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Rodney dreams he is Wile E. Coyote with anvil after anvil slamming onto his head. He wakes up to a throbbing headache, nausea, and unfamiliar bedding.
“What the…”
It’s obscenely bright, but he manages to squint and take in his surroundings. On the far wall is Ronon’s treasured painting with Satedan warriors. It’s right next to his impressive display of knives. On the side table, Rodney sees two empty glasses. The room smells distinctly of Genii alcohol.
What the hell is he doing in Ronon’s bed?
It’s nearly impossible to think with all the jackhammers in his head and the many elephants balancing precariously on his temple, but he manages to replay the night’s events.
Coming to check on Ronon.
Agreeing to a drink. Thinking it would be beer and not extremely alcoholic poison.
Ronon talking about Sateda and worrying about betraying Melena.
Ronon telling him that he’s hot? That he has a nice butt?? Seriously, what the…?!?
Oh…and the deal for Ronon to propose to Amelia and Rodney to confess his love to Sheppard.
No no no no. Surely Ronon couldn’t hold him accountable to such a promise made while inebriated? Could he?
He manages to sit up without hurling, a feat he’s rather proud of given the circumstances. His neck refuses to turn. His back is howling complaint after complaint at him.
Ronon’s dimmed the room and closed the curtains, but it still feels painfully bright. He manages to glance around just long enough to confirm Ronon is nowhere to be seen. He does, however, hear rustling sounds from the bathroom. He catches sight of the clock. Each digit is horribly blurred but he manages to make them out with great effort. 1425 hours.
1425 hours?!?
That can’t be right. It’s midafternoon. He was supposed to be geared up and ready to go eight hours ago.
Wait. No.
John called off the mission.
Regardless, Rodney would be expected to at least show up to the lab. Why did no one wake him up?
And why does he still feel so awful? Water, food, walking, and long sleep should have taken care of the worst of a hangover. He’s definitely not still drunk, but the room is spinning and his stomach feels like it’s competing on a tumbling team?
This sucks so bad. There was a reason he swore never ever again to drink that shit. So why had he?
Oh, because Ronon asked him to. Because Ronon clearly needed a friend and Rodney couldn’t leave him like that. All melancholy and what not.
Groaning, Rodney pushes himself to the edge of the bed and into a seating position. Since no one’s bothered to call him, John must have added him to the off duty list for the day. Which is a record for him. Two personal days in a row. He never has time for those. When he does take a break, it’s always for medical leave.
“Hey,” Ronon says, emerging from the bathroom, shirtless. Rodney’s seen Ronon naked before, as is the nature of off-world teams, but damn…those pecs…the muscles.
He mistakenly turns his neck. Tendrils of hot flames shoot down his spine. He manages to only cry a little. The last thing he wants is to make Ronon feel bad for last night.
“Sorry about…um…yeah.” He can’t think so he gestures toward the bed.
“Didn’t want you to sleep alone. Not when that drunk.”
“Probably wise. There’s a reason Genii hooch is highly discouraged.”
“You remember anything?”
“Yes, and I’m not going to be held to any ridiculous deals that may or may not have been made when I was completely and totally wasted.”
Ronon studies him a moment then laughs. He reaches for three knives from the sleeves on the wall and slips them into his hair. Then removes two more, placing them in his boots.
“If you don’t hold up your end, I won’t hold up mine,” Ronon says.
“Seriously? Why not? You love Amelia. You want to propose. Do it. That has nothing to do with me and Sheppard.”
“Guess my happiness is in your hands then.”
“That is so unfair! You’re just manipulating the situation to make me talk to Sheppard, trying to make me feel guilty if I don’t.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“I’m not telling him.”
“Then I’m not proposing,” Ronon says evenly, attaching his side holster.
“That’s ridiculous!”
Rodney glares.
Ronon shrugs.
“Oh, wait. Are you just using me as an excuse to chicken out?” Rodney asks.
“I’m not poultry.”
“I mean you’re acting like a coward. You’re too scared to propose to Amelia, so you’re going to put all the blame on me.”
Ronon growls. “I’m no coward.”
“But you’re acting like one.”
“You’re the one who spent six years refusing to admit your feelings.”
“So, what is this then? You’re scared and you want me to go first?”
“It would help.”
“Yeah? Well, it would help me if you went first.”
“Don’t want to.”
“Neither do I!”
Rodney throws his arms in the air then winces. His neck flares again and he can’t help but cry out this time. Oh god, his head hurts so much and his whole body is sore. Ronon is a blur that keeps moving in and out of focus. He just wants to lie down and sleep away the rest of the day, but it’s already midafternoon and he really should be getting up and not having this infantile game of ‘not it’!
Rodney staggers to his feet, bracing himself on the bed. He doesn’t have time for this. Surely something needs his attention right now.
“We made a deal,” Ronon says.
“I was drunk!”
“Still a deal.”
Rodney pushes past Ronon and into the bathroom. He waves his hand over the crystal panel. There’s a familiar ringing sound as the toilet spins around from its wall alcove and comes to a stop in front of him. At first, he’s not sure which is more pressing, the need to pee or the need to hurl. His bladder, however, quickly shouts its opinions on the matter.
He manages to keep everything down. He borrows a toothbrush and mouthwash. Finally, he combs down his hair and calls it good enough. He’s as groomed as he can get before heading back to his quarters. He heads back into the room.
“You should eat,” Ronon says. Ronon’s holding out an Athosian approximation of jerky. “Been too long.”
“Oh, right. Low blood sugar. Of course. I would have thought of that but, well, hangover.” He manages to chomp down despite the tough texture and disgusting smell.
“Make you a new deal,” Ronon says.
“No, no deals.”
“How about a game then.”
“A game?”
“I learned it from Amelia. Truth or Dare.”
Rodney practically chokes on the jerky. He clears his throat, shaking his head.
“Oh no…not happening.”
“I dare you to tell Sheppard.”
“Nope.”
“Double dare you to kiss him.”
“What?!? No!”
“That way if I’m right and he likes you, he’ll kiss you back. Then you’ll know. And if you’re right, and he doesn’t, then you can just tell him it was a dare.”
“We’re not teenagers at a sleepover.”
“It’s a good plan. You can dare me to.”
“You can’t propose on a dare. If she says no, and you say it was a dare, then she’d dump you. I’m bad with people, but even I know that much.”
“You ask Sheppard first, and then I’ll ask Amelia. That’s the terms.”
Ronon hands him water. Rodney realizes he’s being taken care of again and it feels…nice. His team always watches out for him and him for them. In it together and all that jazz. Oh…
In it together.
He gets what Ronon is doing. Asking Rodney for help with this while also helping Rodney out. Even if Rodney doesn’t want that help.
“You are seriously double daring me to kiss Sheppard?”
“Yup.”
“That’s insane.”
“It’s not.”
“Why?”
“Because you deserve to be happy.”
Rodney grumbles, massaging his neck. How he hates sleeping on anything that isn’t his prescription mattress.
He thinks of hazel eyes and racing cars down hallways. He thinks of John's nonchalant poses when he’s worried. He thinks of the best years of his life, adventuring together, and how often he wanted to tell John everything. To kiss him. To melt in his arms. To surrender to his touch.
It would be everything.
“Fine. I’ll do it. But it’s on your head when he drags me to the infirmary.”
“You should go there anyway. You look awful.”
“Just low blood sugar.”
“Maybe. Look sick.”
“Gee, I wonder why that is?”
“Sorry. Shouldn’t have poured you so much.”
Rodney’s trying to figure out how best to get his feet into his boots without falling over when the door chimes. He freezes and then glances up at Ronon. No no no. It can’t be? Can it?
Not now. Please.
Ronon smiles knowingly then waves his hand over the door panel. It slides open and sure enough John’s standing there, grinning despite his obvious concern—his hazel eyes never lie, even when he feigns indifference.
“You two live together now?” John asks.
“Har har,” Rodney says.
“Did you just wake up?”
“I’m allowed to sleep in. Did you want something?” Go away, Rodney thinks. Not now. Not here.
“You missed three meals,” John says, his grin fading.
“Yeah, Ronon gave me some jerky. I’m not so stupid as not to eat, and I’m going to the cafeteria next.”
“Not yet,” Ronon says. “I’m headed out. You can talk here.”
Damn.
Rodney gives his best ‘ cold showers for a week’ warning glare, but Ronon puts his finger on his nose before slipping out the door. Who the hell taught him the signal for ‘not it’?
“We should go,” Rodney says, but John blocks the way out.
“Ronon said you needed to tell me something.”
“He’s mistaken.”
“He told me not to let you weasel out of this.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“He’s not. But he’s clearly worried about something.”
“Maybe.”
“So you called off work yesterday to get drunk. Am I getting that right? Then you slept in until, what, 1400 hours? In Ronon’s quarters?”
“Something like that.”
“And you expect me to believe everything’s fine?”
“Ronon needed a friend. Not the other way around.”
“So then what do you need to tell me?”
“It’s nothing.”
“McKay…”
Normally Rodney would answer defiantly with Colonel , but the rank doesn’t seem to fit right now for an answer. And damn the room is still spinning. Nothing is in focus. He feels like shit. This is so stupid. He just wants to go eat and then slink back to his quarters.
John’s waiting for him to respond, but Rodney’s just not sure what to say. He tilts up his chin but then quickly lowers it.
The John blur is fading in and out. Rodney’s neck is screaming, and he feels not unlike a guilty suspect locked in a torture chamber. He needs to get out of here, and if there’s only way for that to happen…
“Fine! You really want to know?”
Rodney braces himself and then summons his courage. He’s faced hordes of Wraith and saved Atlantis from infiltrating Genii during a hurricane. He can handle one ill-advised kiss and imminent rejection. He can do this for Ronon’s sake.
He leans in and pecks John’s lips. His cheeks burning, he quickly pulls away. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. He actually did it.
“What the hell…?” John says, taking a step back. He brushes his hand against his lips then presses the back of his wrist to Rodney’s forehead.
Rodney ducks away from John’s frozen hand.
John’s eyes are wide, worried. This was such a bad plan. So stupid.
“Sorry, that was a dare! Ronon double dared me!” Damn, that sounds so pathetic. His heart is beating so fast. He’s surely having a heart attack. And his head! Oh his head is swimming and swimming. Aching. This is bad. This is so catastrophically bad.
Why did he listen to Ronon?
Sheppard says nothing. He grabs hold of Rodney’s left forearm, pulling him away and out the door. He forces Rodney to follow as though John’s a security escort and Rodney’s in a hell of a lot of trouble.
“Seriously, I know it’s stupid. We were inebriated. Maybe I still am because everything refuses to stop spinning.”
They’re in the transporter now. Ugh! John presses the button for the infirmary floor. See! Rodney said this was going to happen didn’t he? Ha! Called it! Now he’s going to be run through a zillion tests and it’s all Ronon’s fault!
“You’re on fire,” Sheppard says as the lift door opens.
“Fire?” Rodney asks.
“You practically burned my lips with that fever of yours. You look awful.”
“Wait, what?” Rodney asks again, his thoughts stopping any coherent words from breaking through.
The infirmary isn’t far from the transporter so they're already at the doors, John escorting him in and then to a bed.
“Sit!” he orders. Rodney complies, desperately trying to find his bearings before he covers the floor in half-digested jerky.
“Something’s wrong with him,” John says as Marie makes her way to the bed. “Fever. Headache. Confusion. And he’s moving weirdly. Stiff.”
Rodney’s relieved he doesn’t specifically mention ill-conceived kisses.
“Nauseated. Dizzy,” Rodney adds. He curls onto the bed as Marie begins taking his vitals. “Drunk.”
“You’re not still drunk,” John says. Rodney’s eyes are firmly closed, but he can hear the amusement in John’s tone.
Rodney mumbles through the thermometer that’s shoved in his mouth. “Hungover then. Ronon’s fault.”
Marie pulls the thermometer out of his mouth and says, “40.1”.
“Oh for the love of…Drunk, hungover, and sick. This is hell. Wait. That’s high! As in really high!”
“It’s not that high,” John mutters. His hand falls on Rodney’s shoulder, offering comfort while giving a clear order to calm down with an added you’ll be fine which means John knows it’s high and is worried.
Rodney groans. Except maybe this is good in a way. He can just blame the whole kissing thing on the fever. Can’t blame a man whose brain is frying, right?
The infirmary must be wanting for patients because suddenly there’s a lot of nurses and two doctors—is that Beckett?—swarming him. Asking questions. Placing IVs. Taking blood. Rushing him to the scanner. It’s all happening so fast and he’s not sure who’s saying what or why, but Teyla’s sweet voice is there telling him that he’s not alone. When did she get there? Is that Ronon clasping his shoulders?
He’s lying in a bed in an isolation room, but no memory of arriving here. The blood pressure cuff is pressing into his arm, loud and uncomfortable. It’s so damn bright even though the lights are off, so he closes his eyes.
Now Sheppard’s holding his hand and everyone else is gone.
This is the worst hangover ever, but on a triple dose of steroids. Can anvils please stop plummeting onto his head? Can the roadrunner stop running circles around him? Why is everything turning purple and looming? Yes, John, looming! Make them stop!
“He’s a wee bit out of it,” he hears Carson say. At least it’s Carson. The doctor only visits once in a while to help out, but Rodney has always preferred his care over Jennifer’s. Especially after…well…at least the end was amicable and they’re still friends.
John’s saying something but it doesn't make sense at all. It sounds like, “Eat your vegetables, Meredith,” and it comes out in his mom’s annoyed, snappish voice. Now broccoli are joining the dance on his head with loud loud drums that pound pound all night.
He’s not sure how long he’s in and out for. Sometimes he knows it’s the infirmary but sometimes he’s sure he’s on a Wraith hive ship or trapped working in Area 51, racing to save the world from a fleet of half-sharks, half-mechs who want to rob the Earth of blue jello.
Eventually, words start to make more sense. He manages to catch a few here and there while Teyla, Ronon, Radek, and John all take turns at his bedside talking to him. He’s still too out of it to answer, but he picks up on the bits and pieces from the docs. Meningitis from a Pegasus bacteria. Apparently his throat had been infected with some bacteria, making him more susceptible. So not the hooch after all, but maybe the alcohol made it all worse. Treatment easily findable in the database, at least. He’s pumped full of antibiotics, fluids, pain meds. Ha! Pain meds! Then explain his screaming headache and growling neck!
“They’re doing what they can,” John says. Rodney has a habit of speaking aloud when he’s thinking, so it’s not that much of a surprise John is responding.
“It hurts,” Rodney manages.
“I know. Carson says it will for another few days, but it will get better.”
Rodney manages to keep his eyes open. It’s bright, but not as bright as it’s been. He can stand to look around. Surprisingly, his neck allows him to. He notes John’s hair is twice as disheveled as he’s seen it on a bad day. His wrinkled uniform reeks.
“Do us all a favor and take a shower,” Rodney says.
“I will. Soon,” John answers. He offers Rodney a straw from which Rodney wants to sip greedily, but he reluctantly takes it slow.
It’s a far too long time later when Carson and Jennifer declare Rodney is healing well and ready to leave the infirmary in a few days. It’s a relief because infirmary beds are the worst and he’s so damn tired of being sick all the time.
John visits the most, taking far too much time to sit by Rodney’s side given his responsibilities to the city. He doesn’t say much. Just brings games and movies.
He catches sight of soft lips. Rodney blushes, remembering the moments before he was unceremoniously dragged to the infirmary. Oh shit…
“What is it? Should I get Carson?” John asks, leaping to his feet.
“No, nothing like that. Just…No no no. I just remembered. You know.”
“The dare?” John tries.
“Yeah.”
John shuffles, his index finger pressing to his lips before dropping. Rodney moans. How much he wants to feel those lips pressed against his own. Not a peck. Not a silly dare. But a real, actual kiss.
“Ronon double dared you to kiss me?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“You got drunk, did a slumber party in his quarters, and played Truth or Dare? Really?”
“It’s not what it sounds like.”
“It sounds like he dared you to kiss me, and you were so drunk that you agreed? Then feverish and confused, you actually saw it through.”
Oh, yeah, fever. He can blame the fever. That’s a good idea. Definitely better than the truth that he’s wanted to kiss John for years and years now, holding himself back only because he knew for sure John didn’t reciprocate.
Rodney doesn't manage to say any of this aloud. He just makes a sad sort of groaning sound.
John shuffles. He pours more water. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. His fingers dance on his belt. Then suddenly he grows still, oddly motionless.
“Did you want to?” he asks so quietly Rodney can barely hear him.
“Want to what?”
“To kiss me.”
John’s ears flare red.
Rodney must still be hallucinating or confused or something. The question is so unlike John and so unexpected that Rodney’s more convinced the Road Runner really was throwing anvils at him. It’s more believable than John Sheppard asking him if he…if he…oh, wow…If he wanted to kiss him? Really?!?
Rodney gulps. He could feign a need for sleep, dodge the question and hope John never again feels the urge to ask it… but he doesn’t. After all, for John to ask…
Ronon said Rodney and John liked each other. He was right that Rodney liked John. Could he somehow be right about the converse?
Dare Rodney hope?
Rodney remembers John tossing off the balcony. He remembers firing his weapon at the Wraith to save John. He remembers drinks on the pier and movie nights spent sitting as close together as Rodney dared but wanting to be so much closer.
He remembers lightly pecking John’s lips, the relief and panic that quickly ensued.
“Yes,” Rodney finally manages. “I did. I know that sounds really messed up because we’re best friends. I don’t want to scare you off. I don’t know what else to say. I just…I wanted to, okay. Don’t rub it in or be mean about it or anything. Okay?’
“You wanted to,” John repeats numbly. His index finger is back on his lips while his hazel gaze falls on Rodney.
“Yes. I’m sorry. Ronon thought you felt the same. I knew you didn’t. I shouldn’t have. I’m—”
John leaps forward, his wide, hazel eyes screaming panic, panic, panic. His lips press against Rodney’s. Damn, they’re warm and soft and welcoming. They taste of cherry lip balm, which Rodney can’t help but feel amusing, even in the circumstance.
At first Rodney freezes, unsure what to make of the sudden contact. John doesn’t do touch. John doesn’t like Rodney. John certainly doesn’t kiss him.
But John is.
Rodney kisses back, brushing his tongue gently against John’s bottom lip. He uses his IV laden hand to pull John closer.
Wait!
Shit!
“We can’t do this!” Rodney cries.
John pulls back, not even trying to pretend he’s not hurt by the sudden dismissal.
“Why the hell not?” John demands.
“Hello, military! You can’t do that.”
“You’re worried about DADT?”
“Yes! Shouldn’t I be?”
“It’s getting repealed,” John says. “Until then, no one here is going to say anything.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, it was in the last datastream. You were kind of out of it at the time. Accusing me of trying to toss anvils at you or something?’
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
“So we can kiss?” Rodney asks.
“Yeah, we can. I mean, if you want to. Not because of a dare.”
“I want to.”
“Yeah, well…I, you know…want to, too?”
“Really?” Rodney asks. He doesn’t mean to sound so disbelieving, but this is John. John! The hot military leader could have anyone he wanted, and somehow he wants Rodney? No…this makes no sense whatsoever.
“Yes, Rodney, really.” John looks so sincere that Rodney doesn't dare disagree.
He presses the button to push his bed up into a seated position.
“I’ve liked you for a while now,” Rodney admits. “Like a long while.”
“Me too. And you scared me shitless with this latest act of yours.”
“What act?”
“Almost dying! Stop it.”
“Stop it? Seriously. Do you know how you sound?”
John’s hand entwines with Rodney’s. He’s breathing hard, staring at Rodney, speaking without words. I need you here. I need you alive.
“I think we should kiss again,” Rodney manages.
“Uh…”
Rodney doesn’t dare give a chance for John to back away. He locks their lips. John kisses back greedily, assuaging any fear Rodney might have that this isn’t real. When they finally break free again, Rodney is breathless and tired.
“I should let you sleep,” John says.
“No, stay. Please.”
John hesitates but takes a seat back on the chair.
“We deserve to be happy,” Rodney says.
“What?”
“It’s what Ronon said. It’s why he dared me. He said we deserved to be happy. I think maybe he’s right.”
John doesn’t answer. Rodney’s not surprised. It’s not exactly his way—to talk feelings out. It’s a miracle Rodney’s managed to get this much from him already.
Rodney continues, “My sister thought I should marry Katie because it was my only chance to be happy. And Katie was great and fun, but she…she wasn’t you. She didn’t get me the way you do. Jennifer was wonderful while it lasted, but we weren’t the right fit. I started thinking maybe my sister was right, and I’d spoiled my chance. Maybe I didn’t even deserve happiness, you know? And I’m willing to bet you sometimes feel the same. The way you get through each day, pushing your feelings away, like you’re afraid they’ll poison you. It’s sad and not at all fair. You deserve better. Great, I’m babbling again, aren’t I?
“It’s good. Means you’re feeling better.”
“My head’s no longer exploding. It’s nice.”
“See. That’s good.”
“I more than like you, you know? As long as we’re telling the truth and all that.”
“Yeah?” John’s voice breaks. He taps his right finger on his pants.
“Yeah. I hope I’m not reading this whole thing wrong and about to put my foot in my mouth again. I have a habit of that, as you know. But…well…what I’m trying to say is that I’ve loved you for a long time now. From the first time we decided to test out a device and you lit up like a kid getting the best Christmas present. There’s never really been a time where I’ve known you and didn’t wish I could kiss you. So while Ronon forges his new path with Amelia, I’m glad he’s pushing me to do this.”
“Wait, what’s Ronon doing with Amelia?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell you? He better not have chickened out!”
“On what?”
“Wait, are you just deflecting so you don’t have to answer my questions?”
“Was there a question in there?”
“Yes, clearly.”
“So what’s the question then?”
“Do you love me?” Rodney waves his hands around, allowing them to say ‘obviously’ for him.
John chokes. “What?”
“You like me. I got that. It’s wonderful and I don’t mean to push or anything. I just want to understand where we stand. Where we’re starting from, if you will. I love you. Do you love me?”
John blinks three times, his hands shaking as though he’s defusing a bomb.
“You’re not supposed to ask that.”
“I’m not?”
“No. It’s supposed to come up naturally in conversation. At some point, while we’re having dinner on the pier, I’m supposed to lean in and say ‘We’re good’.’”
“We’re good?”
“It means…well…you know.”
“That you love me.”
“Sure.”
“I don’t think it means that.”
“It could.”
Rodney rolls his eyes, laughing despite his attempts not to.
“So what you’re saying is yes?”
“I’m saying ‘We’re good’.”
“You are so pathetic sometimes. You know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
John leans in again and kisses Rodney before saying, “I do actually have to go. Staff meeting.”
It’s not until that evening when Ronon shows up, settles into the next chair, and says, “Heard you kissed.”
“What?”
“You and Sheppard. You kissed.”
“We did, but how did you hear that?”
“I could just tell. He’s had a goofy smile all day.”
“Really?” Rodney asks, blushing and smiling as though the world were made of blue jello and he wasn’t in the infirmary.
“Yup. I was right.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’ll be lording that over me for weeks to come. Now it’s your turn.”
“Too hard.”
“Too hard?” Rodney turns to Ronon, examining him for any clues that he’s somehow missed something. “Since when is anything too hard for you?”
“Since this.”
“Oh no no no no.You can’t squirrel out now. I did my part, you do yours. I mean, assuming you want to, and you think it’s a good call. You can’t beg off just because you’re scared.”
Ronon growls. “What if she doesn’t want the same?”
“Do you think that’s a possibility?”
“Not really. She’s mentioned it. That she wants more.”
“And you?”
“She’s my happy.”
“Then do it. If I can kiss Sheppard, then you can propose to Amelia. Anyway, it’s partly your fault I’m in here. You owe me.”
Ronon grunts and actually looks sheepish.
“Oh, no, “ Rodney says. “I didn’t mean that. I was just trying to…It’s not your fault at all. Things just happen. I just thought it might help convince you to try. I’m so bad with people.”
“I’m sorry about all this. Landing you here.”
“Again, not your fault.”
“Maybe,” Ronon says. “I’ll do it, though. Talk to Amelia. Promised I would. Not just to you but also to Melena.”
“So what are you doing here then? Go. Scat. There’s no time like the present.”
“No. Gotta do it right. Plan it out.”
“Oh, that’s probably a good idea. I should have thought of that.”
“You never would have. Would have kept putting it off.”
“Probably true.”
“This way you kissed him. Glad it’s working out.”
“Yeah. Me too. Thanks for that, by the way.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for being there.”
“Anytime.”
Rodney eases back onto his pillow and stares at the infirmary ceiling. He imagines kisses and touch. Words set free. Warmth and joy.
Ronon leaves, saying he’ll be back soon.
Teyla enters next. She grabs hold of his hand while toddler Torren holds her other. “It is good to see you are improving,” she tells him.
Rodney smiles back at her and his nephew. They are all on new paths but still a team, still together. It’s special and new, but familiar and home.
“I can see you and John have talked,” Teyla says. “I am happy for you both.”
“You can see it?” Rodney asks skeptically.
“Yes. You are both so happy. Such a weight lifted from your shoulders. I only wish you had lifted it sooner.”
“Well, no time like the present they say.”
“This is true,” Teyla says. She sits with Torren as they tell him about their day. Then Ronon and John return, each carrying trays for dinner. Amelia and Kanaan follow. Rodney forces himself to stay awake despite his rebellious eyes that are determined to close. There’s no way he’s going to miss this time all together.
John scoots toward Rodney, sitting on his bed and holding his hand. Rodney stares at their hands for a moment, trying to process. Not only is John touching, but he’s touching here . With Rodney. With others around. It’s as much of an announcement of dating as it gets and suddenly Rodney’s stomach is swirling and his head is shouting panic panic panic because he’s so going to screw this up. So badly.
Ronon’s hand lands on Rodney’s shoulder. Rodney immediately relaxes.
Together, Ronon seems to say. We do this together.
John shuffles until he’s side by side next to Rodney, reaching his arm around him as though he’s a smooth operator and totally does feelings all the time. Rodney leans into the hold, no longer caring that his cheeks are reddening for everyone to see. They all have this chance at happiness together. He’s damn well going to make the most of it.