Just call me Cyrano.
I wasn't expecting anything non-military in the data stream from Earth, so
when those four words popped up in my inbox between a forward from Dr. Jackson
(which I suspect was ultimately meant for Rodney, and not me, but Jackson seems
somehow incapable of communicating directly with McKay, and if memory serves
it has something to do with an unfortunate coffee incident at the Ancient outpost
where all this started three years before) and yet another dirty limerick
poem from that Mal Doran chick extolling the virtues of my ass (in graphically
specific comparison with that of one Dr. Daniel Jackson, which makes me wonder
-- not for the first time -- just what General O'Neill thinks of the creepy
alien hottie hitting on his pet archaeologist 24/7) I almost dismissed it with
the rest of the spam (luckily, if Mitchell ever finds out I described his ASCII
image of a lemon with the words, "Stay strong, buddy!" that way, there
isn't much he can do about it from the Milky Way galaxy) until I realized that
"Miller, J" was McKay's baby sister.
...who, apparently, was of the opinion that I had the hots for her big brother. Huh. Bright kid. Too bad it didn't seem to run in the family.
After forwarding the poem (along with an attached PDF of the SGC's most recent statutes regarding sexual harrassment in the workplace and their applications to offworld situations) to Jackson and CCing O'Neill -- and really it was just a damn shame I wouldn't be around to watch the fireworks when the general got that email -- I curled up on my bed with the laptop to read Jeannie's letter.
I was maybe halfway through what Jeannie said would be the first of many emails on how to woo certain physicists named Meredith when said physicist let himself into my room -- what, like I don't have a door or anything? -- and started ranting at me about this guy in his department who breathes through his mouth and pays top dollar to have these energy drinks brought in on the Daedalus all the time. Personally I was pretty sure Rodney was just jealous of his caffeine supply, but I did what I always do when he shows up in my room and starts ranting. I kept my mouth shut and waited for him to wind down.
"--like working in close quarters with Darth Vader," Rodney continued. "Except that I'd like to think perhaps a Sith lord would just, I don't know, eviscerate me or something instead of trying to murder me with small talk. Like I really care about his niece--"
"Didja tell him about your niece?"
"What? Did I -- no. That would have gone against the whole 'ignoring him' theme I was going with, Sheppard. Keep up, will you?"
I shrugged. "Sorry. I like your niece. She's a cute kid." My eyes darted back to the screen. John, this might seem like it's coming from out of left field, but take it from someone who's seen Meredith fall in love a dozen times over: What you're feeling, you're not alone in. He looks at you like you're the center of his universe. Open up, let him in. If you give a little, he'll give back. "Why don't you have a seat," I suggested, patting the bed. "I thought I'd pop in a DVD. I'll let you pick the movie."
Rodney, who had been winding up to another tirade, sat down almost obediently. "Really?"
"No, I'm just messin' with you." I let a beat pass to see if he'd react. He started to. "Yes, really. God, you'd think I never asked you to hang out before."
Blinking, Rodney made a face. I could tell he was trying to go over every conversation we'd ever had since ever to figure out if I had. "Have you?" he asked finally, clearly suspecting something was up with me.
"Don't be so paranoid," I told him, rolling my eyes. "If I haven't said it in so many words, I've meant to. I like hangin' out with you."
Jeannie wasn't wrong, and I wasn't disappointed; Rodney rewarded my efforts with one of his adorably dorky grins, bigger and brighter than I'd seen on him since Carson. "Cool," he said, flopping down and taking up more than his fair share of my bed. "What do you have?"
I leaned over him to grab the folder of DVDs next to my bed, hard-won through barter with my marines and the crew of the Daedalus. I put it in his hand and leaned against the headboard. "So I got this email today," I said casually.
"From the crazy alien chick at the SGC?" Rodney asked absently, leafing through discs. "Yes, I got one, too. I'll never understand that woman's obsession with comparing body parts to things that are edible. It only succeeds in making mealtime horrifically traumatic for me."
"You got a poem about my ass?" I asked, shocked. Rodney shot me a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
"I got a poem about my own ass, thank you very much, assuming one can refer to limericks as poetry."
Oops. I guess I just didn't think he was Mal Doran's type. "Whatever. Anyway, not that one."
"Another email? I'm so happy for you. I'm sure you're very popular with the inmate outreach program these days," he muttered under his breath. "Is there a point to this, Sheppard?"
"From Jeannie."
That got Rodney's attention. "Jeannie, my sister, Jeannie?"
"I don't really know any other Jeannies," I reminded him. "Look, the point is, she's worried about you. We're worried about you."
"You're a 'we' now? Does Calv--Kaleb know about this? Oh, god, my niece is going to call you 'Daddy.'"
"We, your family, Rodney. Will you stop that already? I'm not interested in your sister!"
Rodney frowned. "Well, why not? What's the matter, isn't she good enough for you? Isn't she pretty and smart enough for you? It's because she's not about to ascend to a higher plane of existance, isn't it?" I could see the wheels turning in his head while he processed what I said. "Wait, family?"
"Yeah. Whether you like it or not, we're family now, you and me." I paused, adding, "And Ronon and Teyla, and Elizabeth, and Radek--"
"Yes, yes, I get the picture," he groaned. "There's nothing to worry about. I'm fine."
"Have you been talking to someone? Heightmeyer?" I pointed to a movie and said, "That one's good. Kinda strange, but funny. You'd like it."
Rodney looked like he was about to argue, but I had succeeded in distracting him from it. Instead, he just shrugged. "I don't think Heightmeyer would understand."
"Yeah, maybe." I hated to admit it, but while Heightmeyer may have been trained to deal with people suffering from grief and guilt at the loss of a friend, I didn't see anything in her personnel file that gave me the idea she'd ever walked in Rodney's moccasins. I, on the other hand, have. More times than I'd like. "You could talk to me. I'm a good listener when I'm not actively trying to ignore you."
Rodney snorted at that. "So. 'The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra,' huh?"
I nodded. "Gotta love a movie that actively makes fun of itself and its genre."
He took the disc out, swiped my laptop -- thankfully ignoring the open email window -- and started the movie. "I know Carson would forgive me."
"Yeah, he would."
"But the fact remains that if I'd just gone fishing with him, he'd still be alive."
"You can't know that," I pointed out. "He would have come back to help Teyla, after the first explosion."
Rodney shrugged, conceding the point. "He was my friend. I don't... I haven't... people don't like me, John."
I nudged him with my shoulder. "I can think of a handful of people, top of my head, who'd argue that to the death."
He flinched. "Lying to make me feel better isn't going to fix anything."
"Calling me a liar while you're hogging my bed and talking through my movie is really crappy manners, McKay."
Rodney cracked half a smile. I kept pushing.
"I like you."
"You don't count," he insisted. "You're insane."
I grinned and muttered something under my breath about ungrateful geniuses who clearly wanted to get knocked off the bed and onto the floor. Rodney grinned back. "You really do, don't you?"
"Give the man a prize," I said sarcastically. "Are you planning on going around the city, putting your boots on everyone's clean sheets and making them talk about how much they like you, or do I get special treatement for being certifiable? Shut up and watch the movie already."
Rodney rolled his eyes at me, but he didn't say anything until the movie was over. I was feeling all drowsy and warm, and while we weren't really snuggling, we were... cozy. It wasn't all that different from any other time we'd ended up watching a movie in one of our quarters, except for the context. "You were right," he told me, stretching lazily. "That was a good movie. The aliens were terrible, the monster was terrible. The dialog and the acting were crap, and I think that Animala was at least half-badger, which should be nowhere near that sexy."
"Nothing to say about the science?" I prompted.
"Only that I'm very glad they were as vague as they were. Otherwise I might have had an aneurysm."
A smirk twisted my lips. I knew he'd like it. I gave it two days, tops, before he wanted to watch it again and this time he wouldn't hold back on the commentary, no matter what I had to say about it.
There was a brief moment of awkward silence when he looked down and saw that our legs were touching; his left, my right, from the hip all the way down. Like I said, cozy. "I should go to bed."
"It's early."
"Some of us have to be up in the morning. I have to do science," he said, and I laughed. Film references are always promising.
"I have a chocolate bar in the drawer on your side."
Rodney looked thoughtful. "I didn't want to get up yet anyway." Score one for Hershey's.
Twenty minutes later, he was sound asleep on my pillow, looking completely at peace, with this adorable smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. I was definitely looking forward to what Jeannie's next email might inspire. Score one for Jeannie "Cyrano" Miller.