Chapter Text
“Sheppard.”
John looked up from his meal to spot General O’Neill standing by his table and moved to stand and salute when O’Neill waved him off.
“None of that,” O’Neill said, staring at John as he slowly sat back down.
“How can I help you, sir?” John asked, feeling his back straighten from the slump he had been in.
He had felt listless ever since the Ancients had kicked them off Atlantis, and while he would never fault Elizabeth for being excited to be able to stay, and he knew why she was staying, John still felt like some part of him was missing. It didn’t help that Rodney was off at some meeting he had been bitching about, and John had been aimless while they tried to find a place for a Lt. Colonel none had wanted in the first place.
“How are you settling in?”
“Sir?”
“Here, under the mountain. You’ve never served here, so how’s it going?” O’Neill asked, watching him with calm eyes that betrayed nothing.
“Uh, it’s going?” John said, not sure what the General was getting at. “I…well, they’re trying to find a place for me right now, so I don’t have much going on. My room is nice?”
O’Neill snorted at that. “They’re not nice. They’re functional.” O’Neill sat down. “You know, General Sellers is an old friend. You served under him, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know if served under him is the right phrase,” John said, thinking about the six torturous weeks he had spent working as Sellers aide-de-camp covering for someone who had been injured before they sent him back out. “And I was covering for someone else at the time. I don’t think I did that well.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know about that. He remembers you.”
John frowned. “He does?”
O’Neill nodded, leaned back in the chair, and tapped his fingers on the table. “He said that you were one of the best pilots he had ever seen, and if he could find some way to tap into that talent for flying and spread it around to other parts, you could easily make Colonel, probably even General if you were inclined.”
John didn’t know what to make of that. He didn’t know if it was an insult or a compliment, and so he settled for staying silent.
“It was a compliment, believe it or not. Ornery old bastard.”
“Oh.”
O’Neill leaned forward, braced his elbows on the table, and stared at John. “You’re going to need a haircut.”
Now John was confused. “Sir?”
“For DC.”
“DC?”
“Yes, while some of the regs regarding hair might be a little lax in the SGC, the Pentagon is not well known for their lax behavior. Especially Homeworld Command.”
John had a bad feeling about this. “Sir?”
O’Neill smiled at John. “Look, Sheppard. I need a new aide-de-camp, and you need something to do. So, it works out perfectly.”
John stared at O’Neill, trying not to think about how far away he’d be from Rodney, from the SGC, and away from the friends he had made on Atlantis. “I’m a Lt. Colonel,” John said, gasping for straws.
“And I’m a Major General. And this is the SGC; I think we can be a little bit lax on some of the rules,” O’Neill said, standing up and waving for John to join him.
John stood, feeling like he was in a daze, as he followed O’Neill out of the mess hall. He couldn’t get his mind away from how far away he’d be in DC, where going through the gate would be almost impossible, and flying would be even less so. Never mind that he’d be closer to his family, and he had no doubt he would run into his Dad or Dave while he was out there. He knew he didn’t have a choice; all he could do was try and make the best of it and hope that O’Neill would spend more time in the SGC now that Carter was in charge.
“But not my hair?” he finally asked.
O’Neill didn’t miss a beat. “Nope. Come on.”
Five minutes later, John was sitting in the chair, staring at the marine getting set up, eyeing the trimmers before he sighed. “Just buzz it,” he said, running a hand through his hair and trying not to let onto how upset he felt about the hair.
“No need to go that drastic,” O’Neill said from where he was leaning in the door frame. “High and tight will work just fine.”
For a second, John thought about telling the General how bad it looked on him, but he settled for running his hand through his hair one more time and relaxed as the marine got to work. Twenty minutes later, it was worth it as O’Neill tried to keep a straight face and failed, settling on concern as the marine kept trying to flatten one of the more stubborn cowlicks.
If John were a nicer person, he’d probably not find the marine's frustration amusing, but John was about to go and be a player in the dog and pony show, which had been one of the reasons he had wanted nothing to do with his family's business. But he was annoyed and a little mad he would be on the other side of the country.
“Buzz it, sir?” John asked, keeping a straight face.
O’Neill grimaced. “Yeah, Christ, Sheppard.”
John shrugged one shoulder as the marine picked up the clippers and got to work. Five minutes later, John ran both hands over his head, feeling the short bristles under his palms, and bit back the sigh. He stood up when the marine finished brushing the short hair off his body and ran both hands over his head again before he dropped his hands to his sides.
“Where to, sir?”
O’Neill watched him before he jerked his head to the side and started walking again. John fell into step a step behind him, following O’Neill to the elevator. They stopped as O’Neill hit the button for up before looking at John. “How often do you shave?” he asked, his eyes flicking back to John’s hair.
“Depends,” John said.
“On what?”
“What I can get away with.”
O’Neill rolled his eyes. “Air Force regs, so how often?”
“Three times,” John said with a sigh, elaborating when O’Neill eyed him. “Morning, around one in the afternoon, and before I sleep to make it easier the next morning. I’ll need to keep the hair cut up about every two weeks, but the cowlicks start appearing again after that."
“Well, that sucks for you,” O’Neill said dryly as the elevator arrived. “Right. I’ll be heading back to DC tomorrow night, giving you ample time to pack and say your goodbyes. You’ll need new uniforms, so pick up what you can from the Quartermaster. He should be expecting you.”
“Yes, sir.”
O’Neill watched him for a second before he took the tablet from under his arm and held it out. “Some reading I need you to do. Homeworld Command personnel, history, important players, and the like. It also has all of Davis’s plans.
“Davis, sir?”
“Colonel Paul Davis. He’s been aware of the SGC for a long time, hes my XO over at Homeworld. The man’s solid, has a good head on his shoulder and an insane ability to create plans you don’t think you’ll need, but then when we need a plan, he has one,” O’Neill explained, pausing and meeting John’s eyes.
John raised an eyebrow. “Always has a plan?”
O’Neill nodded. “He always has a plan, Sheppard. It’s creepy. There’s one in there about mutant butterflies taking over the SGC and honestly, I fully expect it to happen at some point. We had him tested multiple times to see if he was an Ancient who could see the future, but apparently, he’s just that good.”
“Right, sir,” John said, looking down at the tablet and back up at O’Neill. “His plans.”
“Don’t bother memorizing them, I think hes up to five hundred and twenty two, but read a few to get an idea. He’s also got a primer in there about people you’ll need to know about, where the best food is near the Pentagon as well as a couple apartments you might be interested in. Choose one and we’ll get it situated with whatever you need.”
O’Neill nodded and turned, stopping at the door and looking back at John. “Sheppard, this isn’t a punishment, okay?”
John nodded, keeping his face blank to keep his feelings regarding that statement. O’Neill might not think it was a punishment, but John felt like he had lost the sky and, in doing so, lost some part of himself. “Yes, sir.”
“We beam out at 1600.”
John took the tablet and wished it would explode. “I’ll be there, sir.”
Rodney didn’t know if he felt elation or fear as he burst through John’s door. “You would not believe what the fuck did they do to your hair?”
Rodney was not proud of how high his voice went as he stared at John and where his hair used to be. John sighed and straightened from where he was packing.
“Why are you packing?” he demanded, having enough self-awareness to kick the door shut behind him. “Did they kick you out? Are you being transferred? Who do I have to kill to stop this?”
Rodney knew he was being dramatic, but he had lost Atlantis. He had lost the one place that had felt like home to him, along with Ronon, Teyla, and everyone else there, and he wasn’t about to lose John either.
“Rodney, buddy, hey,” John said, stepping forward, reaching out, and hesitating for a split second before he grabbed Rodney’s forearms and shook him slightly. “I’m not kicked out. And I’m not technically being transferred.”
Rodney stared at John. “What? How does one not be not technically transferred?”
“O’Neill wants me as his aide-de-camp,” John said, letting go of Rodney’s arms and running a hand over his head.
Rodney tracked the motion, his fingers itching to reach out and see what it felt like, but part of him also wanted to keep his hands away to keep the sense memory of John’s hair moving through his fingers. He could feel his hands twitching by his sides, and he settled for shoving them into his pockets and staring at John.
“His aide-de-camp,” Rodney said. “As in DC?”
John nodded.
“Well….fuck,” Rodney said for lack of anything else to say. “I…fuck.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” John said, returning to packing the few things he had unpacked. Like Rodney, it was everything he had been using and nothing else. Rodney’s room was the same. Unpacking meant admitting defeat, and Rodney had grown used to winning. “We leave tomorrow night. I gotta make air force regs hence the haircut, and get a new electric razor.”
“Oh.”
Rodney didn’t know what to say. He settled for walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed next to John’s bag and watched as he shoved the last few things into his bag.
“Is O’Neill here often?” Rodney asked.
John snorted. “You think I know? I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I’m a Lt. Colonel.”
“Is that important?”
“It’s all rank based, he hasn’t got enough stars to get a Lt. Colonel normally, but apparently, this isn’t a punishment even though it feels like one,” John muttered, zipping the bag with enough force he pulled it off the bed so it thumped on the floor. “Fuck.”
John dropped onto the bed next to Rodney and dropped his head into his hands, scrubbing both hands over the back of his head. “I don’t know how often he’s here, especially since Colonel Carter is in charge of the SGC now, and he knows her.”
Rodney gave into the urge and curled a hand over the back of John’s neck and squeezed, feeling the tension in John’s neck like hard rocks. “I’m sure you’ll be back. And if not, I think I can make it out there. I don’t mind fabricating reasons I need to go and talk to O’Neill.”
John chuckled, but it sounded forced, so Rodney squeezed the back of John’s neck again before giving into the urge and slid his hand up, feeling the short, soft hair under his hand. He hated he liked how it felt.
“This is bullshit,” Rodney muttered, rubbing his hand over John’s head. “They took your hair.”
“You sound sadder about the hair than you do about the transfer,” John said, turning his head to meet Rodney’s gaze.
“The hair is the physical representation of everything shitty about this,” Rodney said, his hand still moving. “It’s a testament to bullshit.”
“Well, if you want to keep the physical representation of said bullshit, you could go and get the hair from the barber,” John offered.
Rodney scoffed. “I’ll leave the voodoo to Carson.”
That got John to laugh for real. “How about instead of talking about the separation, you tell me what got your panties in a twist.”
Rodney sighed and dropped his hand away. “So, Sam’s in charge of the SGC.”
“Yeah, cuz the Ancients are dicks and wouldn’t let anyone with a gene on the city, so it had to be Landry instead of O’Neill.”
“Right,” Rodney said. “So there’s an opening on SG-1.”
“And they want you?”
“They want me,” Rodney confirmed, thinking back to the awkward meeting he had just had with the rest of SG-1, Mitchell, Jackson, and Teal’c watching him with blank looks and Sam trying to make it look like it was a good idea, but Rodney knew it wasn’t. It was a bad idea.
“This is a bad idea.”
“Why?” John turned to face Rodney. “You do fine on AR-1.”
“Because that’s AR-1, not SG-1,” Rodney muttered. “Teal’c doesn’t like me. Mitchell is like the diet you, and Jackson is… well. We don’t always get along.”
“Because you keep calling his science bullshit,” John said, leaning in slightly. “And what do you mean, diet me?”
“I mean, he’s like you, but the shadow version. He’s you if you take all the interesting out. It’s like the Air Force cloned you and forgot to add a personality.”
“That’s a bit mean, isn’t it?”
Rodney crossed his arms over his chest. “No. I’m being honest.”
“Honestly mean.”
“So?”
“So, you didn’t think you could handle being on AR-1 when I first asked. You think I forgot the five-minute lecture on why it was stupid?” John asked. “Starting and ending with your brain is too important to be wasted by going off-world?”
Rodney crossed his arms and chose not to answer, remembering that rant and how terrified he had been when he had somehow said yes, despite his best intentions. John knocked his shoulder against Rodney’s.
“Point is, you’ll do fine. Just don’t call Jackson an idiot, do your best like you do with us, and you’ll be fine,” John said, squeezing Rodney’s knee.
“Easier said than done on all of those accounts,” Rodney muttered. “But I’ll try.”
“That’s all anyone can ask you to do.”
The silence between them stretched, but it was comfortable, and one Rodney didn’t feel the urge to fill. He turned his head to see John watching him, his face that scary blank that made it impossible for even Rodney to read him, and he hated it. He wanted John to always be an open book for him, even when no one else could.
“How are you?” Rodney asked.
It seemed to be the wrong thing to ask as John groaned and pitched forward, dropping his forehead on Rodney’s shoulder and letting out another groan. “I won’t be good at this.”
“What happened to do the best?”
“That’s for you, out there, doing things. Not for me stuck in an office micromanaging O’Neill, so he gets to where he needs to be,” John muttered.
“Wait…you’re his secretary?” Rodney demanded.
“What did you think an aide-de-camp was?”
“Like an XO!” Rodney hissed.
“That’s Colonel Davis,” John said, lifting his head. “It’s not a punishment.”
“You sure?”
John nodded. “It’s a positive thing for me, career-wise.
“How?”
“Because I’m going to go to a lot of very hush-hush meetings with a lot of very powerful people. Even though I’m a higher rank than I should be, it is a good thing. If I don’t fuck it up, it’ll open up a lot of doors in my career,” John said, his lip curling into a sneer.
“Wanna tell your face that?”
John stood and began to pace. “I hate politics. I grew up around this, so I know how to play the game, but I hate it. It’s all fake people with their fake smiles. No one says anything meaningful, and no one gets stuff done.”
“Well, it’s the SGC. I sincerely doubt it’s gonna be the same as everything else,” Rodney said, seeing the agitation in John and frowning. “Wanna tell me the real problem?”
“That is the real problem.”
“Uh-huh.”
There was a beat before John stopped, faced Rodney, and planted his hands on his hips. “My ex-wife works for Homeland Security, and my brother and my Dad are big in the DC scene, so there’s a strong chance I’ll run into all of them.”
It took a moment for Rodney’s brain to come back online after that bomb. “You’re married?”
“The ex in ex-wife kinds denotes the fact that it didn’t work out.”
“Whatever. Were married. Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“Because it’s not relevant. I haven’t talked to her in almost six years, and I’d like to keep it that way,” John said, crossing his arms and looking oddly vulnerable without his hair sticking up at all angles.
Rodney hated it. He never considered himself a sentimental person, but he’d also never thought he’d have friends like John, Teyla, and Ronon. “I can give you some talking points on how to make sure women never talk to you again?” Rodney offered. “My greatest hits from 1981 to today.”
“1981?”
“Mary Burke, I told her she’d be pretty when she got braces, and she slapped me,” Rodney said.
“McKay!”
“Okay, I know, but it sounds worse than it is!”
“It’s pretty bad.”
Rodney opened his mouth to defend himself but then sighed. “So? Want some talking points?” he asked, spreading his hands wide.
John stared at him for a moment before he snorted and dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t believe I’m going to miss you.”
“You’re not going to another galaxy,” Rodney said softly, standing up and stepping closer to John. “We can talk on the phone and stuff.”
The thing between them was new, born out of the fears that had been dragged to light on M1B-129. Rodney’s side had healed, and he didn’t blame John. But he had woken up a few nights in a row to John coming to check on him, face drawn from nightmares of losing teammates because of something he had done. No amount of consoling had managed to make John sleep through the night until Rodney had dragged him into his bed and forced John under the covers. They had both slept through the night. One night led to two, two to a few weeks, and then John kissed him the morning after Rodney had broken up with Katie. Breaking up had been easier than explaining why he slept with his team leader every night, and Rodney didn’t want to lose whatever was happening between them.
Any more than he wanted to lose it now.
“Sure we can," John said with a tired smile.
“Sound more enthused,” Rodney said, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you don’t wanna, we don’t have to. It was Atlantis. This was Earth. I get it.”
John was next to him a second later, his hands resting on Rodney’s arms. “Hey, I want to. I just don’t know how often. You’re going to be off-world; I’ll be busy.”
“I’m no stranger to voice mail tag,” Rodney said, glancing up at John.
John pressed their foreheads together. “Me either.”
Rodney leaned in and kissed John before he could talk himself out of it, pulling back quickly. He knew where they were, and the pressure on John’s shoulders, and Rodney didn’t want to be another weight. “We’ll make it work. We survived a lot worse on Atlantis. SG-1 and DC don’t even compare.”
“Kinda feels like it’s still draining the life out of me,” John said.
Rodney grimaced and spread his hand over John’s chest where the feeding mark scar sat. He didn’t need to say anything else.
John rested his hand on top of Rodney’s and squeezed. “I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Seriously.”
“Uh-huh.”
John rolled his eyes, rubbing his thumb over the back of Rodney’s knuckles. “I’ll be fine.”
Rodney stared at him before he sighed and shook his head. “There’s no way to be fine after what you went through.”
“And yet, I am.”
“And I’m a fucking unicorn.”
“Horny?”
Rodney scowled. “Don’t make light of this,” he snapped, stepping away from John, stopping when John’s hand shot out and caught his wrist.
“Hey, no. Look. I’m not making light of it, but…I feel fine. I’m sleeping fine, so I don’t know what else you want me to do?” John asked, squeezing Rodney’s wrist. “Have nightmares?”
Rodney slumped. “No, nothing like that. I just…who’s got your back in DC? Huh? O’Neill? I suppose he’s not bad, but if something goes to shit, who will you fall back on? Ronon and Teyla aren’t here, and I’ll be in Colorado or fuck knows where else. So, who’s watching your back?”
“I’ll be watching my own back,” John said, holding up a hand before Rodney could say anything. “I grew up around this. I know what to watch for, and I’ll be fine. It’s DC politics. It’s not like we’re dealing with the Genii, the Dagans, or anything like that. It’s just DC.”
Rodney crossed his arms over his chest and glared at John, knowing better than to point out how bad politics could be. It almost made Rodney want to remember the Genii invasion fondly. “You better watch your back.”
“I will.”
Rodney continued to glare, trying to figure out whether John was telling the truth before he sighed and slumped. “Fine. Want help packing? I think I have an electric razor I’m not using.”
“Yeah, I could use the company. I also need to get a cell phone.”
“They didn’t give you one?”
“No?”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Come on, razor, phone, we can grab dinner and finish packing. Maybe if we’re lucky, we can watch a movie we haven’t seen a hundred times and eat something not out of cold storage.”
“I also need to get my new uniforms.”
“Hair cut and a uniform? You sure O’Neill isn’t trying to assassinate you using the Air Force regulations?” Rodney asked as he walked to the door.
John snorted. “I think O’Neill could stab in the middle of the mess hall, and most people wouldn’t even look up.”
“Maybe before we came back,” Rodney said, knocking his arm against John before he pulled open the door. “Now? Now you might have some people glaring at O’Neill.”
“Just glaring?”
“Uh-huh,” Rodney said, leading John down the hall. “Depends on where Teal’c is.”
“Off-world, watching your back,” John said.
Rodney hit the elevator button and turned to look at John, taking in the crossed arms and glare on his face. It made Rodney bite back a smile. “He’s not going to kill me. I’d be surprised if he said more than a few words to me.”
“They have your back, right?” John asked, keeping his arms crossed even as he stepped closer, glaring at Rodney.
Rodney nodded. “I know how to go off-world. You, Ronon, and Teyla made sure of that. Ford too. I can handle myself. Even without the three of you there. Promise.”
Anytime Rodney thought about Ronon and Teyla, he felt an ache in his chest. He didn't realize how much he missed them until they were in another galaxy, and couldn't talk to them. The only consolation he had was the knowledge that Elizabeth was there, and she'd keep an eye on them.
“Call me every time you get back?” John asked, stepping into the elevator.
Rodney waited for it to close before he reached up and rubbed a hand over John’s buzzed head. “Promise. You too, yeah? Even if it’s just boring bullshit.”
“Deal.”