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WIP Amnesty, Day 12
Okay, so today's post is also known as What Happened That One Time When Dira Tried To Write SGA.
This was back circa season one (which might almost explain why Rodney is calling Sheppard "John" in his POV, but mostly, I ... I have no idea. Sorry.) and I had an IDEA! for a STORY! which I spent several pages lovingly setting up and then, when I got to the part where John and Rodney actually interacted, I got bored and wandered off.
So, um, whoever it was who asked me for 100 words of John/Rodney without Rodney talking, back when I did the drabble meme? Here is why that totally cracked me up.
John/Rodney pre-slash. Season 1.
Silent Treatment
Rodney thought they were arguing, like civilized people, right up until the point when Simpson stopped trying to interrupt and turned her back on him. He stopped talking himself, stunned, and said, "Oh you have got to be--"
But everyone else who had gathered around when the yelling started was turning away too. When he looked at Radek, standing at his side, Radek wouldn't meet his eyes, and then he turned away completely, just like the rest. "You're kidding me," Rodney snapped, even as Radek reached for his radio.
But obviously neither Radek nor anyone else was kidding. "Dr. Weir," he said, even as Rodney turned, teeth gritted, and headed for the nearest transporter, "I must report a civilian disciplinary issue."
***
Elizabeth was waiting for him when he got to the control room, and before she said anything, he snapped, "It was an accident."
He could see everyone else in the room turning away, not looking at him, not listening to him, but Elizabeth's eyes didn't waver from his, and he hated the fact that eye contact came as a relief. Less of a relief when she said, "Rodney, please wait for me in my office."
This was altogether too much like being sent to the principal's office--and he was the teacher down in the labs, dammit, not a rowdy student. "Elizabeth, you can't--"
But Elizabeth talked right over him, like she wasn't listening either, for all she was at least still acknowledging he existed. "You'll have your chance to tell me what happened, but not now. Go, please." There was something very American about the way Elizabeth said please when giving a command. Rodney hated it.
Still, Elizabeth had her implacable face on, and the way Peter kept his face turned away was making Rodney feel a little queasy, so he bit down on further objections and went on into Elizabeth's office. He threw himself defiantly into her chair, but he couldn't quite bring himself to touch her computer, and instead sat with his arms folded, staring furiously at the desk. He'd been believing six impossible things before breakfast every day since long before he came to the Pegasus Galaxy, but this was just ridiculous.
It had seemed like a joke when Elizabeth had introduced the proposal at a senior staff meeting nearly three weeks ago, but then all the prior efforts to enforce discipline on the civilian population had wound up as jokes. The most recent, and briefly most successful, had been the No Dessert regime, but the biochemists had broken that one by collectively going on a no-sweets diet; they couldn't be deprived of regular food, Carson wouldn't allow it. So Elizabeth had had to introduce the new plan: shunning.
Rodney distinctly remembered asking her if they were Amish now. She'd said something about exerting social control in closed communities, and then he'd gotten distracted thinking about the entertainment value available from being allowed to forbid Kavanagh to talk. By the time he tuned back in to the conversation, she was reviewing the operational logistics with John, and Rodney had signed off on it and they'd gotten on to the interesting stuff: off-world mission plans.
The first time Elizabeth had ordered someone shunned, it had been weird--no one could quite believe that they were actually being ordered not to speak to someone, and the corporal in charge of supervising Abrams for his four-hour punishment had looked more embarrassed than anybody. But at some point the sentiment had shifted; Rodney thought they'd been off-world when it happened. They'd trooped off to M4X-C53 or D35 or whatever it was, leaving behind Kavanagh, forbidden to speak to anyone and engaged in constant I'm-not-talking-to-you-or-communicating-by-any-other-means staring matches with his escort and anyone else who happened by. When they got back, everyone had decided to take shunning seriously, and even though all Parker had done was try to punch Kavanagh, no one would so much as meet his eyes.
And now no one was meeting Rodney's, but it had been an accident. Accidents happened in experimental science, particularly when you added Ancient technology into the mix. This was insane.
He jumped to his feet when Elizabeth came in looking grim--not guiltily. He just needed to speak to her. Emphatically. "Elizabeth," he said, coming around the desk to meet her, "It was an accident, I--"
"Yes," she said firmly, "Neither Dr. Zelenka nor Dr. Simpson seemed to feel you had any malicious intent, which is why you're looking at six hours instead of two days."
Rodney's jaw dropped. "Six--"
"Six hours is the standard term for serious but not critical damage to another scientist's project resulting from negligence. As you know, since you signed off on the schedule of offenses and punishments."
Rodney shut his mouth, trying to remember. He'd been mostly focused on the ones he could see Kavanagh committing. He wasn't a troublemaker himself, after all. He'd never lost his dessert--well, not more than once or twice. Still, it had hardly seemed likely to matter. "It could have happened to anyone," he said flatly, "Simpson could have done it herself."
"But she didn't," Elizabeth said. "You did. You made the decision to use her work as a test case for that device, and it backfired. That's the price of leadership," she added, with a not-unsympathetic look. "You get punished when your plans go wrong where you'd be praised if they went right."
Rodney scowled, not dignifying the I-understand-what-you're-feeling routine with a response, and Elizabeth added, "Rodney, the science staff already knows exactly what happened in the lab, and they're going to do this regardless. If you accept your punishment, at least you'll know when it ends."
Rodney darted a glance at Elizabeth, and past her, to the door. "So this is mob rule, now? If the science team decides--"
"Of course not," Elizabeth snapped. "But even you don't contest that you committed a punishable infraction. And let me tell you, if you break this system, my next options are close confinement and forced labor, neither of which is going to help the situation in the long run."
Rodney smiled thinly, covering the sinking feeling that came with the realization that this was actually going to happen. "Floggings will continue until morale improves, eh?"
She smiled back, looking a little relieved. "Precisely. So. Six hours, it shouldn't be too bad. In deference to your rank, I'll assign Major Sheppard as your military escort--remember, he's allowed to use only mild coercive force--"
Rodney rolled his eyes. It was John. "I hardly think we're going to get into a fistfight."
Elizabeth gave him a sharper look. "Consider this your Miranda--"
"Brydges," Rodney corrected, because he was feeling petty and Elizabeth was being so very American about this. "I'm Canadian, we don't have Miranda rights, we have the Brydges caution."
That earned him a quirk of her eyebrow, but Elizabeth said smoothly, "Your Brydges caution, then. It's important, procedurally, that everyone being shunned be specifically aware of their rights in the matter. And since you don't seem to have retained the details of the system perfectly..."
Rodney rolled his eyes, wishing she'd get on with it already. His six hours would be over sooner the sooner they started. "Fine. Mild coercive force, yes, I remember." The memory of Bates staring into the middle distance with one hand clamped over Kavanagh's mouth wouldn't leave him anytime soon, after all.
Elizabeth nodded firmly. "If you feel you're being mistreated, you may appeal to me, either on the spot or within twenty-four hours after the end of your punishment. In addition, your punishment may be suspended in the case of an emergency which requires your assistance. Major Sheppard or I will make that determination. If an emergency exists of which only you are aware, notify myself or Major Sheppard at once; if I determine that you've broken your punishment for inadequate cause, we'll be exploring the exciting new field of solitary confinement."
Rodney looked for the humor in that last part, and wasn't altogether sure he found it. He nodded, instead. "Understood. Emergencies only."
Elizabeth went on briskly, as though these words were already settling into a rote recitation for her. "Other than emergencies, you will not be permitted to speak to anyone or communicate by any other means, nor will anyone speak to or communicate with you. You will be locked out of your email, and I'll need your radio."
She held out her hand, and Rodney stared at it for a moment before he took the radio from his ear and laid it down, resisting the urge to rub at the suddenly-cold skin. He felt a little off-balance as he let it go; it had been hours since breakfast, and his blood sugar was probably getting a little low.
"Major Sheppard or a substitute of his choosing will remain with you throughout the duration of your punishment to ensure that you and everyone else respect the rules. You will remain in public areas except for matters of physical necessity, and you will report to the commissary at mealtime."
Rodney folded his arms, keeping his eyes on Elizabeth's. Six hours wasn't that long. He'd gone more than six hours without talking to anyone plenty of times--he'd gone six days without talking to anyone in Russia, and been glad to.
"Any questions?" Elizabeth asked, spreading her hands, still holding his radio.
Rodney thought he should say something vaguely meaningful while he still could, but all that came out of his mouth was, "Can we get on with this, please? I have work to do."
Elizabeth did smile at that, and said, "Come on, then."
Rodney followed her out of her office. John was there, in BDUs and wearing only his sidearm: Rodney seemed to recall that he and Elizabeth had agreed on that particular level of uniform as sufficiently indicating official military function while minimizing the implicit threat of serious violence. Which meant she'd called for John and told him he'd be doing this even before she spoke to Rodney. John's eyes skipped quickly past Elizabeth to Rodney, and for just a second he met Rodney's eyes. It startled him, and he hated that it did; Rodney nodded sharply and looked away, following Elizabeth into the control room. John fell into step behind him, escorting him already.
Elizabeth activated the city-wide communicator, and Rodney glanced reflexively at his feet and then forced his chin up, staring fixedly at the pink and green of the mainframe display as she spoke. "Attention, everyone. For the disciplinary infraction of non-critical damage to another scientist's project, resulting from negligence, Dr. Rodney McKay is to be shunned for a period of six hours, effective immediately. You may consult administrative daily update email number 63b for details of shunning. Thank you."
Elizabeth turned away from the console, and Rodney shook himself, automatically opening his mouth to say something as he headed back to his lab, and then closed it with a snap. When he turned toward John, John looked away.
Six hours. He had work to do. Rodney headed back to the transporter, and John followed a step behind.
***
Rodney ate a power bar in three bites while he booted up his laptop. His workstation, in the shared lab space used by the physicists, was in the corner, and Radek and Miko and the others were already at their workstations, working away and pretending he didn't exist. John leaned against a wall, just behind Rodney and to his right, lurking obnoxiously in his peripheral vision as he stared at his computer, trying to decide what to work on.
Most major projects were collaborative to some extent, so they were all out, and he was locked out of his email, so he couldn't catch up on that. His desktop looked naked without the familiar window, and he opened some other files just to clutter it up properly, realizing with a sinking feeling that he would actually have to read some of them now--he had a whole directory of progress reports on various research projects to catch up on, plus mission reports to review, mission proposals to prepare, and somewhere, lurking like a time bomb, that set of personnel evaluations Elizabeth had wanted him to fill out during their second week in Atlantis.
He'd made it through the first page of one of Radek's project summaries--he was starting off easy, from the end of the alphabet, hoping his six hours would be over long before he got to the twenty-odd filenames starting with Kavanagh, D.--when Miko's email pinged. Miko was the only one in their lab who used the system-default tone for email notification; most of the others had some suitably geeky .wav file, and Radek's computer said something in Czech that Radek insisted, too innocently, meant "You've got mail." He heard the frantic tapping of keys that meant Miko was typing a reply, and a moment later, Radek's email said, "Death to English speakers" or whatever it was.
Rodney looked up, really looking around the lab for the first time since he'd come in, and realized they were all studiously sitting at their own workstations--not kibbitzing or arguing or throwing things at one another. Radek frowned at his screen and typed something, and then Miko's email pinged at the same instant Linton's said "email, email, what what the email."
Rodney opened his mouth, overwhelmed with the impulse to tell them to stop that, they could talk, that was the whole point, and if he had to listen to Parker's email notification noise all day he was going to kill someone--but John took a step forward from the wall, and Rodney scowled and hunched over his laptop again, listening to the tapping keys and repeated .wav files of his scientists talking around him.
The fourth time he caught himself minimizing the report to open an email to dash off to Radek, Rodney gave up and closed the file. He was barely forty-five minutes into his punishment, and he was already bored, and John kept not moving, just behind him, so that Rodney forgot he was there and then caught sight of him again, startling himself. He scrubbed his hands over his face and then, wondering what he could get away with, held out his right hand in front of John, without looking over, and started making the kind of nonsense hand signals John and Ford had used to fuck with him on the first few offworld missions.
He barely managed to choke back the startled "Ow!" and yanked his hand back, staring at the red mark the width of two of John's fingers. Mild coercive force, eh? A slap on the wrist sounded like the definition of mild, but it hurt like a son of a bitch. Rodney rubbed at his wrist, scowling at his computer, and pulled up a full-screen Minesweeper grid, clicking squares sullenly as the keyboards and mailboxes chattered and John just stood there, through the twenty minutes remaining until lunch.
The email sounds died off, and the others all got up at once; Rodney watched them walk out in a group, and heard them start to talk suddenly, a burst of chatter as they hit the corridor. He turned his attention back to Minesweeper--he'd nearly reasoned out the entire upper left quadrant--but John's hand closed on his arm, tugging him sideways off his stool.
And then, you know, Sheppard was going to spend the remaining six hours periodically touching Rodney, just to let him know he was there, andthentheyhavesex, the end!
This was back circa season one (which might almost explain why Rodney is calling Sheppard "John" in his POV, but mostly, I ... I have no idea. Sorry.) and I had an IDEA! for a STORY! which I spent several pages lovingly setting up and then, when I got to the part where John and Rodney actually interacted, I got bored and wandered off.
So, um, whoever it was who asked me for 100 words of John/Rodney without Rodney talking, back when I did the drabble meme? Here is why that totally cracked me up.
John/Rodney pre-slash. Season 1.
Silent Treatment
Rodney thought they were arguing, like civilized people, right up until the point when Simpson stopped trying to interrupt and turned her back on him. He stopped talking himself, stunned, and said, "Oh you have got to be--"
But everyone else who had gathered around when the yelling started was turning away too. When he looked at Radek, standing at his side, Radek wouldn't meet his eyes, and then he turned away completely, just like the rest. "You're kidding me," Rodney snapped, even as Radek reached for his radio.
But obviously neither Radek nor anyone else was kidding. "Dr. Weir," he said, even as Rodney turned, teeth gritted, and headed for the nearest transporter, "I must report a civilian disciplinary issue."
***
Elizabeth was waiting for him when he got to the control room, and before she said anything, he snapped, "It was an accident."
He could see everyone else in the room turning away, not looking at him, not listening to him, but Elizabeth's eyes didn't waver from his, and he hated the fact that eye contact came as a relief. Less of a relief when she said, "Rodney, please wait for me in my office."
This was altogether too much like being sent to the principal's office--and he was the teacher down in the labs, dammit, not a rowdy student. "Elizabeth, you can't--"
But Elizabeth talked right over him, like she wasn't listening either, for all she was at least still acknowledging he existed. "You'll have your chance to tell me what happened, but not now. Go, please." There was something very American about the way Elizabeth said please when giving a command. Rodney hated it.
Still, Elizabeth had her implacable face on, and the way Peter kept his face turned away was making Rodney feel a little queasy, so he bit down on further objections and went on into Elizabeth's office. He threw himself defiantly into her chair, but he couldn't quite bring himself to touch her computer, and instead sat with his arms folded, staring furiously at the desk. He'd been believing six impossible things before breakfast every day since long before he came to the Pegasus Galaxy, but this was just ridiculous.
It had seemed like a joke when Elizabeth had introduced the proposal at a senior staff meeting nearly three weeks ago, but then all the prior efforts to enforce discipline on the civilian population had wound up as jokes. The most recent, and briefly most successful, had been the No Dessert regime, but the biochemists had broken that one by collectively going on a no-sweets diet; they couldn't be deprived of regular food, Carson wouldn't allow it. So Elizabeth had had to introduce the new plan: shunning.
Rodney distinctly remembered asking her if they were Amish now. She'd said something about exerting social control in closed communities, and then he'd gotten distracted thinking about the entertainment value available from being allowed to forbid Kavanagh to talk. By the time he tuned back in to the conversation, she was reviewing the operational logistics with John, and Rodney had signed off on it and they'd gotten on to the interesting stuff: off-world mission plans.
The first time Elizabeth had ordered someone shunned, it had been weird--no one could quite believe that they were actually being ordered not to speak to someone, and the corporal in charge of supervising Abrams for his four-hour punishment had looked more embarrassed than anybody. But at some point the sentiment had shifted; Rodney thought they'd been off-world when it happened. They'd trooped off to M4X-C53 or D35 or whatever it was, leaving behind Kavanagh, forbidden to speak to anyone and engaged in constant I'm-not-talking-to-you-or-communicating-by-any-other-means staring matches with his escort and anyone else who happened by. When they got back, everyone had decided to take shunning seriously, and even though all Parker had done was try to punch Kavanagh, no one would so much as meet his eyes.
And now no one was meeting Rodney's, but it had been an accident. Accidents happened in experimental science, particularly when you added Ancient technology into the mix. This was insane.
He jumped to his feet when Elizabeth came in looking grim--not guiltily. He just needed to speak to her. Emphatically. "Elizabeth," he said, coming around the desk to meet her, "It was an accident, I--"
"Yes," she said firmly, "Neither Dr. Zelenka nor Dr. Simpson seemed to feel you had any malicious intent, which is why you're looking at six hours instead of two days."
Rodney's jaw dropped. "Six--"
"Six hours is the standard term for serious but not critical damage to another scientist's project resulting from negligence. As you know, since you signed off on the schedule of offenses and punishments."
Rodney shut his mouth, trying to remember. He'd been mostly focused on the ones he could see Kavanagh committing. He wasn't a troublemaker himself, after all. He'd never lost his dessert--well, not more than once or twice. Still, it had hardly seemed likely to matter. "It could have happened to anyone," he said flatly, "Simpson could have done it herself."
"But she didn't," Elizabeth said. "You did. You made the decision to use her work as a test case for that device, and it backfired. That's the price of leadership," she added, with a not-unsympathetic look. "You get punished when your plans go wrong where you'd be praised if they went right."
Rodney scowled, not dignifying the I-understand-what-you're-feeling routine with a response, and Elizabeth added, "Rodney, the science staff already knows exactly what happened in the lab, and they're going to do this regardless. If you accept your punishment, at least you'll know when it ends."
Rodney darted a glance at Elizabeth, and past her, to the door. "So this is mob rule, now? If the science team decides--"
"Of course not," Elizabeth snapped. "But even you don't contest that you committed a punishable infraction. And let me tell you, if you break this system, my next options are close confinement and forced labor, neither of which is going to help the situation in the long run."
Rodney smiled thinly, covering the sinking feeling that came with the realization that this was actually going to happen. "Floggings will continue until morale improves, eh?"
She smiled back, looking a little relieved. "Precisely. So. Six hours, it shouldn't be too bad. In deference to your rank, I'll assign Major Sheppard as your military escort--remember, he's allowed to use only mild coercive force--"
Rodney rolled his eyes. It was John. "I hardly think we're going to get into a fistfight."
Elizabeth gave him a sharper look. "Consider this your Miranda--"
"Brydges," Rodney corrected, because he was feeling petty and Elizabeth was being so very American about this. "I'm Canadian, we don't have Miranda rights, we have the Brydges caution."
That earned him a quirk of her eyebrow, but Elizabeth said smoothly, "Your Brydges caution, then. It's important, procedurally, that everyone being shunned be specifically aware of their rights in the matter. And since you don't seem to have retained the details of the system perfectly..."
Rodney rolled his eyes, wishing she'd get on with it already. His six hours would be over sooner the sooner they started. "Fine. Mild coercive force, yes, I remember." The memory of Bates staring into the middle distance with one hand clamped over Kavanagh's mouth wouldn't leave him anytime soon, after all.
Elizabeth nodded firmly. "If you feel you're being mistreated, you may appeal to me, either on the spot or within twenty-four hours after the end of your punishment. In addition, your punishment may be suspended in the case of an emergency which requires your assistance. Major Sheppard or I will make that determination. If an emergency exists of which only you are aware, notify myself or Major Sheppard at once; if I determine that you've broken your punishment for inadequate cause, we'll be exploring the exciting new field of solitary confinement."
Rodney looked for the humor in that last part, and wasn't altogether sure he found it. He nodded, instead. "Understood. Emergencies only."
Elizabeth went on briskly, as though these words were already settling into a rote recitation for her. "Other than emergencies, you will not be permitted to speak to anyone or communicate by any other means, nor will anyone speak to or communicate with you. You will be locked out of your email, and I'll need your radio."
She held out her hand, and Rodney stared at it for a moment before he took the radio from his ear and laid it down, resisting the urge to rub at the suddenly-cold skin. He felt a little off-balance as he let it go; it had been hours since breakfast, and his blood sugar was probably getting a little low.
"Major Sheppard or a substitute of his choosing will remain with you throughout the duration of your punishment to ensure that you and everyone else respect the rules. You will remain in public areas except for matters of physical necessity, and you will report to the commissary at mealtime."
Rodney folded his arms, keeping his eyes on Elizabeth's. Six hours wasn't that long. He'd gone more than six hours without talking to anyone plenty of times--he'd gone six days without talking to anyone in Russia, and been glad to.
"Any questions?" Elizabeth asked, spreading her hands, still holding his radio.
Rodney thought he should say something vaguely meaningful while he still could, but all that came out of his mouth was, "Can we get on with this, please? I have work to do."
Elizabeth did smile at that, and said, "Come on, then."
Rodney followed her out of her office. John was there, in BDUs and wearing only his sidearm: Rodney seemed to recall that he and Elizabeth had agreed on that particular level of uniform as sufficiently indicating official military function while minimizing the implicit threat of serious violence. Which meant she'd called for John and told him he'd be doing this even before she spoke to Rodney. John's eyes skipped quickly past Elizabeth to Rodney, and for just a second he met Rodney's eyes. It startled him, and he hated that it did; Rodney nodded sharply and looked away, following Elizabeth into the control room. John fell into step behind him, escorting him already.
Elizabeth activated the city-wide communicator, and Rodney glanced reflexively at his feet and then forced his chin up, staring fixedly at the pink and green of the mainframe display as she spoke. "Attention, everyone. For the disciplinary infraction of non-critical damage to another scientist's project, resulting from negligence, Dr. Rodney McKay is to be shunned for a period of six hours, effective immediately. You may consult administrative daily update email number 63b for details of shunning. Thank you."
Elizabeth turned away from the console, and Rodney shook himself, automatically opening his mouth to say something as he headed back to his lab, and then closed it with a snap. When he turned toward John, John looked away.
Six hours. He had work to do. Rodney headed back to the transporter, and John followed a step behind.
***
Rodney ate a power bar in three bites while he booted up his laptop. His workstation, in the shared lab space used by the physicists, was in the corner, and Radek and Miko and the others were already at their workstations, working away and pretending he didn't exist. John leaned against a wall, just behind Rodney and to his right, lurking obnoxiously in his peripheral vision as he stared at his computer, trying to decide what to work on.
Most major projects were collaborative to some extent, so they were all out, and he was locked out of his email, so he couldn't catch up on that. His desktop looked naked without the familiar window, and he opened some other files just to clutter it up properly, realizing with a sinking feeling that he would actually have to read some of them now--he had a whole directory of progress reports on various research projects to catch up on, plus mission reports to review, mission proposals to prepare, and somewhere, lurking like a time bomb, that set of personnel evaluations Elizabeth had wanted him to fill out during their second week in Atlantis.
He'd made it through the first page of one of Radek's project summaries--he was starting off easy, from the end of the alphabet, hoping his six hours would be over long before he got to the twenty-odd filenames starting with Kavanagh, D.--when Miko's email pinged. Miko was the only one in their lab who used the system-default tone for email notification; most of the others had some suitably geeky .wav file, and Radek's computer said something in Czech that Radek insisted, too innocently, meant "You've got mail." He heard the frantic tapping of keys that meant Miko was typing a reply, and a moment later, Radek's email said, "Death to English speakers" or whatever it was.
Rodney looked up, really looking around the lab for the first time since he'd come in, and realized they were all studiously sitting at their own workstations--not kibbitzing or arguing or throwing things at one another. Radek frowned at his screen and typed something, and then Miko's email pinged at the same instant Linton's said "email, email, what what the email."
Rodney opened his mouth, overwhelmed with the impulse to tell them to stop that, they could talk, that was the whole point, and if he had to listen to Parker's email notification noise all day he was going to kill someone--but John took a step forward from the wall, and Rodney scowled and hunched over his laptop again, listening to the tapping keys and repeated .wav files of his scientists talking around him.
The fourth time he caught himself minimizing the report to open an email to dash off to Radek, Rodney gave up and closed the file. He was barely forty-five minutes into his punishment, and he was already bored, and John kept not moving, just behind him, so that Rodney forgot he was there and then caught sight of him again, startling himself. He scrubbed his hands over his face and then, wondering what he could get away with, held out his right hand in front of John, without looking over, and started making the kind of nonsense hand signals John and Ford had used to fuck with him on the first few offworld missions.
He barely managed to choke back the startled "Ow!" and yanked his hand back, staring at the red mark the width of two of John's fingers. Mild coercive force, eh? A slap on the wrist sounded like the definition of mild, but it hurt like a son of a bitch. Rodney rubbed at his wrist, scowling at his computer, and pulled up a full-screen Minesweeper grid, clicking squares sullenly as the keyboards and mailboxes chattered and John just stood there, through the twenty minutes remaining until lunch.
The email sounds died off, and the others all got up at once; Rodney watched them walk out in a group, and heard them start to talk suddenly, a burst of chatter as they hit the corridor. He turned his attention back to Minesweeper--he'd nearly reasoned out the entire upper left quadrant--but John's hand closed on his arm, tugging him sideways off his stool.
And then, you know, Sheppard was going to spend the remaining six hours periodically touching Rodney, just to let him know he was there, andthentheyhavesex, the end!
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I can't find any other comments on this, and I don't want to bug you if a bunch of people already have, but daaaaamn, I'd like to read the rest of this!!!
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