unadrift | SGA fic: The Pleasure of Your Company

This is a Brain Storm AU, in which Rodney takes John on that secret science presentation date.

8200 words, PG-13, McKay/Sheppard, humor, written for the S5 Tagathon on

sga_episodefic.

Similarities to the episode are a given, similarities to other Brain Storm AUs are entirely incidental, as I've managed to stop myself from reading any so far. Surprisingly little dialog was taken from the episode, but the general plot was.

A really big thank you goes to

snarkydame for the excellent (and quick!) beta job she did on this one!

Ronon had just left in search of a table when Rodney cornered John at the food counter in the mess.

"Here's the thing," Rodney said, already three sentences into the conversation. "You know, regarding our time off on Earth? An old colleague of mine invited me to this science presentation. Don't ask me what it's about, the invitation didn't say. Apparently it's top secret." Rodney snorted. "Whatever Tunney could possibly have come up with, it can't be much. Maybe if he found someone capable to steal a new discovery from like he used to. Anyway, since everyone has probably still got this image of me as a – how shall I put this – 'social retard' stuck in their heads, and the invitation includes a guest, I was wondering if you'd want to accompany me. To show that I do, in fact, have social acquaintances who aren't completely stupid, and can even stand me, a little, sometimes?"

When the flow of words stopped abruptly, John looked up from the tray he'd been filling for himself. He blinked, because he had kind of tuned Rodney out there after 'science presentation'.

"There will be good food," Rodney added, as if that changed anything. Knowing Rodney, if their positions were reversed, it probably would.

"I was planning to stay in Atlantis," John said.

"What? You're not even going back to Earth? You won't get another chance for a year at least. If there isn't another dire emergency, that is."

John shrugged. "Why should I go back? They've got great beaches here in the Pegasus galaxy, even without the three week tin-can trip on the Daedalus," John said. Rodney followed him close on his heel to the table that Ronon had secured for them. John set his tray down. "Why don't you ask Keller? This is your chance to--"

Color rose in Rodney's cheeks, and he cut John off with a gesture. "I'd want that to be more like-- This isn't really much of a--"

"Date?" John supplied with raised eyebrows. "I was beginning to wonder."

Rodney frowned. "What? No, this isn't even remotely like a date, which is why I can't ask her, which is why I'm asking you."

"You're asking Sheppard to not go on a date with you?" Ronon's voice was muffled by all the food in his mouth. Apparently, it had been impolite on Sateda to talk during meals at all, which was why Ronon hadn't quite gotten the hang of the finer points of Earth etiquette for this. "Isn't that--" Ronon waved his fork at Rodney.

"A redundant question?" Rodney finished for him. "Yes, it would be, if we were actually discussing-- What was it that we weren't discussing? I've lost the train of thought. You made me lose my train of thought!" he said accusingly.

Ronon grinned. "Cool."

In all honesty, John wasn't entirely comfortable with a topic of conversation that included Rodney, himself, and dating all at the same time. He sat down to start on his meal. "What's in it for me? You haven't told me what's in it for me. Other than the pleasure of your company for an extended period of time."

John looked up at Rodney in time to see him clamp his mouth shut, probably to bite down on the mention of the exact same supposed incentive. "Um," Rodney said.

"You haven't thought about it, have you?"

"I--" Rodney said, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Sheppard's not easy," Ronon said. This was either supposed to be helpful information, or it was a display of Ronon's completely devious sense of humor. John couldn't decide.

He threw Ronon a look as dark as he could manage and waved Rodney off. "Come back when you've thought of something. And make it worthwhile."

* * *

"And you're completely sure this isn't a date?" John asked, smirking. In the spirit of making fun of Rodney, John suddenly didn't mind bringing up the topic of dating at all.

Also, it was a valid question, considering the fact that he was sitting comfortably at a table across from Rodney in a private jet, all dressed up, and on his way to spend some quality time with Rodney in a secret location. John pointedly took a sip of champagne and then bit into a strawberry, careful not to get an juice on his suit, or shirt, or tie.

Rodney glared at him, which lost part of its effect on John because the bow-tie Rodney was wearing to accompany the black, really nice, suit kept drawing John's eye. It was-- not quite ridiculous. Actually, it looked endearing on Rodney. As soon as that thought had popped into his head, John gulped down the rest of the champagne from his glass in one go.

"Completely sure," Rodney answered sourly. "It's not my fault that formal wear is required. What for, anyway? Who does he think he is, creating his own Nobel Prize ceremony? On second thought, why am I surprised? This is exactly like Malcolm. Everything was always about him and his unique way of schmoozing the never dwindling sources of money, and never mind that he couldn't recognize a good idea if it bit him in the--"

"Rodney," John interrupted, because he knew that otherwise Rodney would just keep going for the entire flight. "We're on a private plane, there's champagne and fresh fruit, and you didn't have to pay for any of it. Just relax and enjoy. Because I'm going to."

"I could rent us a bigger plane," Rodney grumbled. "With more fruit, gallons of champagne, and a blonde flight attendant. It's not like money is the issue here. It's not like this is going to impress me."

John leaned forward. "You dragged me back to Earth for this. I'm still not entirely sure how that happened. You owe me, and if you don't sit back now, eat a strawberry, drink some champagne, and shut the hell up, then I'm going to make you."

Rodney opened his mouth, but thought the better of it and closed it again. He picked up his glass and sat back, and for a moment it seemed like he might actually do as ordered. But that, of course, was the point when Rodney finally spotted the photograph of Tunney and the Dalai Lama on the wall behind John.

The smile on the – brunette – flight attendant's face looked more and more forced each time she appeared in the passenger cabin to be snapped at by Rodney over the temperature of the champagne, or the orange juice she offered them, or the bumpy flight.

"Just some potholes in the road," John said and smiled winningly at Janice, as she had introduced herself.

"Exactly," Janice said, smiling back at John genuinely. "It's nothing to worry about, Dr. McKay."

Rodney rolled his eyes at John. "In an attempt to preserve my image of you as a reasonably intelligent person, I'm going to pretend that you didn't just say that," he said, completely ignoring Janice, which she didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

According to Rodney, the landing was 'a disgrace to all decent pilots in the history of aviation'. John thought it was adequate for the weather conditions. They unbuckled and got out of their seats. John managed to stop his hand just shy of making contact with the small of Rodney's back in his subconscious move of guiding him out of the plane.

Janice caught the hastily aborted gesture. Her smile lost a bit of its shine and gained a layer of incredulity. While John was still internally kicking himself for the slip-up, she gave them a friendly and professional, "Have a nice evening."

"As if," Rodney muttered, already halfway down the gangway.

* * *

The reception wasn't what John had expected. He didn't know what he had expected, exactly, but this wasn't it.

There was lots of champagne (as he kind of had expected after the flight), loads of expensive looking food (as promised), and at least a hundred people – scientists, military officers and government officials in varying states of boredom – milling about (a given). But amazingly, Rodney was not the center of attention. Oh, he was recognized, sometimes with a flicker of surprise before poorly disguised dislike took over the expression of whatever scientist they had just run into. There was none of the grudging respect John was used seeing in Rodney's colleagues on Atlantis. Best case scenario was a forced smile and a vaguely polite, "What have you been up to in the last decade?"

As far as academia knew, Rodney had disappeared from the face of the Earth years ago. He had, even literally, but that they didn't know. John was so used to Rodney's brilliance being undisputed fact, this took him entirely by surprise.

And it wasn't like the people who did remember Rodney McKay, who had worked with him closely, had nice things to say about him. "Yes," the quantum-theory-something guy they were talking to right now said, sneering, and pointed a finger at his female laser-confinement-research colleague who was number four in their little group. "Surely you remember. No matter what your idea was, McKay here had thought about it first. Brilliant McKay had always thought about everything first," he said for the third time. Rodney looked like John felt: Like he wanted to punch the guy.

Laser woman chose not to comment and pretended to see someone she needed to meet right that moment. John nodded at her slightly as she went past him. She smiled and gave an almost-shrug.

"It's not much of a challenge, Whitman, to have your thoughts before you do. I'll have you know--" Rodney started.

"Yes, yes." Whitman rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He turned and left Rodney standing there, fuming.

The worst (or the best) thing was, John was pretty sure that the guy didn't have a leg to stand on with his accusations.

In all likelihood, when Rodney said he had thought of something before, he wasn't lying – however fleeting his thoughts on the topic may have been.

Rodney had probably always suffered from the problem that was still the cause of deep frustration for him in Atlantis: He simply didn't have the time to follow every brilliant thought that sparked in his mind through to the end. He had notebooks and notebooks scribbled full of vague outlines of theories, of unfinished solutions to dramatically undramatic everyday problems in Atlantis, or the seeds of proof for equations that the scientists had been using since day one in the city.

Also, it was common knowledge that Rodney couldn't lie or bluff his way out of a kindergarten, even if his life depended on it.

"Okay," John said off-handedly, "now I get why you dragged me here. This is a war zone."

"Oh, please. I am perfectly capable of handling myself. It's not like I couldn't have stood my ground here on my own. They're all just very--" He gestured.

"Jealous?" John guessed and took a sip from his glass of water. "How could they be? They don't know the first thing about your work."

"And if they did, then you'd have to shoot them. I remember. It's just--"

"They don't know you. Why do you even care? There are enough people around in Atlantis who appreciate your work."

Rodney stared at John strangely for a moment that stretched entirely too long. Then he grabbed for John's glass and gulped down the rest of the water. It was a shame, because John could have used it, feeling all warm the way he did now.

"He really can't do anything like everybody else," someone whispered behind John's back. "Of course McKay goes to rent himself a boyfriend."

Rodney flinched, his face reddening, and that answered the question whether he had heard the comment or not. In a pre-emptive strike John turned around before Rodney had the chance to, offered his hand and said, "Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, US Air Force. I'm a colleague of Doctor McKay's. I don't believe we've met?"

The tall skinny guy with the thick glasses and the scarce hair needed a satisfyingly long moment to remember how to shut his mouth. "Fred Hershberger," he said, even forgetting to brag with his titles, like he had when he had introduced himself to a female government official a few minutes ago.

The man next to him – with a lot more hair and a circumference-to-height ratio close to (if not above) one – recovered a lot more quickly, and introduced himself with all titles, standing tall, or at least trying to. Those two instantly reminded John of Laurel and Hardy, only with less slapstick humor.

"Pleasure to meet you," Hardy said, which was obviously a big fat lie. "So, military? You were ordered to tag along with McKay, then?"

John regarded them both with his best bland smile. "I was told that this was the perfect opportunity to meet interesting people." He turned to Rodney. "Doctor McKay, can you introduce me to someone interesting?"

"Uh," Rodney said, looking dumbfounded, but positively so. "Of course, colonel. Follow me."

The snide sarcastic remark John expected Rodney to aim at the non-dynamic duo on departure didn't come. Rodney was preoccupied. "What just happened?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

John sighed. "Didn't it ever occur to you how this might to look?"

"How what might look?"

"This," John said, gesturing between them. "Looks a lot like you want to show off the good match you made. You heard them. They expected you to hire yourself a trophy girlfriend for the occasion."

"Oh?" Rodney said, at a loss for words for a moment. That wasn't something John got to see often, and it was over far too soon, too. Rodney recovered and pointed an accusing finger at him. "If you had just worn your dress uniform like I told you to, this wouldn't have happened."

"I'm not here to intimidate people for you, Rodney."

"You said that before," Rodney said sullenly. "I don't see why you've got such a problem with--"

"I'd rather be your hired trophy wife than your hired hit man," John said.

"What? You, what?" Rodney squinted at him, which was a dead give-away that Rodney's brain was currently using all available capacity, probably trying to decide which one of these possibilities needed exploration more urgently.

Finally, Rodney took a deep breath. "Leaving aside the fact that everyone on the entire planet seems to think that the only woman who would ever agree to marry me would have to be ordered from a catalogue," he hissed, "I don't see how anyone could get to the conclusion that I'd bring you of all people here as my--" Rodney stopped and looked John up and down assessingly, a move that induced a pleasant tingle on the base of John's spine. "'Although, I see where they're coming from. Er, objectively speaking, of course." And now Rodney was flustered again. It was a good look on him. "Wait," Rodney interrupted himself. "You expected this? And you still came here?"

"I don't care what people think," John said. It was the truth, although not even half of it.

"Hello?" Rodney almost shouted, then dialed the volume down when people turned around to stare at them curiously, checking if maybe something interesting was going to happen at this reception after all. "Hello? Military?" Rodney whispered. "And you thought this would be a good idea?"

"You asked me to come, Rodney," John said matter-of-factly, and that shut Rodney up for the moment. He grabbed Rodney by the arm and tugged him towards the entrance of the auditorium. People were starting to drift through the doors. A glance at his watch told John that there were only a couple of minutes left until the presentation was going to start.

"If memory serves," John continued, "there was less asking and more begging going on in the end. I didn't think I'd see the day when you'd agree to--"

"Don't," Rodney cut him off and accelerated his stride so that John was trailing after him now. "Just don't. Don't remind me what I agreed to suffer through for this."

"Plus," John said with a grin, "I thought this might be kind of fun. In a twisted, not-quite-torture, science-division-karaoke-party kind of way."

Rodney rolled his eyes at John over his shoulder. "Will I ever hear the end of that?"

"Of course not." John walked down the stairs behind Rodney, looking for free seats. "Zelenka and Lorne's interpretation of 'Up Where We Belong' has scarred me for life."

"Maybe, if you hadn't been so sober-- Hey, how about those? Perfect view from there," Rodney pointed to the left, at two seats in the middle of an already half-occupied row. Not waiting for an answer, he started to usher people out of their seats and squeezed past them. There were several free and easily accessible places to the right, but with Rodney already halfway along the row of seats, John figured it wasn't worth arguing the point.

The lights were dimmed two minutes later, and the impressively narcissistic Tunney show started. Apparently this whole shindig was going to be about counteracting global warming. John was a little disappointed. Not that global warming wasn't a dire problem that of course needed solving, but he had kind of been hoping for a cool laser gun, a disintegrator beam, or a tiny anti-gravity belt, maybe.

Rodney watched the power point presentation with scornful amusement. John very carefully didn't comment on Rodney's (actually quite funny) remarks regarding Tunney's giant ego. Because, under different circumstances, in a life without Atlantis, it was just too easy to imagine Rodney in Tunney's place.

John had just settled in to be monumentally bored for the next hour or so when the graphic representation of the space time matter bridge came up. John recognized it the second after he heard Rodney whisper, "Oh, no," which was never a good sign. Rodney practically sprang from his seat, and things went downhill from there.

They were escorted from the auditorium by a huge, grim-looking security guy a few minutes later. His name tag pretty accurately identified him as D. Tamer. "Stay," he ordered, as if John and Rodney were his prized poodles. John raised an eyebrow at him. Tamer looked grim some more and went back inside.

Rodney didn't even notice the exchange. "Malcolm is going to kill us all," he muttered, under his breath, and started pacing. On the third pass, John grabbed him by the arm. Rodney turned to him, looking almost surprised that John was there. "Okay," he said, taking a breath. "Calm. I'm calm."

"Good," John said. "Let's find a way to get back in. We need to know what's going on."

"Yes. Yes!" Rodney said distractedly. "We have to prevent Malcolm from--" The lights in the hall flickered, three times, four, and then a low hum started up, just barely at the edge of John's hearing. "Oh no," Rodney said, certain doom in his voice. "He activated it, the moron!"

"So much for that plan." John took a look around. There were several stacks of folders on a table nearby. John grabbed two of them. "Here," he said and handed one over to Rodney. "This must be the information Tunney promised."

"Right." Rodney opened the folder, then abruptly closed it again. "Er," he said, meeting John's eyes uncomfortably, "I wanted to say-- Thank you for backing me up. Before. In there. I really appreciate it. They-- You heard them. They think that I--" He made a complicated gesture.

"You're welcome," John said, because it didn't look like Rodney was going to be able to finish that sentence. John opened his folder. "Maybe you can find out whether his bridge is really going to kill us or not."

"No," Rodney said, shaking his head. "You don't understand. When I-- My equations were watertight. I was right. I still haven't been able to figure out what went wrong back when we first opened a bridge. Chances are, I won't find fault in his equations either. Chances are, his equations are my equations. That stealing bastard." He started leafing through the folder quickly, muttering under his breath. "I knew it! This is my work. I don't know how he got hold of it, but it's my work."

John was still studying the equations and diagrams on page three. Sure, he recognized some of these, in the sense that he was sure he'd seen them before. "Is it possible that Tunney made improvements to the original?"

"Improvements?" The glare Rodney sent John would have caused anyone to shrink back. Not John, though. He had become immune after extended exposure.

"Yes, Rodney. Could this version of the bridge be more stable?"

"You have to ask? As if Malcolm was capable of--"

"Rodney!"

"No," Rodney said, glaring some more, "not as far as I can see. But I need to take a look at the original data. This is just the shiny PR angle of the whole thing."

In unspoken agreement they dumped their folders in the trash and walked out of the hall with one destination in mind: Tunney's office. Only they headed off in two different directions.

"This way," Rodney said, pointing to the left.

"No, it's that way." John pointed to a corridor at the other end of the hall.

"Don't be an idiot. It's this way," Rodney insisted.

"No, it's not. I'm a trained pilot, I should know."

"A pilot with a shockingly bad sense of direction," Rondey said. "You got lost in Atlantis last week. It's this way."

People were starting to file out of the auditorium, and John decided it would really be best to cut this discussion short. And he couldn't very well argue with the absolute and embarrassing truth. Although he was pretty sure that Atlantis had gotten him lost on purpose. It had to have been the city's idea of a practical joke.

John sighed and jogged a few steps to catch up with Rodney. He was rewarded with very little gloating when they actually reached Tunney's office in less than five minutes.

"Rodney," John said, still standing in the doorway, "security camera." He pointed towards the corner of the room.

But Rodney was already in the middle of hacking Tunney's computer, and not much caring about anything at the moment. "This will only take a minute," he said absentmindedly. "I just have to see the--" His voice trailed off into a mumble.

"Okay," John said to himself, and quickly checked out the corridor again before closing the door to behind him and turning the lock.

"Here's what I don't get," he said, walking over to the desk. "How is Tunney's machine supposed to work?"

Rodney shot him a look as if he had asked why the Earth was flat, then resumed typing commands into Tunney's computer.

"I mean," John continued, looking over Rodney's shoulder, "the concept is easy enough to understand. Global warming means excess warmth. Bring that to another universe, let it dissipate there, problem solved. But how do you get it there? Warmth is a form of energy, I know that. But thermodynamically speaking, warmth is movement, right? In an ideal gas, temperature is determined by the average kinetic energy of its atoms. In reality, energy can also be stored in rotation and vibration of gas molecules. Tunney can't be planning to transfer atmospheric gases along with the warmth. We sort of need them to breathe here. So what's the medium he uses for energy transfer?"

There was no more typing going on, and nothing had happened on the computer screen for a while. John turned his head to find Rodney staring at him. If John were granted a wish now, he'd want for Rodney to stare at him exactly like that a lot more often.

"That--" Rodney said, finding his voice again. "That's a good question. For a-- Very-- Um."

John's next impulse was to shake Rodney, and shake him hard. Because Rodney couldn't still believe that John was stupid. Not after five years of this-- this thing they shared. Rodney would call it friendship, if he was ever pressed to put a name to it. John had carefully avoided thinking too deeply about this for two years running, and 'friendship' was as close as he could get on safe ground to describe the Rodney-shaped space in his mind, where his sense of adventure and fun, his calm, his reason resided these days. So, yeah, the term 'friendship' was safely applicable.

And now Rodney's back was really close to John's chest, and John was feeling sort of warm – again; he really had to stop getting himself into these situations – so John backed up a step and took a deep breath. Rodney blinked. "I-- I've seen what I need to see. Let's go find Malcolm before this altruistic project of his destroys the fabric of space and time."

John moved to unlock the door. "So, the entire universe is at stake again? Is it just me, or is that getting old?"

Rodney snorted. "Not everyone is as hard to entertain as you are, John. Personally, I'd like a little less thrill in my life, thank you very much."

And there it was again. Whenever Rodney said his name, John just wanted to smile, even after months of Rodney calling him 'John'. It was stupid. The whole thing he had about Rodney was just a stupid, stupid crush. Although, after two years, John had been forced to admit to himself that maybe it was more than that.

Rodney walked out the door unconcerned, without checking the corridor for passers-by first. The approach had something to it, John had to admit, since they weren't likely to be shot at or stabbed or otherwise injured here in result of such carelessness, as opposed to any off-world mission they had ever been on. John figured that they would be found out anyway sooner or later, so practicing stealth was really a moot point. Even so, John wasn't exactly comfortable exhibiting this lack of caution.

But it did make things easy. The fact that they had been caught on security camera cut their search of Tunney short. They didn't need to go find him, Tunney sent a man to find them.

"Ah," Rodney said smugly. "Malcolm has seen the error of his ways."

Somehow John doubted that. They followed the – really sort of tiny – security guy to an empty meeting room.

When Tunney entered a few minutes later, looking nervous and furious at the same time, he had Kramer, the money guy, in tow. If Kramer's expression had gotten any darker, it would have been sucking the light from the room.

"All right," Rodney said, in his superior tone of voice that always made John want to whack him up the head. But in this case, John felt it was entirely justified. "The apology, okay, let me hear it," Rodney said, crossing his arms, and John had to suppress an eye-roll.

Tunney leaned forward with his hands clasped tightly on top of the table. "Rodney, what did you do?"

"I-- Nothing?" Rodney said, automatically defiant. "What do you mean?"

John leaned forward, too. "What do you think we've done?"

"Mr. Sheppard--" Kramer began.

"That's Colonel Sheppard to you," Rodney snapped. John tried not to be pleasantly-- anything-ed by that. It wasn't easy.

"Colonel Sheppard," Kramer repeated through gritted teeth. "You and Dr. McKay tampered with the device and now it's--"

"We can't shut it off," Tunney interrupted. He sounded a nervous.

"You what?" John sat up a little straighter. Oh, this was great. This was history repeating itself. This was-- apparently the perfect opportunity for Rodney to say 'I told you so' to Tunney, only in a lot more words.

"You did this!" Tunney exploded at some point in the middle of Rodney's rant. "I wouldn't have figured you for a saboteur, Rodney!"

Rodney stared at Tunney for a moment. "What? Are you insane?"

"We didn't do anything," John said. "We certainly didn't sabotage you. This is far more dangerous than you realize, and we'd have been stupid to--"

"Don't try to deny it," Kramer snapped. "We've got security footage to prove it."

It wasn't like John hadn't been expecting that to come back and bite them in the ass.

"Oh," Rodney said when Kramer started the recording. "I can see how this might look incriminating without the proper context."

"The proper context?" Kramer repeated with raised eyebrows.

"Look," John said. "Rodney accessed some information. That's it. We didn't do anything. We didn't even access the device directly. Or did we?"

"No. No, we didn't. This is. Not. My. Fault," Rodney said, emphasizing each word. "I practically begged you not to activate the bridge, but no, you chose to ignore the only man around who actually knows what he's doing, and who has dealt with this before, and whose work you have been using to build your device in the first place! I recognize my own work, Malcolm. Those were my equations. My theory. I don't know how you got hold of the classified paper, but it was mine."

Tunney wasn't defending himself, which was practically an admission of guilt.

"Malcolm--" Kramer started, his voice like a question and a threat at the same time.

"So, basically," John interrupted him in favor of cutting to the chase, "it's going to get colder and colder in here unless we manage shut down your device?"

"We? There is no 'we'." Kramer was back to his smooth-businessman self. John really didn't like the guy. Saving the planet? Yeah, right. John knew the type. It was all about skillfully worded promises and loads of money. "Dr. Tunney is perfectly able to handle the situation," Kramer continued. "And once this slight glitch is overcome--"

"They may be able to help," Tunney cut in, eyes fixed on the table in front of him. This was probably the closest to an apology Rodney was ever going to get to hear from him, John guessed.

Surprisingly, Rodney skipped the obligatory gloating. "Slight glitch?" he repeated. "Slight glitch? You better prepare to kiss your money goodbye, because after this, there isn't going to be any more research on this project."

"Oh, you think so?" Kramer said acidly.

"Yes, I think so. Trust me on this."

"Gentlemen, let's focus on the problem at hand," Tunney interrupted, sounding determined all of the sudden. And that was by far the smartest thing John had heard him say all day.

"What are we waiting for, then?" John said.

Rodney stood. "Get us to the control room."

* * *

After ten minutes of – for lack of a more appropriate term – 'discussion' that went back and forth between Rodney and Tunney in the middle of high-end equipment and a number of hyper-nervous scientists, John had had just about enough.

"Rodney, obviously you've got a pretty good idea what the problem is. Why don't you go brief the others," he finally suggested.

"Huh?" Rodney looked at John, confused. "What?"

"Your colleagues? The rest of the highly skilled scientists in the building? I know you've gotten used to the approach by now, two heads thinking better than one?"

"That entirely depends on the individuals those heads are attached to," Rodney retorted.

John crossed his arms. "Let me put it this way: Can we afford not to use all resources at our disposal?"

Tunney's eyes went back and forth between them, an amused flicker in his still worried expression. "The colonel's right," he said. "We need all the help we can get. We've got to stop this before we all freeze to death."

Rodney snorted. "Oh, thank you for pointing that out. Otherwise I might have lost sight of our primary goal." But he got moving.

* * *

Kramer refused to let them inform the SGC, even after the first case of 'freeze lightning' (Rodney should never ever be allowed to name anything again) nearly killed a man. It was the most thoughtless, reckless, and idiotic course of action John had witnessed in a while, and given his track record, that was saying something.

And now, looking over this kindergarten that was thirty people pretending to be in scientific discussion, John was convinced more than ever that they needed the extra help the SGC would be able to provide.

"Guys," he yelled. "Guys! And, er, ladies, of course." They went silent. "This is getting ridiculous. You need to focus." John had seen his fair share of bickering scientists on Atlantis, but this was nothing like that. It was worse. Everyone on Atlantis was used to their lives being at stake, and they had adapted to work with the most efficient method of problem-solving. The combined efforts of two or more departments had saved the city from being invaded, or from exploding into smithereens, or from sinking to the bottom of the ocean almost on a weekly basis. (Whenever Rodney didn't single-handedly produce a solution, which wasn't quite as often as everyone seemed to believe.)

"If you don't figure this out, we're all going to freeze to death. So, play nice and concentrate on finding a solution!"

There was a stunned silence. As top scientists in their respective fields, these people probably weren't used to taking orders, John reminded himself. Either that, or the fact that everyone really could die in here hadn't actually sunk in before.

"Er, Rodney?" John said, leaving the floor to him.

Rodney blinked at him, twice. "Yes," he said, and then turned abruptly to indicate the chalkboard behind him. "This might seem counterintuitive at first--"

And then he started talking in big science words again. No, John really wasn't stupid, but 'maximized entropic potential', or 'relativistic approach to velocity fluctuations at the transition plane', or 'influence of time dilation on field stability' went entirely over his head.

John quietly faded into the background again and found himself leaning against a wall next to Kramer, who was watching him with a frown. "You're used to working with scientists," Kramer observed.

"You could say that."

"I imagine the experience is even worse in a military operation, when everyone else is bound to follow your orders without question."

"It's not. Not bad at all," John said. Jesus, Kramer had no idea what he was talking about. And anyway, John doubted that Kramer had met all that many people before who had dared to say 'no' to him – military or not. "Repeatedly not dying compensates for a lot of inconvenience," John added.

"They're capable," Kramer said, with an air of misplaced satisfaction.

"Maybe not capable enough," John said, voice hard, and faced Kramer directly. John wasn't trying to look threatening, but Kramer seemed spooked nonetheless. "When Rodney first tried to activate the bridge, a version of the bridge, he vastly underestimated its danger. It killed one of his co-workers, and in the end it almost killed the both of us, too. Rodney is the smartest person I know, and he hasn't been able to figure out what went wrong. And it wasn't for lack of trying. They--" John gestured at the room at large, "they are out of their depth here. Let me use your secure phone line, and I'm going to get us some back-up."

Kramer hesitated. "I have the greatest confidence that Dr. Tunney will--"

"Dr. Tunney stole his work. I'm sure, as a businessman you're capable of assessing who your best source for reliable information is, and then making an informed decision."

Kramer's eyes darted between John's face and Tunney and Rodney in the crowd, and John knew that he'd won this argument.

Only, it didn't do them any good. They found the communications room had been hit by freeze lightning – and god, John had to stop calling it that in his head.

The communications equipment was fried beyond repair. Or rather, frozen beyond repair.

"Dammit," John said, with feeling.

"I'm sorry," Kramer apologized, and that didn't do them any good either.

When John and Kramer got back to the control room, there were still scientists milling about everywhere. The air of impending doom that had been hanging over their heads since the first freezing beam strike had dialed up another notch. John was surprised that Rodney hadn't thrown them out by now.

Rodney didn't take the news well. Although, as usual, he handled bad news more gracefully when he already was at the center of a huge, we-could-all-die kind of problem. "What do you mean, it's been hit?" he asked, voice rising.

"Hit as in that it's freeze-dried now," John said. "We're on our own."

"Great," Rodney muttered. "Just great. I knew Malcolm would kill us all."

"I can hear you." But Tunney sounded more resigned than offended.

"Whatever," Rodney said dismissively and went back to staring at a computer screen.

"So," John asked, taking a look at the screen over Rodney's shoulder. It was filled with equations that looked, again, vaguely familiar. "What's the plan?"

"I'm working on it."

"You mean, you don't have a plan?"

"I didn't say that! I do have a plan! It's a long shot, and it's probably not going to work, anyway, and it's possibly going to kill everyone, too. But there you go, nothing new there, is it? The heating system is down, the containment field is already starting to fail, and we-- Oh, wait. The containment field." He snapped his fingers. John really liked when Rodney snapped his fingers. Odds were, the outline of a brilliant plan would follow.

"Right," Tunney said and grabbed a tablet from a workbench. "A cell phone signal might get through now. The field is weakest around here." He brought up a map of the building and pointed at a spot that was as far away from them as could possibly be.

"Good," Rodney said absentmindedly, already focused on the computer screen again.

John tried not to feel cheated because Rodney's finger-snap-worthy brilliant plan only solved their communication problem.

"It's a long walk. I'll go right now." Tunney fished his cell phone out of his pocket.

John snatched it away from him. "You're not going anywhere. This is your device. You're needed here." He could tell that Rodney was sorely tempted to point out how much he really didn't need any help at all. "I'll go make the call, and you fix this mess!" John grabbed the tablet from Tunney's unresisting fingers and a radio from the workbench and was almost at the door when Rodney's voice made him turn around again.

"John," Rodney said. "Good luck."

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm just going to make a phone call, Rodney."

Rodney fidgeted. "Okay, yes. But there's--"

"I'm no more likely to get hit by a freezing beam out there than you are in here."

"Freeze lightning," Rodney corrected automatically. Then his eyes widened, as if he hadn't given the relative safety of the control room much thought before.

"That's a stupid name, by the way," John said.

Rodney immediately pointed a finger at Tunney. "His idea."

"Right." Like John believed that for a second.

Rodney looked genuinely frightened – for himself or for John, it wasn't possible to distinguish between one or the other – so John gave him a little smile and said, "Good luck, Rodney," before he went out the door.

He might or might not have imagined Rodney shouting, "And don't get lost again!" after him. He chose to believe that was all his imagination.

* * *

Tunney hadn't been kidding about the long walk. By now, John would have given an arm and a leg for the gear he had been issued at McMurdo. His suit really wasn't made for sub-zero temperatures. And wasn't this the irony of ironies, that he was about to freeze to death in the middle of a goddamn desert?

"I could be sitting on a beach right now," he muttered to himself. It would have been warm, and sunny, and his biggest problem would have been sand sticking to him in uncomfortable places. He checked the phone – still no connection. He opened a door and stepped into the corridor Tunney had indicated. A few steps more, and John was rewarded with a flash of light from the phone and the name of the provider popping up on the display. "Yes," he said, in mostly silent triumph, and dialed.

Someone at the SGC picked up the phone, and John breathed a sigh of relief. He was two sentences into the introduction when he realized that only static answered him. "Goddammit."

Then, suddenly, something hit, with a shrieking noise and an icy draught, which John realized had to have been a freezing beam. It left him drenched in water, with his ears ringing, blinking at the frozen door – his only exit. That had been close. Really close. A few pipes had been hit right next to him, and they were still leaking ice-cold water, which slowly filled the corridor. John's teeth were already starting to chatter. Wet and cold wasn't a good combination. He went to check the door, but it really was frozen shut.

Unfortunately, John's clothes weren't the only thing that had gotten drenched. He tucked the useless phone away into his pocket and picked up the waterproof radio. "Rodney, come in."

After a moment, Rodney answered. "John? Did you talk to the SGC?"

"No, the connection wasn't good enough. I can't try again, because the phone got drenched. What the hell have you been doing?"

"The plan didn't go too well, and we-- Wait. Did you get hit by freeze lightning? Are you okay? John?"

"I'm fine, Rodney. I'm a little wet, my only exit is frozen shut, and there's water leaking into the corridor--"

"But otherwise, you're fine?!" Rodney said, his voice sounding a little shrill over the radio. "I don't believe you! Why--" John heard someone talk in the background. "Security is on the way to get you out of there," Rodney said. "Stay put. Try to stay warm."

"You don't need t-to tell me t-twice."

"And don't do anything stupid."

"Hey," John protested, but Rodney had already clicked off the connection.

Ten minutes later, when John's attempt of loosening a pipe to use it on the patch of ice on the door had merely resulted in a much bigger water leak, John wondered if this maybe qualified as 'something stupid'.

John tried to keep moving, as far away from the spray of water as possible, but he was starting to get drowsy. It took far too much effort just standing upright, though the ankle-high icy water was a good enough incentive to keep trying. He would have needed some distraction, some motivation to stay alert, but calling Rodney was out of question. Rodney had – how had he once put it? – he had bigger fish to fry.

Later – how much later, he had no idea – John drifted back into consciousness. He hadn't even been aware that he had lost it somewhere along the way. His entire body was mostly numb from the cold, but there was enough feeling left for it to ache like a bitch. And then there was-- that. He felt shockingly warm lips against his for a moment, and he knew instantly that they belonged to Rodney. If by smell, or telepathy, or, whatever-- He knew. And this was definitely not the mouth-to-mouth technique that Nurse Walker was teaching all Atlantis personnel during their regular mandatory first aid courses. John would have remembered.

He blinked his eyes open.

"John! Thank god, you're alive! I changed my mind. This is a date. Can this be a date? God, you're cold. You're really cold," Rodney babbled, stroking John's hair with one hand and clutching his arm with the other.

"Worst d-date ever," John said, with his teeth chattering and his body shaking and his lips too cold to form a smile.

"Oh," Rodney said, face falling. "Sorry. I-- Sorry."

"Rodney." Sometimes Rodney was just painfully dense. "K-kiss me again?"

Rodney looked alarmed all of the sudden. "Hey, you're not delusional from hypothermia, are you?"

Rodney's neck felt so very warm under the grip of John's hand, and the sensation of Rodney's lips on his was even better, and if it wasn't for the fact that John's clothes were practically frozen to his skin, John would have been perfectly content to just keep doing this for a while.

"Oh," Rodney said, when he finally moved back. He stroked his thumb over John's cheek, his eyes meeting John's, just looking. "Oh."

"Yeah," John said, and that really was more than enough relationship talk for one day. "I am k-kinda c-cold," he pointed out, when Rodney made no move to get up.

"Right," Rodney said. "Right. Of course."

As soon as John was on his feet, one arm slung around Rodney's neck for support, he saw it. "Rodney? What happened t-to the d-door?"

"Oh, that was me," Rodney said, in a strange mixture of embarrassment and pride. "You should have seen me. Not to brag or anything, but I wield a pretty mean fire axe."

"My hero," John said.

Rodney shot him an inquiring look and seemed to come to the conclusion that he wasn't being mocked. "I was motivated. Very motivated," he said. Then he flushed bright red. "To, you know, er, do our thing? Taking turns?"

John managed to smile with a face that still felt frozen solid. He squeezed Rodney's arm. "So, how d-did you get us out of t-trouble?" he asked. God, he was cold. It wasn't getting better, it was getting worse.

"I've got no idea if I've gotten us out of trouble yet. But since we haven't been hit by freeze lightning in the last couple of minutes, I'd say that we're probably safe. Let's go find out. On second thought, let's go find you some dry clothes and a doctor first."

John couldn't find it in him to protest against seeing a doctor, which was a good indicator that he really needed one. And he would have to take some time later to ponder the fact that Rodney had left the task of heroically saving the day in somebody else's less capable hands, so he could come and find John and practically carry him out of here.

"Actually," Rodney said thoughtfully, a while later, his arm tightening around John's waist, "I've had worse dates."

John grinned and wasn't surprised at all.

* * *

"Tell me again why I let you talk me into this?" Rodney yelled over the roaring engines of the small plane, pure terror in his voice.

"In exchange for the pleasure of my company for an extended period of time," John said into Rodney's ear. "Remember?" Rodney's back was warm against John's chest, even through layers of protective clothing. If only Rodney would stop fidgeting and squirming. It would make things a lot easier on so many levels.

"You know," Rodney shouted, "that almost sounds dirty now."

"Yeah. Great, isn't it?"

Rodney snorted. "I've thought about this. Us." He strained to turn around in the confinement of their gear far enough to look at John. Of course Rodney thought that now was the perfect time for that talk they didn't really need to have, ever. "I mean, obviously I haven't done this, before, with a man. And I had no idea, really no idea that we could be-- Okay, so yes, I can be a little dense sometimes. Jeannie tells me so, frequently. But I'd have gone with it, if you'd-- approached me. For a while now, I think."

It didn't sound at all like the declaration of love John suspected it was. He kissed Rodney, because he couldn't not, and because he liked the dazed look Rodney got afterwards, and because he knew Rodney would kiss back just as eagerly.

"But if I die because I jumped out of a plane on purpose, I'm going to kill you," Rodney added afterwards, breathlessly, but with conviction.

John didn't point out that, since this was a tandem jump, the threat completely lacked practicality.

"How often have you done this before, anyway?" Rodney shouted.

"A few times."

"How many is a few?"

The pilot turned around to signal them. "Come on," John said, "that's our cue."

John felt rather than heard Rodney mutter. "God. No. Nononono." They shuffled over to the open hatch, John steering and Rodney resisting.

"It's okay," John said and grabbed Rodney's hand, the one that wasn't currently holding on to the bulkhead of the plane for dear life. "This is going to be good. Promise."

"Okay, okay, fine," Rodney yelled against the rush of air from outside. "I fought Wraith with my bare hands! Well, not with my bare hands, but still! I almost drowned at the bottom of an ocean! I flew a spaceship out of an erupting volcano! This is nothing!"

"That's the spirit," John said, smiling.

Together, they jumped.

- end -

The Whole Story (tag for 5x15) // Lifted (tag for 5x17)