Postcards From The Id
by lamardeuse

Rating:  PG-13

Pairing: McKay/Sheppard

Warnings (highlight to view):  sexual situations



Written for hackthis' someecards challenge.

















Rodney had no idea how he'd managed it, but somehow he'd convinced Katie to give him one last chance. They were sitting in a restaurant on Earth, a fabulously expensive French restaurant with atmosphere galore, candlelight and soft violin music giving everything a warm, romantic feel. He had the perfect setup here, and all he had to do was open his mouth and tell her how he felt.

Complimenting her, that would be a good start – women liked that. It wasn't like it was hard to compliment her. She was sweet and beautiful and brilliant and she put up with him, or at least she had. No, okay, he probably shouldn't go down that last route, so: sweet, beautiful, brilliant. Should he say he didn't deserve her? Maybe not; she might agree with him. He could tell her how sorry he was for screwing up, how much he wanted to make things work with her, because she really was a wonderful person, and if he couldn't make someone as kindhearted as Katie see the good in him, he was a more than a little afraid that no one ever would, and whoa, where had that come from?

Rodney slumped in his chair. Oh, God, that was it, wasn't it? He'd never been all that great at romantic relationships, fine, and he knew he wasn't exactly God's gift to women, but he hadn't realized how much Jeanie's sniping comments had mirrored his own doubts and fears. Was he really  afraid of losing Katie because he didn't think anyone else would want him? Did he actually love her enough to (possibly) marry her, or was he just settling because he'd finally found someone who could stand him for more than a month? If he let her go, it was tantamount to admitting that eventually every woman who got a look at the real Rodney McKay would turn and run, and really, maybe he should just give up now and join a monastery or something –

“Rodney?”

Rodney looked up to see Katie peering at him across the table, a concerned look on her face. “Yes, I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“Are you all right? You seemed very far away just now.”

“No, I – ” Rodney sucked in a breath. “I'm fine. I just – thank you for giving me this chance.”

Katie ducked her head shyly. “I'm glad you suggested this. I didn't like the way we'd left things.”

Rodney's heart started to pound in his chest, but he couldn't tell if what he was feeling was excitement or terror. “No, I didn't either. You're – sweet and beautiful and brilliant – ” there, he'd gotten that all out, good for him “– and I think we can make this work.”

“I'd like that,” Katie said, smiling at him, and oh God, this was actually going to happen, she was going to take him back, there was hope for him after all, he wasn't going to die alone in an apartment with fifteen cats –

Rodney blinked. Okay, that probably wasn't a good reason to be happy about this, was it?

“Are you ready to order?”

Rodney looked up to see a tall, dark-haired waiter in a crisp black suit standing above them. “Oh,” he said, stupidly, because he'd completely forgotten about the meal. He flipped open the menu, but the words all blended together, meaningless. He knew his French was rusty, but it was more than that; he seemed to have forgotten how to decipher the letters of the alphabet. Maybe he was having a stroke?

“Do you have some suggestions for us?” Katie asked the waiter, and right, that was a good idea, he should have thought of that. “We'd love to hear your opinion.”

The waiter turned to Katie and smiled thinly. “I am not sure you would like to hear my opinion, madame.”

Katie smiled up at him encouragingly. “Of course we would,” she said, and for some reason Rodney's blood turned cold.

“Well, in that case, madame, I would like to offer the opinion that you were right to dump this man, and you are a fool if you are considering taking him back.”

“Wait a minute...” Rodney began, holding up a hand.

Katie shot Rodney an uncharacteristically sharp look, then smiled up at the waiter again. “Please, go on.”

“No woman should marry him,” the waiter sniffed. “He is petty, arrogant and inconsiderate, and he will always put his work before a relationship.”

“Well, considering my work involves saving people from certain death on a regular basis – ” Rodney began hotly, only to have Katie silence him with an irritated glare.

“Docteur McKay has never had a relationship that has not ended in disaster. He has few friends, and those he does have only tolerate him because he is useful on occasion.”

“On occasion?” Rodney yelled. “I'll have you know I'm very useful on every occasion – that is, when I'm not locked in a room with plants and no computer, and – and – ” He was aware he was missing an important point here – wait, he just had to think for a moment “–  and that is not true! I have plenty of friends! Real friends!”

The waiter folded his arms. “Name one.”

Rodney snapped his fingers. “John Sheppard! He likes spending time with me. We hang out together all the time! In fact, the day I was going to propose, he offered to have a beer with me afterward to celebrate. Is that the action of someone who only tolerates me?”

Katie stared at him. “Wait,” she said. “You were going to propose to me, and then go spend time with Colonel Sheppard?”

Rodney frowned. Put that way, it sounded odd. It hadn't sounded odd at the time, but now it sounded odd. “I know that sounds odd,” he confessed, “but it – um.”

Katie leaned forward. “You always used to tell me how busy you were with work. You rarely had time for me. For us. And now you're saying that you hang out with Colonel Sheppard 'all the time'? Why do you have time for him and not for me?”

Inside Rodney's head, the disused gears of his interpersonal skills were grinding together with an alarming noise that sounded a lot like screaming. “I – I – that's different!” he blurted. “Sheppard's on my team, and it's important that you bond with your team members. It's a – team thing.”

“Do you spend as much time with Ronon and Teyla?” Katie demanded.

Rodney's mouth opened and closed a few times. “No? But that doesn't mean – ”

“Madame,” the waiter intoned solemnly, “it is worse than I thought. Your boyfriend is gay.”

Katie buried her face in her linen napkin and began to cry noisily.

“Wait! I – that's not – I don't – ”

“I think it would be best if you left this restaurant,” the waiter informed him coldly. “Before you upset the lady further.”

Rodney stood abruptly, turned on his heel and stomped out the door. Instead of ending up outside, however, he found himself back in his quarters on Atlantis, surrounded by meowing cats twining themselves around his legs, staring balefully at him from his bed, happily shredding the side of his chair with their claws.

“Crap,” Rodney said, right before he woke up in a cold sweat.









“Favorite western,” John said, pointing at Ronon.

Rodney made a face and stabbed at an innocent hash brown with a fork.

“The Magnificent Seven,” Ronon said.

Rodney snorted. “Like that's a surprise.”

Ronon regarded him balefully across the table. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you have a thing for Yul Brynner.”

Ronon shrugged. “He's cool.”

“You went gaga over him when we watched that movie,” Rodney pointed out. “For a week you thought about shaving your head.”

“Still thinking about it,” Ronon said. “Hair's gettin' to be a pain.”

“Oh, really? Is it becoming harder for you to make yourself beautiful in the morning?”

Dimly through the haze of his bizarre hostility, it occurred to Rodney that he was courting death, but Ronon's eyes only crinkled at the corners. The bastard was amused. “Something on your mind, McKay?”

All at once, the anger he'd been feeling drained out of him in a rush. “No,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just didn't sleep very well.”

“You should rest,” Teyla said, concern showing on her features. “You have been working too hard on recalibrating those quarantine systems.”

“I'm fine, thank you,” Rodney murmured, stuffing a forkful of eggs in his mouth. He realized he sounded like a petulant child, but he felt like one. It was bad enough to have subconscious doubts about his social skills, but to have them all paraded in front of him in his dreams in the form of a snotty French waiter was too much.

“Teyla,” Sheppard said. “Favorite western.”

“I would have to say – Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

“Really,” John drawled.

“Really. It is a truly beautiful romance.”

“Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is not a romance,” Rodney said tartly.

Teyla only cocked her head at him, her serenity untouched. “They were two people who shared their lives, and were willing to die for one another. If that is not a love story, what is?”

“That's not – it's not even – ” Rodney spluttered. “You can't just make a story what you want it to be,” he finished weakly.

“Why not?” Teyla asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Because entertainment is supposed to be mindless,” Rodney grumbled. “That's the way we like it on Earth.”

“Sounds boring,” Ronon offered.

Sheppard cleared his throat. Rodney looked up to see him watching him from across the table, as though he were trying to stare right through his skull into his brain. It was unnerving, unsettling, and Rodney wished he would stop it right now.

John opened his mouth, but Rodney beat him to it. “I don't have one,” he blurted, shooting to his feet so quickly he nearly tipped over his chair. “Now, if you'll excuse me.”

“Rodney?” John's voice followed him as he made a hasty retreat, but he ignored it.










He supposed it was too much to expect Sheppard would leave it alone, but of course, he didn't.

Sheppard waggled the memory stick at him. “Since you don't have a favorite western, I brought your favorite cheesy old Technicolor sci-fi movie.”

“I already have Forbidden Planet,” Rodney griped.

John frowned. “It's a gesture, Rodney,” he whined. “And I also brought these,” he added, holding up a six-pack of –

“Oh my God, is that Smithwicks?” Rodney held up the sturdy bottle of Irish beer, chilled to perfection. “How the hell did you get your hands on Smithwicks?”

“The new guy, Dunegan, in Anthropology. He's got great connections.”

Rodney looked up at him with something he knew had to be approaching adoration; still, Smithwicks deserved it. But – “Wait a minute. How did you know I liked Smithwicks?”

Sheppard hitched a shoulder. “You mentioned you missed it a while ago. Also, you ordered one at that restaurant we went to when we were back on Earth last year.”

Rodney nodded dumbly. Sheppard had remembered Rodney's favorite beer. Because Sheppard was his buddy, and buddies did things like that. Not because they were gay. That would be ridiculous, as ridiculous as saying that Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid had been madly in love with one another.

Sheppard deposited the six-pack on Rodney's nightstand, then snagged one and popped the cap with an attachment from his Swiss army knife. He handed that one to Rodney, then reached for the one Rodney had been holding. Their fingers tangled together for a moment before Rodney thought to release the bottle. Afterward, Rodney's hand felt strangely tingly. He supposed it was from the cold.









Sheppard fell asleep three quarters of the way through the movie, his head thrown back against the chair, his snores soft and even. Rodney took the beer away from him before it spilled, but otherwise left him alone. John had taken off his boots and propped his feet up against Rodney's coffee table, the toes pointing outward slightly. As the sinister nature of Morbeus' power was revealed, Rodney found himself paying more attention to Sheppard's feet; there was something about that brain boosting machine that hit a little too close to home. As the doctor lay dying in his friend's arms, raving about the monsters from the id, Rodney clicked off the movie and pulled out the jump drive with a vicious yank.

Sheppard immediately yawned and stretched and opened his eyes to half-mast. “D'd I miss the end?” he mumbled.

Rodney shook his head. “I stopped it.” He looked away. “I'm not so much of a fan of that movie as I used to be.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Rodney turned to look at him. “Don't be. It was – nice of you. Thank you.”

Sheppard blinked at him, then scrubbed a hand over his face. When he took it away, his eyes were open all the way, but he didn't look at Rodney, instead focusing his attention on the darkened computer screen. “She was an idiot to turn you down.”

Rodney frowned, momentarily confused by the non sequitur. “Oh. No. Who told you that?”

Sheppard glanced at him, shook his head. “Nobody. I used my powers of deduction.”

“Oh. Well – no. That is, I didn't exactly ask her.”

Sheppard's face went carefully and completely blank. “Did you – change your mind?”

“Not at first. But being trapped in a room with me in the middle of a crisis gave her ample opportunity to get to know a side of my personality she hadn't had the opportunity to see.” He looked away. “In intimate detail.”

John made a face. “Damn. I figured you'd freak out.”

Rodney's gut twisted. The waiter was nothing compared to hearing it from the man he considered his best friend. He rose to his feet on shaking legs. “Yes. Well, you were right. Now, if you don't mind, it's getting late – ”

“Hey, hey, Rodney, whoa.” John was on his feet now, too, and his hands were gripping Rodney's upper arms, turning Rodney gently but firmly back toward him. “That wasn't what I meant. I meant that I knew how frustrated you had to have been when you found out you couldn't get to a computer or a radio when the shit was hitting the fan. Believe me, I wouldn't have done any better in that situation.”

Rodney tried not to think about Sheppard's hands on him, their touch so hot he felt burned through the thin material of his shirt. “Oh, well, all right, that's – I see.”

“So you decided not to ask her because – ”

Rodney glared at him. “Because there's not much point in planning for the future when you're about to die?”

Mercifully, Sheppard finally let go of him. “Rodney, we could all die tomorrow. Hell, you could die tomorrow back on Earth just walking across the street.”

“Wow,” Rodney said, impressed. “You have an even bleaker outlook than I do.”

“No, I mean – ” Sheppard paused, seeming to gather his thoughts “– I mean, if you're always worrying about what's gonna happen next, you'll never do anything.”

Rodney stared at him, and John stared back. It occurred to him that neither of them was saying anything, and what was more, most of the oxygen seemed to have left the room, because Rodney was suddenly feeling lightheaded.

He wasn't sure how long they stood there before John finally broke the spell, taking a jerky step back and rubbing the back of his neck. “Well,” he said, voice strangely hoarse, “guess I'd better let you get some rest.”

“Okay,” Rodney said, rather stupidly. “Thanks for the movie. And the beer.”

“No problem. That's what friends are for, right?”

“So I've heard,” Rodney murmured, as Sheppard gave him one last smile and turned to go.









The night after they returned from their ordeal with the Princess Brat, Rodney dreamed it was ten years later and she'd summoned the two of them back to her court. Rodney glanced into a mirror as they walked down the hallway of the palace and saw that he was bald and jowly, while Sheppard, of course, looked as if he hadn't aged a day.

This dream sucked already.

“I have decided to return to my original plan and marry John,” she announced to the assembled crowd, which applauded politely. Turning to Rodney, she sneered, “You are no longer attractive to me, and you must be punished.”

“Yeah, I saw that coming,” Rodney sighed, and when he turned around, he was standing alone in a stone room. Just for the hell of it, he walked to the window. Oh, of course, a tower. That was just peachy.

“What, I don't even get any cats this time?” Rodney yelled, to no one in particular. He leaned out the window – Jesus, he couldn't even see the ground, just swirling gray fog a couple of hundred feet down.

And then he felt a hand close around his shoulder. He started, then yelped and pitched forward. Another hand gripped his other shoulder and yanked him back before he fell.

“Whoa, hang on, I've got you.” John's voice, warm breath tickling his ear. Dimly, it occurred to Rodney that this was a very vivid dream, but he decided to just go with it, at least for now.

“Why – are you here?” Rodney said. Words seemed to be coming more slowly with his back plastered all up against Sheppard's front and Sheppard's hands still curled snugly around his shoulders. “I thought you were going to get married.”

“Nah,” Sheppard said. “Thought I'd stay here with you instead, if that's okay.”

Rodney turned in Sheppard's grasp and stared at him. “You chose to be locked up in a stone tower for all eternity with me rather than to marry a princess.”

“I like you better,” John said simply, smiling.

“Oh,” Rodney said. “Really?”

“Really,” John answered, smile turning into a grin.

And after that, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean forward and kiss Sheppard right on the mouth.

“Cool,” Sheppard said when they parted, then hooked an arm around Rodney's neck and hauled him in for another kiss. Rodney let it happen for a moment, let the illusion of having Sheppard this close envelop him for as long a stretch of time as he could manage, and then he was pushing him away.

“Hey, where're you going?” Sheppard complained, reaching for him.

“This isn't real,” Rodney murmured, shaking his head. “This is a dream.”

“So?” Sheppard countered.

“So you don't really want this!” Rodney yelled, waving his arms. “This is my subconscious – messing with my mind!”

John actually pouted at that, as though he was insulted. “How do you know I don't really want this?”

“Because nobody wants this!” Rodney shouted. “Because I'm going to die alone, all right? Because – because – ” Rodney ran out of steam abruptly as he silently finished the thought: because I'm not loveable.

“That's not true,” Sheppard said, and suddenly he was there, his hands closing around Rodney's arms, tugging him closer. “Rodney, I lo– ”

“No!” Rodney exclaimed, wrenching himself from Sheppard's grasp. “Don't you dare say that, you – you – figment of my imagination!”

“Rodney!” Sheppard yelled, which Rodney thought was an extreme reaction, until he felt the backs of his legs catch against the low sash of the open window right before he tumbled backward, falling out of the tower.

He woke up gasping and shaking, any arousal he might have felt during the dream effectively killed by the healthy dose of terror. He staggered to the bathroom, where the cold water he splashed on his face didn't manage to erase the phantom sensation of Sheppard's mouth against his.









When Rodney fell through the hole on M5V-801, he had just enough time to think Christ, not again before he hit the floor.

While the during part had definitely left something to be desired, the aftermath of the ordeal wasn't bad at all, despite the bandaged hands. He'd gotten to play the hero, not quite as dashing as some, but still, it counted. And he'd had a surprisingly good time with Jennifer Keller, who, all right, fine, was far too young for him, in more ways than one. Still, it was a boost to his ego to see the way she smiled at him, the way she laughed at his attempts at humor, which even he admitted were fairly lame. In his own defense, though, he was so far beyond exhaustion by this point that he was surprised he could form coherent sentences.

They were halfway through their second beer – this time, she was treating him – when Jennifer looked up and sucked in a breath at something she saw over Rodney's left shoulder. Rodney turned to see Ronon striding toward them, a look on his face that Rodney couldn't begin to fathom –  but this was pretty much par for the course, since Rodney never had much luck deciphering Ronon's stone-faced expressions.

Ronon reached the table and then just stood there, staring down at Jennifer as though he were seeing a beer-drinking ghost. “Hey,” Jennifer said softly, “I meant to call you,” and Rodney felt the pit of his stomach give way, because God, they were an item, and why the hell had Sheppard not filled him in? This little tidbit of information might have come in handy an hour earlier, when Rodney could have said 'hell no' to Jennifer's invitation, because he didn't want to be beaten to a pulp by her jealous boyfriend, thank you very much.

But Ronon didn't tear him limb from limb; in fact, he gave no indication at first that Rodney existed. Instead, he sank down into the seat beside Keller, almost gracefully for such a huge man, his gaze never leaving her face. And then he turned his head to stare at her bandaged hands where they rested on the tabletop. Slowly, his own hand slid across the table, palm up, stopping just before it would have touched one of hers; after a moment, Jennifer swallowed and placed her hand, also palm-up, on top of his. Ronon cupped his fingers slightly, forming a cradle for it to rest in.

And then his gaze rose to Rodney, and the look in his eyes was as easy to read as a neon sign.

Gratitude.

This time it was Rodney's turn to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. “Well, listen,” he said, when he could trust his voice, “it's been great, really, but if I'm not in bed within about five seconds, I'm going to faceplant right into this table. And I don't think anyone wants to see that.”

Jennifer smiled at him gently. “Thanks for the beer. And just – thanks.”

Rodney smiled back as he hauled himself to his feet. “No thanks necessary,” he said, nodding at her, then Ronon.

As he limped his way to his quarters, he couldn't help the faint taste of envy that stayed with him as he thought of the look in Ronon's eyes. Having someone who would care that much wasn't something he'd ever told himself he needed, but these days it was getting harder to convince himself that was still true. Just once, he'd like to know what it felt like to come home to a person who – well, okay, there were people in his life who gave a damn – but a person who cared about him more than anyone else, that would be –

“Hey.”

Lost in his own head, Rodney didn't register John's presence in the hall outside his quarters until he was nearly on top of him. When he did, he stopped so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet. “Oh. Um. Hey.”

John shoved his hands in his pockets. “I – uh, heard you had some trouble.”

Rodney shrugged. “Just a little.” He couldn't help letting a yawn escape.

“You're tired, I should – ”

“No! I mean, do you want to – ”

“– If you're sure you're not too –”

“– I'm sure, I'm very sure, I've never been more sure.”

John stared at him, finally silent, then broke into a lopsided smirk that did something not entirely unpleasant to Rodney's insides. “Gee, Rodney, are you sure?”

“Oh, for – ” Rodney thought his door open, then stepped inside. “Get in here, already.”

Still smirking, John followed him.









They only made it through half an hour of Spiderman 3; this time, John was the one to turn it off.

“Sorry, I thought there'd be less – ” John waved a hand.

“Existential angst?” Rodney supplied. “Well, he is a Marvel hero, after all.”

“Yeah, I could never really figure out why they call him Smilin' Stan.”

“Probably because he's smiling all the way to the bank these days,” Rodney murmured. He turned to look at John, and caught him staring at...his own hands.

Well. That was odd.

“I'm sorry,” John said quietly, not looking up.

“You said that already.”

“No, I mean – for not going with you.” His gaze rose to Rodney's face.

“Well,” Rodney said, voice suddenly gone scratchy, “it turned out all right in the end.”

“Because of you,” John said.

Rodney frowned. “Who told you – ”

“Carter. She said you saved her life. Keller's, too.”

“Well,” Rodney said again, “I owe quite a bit to her haranguing. She must have learned her pep talks from the John Sheppard school of motivation.”

“Still,” John drawled, a twinkle in his eye, “I wish I could've been there to harangue you personally.”

Rodney waved a hand. “I imagine you just would've gone and gotten your leg broken, too, being all heroic.” John puffed a little at that and Rodney added, “Problem is, you're a lot heavier than Sam is. I would have let go of the damned rope for sure.”

John's mouth twisted. “Then maybe fate actually did know what she was doing today.”

Rodney snorted. “There's a first time for everything.”

John rested his head against the back of the couch, looking at Rodney out of the corner of his eye. “Guess I should let you sleep.”

Rodney's heart leapt, but he had run out of excuses. “I suppose,” he conceded.

John nodded and stood, and before Rodney knew what he was doing, he'd shot to his feet and gripped John's forearm. A split second too late, he remembered why that was a really stupid idea.

“Ow, ow, ow, God, ow,” Rodney gasped, letting go of Sheppard like his hand had suddenly caught fire, which he supposed it had.

“Rodney, geez,” John murmured, and Rodney squinted through the tears of pain to see that Sheppard was holding Rodney's hand in both of his, gingerly, as he inspected the palm.

Rodney stood there, dumbstruck, staring at the top of John's bowed head. John's thumb stroked along the side of Rodney's pinky, and Rodney shut his eyes briefly and shuddered.

John raised his head and searched Rodney's face. “Still hurts?”

Rodney shook his head, took a deep breath, and told his subconscious to take a flying leap. Then he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to John's.

He felt John go completely still under him, and tried not to panic, because he'd been wrong so many times before, and this time had the potential to top them all. But before Rodney could pull away and plead temporary insanity, John tilted his head and slid his tongue along Rodney's lower lip, and Rodney felt a surge of triumph at the realization he'd finally, finally gotten it right.









“Will you still want to do this when I get bald and fat?”

John rolled onto his side and ran a hand through Rodney's hair. “Don't worry,” he said, smiling goofily. “You're not gonna get fat.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Rodney sneered, but it became difficult to stay peeved when John rolled him onto his back and kissed him. One of Rodney's hands rose to John's shoulder; John immediately pulled back and glared at him.

“Okay, yes, right,” Rodney said, letting his hand fall back to the mattress as John returned to kissing his mouth, his cheek, his jawline. John hadn't let him use his hands at all, and it had been both maddening and incredibly hot to lie there, unable to reciprocate, while John had stripped Rodney and touched him all over using only the tips of his fingers, like he was a blind man charting the surface of Rodney's skin. By the time he'd finally reached Rodney's erogenous zones, his whole damn body had been one big erogenous zone.

Not that Rodney was complaining, especially since John seemed to be starting a second mapping expedition, this time with lips instead of fingers.

As John nibbled his way down the side of his neck, Rodney sighed and tilted his head back. “When these bandages come off, you'd better be naked and in your bed waiting for me.”

John's response to that was a strangled groan and a bite to the tendon joining neck to shoulder.

“Watch it, you vampire,” Rodney tried to snap, but the words emerged more like a purr. Opening his eyes and staring upwards, he asked, “Do that again, will you?”

John obliged, biting down even harder this time. Rodney gasped and curled his toes into the sheets as John soothed the now-tender skin with gentle swipes of his tongue, then broke into a huge, no doubt stupid grin.

“Just checking,” he murmured, bending to kiss the top of John's ridiculously thick head of hair.





End



February 2008


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