A/N: In cleaning off my harddrive (which is where I found the deleted scene as well) I found the drabbles I did for the 2009 McShep Match drabble tree, all neatly arranged! I figured I might as well post them here.
“Rodney! Talk to me!”
He could barely make out John’s voice over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He could feel Teyla’s presence at his side, tucked against his arm. She was breathing but was still out cold.
Being within the blast radius of the equivalent of an RPG would do that, it seemed.
“Present!” He managed to shout back, cupping his hand over his ear to block out some of the noise. He waited. “John?”
When John’s voice came again, Rodney almost missed it in the hiss of a bullet passing overhead. “Rodney. Thank God.”
John signalled for Rodney to circle around.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Rodney grumbled but complied, holding his hands out from his body to show off the tuxedo to full advantage. “Do you want me to do Vogue poses too, like that Madonna video?”
“I never watched Madonna videos.” John leaned in, brushed his hands over Rodney’s shoulder to knock away imaginary lint. He tugged on the bottom of the jacket. Rodney jerked away in irritation.
John pinned him in place with a glare. “Fine is insufficient. You’re getting a Nobel. You’re going to look perfect.”
They didn’t get many afternoons off. John was seriously less than thrilled at spending the latest one like this.
For one, all the blood was rushing to his head.
“I told you not to press the button. I did. I quite distinctly remember saying ‘Sheppard, don’t touch that’, right after saying ‘remember, don’t touch anything.’”
“It’s true,” Ronon spoke up from his position dangling beside John. At least he was upright. “I heard him say that. Right before you pressed the button.”
“So, I’m a patriot.”
John snorted and waved a hand at him. “Such a patriot that you haven’t lived at home for, what? Your whole adult life?”
“Oh, like that’s relevant. In fact, I think I should get extra points for maintaining my strict Canadian-ness in the face of so much time away from home.” Rodney crossed his arms over his chest and looked pious.
“Right.” John stretched, snagging Rodney’s flag off his shoulder. “You’re going to tell me that if you were wearing something else here, you’d even notice?”
Rodney snatched his flag back, glaring. “Yes.”
“Ok,” John said.
“OUCH!” John yanked his hand from under the pillow, shaking it wildly. “What the hell do you have under there, McKay?”
“Ha!” Rodney lifted his pillow and displayed the mousetrap proudly. “Do you have any idea how many fingers of potential chocolate pilferers I have managed to catch under there, Sheppard? Many, many fingers.”
“They think you keep your chocolate under there? Wouldn’t it melt?”
“One would assume so, yes. I never said they were particularly smart fingers. Though Zelenka complained particularly loudly.” Rodney paused. “So you weren’t after my chocolate?”
“Then … what were you after?”
“Well, this sucks.” Rodney surveyed the table full of citrus fruits, sulking.
“That’s why we bring MREs,” John grinned. “So you can eat no matter where we go.” He rubbed his hands together.
Teyla’s eyes were fastened on the feast of fruit in front of her. “I am looking forward to this meal very much,” she said. “Do you know, Doctor Keller described to me a situation where a young woman ate peanuts and subsequently kissed her lover, and he had a terrible allergic reaction to the kiss?”
John sighed, looked again at the buffet table. “This sucks,” he said.
“They made you do what?”
John stared at the wall of the gateroom, fixedly ignoring the cold water and sludge dripping from every part of him that wasn’t his gun. He supposed he’d come through the gate looking more bedraggled at some point, but he’d be fucked if he could remember when.
“They made the Colonel run a gauntlet,” Teyla explained patiently. She looked perfect, and John tried not to hate her for it.
“Think of it as: Wipeout, Pegasus,” Rodney smirked.
Ronon was already on his way out of the gateroom. “Who cares what they call it? We won.”
John felt a little left out.
As the team leader, he felt it only fair that he get to be part of the ‘welcome to our planet of the truly, oh my god, heartstoppingly beautiful people’ orgy. The fact that they’d taken one look at Rodney and flat out insisted he take part was just adding insult to injury.
Teyla and Ronon seemed pretty into the whole idea too. They didn’t even spare a glance for John before diving into the sea of people doing unspeakably hot things to each other.
Next time, he was making Ronon play the leader.
Rodney really is a genius.
John patted the barrel of his brand, spanking new ray gun of ultimate death (except when set to stun) and tried really hard not to actually drool. Or show off the evidence of how freaking HOT it was to have a ray gun of ultimate death. Cause there was a limit to how much sharing should really be done with one’s team.
One’s team mate on the other hand…
He grabbed Rodney by the vest and dragged him close. “Later,” he said into Rodney’s ear, ignoring his struggles. “I am going to blow your mind.”
“You were ascended,” Rodney glared at Daniel darkly. “You should totally know.”
“Rodney, I’ve told you,” Daniel explained patiently. “I don’t remember much of anything from when I was ascended. It seems to be one of the rules – you get kicked out, you don’t get to remember the details.”
“This seems like something you should get to keep,” Rodney said. John slung an arm around his shoulder, giving him a commiserating squeeze.
“Come on, Rodney”, he said. “Compared to forgetting your new math, really how bad is it not to know how they get the caramel into a Caramilk bar?”
“Everyone already knows, McKay. You aren’t that subtle.” Ronon grabbed his bread roll.
“But, you see, right now they are all too terrified of me to say anything to my face,” Rodney lectured grandly. “If we take part in this ridiculous farce, it could backfire. On me.”
“It’s a chess tournament, Rodney,” John grinned at him over his typical tiny breakfast. “And, hey! You never know. Maybe you’ll even beat me.”
“Pffft.” Rodney flapped a hand at him. “I don’t care about beating you. Beating you isn’t hard. Beating you is like, TUESDAY. It’s Zelenka I’m worried about!”
“What is it?”
“I have absolutely no idea.” Rodney examined the tiny artefact with avaricious eyes. It was golden in colour, multi-faceted and glittering in the yellow light of the flashlight. John couldn’t help but notice the way that the yellow made Rodney’s eyes look even bluer. It made him want to look closer. Instead, he focussed on the device, whatever it was. It looked kind of like a little bird, or a little plane maybe. Perhaps even a tiny little fish with wing-like flippers. Rodney started to smile. “But I know what it is going to be.”
“Now that is something guaranteed to cause trouble,” Rodney muttered.
She was a beautiful sight. Long, lean, blonde, busty, and ascended. Rodney predicted that John would be panting at her feet in minutes. Just the thought of it made him ready to chew nails and spit them out. At HER.
John nudged Rodney’s shoulder with his own. “Hey,” he said, barely glancing at the beauty on the stairs. “Think this is going to interfere with our chess match tonight?”
Rodney leaned back, enjoying the heat and pressure. “Nah,” he said easily. “I can stay up as late as we need.”
The dinner was an unqualified success.
Rodney hmmmed in satisfaction as he stuffed the last chocolate puffed pastry into his mouth, chewing enthusiastically. Licking his fingers, John had to agree with the sentiment.
“This meal was excellent, Ronon,” Teyla told him with a small smile. “I can not recall the last time I enjoyed such a feast.”
“Yeah, Ronon. Really good.” Rodney wiped the corners of his mouth with his fingers, then started licking them clean. John stared, absolutely absorbed in the sight. Rodney caught him looking and smirked.
“Want to help me clean up?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” John said.
Rodney glanced at the table of new Marines, who were back-slapping and fist bumping and generally making spectacles… and asses… of themselves. Worse, they were flatly ignoring the fact that the scientists were trying to work. They were being loud and disruptive, and not in the helpful, constructive way that Rodney himself managed. This was just annoying.
Now, Rodney didn’t believe in singling out any particular person or group for retribution. He was a live and let live kind of guy. However, interrupting productivity? That was just NOT done.
It was high time the newbies to Atlantis learned the score.
“So, what you’re saying is, if I blow you right here right now, then I not only get reciprocal blowjobs for a week, but I also get chocolate?”
John nodded, holding his breath. Christ on a crutch, but he needed release. Fucking alien sex pollen. He was lucky he’d made it back to Atlantis without simply popping open his fly and ordering his team to get to work. As it was, he’d barely made it to his room.
“And coffee,” he blurted, desperate. Rodney grinned and dropped to his knees.
“Oh God,” John said. “Glad to see you’re motivated, Rodney!”
There was nothing to tell.
Rodney hated this fact with an absolute passion. How the hell was it fair, that he spent his entire life to date (and at least one other all the way to his death) without getting an opportunity to really BE with someone he loved? He’d been thinking there would never be anyone, and then… John.
Of course, he had to fall for someone with a death wish. Much as he could admire John’s style (a nuke, for crying out loud!) he hated the ending of possibility.
He wanted there to have been something to TELL.
Canvas flapped wildly in the roaring wind, adding to the insane cacophony that had become John’s life over the past four hours. The storm came in from literally nowhere, blasting down on them like a homicidal freight train. In seconds they’d been drenched to the skin and shivering in the frigid air. It had taken them too long to raise the tent.
“How’s he doing?” Ronon leaned over his shoulder from his position tucked tightly against John’s back. John looked down, checking again Rodney’s pulse with shaking fingers.
“Hanging in,” he said.
Rodney would be ok. He had to be.
“Is that a ‘yes’?” John lifted a dark eyebrow with a grin.
“You’re a bastard.” Rodney glared.
“Yes, dammit.” Rodney flipped him the finger, then deliberately reached out and knocked over his king. “Yes, you won. All right.” He clapped his hands. “Now, set back up so I can kick your ass.”
“Nuh, uh.” John shook his head. “First, you know what you have to do.”
“Of, for…” Rodney harrumphed and stood. He started taking off his shirt, mindful of John’s appreciative (and unapologetic) stare. “Strip chess. I can’t believe I agreed to this.”
“Thank me later,” John said.
It was the most uncomfortable bed he’d ever been on. Hell, it made Rodney’s insanely hard ‘prescription mattress’ seem like it had been designed by fluffy cloud people.
John twisted and turned.
There was no possible way he was going to be able to sleep here. None. Ronon must be made of steel; he was snoring comfortably away on his side of the room, like he was cradled in the arms of the freaking angels. While John lay awake in this uncomfortable bed.
He glared, and admitted that the real problem with his bed was that Rodney wasn’t in it.
The plant monster shuddered as the bullets ripped through its brilliant purple leaves. John gritted his teeth and fired again, hearing the chatter of Teyla’s P90 beside him. Ronon muttered something and an instant later John heard the distinctive sound of his blaster cycling up.
“Hurry!” Rodney shouted. The plant monster shook again, leaves fluttering to the ground, but continued clutching Rodney tight.
“Stupid, stupid, STUPID plants,” John cursed under his breath. “I knew this would be the planet where we’d need a botanist.”
Ronon shot the monster, which finally dropped Rodney and scuttled away.
“Fine,” said Rodney furiously. “Next time, Parrish is your man.”