating: G
Word Count: 359
Summary: John just needs Rodney, for the next ten minutes.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: Title comes from "The Last Five Years," a musical by Jason Robert Brown. I wanted to write a 100 word drabble based on that. I got close.

The knock at his door was not unexpected, but Rodney had been hoping to avoid it tonight. He was tired, still sore from the ministrations of the day. The mission had, as usual, gone afoul, with Rodney himself bearing most of the responsibility.

"Come in," he called, resigned to the lecture he was about to receive.

The door opened and the Sheppard entered, not wearing the off-world uniform but instead dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt.

"Go running?" Rodney asked, hoping to distract him.

"Shh," Sheppard just whispered, slowly walking forward, letting the door swish shut behind him.

"What?"

"Shh," Sheppard repeated.

"But I--" Rodney was confused.

"Rodney." His name wasn't sneered, wasn't drawled, it was just said. Quietly, almost desperately. Rodney fell silent.

Sheppard approached him hesitantly, lifting a single hand to rest on Rodney's shoulder. Rodney made a sound of surprise and Sheppard just hmm'd, low and quiet, and began to run his hand from Rodney's neck down to his elbow, lightly touching the skin below the short-sleeved shirt. Rodney tried not to shudder and failed. He glanced up to see an almost smile on Sheppard's face, and lifted his own hand to touch Sheppard's sleeve. He heard a small sigh escape the other man's lips.

"Sheppard--" Rodney began, but stopped when a hand tightened around his neck.

"Shh," came the whispered reply. "Just shh."

"But--"

"Please," he sounded broken. "Can we just be here, be together, just for ten minutes?"

Sheppard's--John's--eyes looked hollow and empty, and Rodney began putting together puzzle pieces he hadn't even known existed. He took John's hand in his own, grasping tightly and pulling up towards his mouth. John's eyes fluttered closed as Rodney kissed each knuckle, first lightly, then harder, then moving to the back of John's thumb and kissing his way towards the wrist. He could feel the tension Sheppard never showed easing out of the body before him, and he put an arm around the man's waist to support him, never stopping the simple kisses, the feel of skin on skin, the comfort of togetherness and presence.

"Yeah," Rodney whispered back. "Ten minutes."

Fic: Second String Theory

2007-03-10T04:27:32Z

Title: Second String Theory
Author: Macky
Genre: character study, pre-slash
Rating: G
Word Count: 790
Summary: John Sheppard was a second-string kind of a guy.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: Instead of working on my fic exchange piece, or writing the sequels to kid!Rodney, this came out. Oops?

John Sheppard was a second-string kind of a guy.

It started when he was thirteen, and had just moved to his fourth junior high, starting over once again with no friends, no clubs, and a dad who was never there. At twelve, he'd figured out that if he joined a sports team, then by the time he moved again a lot of people would at least know his name. But he usually ran track or played baseball in a local league, and that didn't really help the new kid get popular. So in eighth grade, he went out for football, and outran, outthrew, and outtackled the competition. He was the star, everyone knew his name, and he still ate lunch alone every day. He heard the whispers in the hall, about how he'd stolen the starting position from Jeremy Winthrop, who'd been planning to make JV high school as a freshman. With John around, there was no chance. And Jeremy was the most popular kid at Weston Public Junior High, so any enemy of Jeremy's...Well, John was less than disappointed when he only stayed there five months.

In high school, though, he figured it out. By the time he started his third (and last) school, halfway through sophomore year, he had the pattern down. Football had been the right idea; the place where he'd gone wrong was in being the best. He'd always tried to be the best at everything, and generally succeeded. Good grades, great test scores, the best in sports. He'd even won a Battle of the Bands once, playing guitar in a garage glam group (The Pink Salvation--a brief period during freshman year; his dad hadn't approved of the leather pants or the eyeliner, but John'd gotten a lot of dates). But being the best didn't imply being liked. So John learned to fly under the radar. When he transferred to a new school, he'd go to practice and check out the team, both first and second string. He learned to focus his talent just enough to beat out the standing second string guy, but not take top. He could slide comfortably into the middle, gaining friends and respect without stepping on toes. It worked, and generally speaking, high school was a blast. And if every once in a while, John sat in his room, making up extra physics problems to augment the simplistic questions in the textbook, wondering what it would be like to throw that hail mary pass that saves the championship, well that was the price of having friends. He got invited to the best parties, dated the popular, pretty girls, and life was easy. Too easy.

It became a motto: stay on the second string. Sometimes, he messed up and got knocked back to third. Afghanistan almost got him taken off the roster. But he hadn't lied to O'Neill about liking Antarctica; he wasn't in charge of anything there, but he always had plenty to do and plenty of people to talk to. McMurdo was a little town, and John knew almost everyone.

But then John sat in a glowy chair, and made planets appear, and flipped a coin and found himself running for his life and shooting the starting quarterback and suddenly, he wasn't second string anymore. He was it, he was in charge, and he didn't like it one bit. He spent the whole first year waiting for someone to come and take over, hoping for a free agent or another draft. But then he'd found himself with his own cheering section, and a squad of quirky scientists, quiet aliens, and friendly Marines waving pom-poms in his direction. It was either team captain or the bench, and this was one game John didn't think he could leave. But even then, it was a reluctant acceptance of his starting position. He'd do it, and do it as best he could, but it wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to be back, safe in the background, neither special nor worthless.

Sitting in the mess hall, though, eating his second pudding cup of the meal (the extra one he always got for McKay, who always stole one), John thought maybe his policy needed to be revamped. He watched, eyes dark and mouth grim, as Katie Brown threw back her head in a (fake!) laugh, her hair falling over her shoulders as Rodney looked on, entranced. He'd been in the background too long, waiting and biding his time, and then a transfer had come in and blown his chances out of the water. He was benched, out of the game, without even running a play. But John wasn't giving up. He made up his mind.

He wasn't playing second string anymore.

Fic: Lost and Found

2007-03-02T06:25:06Z

Title: Lost and Found
Author: Macky
Genre: friendship, pre-slash, kid!fic
Rating: G
Word Count: 879
Summary: Really, if anyone had asked John what a seven-year-old Rodney McKay would be like, John would have probably choked on his food and thanked the Pegasus deities that they'd never have to know.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: This was not at all the plot bunny that's been in my head for weeks. But I read telesilla's Unfolding Right Before My Eyes, after which she mentions that it's apparently International Blanket Fort Day. And then I just had to write a Blanket Fort Fic. I hope telesilla doesn't mind the pimpage, but everyone really does need a day devoted to Blanket Forts. This little fic will probably become a series at some point, now that I've started it.

“No!”

John sighed, again. He'd sighed more in one day than the past several years of his life.

“Rodney, come out. Carson needs to take your temperature and check your pulse and...all that other...stuff, that doctors do.”

“No! He wants to poke me, I know he does, and I don't like him, and I'm not coming out. Ever.”

Really, if anyone had asked John what a seven-year-old Rodney McKay would be like, John would have probably choked on his food and thanked the Pegasus deities that they'd never have to know. Damn peasants on M45-78G. If the Sacred Artifact of Rebirth and New Life starts glowing blue when the visitors show up, that does not mean it's a sign from the gods. And it really doesn't mean that it would be a good idea to throw said artifact at the first visitor to walk through the door, which happened to be McKay. He'd looked up from his handheld just in time to catch the oddly-shaped piece of equipment, and John had started to congratulate him on a quick response, but suddenly Rodney had been several feet shorter and several decades younger, and it had all gone to hell.

“He promises not to give you a shot, Rodney,” John tried to use his most comforting voice, before remembering that he didn't really have one. Elizabeth did, though. Maybe he should let her try.

“Colonel, you know I can't make any such promises before I've had a chance...” Carson started. John glared at him as the sounds from inside the blanket fort turned to whimpers. John wasn't sure where Rodney (especially Rodney at age seven) had managed to find all those blankets and pillows, but he wasn't surprised by the intricately balanced structure that lay before him. Of course Rodney had always been an engineer, even as a kid.

“He promises,” John said loudly. “He just wants to make sure you're okay, and then we'll go get pudding. Sound good?”

“Pudding sounds good,” Rodney's little voice (and wasn't that a trip?) drifted out from between the blankets. “Can't we just get pudding now, and not do any of that other stuff?”

John smiled. Rodney's voice might have been an octave higher, but the wheedling tone was unmistakable. And infinitely harder to say no to, which, considering how difficult it already was for John to refuse Rodney anything, was probably not a good sign.

“Come on, lad, let's get you out and done and then you can find your dessert,” Carson said kindly. John wished he could take notes on that tone. He had a feeling he'd need one like it, if Rodney stayed like this for very long.

There was a childish, put-upon sigh, and then one side of the fort parted, and a tiny face peeked out. Rodney's cheeks were bright pink, which John found ridiculously adorable, and his hair hung curly and blonde over his big, blue eyes. When he smiled—which had only been once since this whole ordeal happened—little dimples appeared beside his mouth. The entire science staff had decided he was the cutest thing ever, which is what had led to the blanket fort in the first place. Rodney was almost himself, with a lot of his own memories, but the concentration and emotional stability of a child. Too much attention, combined with his typical frustration with his staff, had led to a violent temper tantrum and Rodney running away. It had taken John several (terrifying) hours to find him, during which Rodney had made his way (towing about fifteen military issue blankets and ten or so case-free pillows) to the upper level of one of the minor towers. They'd all been relieved to find Rodney safe and mostly well, but Carson still insisted on doing a full physical. The villagers hadn't been clear about the possible side effects of the device, and John was pretty sure it had only worked once before. He didn't like what he'd heard from the town leader about how nice it had been to have a second childhood. Rodney might be a big fan of immortality, but John wasn't quite ready to wait another thirty years to have his best friend back.

“Out with you,” Carson smiled as Rodney shuffled forward, crawling on his hands and knees.

“Hey, buddy,” John said, trying to sound reassuring. Rodney stood, coming up to just above John's waist, and immediately grabbed John's hand. His other hand went straight to his face, thumb in mouth. John didn't want to think about the kind of trouble a seven-year-old thumbsucker would have had at school. He'd been the type of kid to pick on the outcasts, at least until he became one himself. He tightened his grip on Rodney's hand, smiling down at him. Rodney squeezed back and grinned up at John, dimples puckering his cheeks.

“Hi,” he said shyly.

“Ready to go get checked out?” Carson started to lead the way back towards the main part of the city. Rodney just nodded in response.

“And then pudding,” he said firmly, looking at John for affirmation.

“And then pudding,” John echoed, feeling a little tingle in his stomach, which was probably not related to hunger. He held on to Rodney's hand as they made their way to the infirmary.

Fic: Doppler

2007-02-28T05:18:16Z

Title: Doppler
Author: Macky
Genre: H/C, pre-slash
Rating: PG
Summary: "You always wear black," Rodney said suddenly. "There's no Doppler shift for black."
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: It started as a 300-word drabble that I wrote in my head while ridiculously exhausted, but it grew. And developed slash (but so does everything I write).

It was late, really late, Rodney didn't really know how late, but he also couldn't remember the last time he'd slept or even been somewhere that wasn't the lab, so he figured it was really late. He was hopped up on too much caffeine and several days without sleep, and he found himself mesmerized by the colors on the wall. He had once searched through the ancient database, trying to find out why the lights in the science labs changed color at night. He never found anything, but every night, the bright mercury-tinted walls would fade to a greying blue that reminded him of years spent in military installations, plain grey walls reflecting florescent lighting. Maybe, though, he thought, maybe the light didn't really change. He felt stretched, slowed, pulled thinner and thinner by the continual failures and the idiocy of his staff, and maybe he was just moving relativistically slow, being flattened by the pressure and responsibilities, and he was just imagining the shifting wavelength of the surrounding light, a Doppler shift of exhaustion. That was it, he decided, and it made just enough not-sense to make him think that maybe it was time to take a break.

"McKay?"

The familiar tone, one part exasperated and two parts concerned, echoed around the empty lab. That wasn't right, Rodney thought. It should be higher, the voice, to match the light. Doppler, after all.

"Ronon, maybe," he said, thinking out loud, and laughed shortly. Relativistic Ronon might sound like Sheppard. Though, he was generally one part exasperated and two parts...well, just exasperated, really.

"Ronon?" Now the voice was confused. Nope, couldn't be Ronon. The caveman didn't do confused. "McKay, I think you ought to head to bed."

"Can't, never make it," he answered, looking back at the computer screen. It looked the same as always. The picture of his orange tabby decorating the desktop wasn't suddenly green. Rodney decided he should check the database again.

"What? Why?" Sheppard's voice got louder at he stepped fully inside the lab, slowly crossing to Rodney's workspace.

"Too slow," Rodney answered, trying to roll his eyes, but it didn't work. He ended up looking at the ceiling, which was also blue. "Huh," he said. "It works in three dimensions."

"Rodney, you aren't making any sense, which granted happens a lot, but not like this." Rodney felt a strong, hard hand on his shoulder. He looked at it. It looked blueish in the glow, like the Wraith sometimes did, especially in the weird Hive Ship lighting.

"Why do they both like blue?" he asked Sheppard. "You'd think somebody would like red. Even the bugs, they're blue too. The whole damn galaxy. I like orange. I had a sweatshirt once, orange, comfy. Warm." He smiled, remembering how soft it had been. He brought it with him; it was probably in a box in his closet somewhere. He'd never really finished unpacking.

"Too much storage space, but still too much to store," he joked, laughing again.

"Okay, you're starting to scare me, McKay. Do you think you can make it to your room, or do we need to go to the infirmary first?"

Rodney shook his head, harder than he'd meant to. "Not the infirmary. Too bright."

"Your room, then," Sheppard started pulling on his arm, leading him to the door.

"Can't beat the speed of light," Rodney answered. "But I guess it can't hurt to try."

"Thataboy," Sheppard said, leading him down the hallway and into the transporter. When the doors opened again, Sheppard started to head back out when he heard Rodney giggle.

"Something funny, McKay?"

"Speed of light!" Rodney giggled again, and John couldn't help but answer the bright smile with one of his own. Rodney might not be in control of all (or any) of his faculties, but he seemed pretty happy about it.

John didn't trust Rodney to actually go to bed, so he went inside with him. Too many times, John had collected the sleepy scientist from his lab and led him home only to find out at breakfast that Rodney had gone back to the labs later, or just stayed up working on his laptop till odd hours of the night.

"Alright, McKay, bedtime," John ordered, trying to manhandle Rodney in the direction of the bed.

"Can't sleep like that," Rodney mumbled, his hands fumbling around the hem of his shirt. John understood, and after a slight hesitation, helped Rodney pull the shirt over his head. John left Rodney to manage his own pants, and stepped back, trying to divert his gaze from the bare chest being flaunted in front of him. He'd wanted this for so long, Rodney taking off his clothes in front of John, headed to bed. Usually, though, his fantasies ended in hot, sweaty sex, and the incoherency was brought on by his own sexual prowess and not some Ancient version of the flu. He decided to take what he could get, and let his hand glide along Rodney's shoulder as he pushed him down onto the bed.

"You always wear black," Rodney said suddenly. "There's no Doppler shift for black."

John squinted down at him, trying to figure out if he should call Beckett after all. Rodney didn't seem to have a fever, though, so probably all he needed was sleep.

"No, there's not," he answered.

"Good," Rodney said. "Stay."

At first John wasn't sure what Rodney meant. Doppler shift? Stay? Something about black clothes? He got up to leave, but Rodney grabbed his wrist.

"It's too blue," Rodney whispered, his eyes wide. "Too fast, too big, can't keep up."

John sat back down. He still didn't understand, but he understood that Rodney needed someone there. He remembered feverish nights, feeling like the world was moving too fast, everything out of control, and the smooth, grounding touch of his mom.

"Shhh," he said softly. "I'll stay." He let himself run a hand through Rodney's hair, dragging a finger across Rodney's cheek. He'd stay, as long as Rodney wanted him to, he'd stay.

Fic: They Just Keep Getting Better and Better

2006-12-30T19:39:53Z

Title: They Just Keep Getting Better and Better
Author: Macky
Genre: Gen, sort-of Teamfic
Rating: G. Your grandmother could read this, though she might not like it.
Summary: There's a reason Radek hates going on missions.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: Written for the Amnesty 2006 - Mission Report Challenge on sga_flashfic. It's just a little plot bunny. Maybe I'll write it into a story; if anyone else wanted to, feel free!

With Rodney in the infirmary for a severe head wound, Elizabeth had been hesitant to send her flagship team to a planet they'd only heard about from trading partners, but they were running low on fresh fruits and vegetables (the kinds that couldn't really be transported on the Daelalus), and Rodney wasn't going to be cleared for off-world duty for several weeks. Zelenka had agreed reluctantly to take over as the science officer for any necessary missions while Rodney was out, but he'd made it clear how much he hated going off-world. His recurring visits to M7G-677 had been nothing compared to the most recent mission, though. Once they'd gotten over the initial shock of his appearance, she tried to calm him down and talk him out of quitting the team, the mission, and life in general. Knowing Czech had come in handy many times in the past few years, and this had been no exception. She needed to check over the mission reports for the past few weeks to send to the SGC, and she really hoped she wouldn't have to do much rewriting on the latest ones. She opened up her email and downloaded the latest files...

To: Elizabeth Weir From: Radek Zelenka Subject: Mission Report
To: Elizabeth Weir From: Teyla Emmagen Subject: Report for most recent mission
To: Elizabeth From: John Subject: It never gets old

She sighed. Sure, she could spend hours emailing back and forth with them, editing the minor unprofessional comments and trying to get them to explain in greater detail what exactly had gone wrong. No one had mentioned how exactly the spear people had overpowered a bunch of P-90s, and that was the kind of thing the SGC really wanted answers for. Or she could just send them as they were. Glancing at the clock on her laptop, Elizabeth decided that maybe the SGC would just have to deal with a little mystery. It was lunchtime, and the mess was serving chipped buffalo-like meat. If she hurried, maybe it would still be warm.

Fic: Viva la Revolution

2006-11-15T05:02:05Z

Title: Viva la Revolution
Author: Macky
Genre: McShep, first time
Word Count: 1808
Rating: PG-13
Summary: If only they'd brought Madden instead...
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: For the Song-and-dance challenge at sga_flashfic. I almost couldn't believe no one had done this yet, but then that just meant I got to.

“Come in,” John called. He really didn’t want to get up; he was tired and hot and two showers hadn’t felt like enough to wash off the mud from the mission that day. He had finally given up on ever feeling clean again, and settled in to write some mission reports before bed.

“Colonel,” Rodney’s voice carried through even before the doors were completely open. “Why aren’t you…oh. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, McKay,” John managed to answer, trying not to stare. McKay was standing in his doorway, hair soaked with sweat and shirt nearly dripping. It clung to his chest, accentuating the broad shoulders that John had spent way too many hours admiring. His grey BDUs were riding low on his hips—almost as low as John wore his, and John tried hard not to wish for the t-shirt to ride up and expose a line of Rodney-stomach. Because that would be desperate, and somewhat pitiful, and not at all fitting of the military leader of Atlantis. And anyway, he generally got to see (almost) as much as he wanted of Rodney’s stomach on missions, anyway, when Rodney stripped down after getting shot, or spilling food, or finding a swimming hole, or any of the other myriad of reasons McKay took off his shirt on a regular basis. At first, John had tried not to look. It wasn’t polite, and if Rodney ever found out, their friendship would be ruined. After it had become clear that Rodney was undeniably straight (damn that botanist), John just gave in. He was never going to get what he wanted, so he might as well just enjoy the view, right?

“So why are you down here?”

“I live here,” John answered, slightly annoyed. There was no need to flaunt a hot, sweaty McKay in front of him. Hot, sweaty McKays made John think of things that were really not what he needed to think about while Rodney was still standing in the doorway.

“Well, yes, obviously, that. What I meant was, why aren’t you down in the rec hall?” Rodney rolled his eyes, as if his question had been perfectly obvious.

“Why would I be in the rec hall? Were we having a team night that I forgot about?”

“No. Did no one tell you?” Rodney stepped closer, and John could see that he wasn’t wearing any shoes. Good god, what was the man doing? Sweaty, barefoot, and did he really have to smell that good?

“Tell me what?” John tried to keep his voice steady and his eyes upward. McKay’s face. Looking at McKay’s face.

“The latest shipment of the Daedalus. No one really told you? How amazing. I would have guessed you’d be the first to have a go. In fact, I thought you were the one who requisitioned it.”

“Requisitioned what, McKay?”

“The X-Box.”

John sat up fast, his eyes widening.

“We have an X-Box? As in, video games? Halo? Great graphics, mindless violence, and football games?”

Rodney rolled his eyes again.

“Yes, an X-Box. Yes, video games. Yes, I think there’s a copy of Halo floating around somewhere, though I’m sure the waiting list to play is as long as the duty roster by now. I don’t know why you’d want graphics or violence, as we live in the lost city of Atlantis, and we get pretty computer screens and mindless death aplenty already. And no, there are no football games. Nor hockey, either.” Rodney had worked his way to John’s desk and plopped into the chair, turning to the bed to face John.

“No football games? Then what good is it?” John focused his gaze on the half-written mission report, trying to think about Halo and football and not about how Rodney’s skin would taste all sweaty and warm.

“Come on, Colonel. You and I both know that the best video game ever created has nothing to do with violence or football, though that’s kind of redundant.”

“And that is?” John turned to see a smile spread across Rodney’s face.

“Dance Dance Revolution.”

John’s mouth fell open. DDR? In Atlantis? What were they trying to do, kill him? The Wraith weren’t enough, no, now they had to deal with overly peppy Japanese electronica and spastic scientist dancers pounding their feet loudly into the floor? No one would ever sleep again. It explained the sweat, though. John wouldn’t have taken Rodney for a DDR man, but there’s probably not a lot to do when you end up banished to scientific outposts in the most remote locations in the world. He pictured Rodney, eyes glued to the screen, feet bouncing beneath him, hands balled into fists and clothes damp with sweat. He swallowed. It was disturbing, yes, but god did it turn him on.

“I know, right? DDR, here! It was the one thing Pegasus was missing. So what do you say, Colonel—want to play a round? Loser buys drinks?” Rodney was still grinning, obviously mistaking the expression on John’s face (horror and lust) for something else entirely (surprise and glee?).

“I—“ John started. “I’m just not much of a dancing man, McKay. But have fun with that.”

“Oh, come on, Colonel!” Rodney whined, raising his eyebrows. “Everyone’s there. Elizabeth, Ronon, even Teyla. She said she might bring some young Athosians over and use it as a training exercise in eye-foot coordination. Something about grace and speed. You have to come! I’ll even handicap you a few levels.”

“How gracious of you,” John said dryly.

“You know you want to. I can see it in your eyes,” Rodney answered. “Come on.”

Rodney stood up and walked over to the bed. The smell of his sweat—with which John was all-too familiar—was almost overpowering. John closed his eyes and pulled his laptop over his lap, hoping it covered up the growing erection underneath.

“No, really, I’m fine. I’m going to stay here…need to finish some reports for tomorrow.”

“Oh, right, like you’d pass up social night to write reports. You can’t be that bad. Carson’s down there, and he’d never even heard of it before tonight. Apparently sheep don’t like DDR very much.”

John shook his head, still looking down at his keyboard, hoping Rodney would just go. This whole conversation, mixed with the proximity thing and the sweat thing, was something John really needed to go over in his head. In private. Without clothes or interruptions. He was concentrating so hard that he didn’t even sense the hand coming down, didn’t notice until Rodney had firmly grasped his shoulder and was hauling him upwards. The computer fell sideways onto the bed, and John found himself standing up, way too close to Rodney and with nothing left to hide how he felt about that. He wrenched his arm away and turned, hoping Rodney hadn’t noticed anything.

“Uhh…Sheppard?” Rodney’s voice was softer, lighter. Damn.

“Just go,” he answered.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” Rodney sounded genuinely confused. “Why don’t…I mean, why do…I mean. Um.”

“Just forget about it, McKay, alright? It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not what you…it’s fine. I get it, I know. Don’t worry about it. Just go, have fun, dance or whatever.” John was trying to keep his voice steady, to not fall apart while Rodney was still there. Whatever happened, he needed to keep their friendship intact. Whatever he had to say, whatever he had to do, it was fine, but he couldn’t lose Rodney.

“What do you mean?” Rodney still sounded confused, which John thought was just mean. It really wasn’t that big a deal. Surely Rodney could figure out a way to get over it.

“I mean, forget it, McKay,” he answered, turning around. “I realize that you don’t feel the same way, and I’m perfectly fine with that. I’ve dealt. And now you know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out, but now you have, and so now you can deal. And then we’ll be cool. Right?” John inwardly cursed the pleading note in his voice. This was not going well.

Rodney eyes had grown progressively wider as John spoke. After John finished, Rodney’s mouth was still moving soundlessly, his eyes moving up and down John’s body until they hit—yeah. John could feel the heat of Rodney’s gaze, boring into his erection. Rodney could see it, plain as day. Those bright blue eyes lifted again, catching John’s, and John was surprised to see no anger in them. Just surprise.

“You…I…what?” Rodney finally managed to get out. John opened his mouth to answer, but Rodney continued. “God, Colonel. Sheppard. John. You are such an idiot.” He shook his head on the last word and quickly crossed the distance between them.

John could feel the coolness of Rodney’s hands as they came up and held his upper arms. Rodney’s scent was almost overwhelming, and John struggled to keep breathing out, instead of just in. His eyes closed by themselves, and he didn’t see it coming, just felt the warm press of wet lips against his. He pushed forward, trying to seal the contact, keep them together and moving against each other forever. The grip on his arms tightened and he heard a whimper and realized that it probably came from him. Then, the lips were gone.

John opened his eyes to find Rodney panting before him, their foreheads pressed together. Rodney’s lips were red and glistening with saliva and sweat, and John felt almost drunk with the smell and feel of it all.

“Why? Why didn’t you say something?” Rodney demanded breathlessly.

“After Katie, I just assumed you were straight. You always talk about Carter so much, so. I didn’t figure you’d be interested.” John shrugged, trying to take deep breaths.

“Well, you know what they say about assuming things,” Rodney answered.

“What do they say?” John looked up to see a familiar, mischevious glint in Rodney’s eyes. He gasped as Rodney moved in to suck at the tender skin just below his ear.

“I don’t remember exactly,” Rodney continued, breathing warmly into John’s ear. “But I’m pretty sure it had something to do with asses.”

John groaned as Rodney’s hands slowly caressed down his back to cup his ass.

“I’m pretty sure I can get behind that,” John managed to get out.

“Good,” Rodney said, squeezing. “And after that, maybe we can go downstairs, and I can show you my second-favorite way to exercise.”

“Deal,” John ground out, trying not to jerk his hips too hard into Rodney’s body. After all, how bad could a little DDR be?

…next day…

“Ohhh!!” Rodney crowed. “I so kicked your ass, Colonel!”

“Yes, Dr. McKay, I believe you did,” Teyla added.

“Yeah, Sheppard. That’s just sad,” Ronon grunted.

“Rematch,” John responded. “Come on, McKay. Your ass is mine.”

Rodney just cocked an eyebrow and reset the game.

“Whatever you say, John.”

Fic: Five Scenes From When John Came Back From (Not) Being Dead

2006-10-17T06:26:42Z

Title: Five Scenes From When John Came Back From (Not) Being Dead
Author: Macky
Genre: McShep, angst, first time
Word Count: 2646
Rating: NC-17 (for language)
Summary: John wasn't dead, but it's still hard.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: Sequel to Five Things Rodney Did When John Was (Not, But Everyone Thought He Was) Dead and Five Things John Didn’t Do When He Was (Not Actually) Dead. It's my first time at happy!Sex and at anything resembling h/c. I waffled a lot on how to conclude the sequence, and I hope this works.

Five Scenes From When John Came Back From (Not) Being Dead

1.

“Unscheduled gate activation,” Rodney heard over the radio. He kept an extra radio tuned to the control room frequency now, figuring it was best to be prepared. If someone blew up the gate, or another enemy strike force took over the city, he’d be one of the first to know, no matter where he was. But it also meant that he heard all the chatter when off-world teams checked in and when teams returned from their missions.

“Any IDC?” Weir’s voice answered.

“It’s Ladon’s,” came the surprised reply. Rodney closed his laptop and headed to the nearest transporter. Rarely did a visit from Genii bring good news.

“Lower the shield.”

Rodney got to the gate room just as Ladon was entering. A team of marines had their weapons trained on him, but there was a distinct lack of tension in the air that Rodney noted. Apparently, the Genii leader had become a trusted figure. Rodney was still debating his own feelings about the man. Their last encounter had not instilled him with confidence.

“Keep the shield down, if you would, Dr. Weir,” Ladon said easily as he shook Elizabeth’s hand.

“What for?” Rodney interrupted, earning him a glare from Weir and a respectful glance from Ladon.

“I think we have something of yours. We got some intel from our trading partners and checked it out. After last time, I didn’t want to worry you until we knew more. Sure enough, our sources were right. And I think this is something you’re going to want to let through.” Ladon smiled as he spoke, obviously proud. Maybe he found coffee beans, Rodney thought. Though Pegasus natives didn’t seem to understand the Atlantis expedition’s dependence on the beverage or share in their appreciation of it.

“You’re clear to come through,” Ladon said into a radio, nodding to Weir.

All eyes were focused on the gate. Two more Genii soldiers entered, carrying between them a muddy, unshaven man dressed in a clean Genii uniform. He was limping, with bandages wrapped around his legs and head, and it took Rodney a full minute to even realize what was happening.

Weir’s gasp was the loudest sound in the room, echoing against the high ceiling and wide floors.

“John?” she asked in a hush.

The disheveled head lifted, and through the matted hair and beard, Rodney could just make out the familiar shape of Sheppard’s face. The soft, high cheekbones. The perfect line of his nose. His quirky eyebrows and almost-pointed ears were obscured by the hair, but Rodney knew what they looked like. He’d seen them in his nightmares for the past three and a half months. But this wasn’t a nightmare.

“He’s had a rough time of it,” Ladon commented, as though Sheppard had just mosied back from a brief, ordinary mission. Rodney tried to laugh, but it came out closer to a sob.

The unkept head turned towards him at the sound, and his eyes locked with Sheppard’s. He took several steps forward before he realized it, and stopped only a few feet away. He could see the pain in those eyes, the exhaustion, and the anger.

Sheppard wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead, and they’d left him there. They didn’t search for him, they didn’t rescue him, they just left him behind to rot in an alien prison cell. Rodney felt his throat tightening up, as if he’d just sucked on a lemon. He tried to reach a hand out, wanting to tell John that they didn’t forget, didn’t just move on, but as he moved he felt himself falling, and his only coherent thought before he blacked out was “I guess I’ll have to give back the poster.” And then it was dark.

2.

“You know, it’s not really fair,” Rodney heard as he slowly tried to claw his way back into consciousness, blinking into the bright light. The words floated around colorfully in his head before settling into comprehension. Someone was above him, a slowly moving blob on his right side. The voice continued.

“You could really give a guy a complex. First I have to save myself, and then I wake up to find that not only are you not hanging over the side of my hospital bed, apparently the idea of me coming back was terrifying enough to cause you to faint.”

“Didn’t save yourself,” Rodney managed to mumble out. He tried to focus on the shape of Sheppard’s face, still swimming against the ceiling. His hair was cut down to only slightly longer than usual, and the beard was gone. Several cuts and bruises remained on his face, though, reminding Rodney of why John even needed to save himself.

“Yeah, I know,” Sheppard answered softly. Rodney shook his head.

“God, I’m sorry,” he blurted out. Now it was Sheppard’s turn to shake his head.

“Elizabeth explained it to me. I know what you thought, and I know why. It was a risk I knew I was taking. I knew it was a possibility.” He shrugged. “I’m back now, thanks to Ladon. I guess he evened out his score with this one.”

Rodney closed his eyes, trying to figure out what to say, if anything. He didn’t want to tell John about the first two months, where he spent almost every night sitting on John’s bed, dry sobbing into his sheets. He didn’t want to talk about the twelfth week, when he finally made a breakthrough with Heightmeyer and admitted that maybe he had loved John Sheppard, and that it was okay to mourn him as a lover, even if it was unrequited. He didn’t want to talk about the night he took down the poster of Johnny Cash and moved it to his room, where it hung on the back of his door. He’d also taken the photo of young John, which was in his bottom desk drawer at the lab, and War and Peace, which he read every night before he went to sleep. He didn’t want John to know how Rodney hadn’t moved on at all, had instead made John so much more a part of his life than ever before. That gathering the leftover pieces of John had been the only way he’d survived. It was too much to put on the poor man’s shoulders. Sheppard had been stuck on an alien planet, left for dead, beaten and interrogated, abandoned by his team. He was the one who had been fighting for survival, not Rodney.

“Yeah, I guess he did,” is all Rodney said. Because it was true.

3.

“Godamnit, McKay!” John yelled as they entered the gateroom. “Somebody get Carson down here!”

Ronon followed after John, lugging Rodney behind him, who was bleeding profusely from his upper thigh. Teyla stood off to the side, an odd smirk belying her traditionally neutral expression.

“What on earth happened out there, John?” Elizabeth was still coming down the stairs as John stormed up them.

“He ran into the line of fire, is what. Idiot!” John was still yelling, though now at no one in particular. Rodney thought it was kind of funny, but he figured it was probably the lack of blood talking. Carson better arrive fast, he thought, or I’ll be passing out in the gateroom again. Second time in a month. Must be a record.

“What for?” Weir asked cautiously.

“Because he’s an idiot, is why,” John had stopped at the top of the stairs. “He apparently forgot that he’s a scientist, not a marine, and therefore has no business placing himself between our attackers and any of the rest of the team, especially his damn team leader!”

Rodney did laugh at that, but it was too soft for anyone but Ronon to hear. Ronon just gave him a look of long-suffering and held a little tighter.

“Sorry,” Rodney whispered, looking up at John. John shook his head angrily and turned away, as Carson entered through the side doors. Rodney slid gratefully onto a gurney and then allowed himself to fall into a deep, hopefully dreamless sleep.

4.

Rodney felt the pressure on his hand before he heard the words. They were so soft, spoken for no one to hear, and he almost thought he was dreaming them. But the touch on his hand was grounding, and he focused on that and on the sound of John’s voice, in the dark of the infirmary.

“God, Rodney, don’t do that to me. You don’t know what it was like, to be there and not know if I’d ever make it back. But even then, the thing I wanted most was you, safe. It’s why I did it, Rodney, it’s why I always do it. It’s my job, but I’d do it anyway. And you’re not allowed to fuck that up. You throw yourself in front of guns like that, you throw away everything I lived for those three fucking months. So just accept that I’m going to go first, no matter what. Cause I could handle that damn cell, but I don’t think I could handle what you did.”

Rodney was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear any of that, so he kept his eyes closed and his breathing even, hoping John wouldn’t know. Because there was nothing either one of them could do about it.

5.

The door swished open in front of Rodney. John was sitting on his bed, propped up against the wall, typing.

“I—“ he began, but forgot what he had planned to say.

“Come on in,” John answered, putting the laptop on the table beside the bed. Rodney blinked, for a moment forgetting that he could actually enter the room. After John’s return, he’d avoided it completely. Too many memories, too much emotion. He’d forgotten that, and regretted it as soon as he entered.

The room smelled the same, like a mix of salt water and John, a scent Rodney hadn’t found anywhere else. He tried to take a deep breath to calm down, but that filled his lungs with John, and suddenly Rodney just wanted to be anywhere else.

“Hey,” John said lightly, leaning forward.

“Uh, I have to go,” Rodney answered. “I—but I, here. I brought back your book. I borrowed it. Sorry.”

He lifted up the hand still clutching War and Peace, and tossed it over onto the bed. John slid forward, stretching out onto his stomach, and picked it up.

“Thanks. I’ve been wondering where it was,” he said, smiling up at Rodney.

“Yeah. I, well. I got it while you were…gone. Sorry, I know you don’t like people in your room, but you were dead, or at least that’s what we thought, which is the only reason I even came in here, because I thought you couldn’t get angry about it anymore, because you couldn’t get angry about anything anymore, and I swear the little rip on the cover was there before I had it, so don’t blame me for it. Not that you were going to.”

“Rodney,” John interrupted, sitting up. Rodney stopped babbling and looked up. John’s forehead was lined with concern and confusion, and then it really hit him.

John was back. He was really back, he was alive and within arm’s reach and Rodney had a second chance to make it all work. And before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped forward, grabbed John’s hand, and pulled him up. They stood, chests almost touching, breath mingling between their faces, for only a fraction of a second before John was leaning in, closing the distance.

John’s lips were hard against his. He could feel the shape of them, follow their lines as they moved over his own, brushing and pressing. A hand gripped his upper arm, burning through his sleeve, and he felt John groan against his mouth. He lifted a hand and stroked John’s waist, moving his fingers beneath the black t-shirt to touch hot skin, and another groan reverberated over his lips. He reached out with his tongue, trying to taste John’s mouth, to categorize with more than just his sense of touch, and a shock wired straight to his groin as he met with John’s tongue. He tightened his hold on John’s waist, and the kiss became a battle of lips and tongues and heat and pressure, each trying to map out the inside of the other’s mouth. Rodney finally capitulated, out of breath and so hard it hurt. He pulled back, pressing his forehead against John’s. He was relieved to hear John’s staggered breathing, and to see the telling bulge in his BDUs.

“God,” John sighed, tilting his head to lick beneath Rodney’s ear. Rodney gasped, hips bucking involuntarily into John, which knocked both men off balance. They fell onto the bed, Rodney landing on top of John, which allowed him to both feel John’s erection pressing hard into his thigh and to grind his own erection down against John.

“Fuck, Rodney,” John moaned. “I was afraid you didn’t, that you hadn’t—“

“Oh, god, John,” Rodney grunted back. “I do, I couldn’t, I can’t—“

And then there were hot hands moving over stomachs and hips, pulling at shirts and unbuttoning pants, and Rodney couldn’t even form complete words anymore, much less sentences. He finally got John’s shirt off, and John had pulled his off, and then they were lying side by side, chests flush against each other. Rodney glided one finger over John’s hips, under his waistband, and into his boxers. He stroked John’s thigh, moving slowly inward until he ran out of maneuverability. John’s own hands had been drawing circles on Rodney’s back, lightly shaking with need. Rodney focused all his concentration on getting John’s pants and boxers off, and then his own, and then, ohh that was much better.

Rodney rolled onto his back, pulling John over on top of him. John reached down and lined them up with each other, precum slicking up both cocks. John began moving, sliding back and forth, rubbing their painfully hard cocks against each other in tingling friction. Rodney reached up and pulled John’s neck down, bringing their lips together for another long, wet kiss. Rodney could feel the build-up in his spine, and he knew he was close.

He grabbed John’s shoulders, pulling them down into full-body contact, and pressed kisses into John’s neck, mumbling “God, John, fuck, fuck,” over and over as his climax washed over him in pounding waves. He felt fingers tighten on his own arms and knew John was coming, too, their semen mixing and coating their stomachs.

Rodney was already limp when he felt John relax into him. He pulled an arm up, looping it around John’s shoulder.

“Stay?” John asked quietly. Rodney was speechless. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it’s probably a lot, and I don’t know if this is what you wanted when you came here tonight, but I’ve wanted it since I got back. Hell, since I left.”

There was a long silence as Rodney tried to decide how much he wanted to say. He wasn’t the type to give everything away; he liked to have a couple of cards left in his deck that no one knew about. But John just bared it all, just like that, and Rodney couldn’t blow it off. John started to shift away from him, but Rodney held on tighter.

“I put Johnny Cash on the inside of my door. And I finished War and Peace, but don’t ask me how it ends, because I can’t actually remember how it began.”

Rodney looked over at John, who was smiling. Thank god, Rodney thought. He gets it. But then, it was John. And they were John and Rodney, partners in crime, best friends and worst nightmares. Of course he got it.

Fic: A Five-Things Sequence

2006-10-10T18:47:18Z

Title: A Five-Things Sequence: Five Things Rodney Did When John Was (Not, But Everyone Thought He Was) Dead and Five Things John Didn’t Do When He Was (Not Actually) Dead
Author: Macky
Genre: McShep, pre-slash, angst
Word Count: 1811
Rating: PG (for language)
Summary: John's not dead, but only he knows that.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: I wanted to write a simple fluff/pwp five-things story, but then it decided it wanted a Plot. And angst. Sorry.

Five Things Rodney Did When John Was (Not, But Everyone Thought He Was) Dead

1. Ronon had transference issues. That was the only reason Rodney could think of as to why the man was standing outside his room at five the next morning, dreads pulled back, sneakers on, asking if McKay would like to join him for a morning run. Rodney also had transference issues, obviously, because that was the only possible explanation for why he agreed.

He’d go see Heightmeyer, like Elizabeth wanted. Just as soon as he could walk again.

2. The first time he got two jellos, he played it off and gave one to Teyla. She smiled at him knowingly and didn’t eat it.

The second time he ate both himself, pretending he had just wanted two.

The third time, he didn’t eat it. He didn’t even bother to eat the lunch he’d picked up with it. He just threw it all away and went back to the lab, trying not to throw up along the way.

He was only partially successful, but Zelenka never said a word.

3. “You didn’t even try, did you? There are fifteen teams of perfectly capable soldiers, all of whom have been answering the Colonel’s orders for two damn years now, and you didn’t even bother to send a recon?” Rodney was livid.

“You told me there was no point,” Elizabeth answered, almost yelling but not quite. “Teyla and Ronon both agreed. I can’t risk people for no reason, Rodney, you know that. You said it was hopeless.”

“Of course I said it was hopeless, I always say it’s hopeless. How many times has it actually been hopeless? Not once, Elizabeth, not once. And you choose to believe me the one time where John’s fucking life is at stake?”

“Dr. McKay!” She was using her ‘control the politicians’ voice, the one for when people crossed the line.

“I just—“ Rodney tried to hold onto the anger, tried to stay mad at Weir, at John, and anyone. He knew what was underneath the anger, or at least he had a pretty good idea, and he wasn’t ready for it. He couldn’t handle it, no more than he could handle losing Sheppard.

4. He couldn’t tell Heightmeyer, because he’d just managed to convince her that really, yelling at Elizabeth didn’t mean he needed to be grounded, he was just dealing with guilt. He couldn’t talk to Zelenka or Weir or even his teammates, and it was only desperation that led him to her door.

“What do you want, McKay?” Cadman didn’t sound happy to see him, but that was probably because Rodney usually yelled at her or insulted her or accused her of planting bombs in Atlantis and distracting their chief medical officer from his duties.

“I can’t sleep,” Rodney answered, wondering again what the hell he was doing.

“It’s three in the afternoon, why are you trying to sleep? And why should I care?”

“Not now, I mean just in general. I can’t sleep ever, and you should care because if I can’t sleep, I can’t work at full capacity, and every sleepless night I have brings this city closer to complete disaster, which I won’t be able to fix because I’ll be too tired.”

“Fine, McKay. But what do you want me to do about it?” Now she just looked confused, which made her a little less scary. Rodney took a deep breath.

“I miss him,” he blurted out, staring at the floor. There was a long silence, and when he looked up, Cadman was waiting for him to continue. “I didn’t know it was possible for me to miss someone this much. He’s only been gone three weeks, and my work is falling apart, I can’t sleep, I’m not hungry and I throw up half of what I eat anyway, and if you tell your boyfriend that I’ll kill you since he’ll probably put me on some awful IV or lock me in the infirmary until I finish going insane, because insanity is the only theory I can come up with for what I’m feeling.”

There was another pause, Cadman studying his face. She nodded and moved aside, letting him into the room. He followed and stood awkwardly by the door, trying not to make eye contact.

“You’re not going crazy, Doc,” she said quietly.

“No? Then why can’t I get past this?”

“He was your friend, and you had to watch him give himself up for you. Nobody expects you to just blow it off.” Her tone was light and positive, like she was talking someone off a ledge, which, Rodney admitted, she kind of was.

“I’ve lost people before,” Rodney said miserably. “Good people, people I respected, dying because of something I did. But I dealt with it, I moved on. I kept going. Why can’t I do that now?”

“Maybe you don’t believe he’s dead,” she answered, and Rodney wondered if maybe Elizabeth had been talking to others about him. “We never got any proof, and that’s hard to handle. Or maybe,” she paused.

“What?”

“Maybe, you just cared about him more than any of those other people you’ve lost. You haven’t grieved, McKay. Carson says you spend every waking moment in the labs. Take a break, go to the mainland or the piers, just sit and think. You can’t make this go away by ignoring it. The facts we have say John is dead. You have to accept that before you can move on. We all do.”

Rodney looked up, and saw a single tear moving down her cheek. She smiled shakily, and Rodney tried to smile back. Maybe Cadman wasn’t so bad after all.

5. He didn’t mean to. He fully intended to keep avoiding life, returning to the lab after a short meal break. It wasn’t his fault the mess closed at eight and he forgot to check the time. It also wasn’t his fault that the walk back to the lab took him through the hallway where Sheppard’s room was (well, part of that might have been his fault, but only the part where he took the transporter from the hall outside the mess to the hall outside the living quarters). And then he was there, and it didn’t make sense not to go inside.

It wasn’t his first time in Sheppard’s quarters, but there certainly hadn’t been many visits. He could count the times he’d been allowed inside on one hand, without using all the fingers. John was a private person; he got that. John probably wouldn’t want him poking around his room, sitting on his bed, holding that stupid picture of Evil Knievel and trying not to sniffle into his pillow. But John wasn’t there, and that meant he didn’t get to decide things like that anymore. If he was going to play the martyr and throw himself at spear-laden natives, certain privileges were going to be lost. And if Rodney used his sheets to wipe his face off after he finished not crying, well then, there was nothing John could do about it anymore.

Five Things John Didn’t Do When He Was (Not Actually) Dead

1. He didn’t struggle.

The natives had really big spears, which looked really sharp and like they’d really hurt if someone started poking him. John was generally opposed to both pain and being poked by sharp things, so he stayed pretty quiet, and mostly still, and let them carry him off. He hoped his team would realize that’s what was happening, because he knew how it sounded. Battle cries, zinging arrows, his own yell of distraction (gotta save the team, keep them busy, god they can’t get the others, can’t get Rodney), then silence, then triumphant cries from the villagers who managed to hold him down. It sounded bad. But Ronon would understand, or Teyla. They’d know. They’d tell Rodney, who’d tell Elizabeth, who would send people to come get him, and then he’d be going home to Atlantis.

2. He didn’t talk.

They mostly wanted information; who was valuable among his people, who should they kidnap next, what technology should they ask for as a ransom, that kind of thing. John ignored their questions as much as he could. When they broke out the pointy things, he answered casually and sarcastically, avoiding giving away any actual information. They weren’t smart enough to figure him out, so eventually they stopped asking, and he stopped talking altogether, even to himself. There was a running commentary in his head, but that voice sounded more like McKay than himself. John figured that just meant he was going crazy, which was a perfectly acceptable thing to do in isolation.

3. He didn’t dream about Atlantis.

Not the city itself, anyway. He dreamed about flying, some nights. He was high above the ocean, almost in the clouds, and off in the distance he could see land. But no matter how long he flew, he never reached it.

Sometimes he dreamed about Afghanistan, waking up sweaty and screaming. He usually couldn’t go back to sleep after that.

Some nights he dreamed about people. Carson, Teyla, Elizabeth, even Rodney. Especially Rodney. They’d be watching a movie together, or eating in the mess, or playing with Ancient toys in the lab. Suddenly, the tribesmen would appear, spears in hand, and every time, they took Rodney instead. John ran at them, yelled, shot, punched, but they ignored him. He would stare into Rodney’s pleading eyes, growing dimmer as they were pulled further and further apart, until he woke up shivering and stiff. Those nights, he didn’t even try to go back to sleep. It was more reassuring to stay awake and know that Rodney, along with everyone else, was safe in Atlantis, where he belonged.

4. He didn’t cry.

He never cried, not since he was eight and his mother died. But he still had to remind himself every night, when the lights went out and he was once again alone in the cold silence, that he was not the kind of guy who cried.

5. He didn’t give up hope.

Even when it had been almost a month, with no Stargate activity at all, he still made himself believe that they would come for him. He’d given up hope once before, trapped for six months with no end in sight, and he’d kicked himself afterwards. So maybe John got depressed every few days, and wondered what he’d done that they didn’t want to rescue him. And every so often he got mad and threw what little furniture he had (a bowl, a cot, a wooden jug) across the cell. But in the end, he had to believe that help was on the way, that they hadn’t forgotten, and that in the end, they wouldn’t leave him behind. Hope was all he had.

Fic: The Virtues of Lycra, or The Real Reason Underwear is Required Off-World

2006-09-30T20:16:47Z

Title: The Virtues of Lycra, or The Real Reason Underwear is Required Off-World
Author: Macky
Genre: McShep, First Time
Word Count: 2502
Rating: R?
Summary: Rodney needs John's underwear.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: Written based on comments to devildoll's Old-Fashioned Fun posted by hwmitzy and devildoll herself. I couldn't resist the plot bunny. It's not exactly 'The Day That Rodney McKay Saved Atlantis With His Boxers', but it's close.

It was supposed to be a routine first contact mission, but like all routine first contact missions, within the first five minutes of their arrival, there was chaos. Luckily (well, John thought it was lucky) this time, it wasn’t actually due to their arrival or to any latent hostility the natives held for strangers/travelers/people in general. There had been some problem cause by ignorance and Ancient technology, and really it was lucky for the natives that they’d shown up when they did, because of course Rodney knew how to fix it. So the rest of the team persuaded the villagers to leave their scientist alone in the abandoned Ancient outpost, and John and Teyla took up guard duty, keeping wayward natives out of the way. Rodney said they had several hours before any actual explosions started, which was supposedly going to be plenty of time to fix whatever they had messed up. John stayed in radio contact, but out of the way, just like always. And just like always, they kept up their little banter the whole time. That was one of John’s favorite things about missions, and truthfully the only reason he agreed to leave McKay alone with technology for any extended period of time.

The radio conversations were always interesting. Sometimes they talked about whatever was happening on the planet, or whatever Rodney was trying to fix. Sometimes they discussed things completely unrelated to the mission, like movies or Earth food or bad experiences with past love interests (that had mostly been Rodney talking; John wasn’t about to share his worst stories with anyone, and particularly not with Rodney). Rodney had said a lot of strange things over the radio in the past, especially that time he tried to make up a code for the team to use on missions. But despite John’s growing acceptance of the oddities of Rodney McKay, hearing “I need your underwear” in Rodney’s tinny radio-altered voice, in the middle of a sentence about the evils of graphite pencils, was just something John was not prepared for. And before he could even think about processing it, he found himself face-first in the mud.

After Teyla helped him stand back up, and he had finished glaring at the perfectly innocent tree root he’d fallen over, he took a moment to get a hold on himself. It wasn’t like he’d never wanted to hear Rodney talk about his underwear before, if he was honest. Except that in his fantasies, Rodney demanding the removal of his boxer briefs was always followed by amazing blow-jobs and really hot, sticky sex. He doubted that’s what Rodney had planned right now, cause sex was good, but sex in the middle of a potential crisis of nuclear explosion proportions was not so good. And Rodney probably, unfortunately, wasn’t thinking about sex at all anyway, at least not sex with John.

“Oh, good god, Colonel. What, did the ground just jump up and attack you while you were stealthily making your way to the compound? Did a purple squirrel jump out and start shooting death rays, causing you to dive for cover? Or did, once again, gravity simply get the better of you?”

Rodney hadn’t even looked at him, as far as John could tell. Maybe he could smell the mud that was starting to cake on the entire front of his black t-shirt and BDUs. Rodney was kind of blood-houndish, sniffing out problems and stupidity, and barking loudly until they were fixed. Though he’d never admit to the dog comparison; Rodney was already insecure enough about his looks. Which John thought was completely unecessary.

“Um, underwear?” John asked, glad he managed to keep his voice at its normal register.

“Yes,” Rodney responded, sounded impatient. “I need several long stretches of low-conducting material that has elastic properties and is highly malleable. And unless you just happened to bring that along in your pack, I need your underwear.”

“I hate to sound selfish”—it was his underwear, for pete’s sake—“but why can’t you just use yours?”

Rodney finally looked at him, his eyes intently focused from working and a little too bright. He stayed that way for a second, taking in John’s uncomfortable stance, the slight blush that John really hoped he was imagining feeling. As John realized the most likely answer to his question, he felt the blush deepen even more. Shit, he thought. Now he really didn’t want to take off his briefs. One less line of fabric between his growing erection and the source of the arousal.

“Oh, come on. It’s not what you’re thinking, Colonel. I’m not suave enough to pull off going commando, though I’m beginning to think it’s less coolness and more stupidity, what with the number of times I’ve been glad I had on underwear off-world. I wear boxers. The material isn’t nearly elastic enough for this purpose.”

“But—wait,” John was confused. “How do you know the material in mine is elastic enough?”

And now it was Rodney’s turn to blush.

“Boxer briefs, right?” he asked. John nodded, eyes widening. What, could Rodney smell underwear styles as well? And should that really be as hot as it seemed?

“Yeah,” he answered slowly. “Most of the time.”

Rodney nodded. “So…lucky guess?” But that wasn’t what his face was saying.

“I’m thinking not,” John answered, feeling a little braver. Maybe he’d been reading all of it wrong all these months. Maybe it wasn’t just him.

“You—you can think what you want,” Rodney stuttered, motioning to the control panel. “I should get back to work?” It was a question, Rodney asking for permission to drop it. John was definitely not going to let him.

“You can’t work till you have my underwear, and I’m not giving it to you until you tell me how you knew. And why you didn’t ask Teyla or Ronon.” That was a new question, but an important one.

Rodney sighed.

“I thought it would be inappropriate to ask Teyla to take off whatever the Athosian equivalent of underwear is, and I figured that stupidity be damned, Ronon probably doesn’t wear any.”

John could definitely get behind the Ronon thing. Those pants didn’t seem to leave a lot of room for stuff underneath, nor did they seem to need it. And runners had to travel light; the less carried, the better. But chafing had to be a problem. He shook his head and cleared his throat.

“Probably true. But you didn’t answer the first question.”

Rodney looked away again, down at his pad, up at the wall, anywhere but at John.

“If I say I can just tell, would you let me go back to work?” His voice sounded strained. Jackpot, John thought triumphantly.

“No. I want to know.”

“Fine! Fine. Whatever you want. I was just trying to say that I think we’ve all gotten to a very good place here, with the keeping each other from dying and the respecting Teyla enough to not ask her to strip for the common good, and the watching movies together and hanging out in the mess hall together and knowing embarrassing things about each others’ childhoods, and I don’t know why on earth—okay, well we’re really on MP7-45G right now, but whatever—anyway, I don’t know why you’d want to mess that up with silly extraneous details that are really not at all important to the success of the mission, except that they are if you won’t give me your underwear before this entire complex, and half of the surface of this planet, explodes in bright and violent fireworks.”

Rodney wasn’t even stopping to breathe, and wasn’t even talking about the underwear thing, but John knew this game. If he waited, Rodney would talk himself in a complete circle and come back to it. And then he’d have his answer, then he’d have his proof.

“But you do, because you’re you and you always have to do things the hard way, always have to have the danger thing, and don’t you know what that does to a person, year after year of watching you almost die every other day? It gets exhausting, if you couldn’t tell. Watching you flirt with the first girl you see on every planet, and then half the time she turns out to be the chief’s daughter, or the leader of the rebellion, or a mercenary sent to kill us, or some other form of evil incarnate in the feminine form, and then we’re running for our lives, all because you almost couldn’t keep it in your pants. So maybe it’s your own fault, drawing so much attention down there with the evil women and alien sex and running from our lives. I can’t help but notice.”

Rodney finally looked at him, blushing, with a look of pleading obvious on his face. John tried to sort through the words, find what Rodney meant.

“So you’re saying that it’s hard to watch me throw myself at girls, which just for the record I do not do, and then, when they turn out to be ‘evil incarnate,’ as you put it, your attention is inevitably drawn to my underwear, as we run for the Stargate to try and escape.”

Rodney just gaped.

“I—uh, you must have—that’s not entirely what I—oh, you know what, Colonel?” Rodney finally got a hold of himself, and turned to face John full-on. “I’m sick of it. The only thing you do off-world, other than shoot at things, is mock me. I’m here, I’m trying to save our collective asses, not to mention the asses of the thousands of villagers who screwed up their little Ancient outpost because they are trapped back in the Dark Ages and don’t know an off-switch from an overload mechanism, and all I ask in return is that you take those annoying black boxer briefs off of the ass I’m saving and let me finish.”

John cocked an eyebrow. There it was, his proof. Usually he wore gray, but those were all in the laundry. He only had one pair of black, and he was wearing it. And there hadn’t been any evil females or running for their lives today.

“What?”

“I was just thinking,” John answered slowly, walking over to lean against the wall where Rodney was standing.

“Well, don’t strain yourself,” Rodney responded automatically.

“Very nice, McKay. As I was saying, I was thinking. You need these boxers, right?” John inched a little closer to Rodney.

“Yes,” Rodney answered, sounding impatient again.

“And right now I’m wearing them, right?”

“Um, yeah,” Rodney said, a little quieter. John was still working his way closer.

“So, I could go into that little room over there, close the door, take them off, and come back in here and give them to you,” he continued. Rodney’s eyes were widening as John drew even closer, close enough to touch him without reaching.

“That would—that would probably be a good idea,” Rodney said lightly.

“Or,” John grinned.

“Or?” Rodney answered, mouth hanging.

“Or,” John leaned in, breathing out slowly onto Rodney’s neck, “I could stay in here—“

“In here?” Rodney asked, his voice a breathy whisper.

“Yeah, in here,” John moved his up, stopped with his mouth less than an inch away from Rodney’s. “And I bet we can figure out some way to get them off.”

“I—we—“ Rodney’s face was wild, eyes glazed, and John couldn’t wait. He leaned forward, pressed their lips together, feeling the warmth of Rodney’s mouth, the slight movements that let him know Rodney was still trying to figure things out. In an effort to help, John ran his tongue over Rodney’s bottom lip. Rodney gasped audibly and pulled away, his eyes dark and his mouth wet. John had to concentrate on not diving back in, because it was really hard to resist that mouth, the way it was slowly twisting as Rodney tried to understand what had happened, the way his eyes were traveling all over John’s face, taking in everything.

“Or,” John managed to whisper.

“Or?” Rodney asked, his voice breaking lightly.

“Or,” he continued, “I could go in there, strip down,” Rodney’s eyes closed and he let out a little groan. God, that was hot. John wanted to hear it again. But not yet. Focus. “And hand you my underwear through the doorway. You stay here,” Rodney’s eyes opened, his face showing obvious dismay and a little fear, “and keep us all from dying. Then, when you’re done,” John closed his own eyes, trying not to picture it because if he did, he wasn’t sure he could stay away long enough for Rodney to fix whatever the problem was. “When you’re done, you come join me in that little room, and we’ll do some elasticity and malleability tests of our own.”

John opened his eyes and looked at Rodney. Rodney was almost visibly shaking, his breath short and stuttering, and John couldn’t not run his hand along that light, soft cheek. He held Rodney’s jaw and moved in to place a light kiss right under his ear, tasting the slight salt of Rodney’s sweat and skin, and even that almost did the whole thing in. He had to get out before he got too desperate, before he just shoved Rodney against the wall, ripped his pants down, and sucked that gorgeous—John hadn’t seen it, not yet, but he felt pretty confident about that adjective—cock until they both came.

“I liked option two better,” Rodney growled out, low and soft and sexy as hell. John’s grip tightened around Rodney’s arm.

“Yeah, me too,” he whispered back, his breath in Rodney’s ear causing the other man to shiver. “So hurry up.”

John reluctantly let go, but he managed to do it when he reassured himself that as soon as this whole debacle was over, there would be him and Rodney in that perfect little room, with absolutely no need for any sort of underwear at all.

As he handed his boxer briefs out to Rodney, staying mostly behind the door to shield his embarrassingly hard cock, he let his fingers linger on Rodney’s just a little longer than necessary.

“It’s too bad, though, about the whole cutting them to pieces thing,” he said, grinning.

“Why is that?” Rodney asked, frowning. “Were they your favorites or something?”

“Nah,” John answered. “But I’m pretty sure they were my lucky boxers, if today counts for anything.”

“Well,” Rodney responded, thinking. “Maybe we can find another pair, and make those lucky too.”

John cocked an eyebrow.

“That sounds like a plan.” He smiled, and Rodney smiled back. “Now go save our lives, before I get tired of waiting.” He glanced down meaningfully, and Rodney’s eyes widened.

“Right! Right. Okay, going. Just don’t—I mean, I’ll be—um.”

“Don’t worry,” John said. “I’ll be waiting.” He closed the door, sank to the floor, and decided that this was one of those missions that turned out surprisingly well.

Fic: Electromagnetic Forces

2006-09-14T20:20:18Z

Title: Electromagnetic Forces
Author: Macky
Genre: McShep, Established Relationship
Word Count: 504
Rating: G
Summary: Everyone knows opposites attract. But Rodney and John weren't really opposites.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: Finally, I manage to write something short! It's just a piece of fluff, really. Concrit appreciated. Links to my fic journal.

Most of Rodney's education in science had emphasized the fact that opposites attract. And so, as a good little physicist, he held that fact as true in just about every situation that arose, which was one reason he always went after the tall, gorgeous blondes. Of course, the attraction never seemed to go both ways, but in general the concept worked. Which was why, Rodney decided, it took so long for him to figure out his feelings for Colonel John Sheppard.

The thing with Sheppard, Rodney knew, was that they weren't opposites at all. Sure, everybody loved John and hated Rodney. John made people feel at ease, Rodney made them jump off balconies. John was polite and sometimes even diplomatic, and Rodney thought manners were best used by other people who weren't as smart as him. John was sexy and Rodney was...well, soft, at best. Within five minutes of meeting the two men, it was obvious that John was everything good, a perfect positive charge, and Rodney was everything negative. At least, that's what Radek said when he tried to explain to Rodney why no one else was surprised.

The way Rodney saw it, he and Sheppard were too much the same. First of all, they were both from Earth, which was less than a given in the Pegasus Galaxy, and also something John didn't have in common with most of his recent conquests. Not only were they from Earth, they both hailed from North America and spoke (mostly) the same language. Both of them had spent their entire adult lives being told where to go, what to do, and what to say by the Air Force. As a civilian, Rodney could have said no, but he never did. And both John and Rodney had been given the choice to go to Atlantis or not, and both of them obviously said yes.

And as they got to know each other, Rodney kept finding things they shared. They both loved doing math in their heads, found it calming and fun. They both liked to surprise people, especially each other, by being braver, smarter, or better than expected. They both hated post-mission check-ups and the hostile natives that
made the check-ups a (painful) necessity. They liked watching science fiction, drinking Athosian beer, and poking fun at other people. They both spent free time mostly alone, preferring to keep a safe emotional distance from their fellow expedition members. They both got frustrated when the other one got hurt, and both suffered silently when the other came too close to death, again and again. They had both been hurt in the past, scorned by previous lovers, and both were too afraid to say anything.

So really, Rodney knew, it wasn't their fault it took him three years to realize how he felt about John and another three months to get John to admit how he felt about Rodney. They just didn't expect it. After all, the basic laws of physics had been working against them the whole time.

Fic: Distance

2006-09-11T17:53:17Z

Title: Distance
Author: Macky
Genre: McShep, Established Relationship, Angst
Word Count: 1967
Rating: PG
Summary: John wanted to believe the former, that Rodney really hadn’t changed all that much, just gotten a big dose of perspective and humanism, but it was hard. Because his second favorite thing about Rodney McKay, the fact that they were completely and ridiculously in love with each other, had been left behind in the dark, cold cell from which they’d rescued him.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: I was going to write something happy, I swear. Started out based on the song “When I Look At You” from The Scarlet Pimpernel, morphed into pure angst. More notes at the bottom.

The best thing about Rodney McKay, in John’s opinion, had been the complete and total disregard for other people’s opinions, at least as far as social graces went. Sure, Rodney had always been a little too concerned about what people thought about him professionally, but he never cared whether Marine Number 64 thought he was a nice guy or whether everyone in Atlantis thought he was a complete asshole. Secretly, John had always done the worrying for him, thinking that the soldiers and scientists would have made McKay’s life a lot easier if the man had been just a bit nicer, but Rodney wouldn’t be bothered. And when John finally got to see the pain of Rodney’s past, of years spent trying to fit in and failing, both his respect and love for the brash scientist had swelled. McKay dealt with things his own way and had always been better for it.

He supposed he should be thankful that his favorite part of Rodney had been left alone. That even now, McKay still didn’t seem to care what everyone thought about him. Except now, instead of the choices being cranky or bastard, they were philosophical or insane. John wanted to believe the former, that Rodney really hadn’t changed all that much, just gotten a big dose of perspective and humanism, but it was hard. Because his second favorite thing about Rodney McKay, the fact that they were completely and ridiculously in love with each other, had been left behind in the dark, cold cell from which they’d rescued him.

The stones were wet against John’s fingers, the spaces between them sticky and soft. He knew if he shined the flashlight towards the wall, he’d see the dark green of mold in the cracks. If McKay had been with him, he would have heard the endless complaints of allergies and Pegasus Galaxy antihistamines and headaches and stomping through dank, moldy dungeons with no idea where they were going. But Rodney wasn’t with him, and mold was the least of his scientist’s problems. The greatest problem was that Rodney had most likely been here for close to the full three months of his absence. Tortured for information, most likely, or maybe just put in complete isolation until he decided to cooperate. John shuddered at the thought. His sessions with Kate, so many after the mission where he’d lost McKay, had taught him to deal with his thoughts by focusing on what he could do, not what he couldn’t help. And he couldn’t help the fact that the villagers on P79-N55 had betrayed them, he couldn’t help that Rodney was the one they wanted, and he couldn’t help that it had taken three heartbreaking months to find him. What he could do was find the cell where they were keeping him, bring him home, and hold him until they were both sure it was over. And that’s what he was going to do.

He stopped in front of McKay’s door, ready to knock, but trying to postpone it for just a minute more. It physically hurt to be with him now, to see the thoughts churning behind those eyes, and to know that none of them were about John. He’d asked, the first couple of days, like he always had. Once Rodney had worn that old expression of thoughtfulness that usually meant he was planning something. Some the time it was work-related, but usually it was about John.

“I’m not sure I can explain, Colonel, but thank you for asking. I understand that it shows a degree of interest in my life and in my well-being, and I’m grateful for that. But I’m fairly certain you wouldn’t understand, as I do not myself.”

“Why don’t you try me, Rodney?”

“Well—all right. I was trying to determine whether pre-Ascension Ancient culture included any minor religious overtones, as most of what I’ve heard of Pegasus culture seems tied to the Ancients themselves as the religion of sorts, and there is very little that is known about the prototechonolgy era of the Ancients, since most of the information we seem to have about them comes from a highly technological database.”

John had tried to suppress the wrenching feeling in his stomach. He knew, he knew, that Rodney was different, but every time it was a shock. The old Rodney would have thrown aside the entire line of thought as part of the soft sciences, not worth the time, ridiculous dribble. And the old Rodney would have at least made an addendum to the statement, tied it all somehow to their plans for that evening, or sex, or John’s slutiness with Pegasus Galaxy priestesses. John never thought he’d miss Rodney mocking him, but after two weeks of New McKay, John would have given anything to hear the word “Kirk” one more time.

To say the original intel had been vague would be an understatement. They’d barely managed to figure out who had ended up with McKay. He’d gone through three different organizations, all in the first couple of days of being kidnapped, and following that trail had been fodder for weeks worth of nightmares for John. And once they’d finally identified Rodney’s hosts, they’d spent over a month trying to find the right planet. He’d been sold to the Havyar, a group of parasites who offered minor technological aid to societies that had been over-culled in exchange for obscene amounts of crops, slave labor, or other goods. They were extortionists in the worst way possible, and John hated them with a fire he’d never felt before. Not the Genii, not even the Wraith made John’s hands shake with anger. He’d spent more time than necessary at the shooting range during the last few weeks, when they knew what planet Rodney was on but not how to infiltrate the massive underground dungeon system. Occasionally, Ronon joined him, filling targets with tiny holes for the sake of the burn. If Ronon noticed how John’s arms shook when he held the P-90, or how his aim was worse than Zelenka’s, he didn’t say anything. And for that, John was grateful.

He fisted his hand around his nine mil, trying to stop the shaking. According to SGA 10, the prisoners were supposed to be held in—that hallway. Right there. And supposedly, there was only one prisoner currently being held. And that was Rodney.

The door opened, and John started. He’d forgotten he was even there, forgotten his hand was poised to knock, forgotten why he’d come. Too late to run now, he thought, and stepped inside.

Rodney was sitting up in bed, back against the wall, legs folded underneath him. His posture was impeccable, and John had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop himself from turning around and running away, away from Rodney and from this, the present, away from change and from whoever he was slowly becoming without his best friend, his lover, there to ground him. He let out a breath, and with it a word.

“What?”

Rodney opened his eyes and locked them onto John’s.

“You came to me.”

Right, John thought. “Right.” He took a deep breath, in and out, and tried to focus, to keep himself in control.

“Um, Beckett and…Teyla…thought I should, that is, I wanted to, I mean. Um. Have you had dinner yet?”

Rodney blinked slowly, and John recognized the look as one of contemplation. He wasn’t sure how much Rodney really did remember about his personal life before the kidnapping; sometimes it seemed like he knew nothing, and other times it felt like he knew everything. Maybe, John had thought more than once, he remembered, but didn’t want to. Maybe he knew how much John loved him, how much he used to love John, but he just didn’t anymore, and didn’t want to deal with it. So he pretended. John tried not to think that too much, because it was just too hard. Mostly because he knew it could be true. It was fodder for Heightmeyer, if he figured out how to tell her without sounding completely self-absorbed and codependent.

Rodney cocked his head, as if coming to a decision and reviewing the possible outcomes.

“I know it’s difficult for you,” he began. John flexed his fingers, wondering how fast he could make it out the door and to the nearest balcony. “It’s difficult for me as well.”

This was new. Was Rodney admitting that he remembered, that he knew? That maybe it wasn’t just amnesia that was keeping them apart? John’s head started spinning. He didn’t want to know, he didn’t. If Rodney hated him, or blamed him for the rescue taking so long, or just didn’t care anymore, he didn’t want to know. He silently begged, taking back all the times he wanted answers, proof, anything other than this confusion. He wanted the confusion, he wanted to believe that it was their fault, he wanted to hate them, not Rodney, not himself. He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t breathe.

John braced his shoulder against the door and shoved. It was cold in the room, cold and dark and he could barely make out the outline of a figure sitting on a bed in the corner. The man was sitting up impossibly straight, cross-legged, and naked from the waist up. John drew in a shaky breath.

“Rodney?” he asked, quietly, not willing to hope. There was no movement.

“I believe I am,” the man said. Was it him? The voice lacked all the bite, all the flavor that Rodney put into everything he said. Even in bed, his groans were colored with classic McKay. This was deep and empty.

“What are—they—are you okay?” John managed to say before he couldn’t stop himself anymore, he ran over to his lover, held him, tried to hold back the tears that threatened.

“I’m sorry,” Rodney began.

“Sorry for what?” John said between (mostly) dry sobs. He gripped Rodney’s shoulders harder, pulled him in, tried to tell him how sorry he was with touch.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and pushed John hard enough to unbalance him. John lost his seating on the bed and ended up face-down on the hard floor. He jerked up and around, glaring into McKay’s eyes.

“What the he—“ he started, but one look at Rodney and his words were gone. There was no fear, no anger, no relief, no humanity in those eyes. They were as empty as the room.

“Rodney,” John said again, this time a question. The man shook his head slowly, then tilted it, thinking,

“No,” he answered. “I don’t believe I am.”

“What are you—Rodney,” John whispered.

Rodney’s eyes narrowed, then widened.

“I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

John shook his head. What was Rodney trying to say?

“I only meant that I understand how trying this situation has been for you, and I can sympathize. I see your interactions with others, and I know that my being here has created a...strain in your life. Tension that didn’t exist before. And I’d like to help in any way I can, but I also understand that there are some things beyond my reach. Beyond anyone’s reach.”

It was the longest speech Rodney had made since returning, and his eyes closed afterwards as if it had drained him of all energy. John felt his own eyes close, but less in exhaustion than relief. Rodney didn’t remember. And that meant that, for the time being, John could continue to focus his pain on hate, and ignore the ripping feeling inside his gut. He could pretend that maybe someday, things would be all right again, Rodney would remember, and would come back to him. And until then, John could keep hating, and that would be enough.

Notes:

1. This needs a sequel. One where John tries to get Rodney to remember, and Rodney has sessions with Kate where regression breaks open the floodgates of blaming John for being kidnapped, for being tortured (or whatever happened to him), and for the rescue taking so long. And John ends up blaming himself, too. And then maybe there’s a sequel to that in which there is a happy ending. Challenge: write it. Anyone want?

2. Lyrics to When I Look At You, appropriate verses, in case anyone cares:

When I look at you
He is standing there
I can almost breathe him in
Like summer in the air
Why do you smile his smile?
That heaven I’d forgotten eases through
In you

If you could look at me once more
With all the love you felt before
If you and I could disappear into the past
And find that love we knew
I’d never take my eyes away from you

When I look at you
He is touching me
I would reach for him,
But who can hold a memory?
And love isn’t everything
That moonlight on the bed will melt away
Someday

You were once that someone
Who I followed like a star
Then suddenly, you changed
And now I don’t know who you are

Or could it be
That I never really knew you from the start?
Did I create a dream?
Was he a fantasy?
Even a memory is paradise
For all the fools like me

Now remembering is all that I can do
Because I miss him so
When I look at you

Fic: What He Loved

2006-09-11T17:51:18Z

Title: What He Loved
Author: Macky
Genre: McShep, Pre-slash, Angst
Word Count: 2049
Rating: PG
Summary: John Sheppard loved flying. But Rodney loved Sheppard.
Warnings: Major character death
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything at all, much less anything related to the boys.
Author’s Notes: So, here’s the thing. I had to write a fic about this one line that is always said when people die, and it ended up being really depressing. So I was going to wait to post it until I’d written something happier and post them at the same time. But the happier didn’t come, and so I have two depressing fics instead of one. Oops?

Rodney had always hated funerals. During his time on Atlantis, they’d had too many of them, and he’d been forced to attend every single one. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to mourn the deaths of whoever had fallen victim to the Wraith, the Genii, angry villagers, or man-eating plants most recently. He mourned. Heightmeyer could attest to the fact that he probably mourned more than he should have, both when he was awake and couldn’t concentrate on the latest piece of Ancient technology because he was remembering that strange way Peel’s left ear always wiggled when he talked, and when he was asleep—if you could call it that when he woke up every hour, sweating and terrified, dreaming himself into Abram’s body, Griffin’s chair, exploding hive ships and Genii dungeons. He relived everyone’s deaths, became intimately familiar with them, with how it must have felt to stare into the face of the man or monster or simple miscalculation that was about to kill you. Compared to that, funerals just felt fake.

Elizabeth said almost the same thing at every one. She tried to personalize them, make the ceremony focus on the deceased in a way that friends could appreciate. But usually there weren’t a lot of things to be said that couldn’t be said about everyone. Brave? They’d either signed on to a one-way trip to a galaxy far, far away, or came with full knowledge of the life-sucking aliens that were currently winning their war against them. Smart? With the exception of a few of the Marines, everyone on the expedition was the brightest in either galaxy. And even those Marines were highly specialized, being the best the United States military had to offer. Loyal also covered almost everyone. Atlantis had become a family, albeit a large one, and with very few exceptions (mostly people like Kavanagh, who didn’t stay long), everyone who lived there became fiercely loyal to each other. It wasn’t just the one who came from Earth, either. The Athosians had shown their willingness to die for Atlantis during the latest attack, forming assault teams to track down all the remaining Wraith so that the soldiers could guard the scientists as they tried to piece the city back together. Twelve Athosians had died during the search, some shot down and some drained by the rogue Wraith who lurked in the unused portions of the city. In addition to Ronon, who Rodney knew would sacrifice his life for any of them at the drop of a hat, there were several more recent additions to their Pegasus family. Many worlds had heard of Atlantis’ efforts against the Wraith, and it was becoming a sign of honor to be volunteered by one’s people to join the army of the ancestors and live in their great city. Every single one of these young men and women would throw his or her life away to save that of an Atlantian scientist, Rodney knew from experience. He dreamed more often about the deaths that occurred to prevent his own, and those numbered much too high.

Elizabeth was nearing the end of her oration, and Rodney knew what was coming next. She said it almost every time, and he also knew she included it in the letters she sent home to the families. He didn’t know if there would be a letter this time, but he doubted it. Sheppard had never been one for family ties.

“He had many years ahead of him, and we mourn the fact that he will never get to live them. But we must remember that he died doing what he loved, and take comfort in that.”

That was the one statement that Rodney was pretty sure didn’t fit everyone. Who loved being drained by a Wraith, feeling the years of your life sucked out through your chest while experiencing more pain that you believed possible? Who loved being the victim of someone else’s scientific mishap, catching the shrapnel from someone else’s explosion? But even as he thought about it, he looked around the room and knew that everyone he saw would want those words said at their funerals, especially if they were held here, in the meeting hall of a glowing city, a galaxy away from family and friends. He knew Gaul would have agreed, would have said that dying while doing field work that could help save Atlantis qualified as doing what he loved. Leslie loved circuitry, and when the panel in front of him exploded, he’d been humming happily into his laptop. The soldiers, the scientists, the diplomats, they died doing what they’d signed up for. What they loved.

Except Sheppard.

Rodney knew—had known—John better than anyone else on Atlantis. He knew that for a fact because once, in a state of complete and total drunkenness, the Colonel had shared that piece of information with him, accompanying it with a hardy slap on the shoulder and a little squeeze of a hug. John was always a touchy-feely drunk. But they’d shared a lot of team nights, some with Ronon and Teyla and some with just the two of them, talking about Earth and how it just wasn’t home anymore, not like Atlantis was, and about the things they still missed. Rodney knew that there was only one thing John really loved, and that was flying.

Once Sheppard had tried to describe it to him, tried to show him how amazing it felt. Rodney knew how it felt; he’d done it. But John insisted, and Rodney had half-listened, also trying to figure out that had gone wrong with the environmental system updates earlier that day. Now, he felt his stomach twist and wished he’d listened harder. The excitement and openness on the other man’s face as he described his passion had soon distracted Rodney from his thoughts, but he’d still missed every other word, caught up in the beauty of that kind of joy. Sheppard was always beautiful, in joy or anger or confusion or relaxation. Rodney had never told him that, and his stomach twisted just a little bit more.

But Colonel John Sheppard had not died while flying. He had died during a simple first contact mission, the kind where the natives didn’t appreciate someone making all their religious artifacts light up just by looking at them. Rodney had tried to explain, tried to turn them off, and that’s when the spears and arrows came out. The first shots had been aimed at him, and he had barely heard John’s voice yelling out a warning before the ground around him and the wall behind him had been covered in misses. The second volley was also aimed at him, but he heard every word of Sheppard’s yell that time. Because that time it hadn’t been warning, and it hadn’t been from behind a stone wall several yards away. It had been pain, and it had been right behind him, and he turned just in time to catch a falling Sheppard, face frozen in agony and surprise, who’s hazel eyes caught his just once before glazing over, the lean body slumping in Rodney’s loose grip. Blood had covered the ground around him, and he saw and heard nothing until after Teyla and Ronon had taken care of the natives and were pulling John’s body off of him, talking in low, calm voices, speaking nonsense, just to be heard. John hadn’t died flying.

A hand touched Rodney’s shoulder, light and warm, and he looked up. Elizabeth and Beckett were looking at him with expressions that were part sad, part comforting, and part something else that Rodney couldn’t figure out.

“Are you all right, Rodney?” Carson asked quietly. Rodney nodded, trying not to make eye contact. He knew they thought he felt guilty about Sheppard’s death, which of course he did. Sort of. Kate had worked with him for years to get him to the point where he didn’t feel personally responsible every time someone died to save him. He’d been unable to deal with the guilt after the first couple of years, and a particularly graphic breakdown when a team of Marines had died rescuing him from some Genii spies had led him to start seeing her at least once a week. They’d talked a little since Sheppard’s…well, since that mission. She’d reminded him that the villagers had caused it, not any of them, and that John would have wanted Rodney to continue with his work and his life. But that didn’t stop the awful nightmares he kept having. They were worse than usual; this time, instead of being Sheppard in the dream, he was just himself in Sheppard’s position, trying to save John when a second onslaught of arrows went soaring past. And every time, he dove in front of them, and every time he stared deep into Sheppard’s eyes, a mixture of surprise and fear, before waking up. And every time, he wished and wished to go back to the dream, to a place where Sheppard was still alive, even if it meant he wasn’t. And that more than anything scared Rodney.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered in a whisper. Carson nodded and patted his shoulder again. Elizabeth pulled him into a hug, and then the two of them left Rodney alone in the meeting hall, with nothing but the empty chairs and the table that held a photo of John and his dog tags. Rodney walked over and looked at them. They were so small, too small to represent everything that Sheppard had been to everyone. To him. They’d never talked about their friendship, or feelings, or anything like that, and Rodney had never wanted to. But as he sank into the nearest chair, eyes locked onto the chain that hung next to Sheppard’s heart for so long, he wished they had. Sheppard loved flying. But Rodney loved Sheppard.

**

If John had taken Teer up on her offer to ascend, in those first few moments of death, John would have been able to watch his own funeral. He would have done so with an emotion somewhere between amusement and longing. Elizabeth said the words he’d heard so many times before, praised the traits he shared with everyone. Teyla took a moment to dwell on some of the lesser-known things about John Sheppard, like the way he always listened to the newest off-world recruits, trying so hard to make them feel like they belonged. Or the way he was willing to ask for help when he knew he needed it. Those were the things that made John Sheppard himself, and if he’d been watching, he would have been glad they were said, and would have wanted to be there for it. He would have watched Rodney’s face, tried to follow the stream of thoughts, playing his old game of What Is McKay Thinking Now, the one that got him through so many boring briefings. He would have wanted to apologize for the nightmares he knew his best friend would have. They’d talked about the dreams before, and every time John had wanted to promise that Rodney would never dream about him, about his death, but he never could. He’d known all along that there would be a time where he would die, and that there was a good chance Rodney would be there for it.

He would have listened as Elizabeth said the closing words, listened for it because he would know it was coming. She always said it, and she was always right.

“He died doing what he loved.”

There it was. If John had been there, he would have caught Rodney’s look of scorn, and would have wanted more than anything to be able to go down, just once, and say something to the man. Rodney knew John Sheppard, knew what he liked, what he hated, what he loved. But Rodney was wrong in thinking those words were false, and a part of John would have died again at being unable to tell him why. Because maybe John hadn’t died flying, which was what he had really loved, and so maybe in a sense Elizabeth wasn’t right. But Rodney wasn’t right, either, because there was something—someone—John loved more than flying.

And he’d died saving it.