kellifer: (sheppard/mckay above)
([personal profile] kellifer Sep. 13th, 2007 04:04 pm)
Title: Not Prime
Author: [livejournal.com profile] kellifer_fic
Rating: PG
Category: SGA, John/Rodney
Warnings: None
Wordcount: 830
Summary: Rodney has a very well defined world view. And then there's John.
Notes: Dusting off some stuff on the ol' hard drive that has never seen the light of day.



From a very young age, Rodney had always been surrounded by a very particular type of person, academics with the same drives and ambitions as his own. He watched the jocks and the dramatics in high school with a kind of idle curiosity, not really knowing what pleasure could be derived from catching a ball or standing up in front of a crowd, unless you were accepting an award of some kind.

Jeanie had been what you would call well-rounded, smart and annoyingly sporty at the same time. Rodney always saw those things as mutually exclusive, not believing that a single body could be capable of both.

Then there was John.

Rodney neatly categorised John Sheppard as soon as he met him. All lazy drawl and lanky frame, fly by the seat of your pants type. Flirted outrageously with all the girls while not letting anyone get particularly close.

Yeah, Rodney had known guys like that before.

John upset Rodney’s carefully built world-view when he admitted to having been accepted by Mensa, when he would play prime, not-prime in a kind of distracted fashion but be right every time. When he would pick up one of Rodney’s books out of boredom and start making notes in the margins, right by Rodney’s own cramped writing.

Fly by the seat of their pants, thick-haired Majors with distractingly elfish ears didn’t get to do things like that.

Rodney started building a little fantasy world in his mind where he could resolve the very enigma John Sheppard was proving to be. He pictured John being a late bloomer, awkward library mouse who grew into his body and that damnable smirk with age. Rodney carefully framed probing questions in the hopes of getting John to back up his assumptions but the major was always elusive, only letting the most uninforming generalities about himself escape.

Then the Genii tried to take Atlantis for themselves and Rodney’s world tipped again.

John was quiet after, but not that you’d notice, layering jokes and playful banter over the top like what he’d done didn’t affect him. Rodney knew it did and that was something else he couldn’t reconcile. John was so damn gentle most of the time that Rodney often forgot just what he was capable of.

The appearance of Ronon made it all a little easier, Rodney was surprised to find.

At first intimidating, the two built an unlikely friendship. Rodney watched Ronon fit in, ragged edges being worn smoother by time and familiarity. He’d lost everyone, a whole world and John took him under the wing, letting Ronon bristle and mark out his own space. Having been exposed to marines for an extended period of time, Rodney could see Ronon was the kind to flourish under authority rather than rail against it like John seemed to prefer but there was mutual respect and understanding there.

Ronon warming to Rodney had been a revelation all of its own and Rodney came to suspect that John’s own affection towards him went a long way towards building that bridge.

He and John watched movies and ate dinner, bantered and bickered. He saw both Teyla and Ronon look at him and John with exasperation and mirth, tipping one way or the other depending on what they were squabbling about. Rodney would sometimes finish off John’s field reports while John slept face-first on Rodney’s bed; John would push his uneaten dessert Rodney’s way without being asked.

Rodney had never experienced the phenomena before, but he was pretty sure he had a best friend.

Rodney started to wonder if it was maybe more than that when John would think nothing of pressing shoulder to hip against Rodney as they tried to simultaneously read from the same book, tugging a pen back and forth between themselves good-naturedly. While John looked weirdly uncomfortable hugging anyone else, he would readily sling an arm across Rodney’s shoulders at any given opportunity. Rodney never woke up in the infirmary alone, John always stationed in one of the back-breaking plastic chairs with his feet perpetually up on the bed.

Rodney did the same.

“Are we dating?” Rodney blurted one otherwise uneventful Sunday afternoon when they had a rare respite, both noodling about with their own lap tops, John playing mah-jong and Rodney writing a scathing review of the latest science journal he’d been sent from Earth. They’d inserted a crossword and a jumble of all things and Rodney was suitably scandalised.

John looked up and over his shoulder, one eyebrow quirked and his lips tilted in the ever-present grin.

“For about three weeks now,” John said, nodding and going back to his game.

“Oh,” Rodney said, a little taken aback. “When were you planning on telling me that?”

“Thought I’d let you figure it out on your own,” John said, not even bothering to look up this time. “I know you like to do that.”

“Oh,” Rodney repeated, still blinking at the back of John’s head. “Well, okay then.”
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