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“This is awful.”
“Thanks, Rodney. Tell me what you really think.”
“What?” Rodney lifted his head from where it had been cradled in the crook of his arm on the wooden table. His eyebrows shifted down into hard, confused lines as he scanned John up and down. “I’m not talk about you, I’m talking about this. This -“ Rodney gestured helplessly with his free hand, pointing to everything and nothing at the same time. “This situation that these sensory-deprivation-freak-aliens have gotten us into. I mean, what is the point of this? Are we supposed to find out we have some subconscious and inexplicable connection just by holding hands for a while?”
John frowned, looking down at his right hand which was currently alien-handcuffed to Rodney’s left. Their palms had been in contact for about 5 minutes now, fingers gripped loosely together, and he watched as the dark orange light blinked steadily and unchanging on the device. The freak-aliens (also known as the Pixalas) hadn’t explained much behind this ritual, just that it was necessary before they were willing to start trade negotiations and that ‘too much information would ruin the point’. They had seemed rather intent on it being Rodney and John who participated, too.
“I don’t know. Maybe they want to make sure everyone they trade with has gotten to first base?”
“This isn’t first base,” Rodney grumbled, dropping his head back into the crook of his arm.
“What?” John questioned, affronted. “Of course it is.”
“You’re such a prude.” Even through the muffle of Rodney’s leather jacket, John could hear the condescension.
“What’s first base in Canada, then, huh?” he challenged. “Buying Tim Horton’s for your date and then sticking your tongue down their throat?”
“Funny, funny, funny,” Rodney sniped back, tilting his face slightly out from the fabric in order to make himself better heard. “Though coffee and make-outs are the perfect pairing.”
“I’m just saying, maybe they want to make sure their trading partners aren’t hostile and that making them hold hands for a while could prove that.”
Rodney’s head lifted up from his arm again and he angled an odd look at John.
“That would mean that they only did this to people who they suspect of being hostile to each other in the first place. Why would they cuff us together if that were the case?”
John thought for a moment.
“Well, we do argue a lot.”
“Debate. We debate a lot.”
“Banter.”
“Semantics.”
“Don’t make me smack you.”
The wrist device ::beep beep::’ed and turned closer to red.
“Oh, that’s just great. You know, if the Pegasus Galaxy didn’t insist on creating a bunch of hippie-freak psycho-babblists with their hearts full of daisies and hot air for brains, maybe we could actually get on with our lives and not have to spend hours upon hours at a time dealing with arbitrary and completely inane-”
John gripped Rodney’s hand hard and he stopped mid-rant, surprised by the action.
“If they actually want us to prove we aren’t hostile, Rodney, we need to tone down the insults.”
Fortunately, the scientist’s brain had short-circuited on the sudden and blatant realization that he was sharing a rather intimate gesture with the good Colonel and had no witty comeback to speak of. His mind was more currently occupied with noticing the way John’s long, slender fingers slotted between his own and wrapped across to the back of his hand, calluses brushing against the worn and dry skin as John’s thumb stroked once across Rodney’s own as he loosened his grip.
Rodney had never really paid much attention to John’s hands before - unless you counted him cataloguing how they precisely gripped a P-90 (only so he could copy it later himself, of course) or how they lingered minutely on ancient devices when something took longer than normal to initiate (which was completely pertinent system information to notice) or how during team sparring sessions, they seemed to be very deft at gripping and twirling those bantos rods, thumb pads pressing hard into the carved ridges…
::beep, beep::
“It turned back…?” John questioned, perplexed as Rodney blinked back into reality, straightening his posture as he quickly tried to gather his run-away train of thought.
The mental connection to the device seemed obvious now, but the response it had given and what that potentially meant caused Rodney’s brain to slightly short-circuit again. Nervously, Rodney flexed his thumbs back and forth which resulted in him rubbing the back of John’s hand in a way that resembled much more of a caress than an anxious twitch.
John raised a single eyebrow at him in a silent question.
“What? What are you looking at me for? I don’t know how this stupid thing works any better than you do!”
“I’m not the one squirming in my seat,” John drawled, eyeing Rodney up and down.
“I’m not squirming. I’m...shifting. This damn wooden bench is causing my sciatica to act up.”
John sighed. “Alright, let’s stand then,” John said, pushing up from the table and stepping over the bench before Rodney could protest.
“What? Why?” He didn’t budge, tightening his grip on John’s hand as the cuff twisted at an awkward angle.
“What do you mean why, Rodney?”
“I didn’t say I wanted to stand!”
“But you insisted it hurt to sit!”
“Just because the empirical evidence for option A is negative, it does not mean that option B is better!”
“I’m going to murder you,” John insisted, leaning into Rodney’s personal space as he placed a solid hand on the table to Rodney’s right, his other gripping Rodney’s hand tighter again.
“No, you’re not,” Rodney insisted back, a slight squeak in his voice as he felt his palms getting sweaty. He stared John down to the best of his ability before he subconsciously swiped his thumb across John’s hand again and saw something weird shift behind Sheppard’s eyes, watching him swallow a minute later as the device ::beep, beep::’ed a third time. They both looked down and saw the light had turned yellow.
“Wait, what?” Rodney yelped. “No way.”
Sheppard immediately leaned back. “You’re right, it’s broken, it has to be.”
“Why in the hell…?”
“God damn aliens - can never build anything correctly.” John stepped back over the bench and flopped down, running his free hand through his hair. Rodney was eyeing him like he’d just turned into a Wraith. “What?” John snapped, oddly mimicking Rodney just minutes before.
“I’m just...I’m a little confused.”
“You’re preaching to the choir here, buddy.”
Rodney shook his head, shifting on the bench to get in a better ‘explanation’ position. John noticed all of the familiar signs - Rodney’s hand pointing out at nothing in particular, his back curving forward so he could lean onto the table, eyes darting left and right as they went impossibly wide. John could practically hear the gears whizzing to life inside of his brain.
“No, no, no, it’s just...I thought I had come up with pretty plausible theory about how this thing works but really all I have is one-sided data to go on, so… what were you thinking about?”
“When?”
“Before, when the device turned yellow - what were you thinking about?”
“Murdering you.”
“After that.”
“Still murdering you.”
Rodney huffed. “Don’t be difficult.”
“What the hell do you want me to say, Rodney? It’s true!”
“It can’t be. If you were really intending me harm, it would have beeped back towards red like before.”
John frowned, looking down at the device. “I wasn’t really going to smack you, either,” he grumbled.
“Yes you were, don’t lie. It doesn’t serve any purpose.”
John looked up and angled a glare at Rodney that would have levelled a room of Marines but did nothing to his boisterous companion.
“Now, tell me the truth,” Rodney said, looking slightly nervous. “What were you thinking?”
John sighed, dropping any attempts at trying to stop Rodney’s train of thought (he was on one of those “McKay rolls” that seemed to have no brakes or off-switches known to man or occupant of this universe or the next).
“I guess...I felt your thumb rub against my hand...and then thought about your eyes?” John sighed. “I don’t know, you’re right, this is stupid,” John barked, suddenly extremely frustrated with the whole thing. He attempted to wriggle out of the cuffs, placing his free hand over the metal device as he pulled, hoping to slip his hand through.
“Hey!” Rodney yelled at him, smacking at him to let go which caused John to smack back.
“Stop it!”
“You stop it!”
::beep, beep:: Orange.
“Let’s just shoot it off.”
“Will you calm down, Buck Rogers? I know we both suck at this ‘talking about our feelings’ stuff, but I don’t think we have to resort to bullets just yet.” Rodney ran his free fingers over the device to make sure John hadn’t knocked loose any of the shoddy construction, trying not to let his other hand twitch in John’s as he repositioned his grip. “You’re acting like a 12 year old, by the way.”
“You must be happy to finally be in like-minded company, huh?” John sniped back, watching Rodney do his science-thing on the device, not affected in the least.
“Oh haha, you kill me every time, Colonel. Just because I seem to have a better ability to talk about my emotions when it’s for the greater good of the mission, it does not mean -”
“Oh yeah, that’s exactly what’s been happening here.”
“Just -” Rodney sighed, stopping his inspection of the device in favor of gesturing at John as he gathered his thoughts. “I think the device somehow picks up on the subtleties of our emotions, maybe something to do with our endorphin levels or pheromone production, who knows what voodoo it runs on. All I know is that it’s been turning towards red when we’re mean to each other and then back towards what I guess will be green when we’re nice.” John raised another eyebrow at him. “I said, I think, OK? Look, we haven’t had many examples so far of us actually saying anything nice to each other, so who knows if I’ve got that right. It seems pretty obvious it doesn’t like the insults, though.”
“OK, but it ‘beeped’ when we didn’t say anything at all before,,” John noted, slightly mollified and willing to go along with Rodney’s train of thought.
“Exactly, that’s why I wanted to know what you were thinking.”
“Well, nothing, the first time,” John admitted. “Not really anyway, just wondering how many guards were outside the door-”
“No, the first time was me.”
Rodney’s error was apparent the second the words left his mouth, as was so common in his life. He clamped his mouth shut, glancing to John who was giving him an odd look.
“Rodney?”
“Nothing, it was nothing, no, I don’t, I-I mean, it could have been any number of things really, more of a theory at this point than anything, based on observations and kinetic activity and...stuff.”
“Stuff,” John repeated. “You know, now would be a really great time to practice that ‘ability to talk about my emotions’ thing you mentioned before.”
“I will if you will.”
John’s eyebrows knitted together and his eyes narrowed in on Rodney (who was sure he was probably about to get punched). “Deal,” he heard John say instead, sitting up straighter and leaning back. “You first.”
“Why me first?”
“It beeped first for you. You should go first. Maybe it...influenced me, or something.”
Rodney sighed. He hated when John spoke even an iota of sense.
“Fine. Um...I don’t know, I guess I suddenly realized that we were actually holding hands and how I should probably be more freaked out about that than I am?”
“Yeah - life sucking aliens, brain exploding viruses, replicator armada,” John deadpanned. “Hand holding really is the scariest thing these past 3 years have thrown at us, isn’t it?”
“Shut up, you know exactly what I mean, Mr. I’m-So-Familiar-With-Physical-Intimacy. This doesn’t freak you out at all?” Rodney said, gesturing down at their hands. “You normally go stiff as a board if someone even touches you on the arm.”
John looked down, frowning again. “No,” he admitted honestly. He looked as confused as Rodney.
“Well...why?”
“I guess because...it’s you.”
::beep, beep:: Bright yellow.
“I observe your hands more than I realize,” Rodney blurted out.
“What?” John had been stuck around his sudden ‘touch’ revelation and looked back up at Rodney, confused and bewildered.
“Your hands. That’s what made the device beep positively the first time.”
“Why would you observing my hands count as a data point towards talking about our emotions?”
“Well…”
“And wait, what does ‘observe’ even mean?”
Rodney closed his eyes and begged the universe to let him dig his way out of this hole. “Ok, just…. I may or may not have been subconsciously cataloguing over the years how you touch...things...”
John didn’t look at all disturbed, not in the way Rodney thought he would be by that kind of revelation anyway. Instead, he continued to look rather stupefied by the whole situations, staring down Rodney before looking back at their hands.
“...oh…”
“...yeah…”
::beep, beep:: Brighter yellow.
“Your eyes are really blue. Like, crazy blue, really. They’re bluer than the icebergs in Greenland I saw once with my family when I was 12 and I didn’t think there ever would be a color in existence more blue than that but then your eyes come around and throw all those preconceived notions out the window. And I think I’ve been observing your hands a little, too, because before I was trying to remember if it was your right or left hand you always use to separate out wires when reconfiguring any Earth-based devices or if I was just getting that confused with how you separate theorems from proofs in a stack of paper with your pinkie and ring fingers...”
Rodney blinked, not sure if he’d ever heard so many words leave John’s lips at once before, let alone them all being so...so sappy.
::beep, beep:: Dark green.
“Since when? When did you know?” Rodney asked insistently, scooting closer on the bench all-a-twitter.
John was still pretty frazzled by the whole experience, things having fallen from his lips he didn’t think he’d actually speak out loud ever, let alone to this specific audience, and he looked at Rodney like it was his turn to be shapeshifting into some horrifying creature. “What are you talking about?”
“How long have you liked me? I mean I just figured it out but if you’ve known for awhile, I’m sure you could have persuaded me at anytime-”
“What? No, it’s - you think I KNEW, Rodney? Seriously? When do I actually know half of what really going on in my brain, huh? Or what I’m really feeling, for that matter?”
“Huh,” Rodney said, looking away as he contemplated that. “That true. I mean, look at who you’re talking to, I guess I’m not much better. I usually have to get literally knocked over the head before I realize someone likes me.”
John nodded, looking away, too.
“Are we just really big idiots then?” Rodney asked.
John nodded again, worrying at his lower lip as his eyes remained unfocused. “One more data point,” he mumbled before turning and angling his face to the right, using his free hand to steady Rodney’s head as he pressed their lips together.
Rodney squeaked, eyes going wide for a minute before he nodded approvingly despite it all, his hand mimicking John’s as it ran along his jaw and into his unruly hair. They barely noticed when the device beeped a final time, changing to green before it snapped open.
John simply tossed it aside, using his newly freed appendage to cup the other side of Rodney’s face, tongue slotting in between his lips as Rodney gripped a large handful of John’s jacket, trying to haul him closer.
“Good call. Very necessary. The, ah, extra data point,” Rodney said between slips of their tongues and lips, feeling the graze of stubble as John moved to kiss down his jawline. He hummed in approval, “I appreciate your thoroughness.”
“Let me know when I hit Canadian third-base, ok?” John grumbled against Rodney’s jugular a minute later, causing a strangled noise to leave Rodney’s throat.
“I hate you,” he said as he gripped harder onto John’s jacket, still trying to defy physics and get them closer on the bench.
“Too late,” John said just before pushing him down.
----------------------------------------
“Thank you,” Teyla said to the Pixalas, handing over the tokens the Athosians had made for her as they bowed to each other. There would be several baskets of tuttle root waiting for them on their next trip to New Athos and Teyla watched as they left the room, speaking low and hushed over the stone pieces. Ronon stood leaning against the wall, smirking at her and when Teyla noticed, she raised her eyebrows.
“That was sneaky, even for you,” he said but the unmoved smirk on his face showed he approved immensely.
“It was easier than what you had in mind. ‘Knocking them out and leaving them stranded on the mainland for a week’ was it?”
Ronon shrugged. “Desperate times. I was about to kill them myself,” he said, pushing off the wall as they walked away from the observation room. “At least Lorne owes me now.”
Teyla elbowed him in the side.