Work Text:
John reached over and tugged open the glove box, looking for someplace to scribble down the measurements. He fished through a wad of old receipts, the usual junk littering up the truck, and grabbed one at random.
He stopped.
It was a scorecard, creased and battered around the edges, but he recognised it straight away; it was from the first time he'd taken Rodney bowling, their third date. He didn't even need to close his eyes to remember; he could see Rodney's face as plain as day. His barely concealed confusion as they'd pulled up outside the alley, 'This is where you're taking me? Um, why?' His priceless double-take when they'd gone inside. 'Hello? 1955's calling - they want their stuff back.' And then the gradual, wide-eyed, honest to god enjoyment as Rodney had realised that he was actually having a good time. 'It's all just physics! Hah! This is so my game!' Completed by absolute delight as he’d jumped up, grin lop-sided and infectious, fist pumping the air when he made his first strike. 'Yes!!! I so rock! I am a bowling god!'
John swallowed, his throat tight and barren, and slowly unclenched his fingers, smoothing out the wrinkled paper.
"I said, ‘the first's fourteen by twenty-seven’," Ronon rumbled, walking over and leaning against the hood. "You get that, Shep?"
John swallowed again and blinked dry eyes. He tucked the card carefully into his shirt pocket and nodded, a smile slipping to his mouth if nowhere else. "Sure, fourteen by twenty-seven. Be right with ya. Le' me just find something to write on…."
End