runpunkrun

spike21

panisdead

lucitania

Mr. Karaoke
by Pares


The room they used for TV watching and cut-throat games of Scrabble had been converted into a makeshift post office. As John and Rodney had been off-world spending time with the herding peoples of Giv, leaving the trade agreements to Teyla with Lorne and Ronon to watch her back, everyone else had already been through for their packages from home.

John had mostly bank statements and back issues of The New York Times and Rolling Stone.

"Huh. I guess I forgot to stop the subscription," John said, oddly pleased by the slick feel of magazine pages against his fingers.

Rodney had five duffel bags to sort through: dozens of journals, fat, official-looking manila envelopes and a weirdly thick sheaf of what looked to be Christmas cards.

John wondered what Rodney could have possibly done to merit so much yuletide correspondence.

Rodney went a little pink and muttered something about donations to charitable organizations for tax breaks and how they hounded you forever more with their earnest attempts at kissing up.

"What about this stuff?" John asked.

There were 16 identical brown cardboard boxes, all addressed to Rodney in neatly machine-printed ASCII text.

"That is the legacy of two years of dating Elaine Surh," Rodney said heavily.

John backpedaled away from the boxes.

"Yes, yes, because a secret government facility wouldn't vet the U.S. Mail for bombs," Rodney said with a sniff. "They're perfectly innocuous, I assure you."

His curiosity roused, John asked what they were.

"CDs," Rodney said finally. "Really very bad CDs, probably. I mean, they always have been before." When John just looked at him, he continued. "One of my less even-tempered exes signed me up for a Columbia House membership with an automatic account draft. It was months before I even got around to noticing them. I've tried six times to cancel my subscription, but those jackals just keep sending them to me. Really, I suspect that she just keeps signing me up."

John grinned, impressed with such diabolical creativity.

"What, you're not even going to open them?" John let his eyebrows climb.

"Who am I to prevent you from enjoying the bitter fruits of my past heartbreaks?" Rodney sighed, waving him toward the little heap, and that was permission enough for John to reach for the first box, running his knife along the taped seams and wrenching it open.

Celine Dion, Kenny G, Michael Bolton... it was a veritable avalanche of terrible soft n' easy adult contemporary favorites. There were several intriguing 80s power bands as well: Journey, REO Speedwagon, some band called Trooper. There was also a collection of ABBA's greatest hits.

"Well. Okay, give me that one," Rodney said. "But don't breathe a word of this to Zelenka," he warned. He turned his attention to another stack of mail. "Oh, now she's just gone too far," Rodney said darkly. He was holding a magazine called OK! and an envelope that appeared to be full of autographed 8x10s of Ricky Martin wearing nothing other than leather pants. There were several glossies, too, of David Hasselhoff in all his man-tanned glory.

"Where do you want me to put these?" John asked, making no effort to hide his grin.

"Oh Christ, just get rid of them," Rodney said testily before stomping away.

John left the CDs in a towering stack on a table in the mess; in a matter of minutes, they were gone.

*

That night, Chuck, Zelenka and Delgado set up a little stage in the mess, complete with spotlight and sub-woofers and a boxy pedestal with what looked like a television monitor on it.

Chuck's apparently much longed-for Mr. Karaoke machine had arrived with the mail.

John stuck around to watch Miko open with a Pat Benetar song (we will be INVINCIBLE! Yeaaaaa-HEAH!) and then downshift into something bubbly in Japanese. Dr. Biro was up next; her reedy, earnest rendition of "My Heart Will Go On" sent John out of the room. By the time he'd come back an hour later, Novak, who was on standdown while the Daedalus was being loaded for the return trip, was singing a strangely compelling version of something John didn't recognize.

He slid onto Rodney's bench and elbowed him.

"What's she singing?"

"She found my ABBA CD," Rodney said sourly. "It's 'Chiquitita'. She's not bad, actually." He was drinking from a water glass full of virulent blue punch. John figured that had more to do with Rodney's generous description of Novak's singing than Novak did.

They looked on as Parrish did a creditable job with a Sinatra standard. Zelenka came by with another glass of blue for Rodney and nodded at John with a gleam in his eye.

Cadman managed to tow Carson to the microphone and he serenaded them all with a rendition of "Brandy" that somehow intensified his brogue. Cadman looked on with a sort of dread, clearly sorry she'd ever suggested he sing in the first place.

By the time he'd drained the most recent glass, Rodney was propping his head up with one hand and was moving his lips to the lyrics when he knew them. He'd shucked his jacket after Novak had spilled some of her own punch on him making her way back from the stage. He'd slopped some on his t-shirt himself, but the black didn't show the stain. Out of the corner of his eye John saw Zelenka whisper something to Miko, and grinned in anticipation.

She was strong for such a little thing and she wouldn't take no for an answer. Hauling Rodney to his feet she tugged him to the stage, pressing him until he finally chose a CD from the pile.

Once the music kicked up, Rodney made an unsteady grab for the microphone, finally shifting it into a two-handed grip before letting out an ear-splitting glam-rock wail. He sounded like a kicked cat, but that was part of what made it so great.

"Here they COME! The boys in the BRIGHT WHITE sports CAR! Waving their arms in the air! Who do they think they are? And where did they get that car?" Before long, Rodney was shifting his hips and grandstanding like Steve Tyler. "There they GO! The boys are really ROLLin'! Some old lady called the cops! Said the car is probably stolen!" He dropped to his knees to really sell the refrain: "STO-LEN!"

It was hilarious, it was electric, it was the best bad song John had ever heard and if John had had a lighter, he totally would have waved it.

*

John found him in the lab the next morning, but Rodney just blinked when John congratulated him on his performance.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You rocked out last night, Rodney. You sang for Chuck's Karaoke Night."

"Did Zelenka put you up to this?" He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"No. But he does have it on video," John said smugly. He'd carefully downloaded a copy of his own, knowing Rodney would rout the servers looking to end it later.

"Huh. Really? My cousin Michelle insists that I sang 'Sweet Child o' Mine' at her wedding, but I'd always thought she was just pissed that I'd thrown up on one of her bridesmaids."

John held up the CD he'd gotten from Miko.

"Ringing any bells?"

Rodney peered at it, then snorted in fond recognition.

"Oh my god, these guys are so awful they're good. I used to listen to them on the radio when I was trying to stay awake during finals."

"Good times," John said.

"Not really. But you know how nostalgia makes even terrible memories seem sort of pleasant."

John nodded absently, his attention caught by the document Rodney had open on his laptop.

"Whatcha got there?"

"Ah. It's my dating resume, actually," he said with a proud little smile. "Getting all those boxes made me almost miss Elaine. Clearly, she's vindictive, but she was something else in the bedroom, I don't mind telling you." He sighed a little. "That's the nostalgia again, I expect. Anyway, I figured it was time to test the waters again, send out the nets for a potential Dr. Mrs. McKay."

"Carter still refusing to succumb to your wily charms?" Leaning a hip against Rodney's desk, John tried to make sure he didn't look too sympathetic.

"Colonel Carter is, among other things, in another galaxy and dating her—and in a long-term relationship," Rodney said primly. "I have accepted the fact that I must move on. It's only pragmatism."

"True enough. And all the ladies love pragmatism," John added, leaning over to scan Rodney's resume and reading aloud. "Multi-millionaire, athletic blue eyes—" He paused to smirk at Rodney. "You should probably put a comma there. Unless you really have 'athletic blue eyes'?"

"Good point," Rodney said, keying in the correction. John continued reading on in silence, with Rodney training a strangely apprehensive look his way. Eventually, John pulled back, raking a hand through his hair.

"Jesus, Rodney. You don't really expect anybody to believe that stuff, do you?"

"It's only a slight embellishment," Rodney said serenely. "I'm worth about 2 million U.S. More in Canadian, of course. That's more than one million, so I can get by on a technicality."

"Actually, that's really the only part I believed. In fact, I'm kinda surprised you're not worth more than that."

"Well, I blew a lot of cash before I knew about the Stargate program," Rodney said dismissively.

"On what?" John surprised himself by really wanting to know. What kind of stuff would Rodney McKay blow his cash on? All John could come up with was particle accelerators.

"Oh. Well." Coloring a little, Rodney waved a hand. "Lenses and robot design, mostly. I'd hoped to help repair the Hubble and I knew there were budgetary concerns—" He coughed. "Moving on. So tell me, just what do you find so hard to believe?"

Scanning the document again, he gave Rodney a skeptical eyebrow and asked, "You brought a woman off five times in one night?"

Rodney crossed his arms.

"Oh, just because all you have to do is cross a room to inspire a woman to spontaneous orgasm doesn't mean I myself am not eminently capable of bringing every satisfaction."

"Hey, now don't get huffy—"

But Rodney had abruptly dropped his defensive posture, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"No, no, it's a valid concern… I don't want to overstep my credibility." Rodney immediately hunched over his keyboard again. Peering over his shoulder, John shook his head.

"You're putting the names and phone numbers of your ex-girlfriends?

"References," Rodney said looking up, as if it were patently obvious.

"Hey," John said. "There are guys on this list."

"Yes, well, it's good for them to know that I've got a history of equal opportunity right off the bat. That's been... an issue before."

"You date guys," John pointed out woodenly.

Rodney gave him a haughty look. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't your military have an entire ridiculous policy on this particular subject?"

"Yeah, but..."

"What, you're a woman now?" Rodney snapped the lid of his laptop closed and got to his feet. "Fine. Why don't you come over for a sleepover later; we can paint each other's toenails and I can tell you about all the boys I've kissed." He stormed out and John just stood there, staring after him, feeling like he'd been hit in the head with a sack full of phonebooks.

*

The next morning, however, it seemed all was forgiven. Rodney banged on his door at 5:30 AM with his laptop cradled under his arm and a crumpled printout clutched in one hand.

"Naturally, as my best friend, it's in your interest to see me happily married, so get dressed, I need your help with this."

John scrubbed his face with the heels of his hands.

"What the heck are you even talking about, Rodney?"

"I've compiled a list of women on Atlantis with IQs of 130 and above who list music and mathematical theory as interests in their CVs, and who are also hot."

He pressed the paper into John's hand and John gave it a glance.

"You've got two people on this list."

John noted that one of them was Miko.

For a minute, he really thought about it: Miko and Rodney. Dr. and Dr. Kusanagi-McKay.

It'd be a total train wreck.

John had an uneasy premonition of the future: Rodney looking like a 30s mayor with an ascot and a jacket with tails, Miko in her wedding dress and already in tears, Rodney looking equal parts baffled and guilty and apoplectic.

"Are you sure you want to try dating Miko?"

"What? Why not?"

"She's... just not right for you," John said, feeling like a huge girl. This really wasn't a conversation he wanted to have before six in the morning, wearing only his boxers, but Rodney appeared fascinated.

"What do you mean 'not right for me'? Have you been thinking about this? Who would you put on this list? Anyone hot? I had Tamara Taggart on there, but I figured I should confine my options to the women of this galaxy, at least."

"Who the hell is Tamara Taggart?"

"She's a weather bunny on a Vancouver news station. Very cute. Blonde," he added unnecessarily. "Novak is smart enough, but the hiccupping thing is really annoying, and besides she's always making cow eyes at you, and I don't think a woman should come between us, do you?" He plowed on, "Heightmeyer is an obvious choice, but then there's the fact that she's also a medical doctor, plus we have a professional relationship that probably shouldn't be tossed to the winds of passion."

Winds of passion?

"So that leaves us with Cadman," Rodney was saying.

"Cadman?" Her name, John saw, was second on Rodney's short list.

"She's not as aggravating lately," Rodney shrugged. "And have you seen her?"

"But she's dating Carson!"

Rodney gave John a look, as if to say, "So?"

"I have complete confidence in the fact that my obvious superiority will win her away from him," Rodney said calmly. "Now hurry up and shower; I want to make my first romantic overture by breakfast."

"You're a regular Valentino, McKay. What do you need me for, anyway?"

"You can be my wingman!"

"Your wingman?" John repeated.

"Fine, my shill, whatever, just talk me up!"

John shook his head and walked into his bathroom to take a shower.

*

Somehow, they were in the mess hall by 6 AM, and Rodney spotted Cadman on the queue getting a spoonful of greenish eggs dumped on her tray.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," he said, cutting into line behind her. John pretended that he couldn't see all the people in line behind Cadman glower at Rodney.

She gave him a crooked little smile and bobbed her head in friendly acknowledgement. "How's it going, Rodney?"

"Very well. I was wondering if perhaps you'd like to have breakfast with me?"

She gave him a dubious look. "There'll be plenty of room at the table. So. Sure," she said. Rodney commandeered two trays and filled them up with various breakfast goods, including four cheese danishes. It took John a moment to realize that the second tray was for him; Rodney dug the corner of the tray into his stomach with an urgent little shove before John had the presence of mind to take it from him and follow him to Cadman's table.

Rodney sat down on a bench across from Cadman. John, who figured this wouldn't take too long, didn't bother to sit down.

"So, Lieutenant, enjoying your breakfast?"

Although she hadn't had time to even lift her fork, Cadman answered, "These are the best powdered eggs ever," with bright, false sincerity. "Rodney, did you hit your head or something?"

"What? No. I was just, you know, wondering about the future. Where do you see yourself in five years? Married? Two point five children?"

"I hadn't really thought about it, Rodney. If I don't end up a juice box for the Wraith, sure, maybe a couple of kids. Why?"

"I'd like you to consider my hand in matrimony."

Carson, who had been standing in line behind Cadman before Rodney had butted in, had now arrived at the table. He was gawping at Rodney, his own tray forgotten in his hand.

"I know that you're involved with Carson at the moment, but we both know you could do better. So, how about it?"

"Rodney, I'm standing right here, man," Carson blurted.

Rodney waved a dismissive hand, "I'm in the middle of a marriage proposal, here." To Cadman, he continued, "I'm rich, you know."

Cadman looked pole-axed. She lifted her eyes to John, who was still standing behind Rodney, his breakfast cooling on his tray.

"Is he serious?"

John shrugged. "Looks that way." Not that he could really believe it, even witnessing it first hand.

"I've been publicly maligned for egotism and arrogance, but I'm also a genius and reasonably brave. And hey, you've already seen my manly battle scars!"

John could feel his face crease into a look of incredulous disgust. He hadn't really thought about it at the time, but Cadman had to have seen Rodney naked… and the very idea was making him slightly queasy.

"Rodney," she was saying gently. "I like you. I do! And I'll never forget that you risked your life to save mine. But, um. I can't marry you."

"Why not?" John couldn't believe that Rodney had actually expected her answer to be yes, but the guy looked pretty surprised just the same.

"I love Carson," she sighed, giving a little 'what can you do?' shrug, and patted Rodney's hand. "I'm sorry."

"Well. The offer stands. And if I'm still unmarried when you finally realize that I'm the man for you, I won't hold this against you."

"That's… very big of you, Rodney." John could see she was trying hard not to laugh. Carson was frowning murderously at Rodney, even as Cadman took Carson's hand and set it on her knee.

Rodney shoved away from the table and picked up his tray.

"Cadman. Carson. No hard feelings, I trust." Carson looked like he'd been clubbed, but he murmured, "None a'tall," and even sounded like he meant it.

John followed Rodney from the table and Rodney hissed, "That's your idea of talking me up? You didn't say a single thing!"

"You were doing fine on your own," John said pleasantly.

"I was not! I was crashing and burning all over the damned place. Some wingman you turned out to be," he sniffed.

"I'll do better next time," John promised.

"See that you do. In fact, that's Caroline Ortega. She's a pilot, and she does things for a flight suit, I'll tell you."

John knew her; he'd flown with her when their 302s had tried to take out the Hive ship's jump drive. He happened to know that she had a fiancé Earthside that she missed like hell. In the spirit of adventure, John parked himself next to Rodney at Caroline's table.

"We saw that you were eating alone. In the mood for a little company?"

Caroline nodded at Rodney and smiled warmly at John.

"So, the Colonel and I were just talking about how few lovely unmarried pilots there are on this mission."
Caroline didn't look like she believed that for a second. "Have you ever thought about getting married?" Caroline opened her mouth to speak, but Rodney sailed on, "Of course you have, but have you ever considered marrying a scientist? I have several Ph.D.s. And I'm well-rounded, too—I'm field-trained and battle ready. Valiant, even. I've saved lives," he confided.

He dug his elbow into John's side.

"Tell her how I've saved your life," Rodney prompted.

"He saved my life," John said with bored obedience.

"And more than once, too."

"Couple times," John agreed amiably. When Rodney turned the full force of his glare on him, John added, "Lots of times. I owe this guy, believe me. Big time." He narrowed his own eyes back at Rodney while Caroline turned to face Rodney again.

"I have a fiancé," she said calmly. John bet money she would have said that even if it hadn't been true.

"Ah."

"Thanks anyway," she said, and left the table with her coffee mug and her doughnut.

"This isn't going as smoothly as I'd hoped," Rodney said.

"Eat your breakfast," John advised. "Maybe things will go better on a full stomach."

"Hmm," Rodney said, shoveling reconstituted eggs into his mouth.

*

It turned out that both Sgt. Amphora and Dr. Yamazaki from the Daedalus were also already promised to lucky men back on Earth, and by the time they'd bussed their trays at 6:35, Rodney was beginning to look discouraged.

"You've done this before," Rodney said, turning an accusing finger on John.

"What? Asked a woman to marry me? No way."

"I meant the dating thing. Clearly, I'm not getting anywhere."

"Maybe you're too, uh, goal oriented. You've dated women before, right?" John wasn't actually that convinced that he had; what he'd seen of Rodney's love life had only made him wonder if he'd ever even kissed a girl, no matter what Rodney's "dating resume" said. "How'd you get Elaine to go out with you?"

"We met through a computer dating service," Rodney said absently, then he snapped his fingers, suddenly bright eyed. "That's brilliant! None of this hit or miss stuff. A pre-determined population with similar interests and availability. That's the way to go."

"Okay," John said easily.

"Be free for dinner tonight. You know, you're not getting any younger. I'll look for someone for you, too. That way we can double date! Take some of the pressure off."

"What?" John said blankly.

"I'll pick you up at seven." Then he all but ran from the room, clearly eager to get a jump start on organizing some nice, logical romance.

*

By lunchtime, John was a little surprised to hear that there was an actual buzz about the computer dating thing Rodney already had up and running and had advertised with a city-wide email.

When Rodney showed up at his door at seven, he was wearing a brown corduroy jacket and a blue button-down shirt. He was also carrying two clear plastic boxes.

"Are those corsages?"

Rodney looked a little wild-eyed and hugged them to his body protectively.

"I thought they'd be a nice touch. Make the evening memorable and all that."

John tugged the boxes out of Rodney's hands and dropped them in his wastepaper basket.

"It's not the prom, Rodney. It's just a date. A date that probably won't even go anywhere, so don't get your hopes up. Just… take it easy."

"Right, right. Easy. Of course."

"You were pretty gung ho about this at breakfast— now you're looking a little rattled. What gives?"

"I've had all day to think about my future as a married man," Rodney muttered. "And now I'm not so sure I'm cut out for a lifetime of conjugal bliss. After all, it's been said that I'm petty, arrogant and bad with people. Also…" He swallowed nervously. "My hair is thinning," he admitted. "And let's not forget that my life expectancy in this galaxy pretty much guarantees widowhood early on."

John felt a strange and suddenly intense fondness for his friend. He reached out and patted Rodney's shoulder.

"You're still rich," he said kindly.

Rodney looked relieved.

"Right. There is that."

"So." John clapped his hands with forced enthusiasm. "Where do we meet them?"

"In the mess hall. I promised Ronon a bag of peanut-butter cups if he brought out dinner and kept us in ice-water all night."

Oh, thought John, this he had to see.

*

Rodney's date was a geologist named Hafsa Krishnamurthy. She must have been new to Atlantis, because John was sure he'd have remembered her long coil of sleek black hair and inviting smile. The other woman turned out to be Novak ("She's an excellent candidate for marriage, plus she's already crazy about you. At the very least, you'd have very bright children with her."); John almost hadn't recognized her, as she had her hair down and was wearing a neat little red dress that showed off her strangely pretty shoulders. The moment he sat down and smiled hello, she clutched at her goblet of ice water and started gulping it down in a hopeless attempt to curtail her hiccups.

Someone, somewhere, had found Ronon a crisp white Oxford that actually fit him, and with his hair tied back and a napkin folded over his arm he looked weirdly normal, as if he'd been a waiter in a past life or something. Rodney never asked him for anything; he just appeared at certain times with a basket of bread or a pitcher of water as if summoned telepathically. Novak gave Ronon huge-eyed looks of mute gratitude whenever he filled her glass, and John gamely tried to keep up the conversation around her hiccups. Meanwhile, Rodney seemed to have tapped into some hidden reserve of suave, because Dr. Krishnamurthy was smiling at him with real interest, and John found himself feeling weirdly resentful about it.

Finally, dinner was over, and Rodney was offering to walk Dr. Krishnamurthy home and John was going to shake hands with Novak and call it a night when Ronon showed up again and leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. He stared down at Novak and said, "There are acupressure points on the human body that can control hiccups. I can show them to you." Novak looked up at him with stars in her eyes before nodding eagerly, and Ronon took her arm and steered her away from the table.

Ronon had just poached his date, and Rodney was showing every sign of getting some and John couldn't find it in himself to be even a little bit glad.

*

The next morning Rodney was waiting at his door to walk John to their morning briefing before their trip back to Giv. John was meanly pleased to notice that he didn't look at all like he'd enjoyed a meaningful sexual encounter in the past eight hours.

"So, how'd it go?" John asked finally.

"Not well," Rodney sighed. "After a promising start, we got into an argument about religion. It turns out she wants me to accept the Lord Jesus Christ as my savior."

"Huh."

"Honestly. I won't have my children raised with that sort of superstitious claptrap. So tonight it's dinner with Dr. Lynette Hampton. I've lined up Sgt. Amphora for you. Turns out her fiancé threw her over for a figure skater or something, and she's looking for a little rebound action."

He was nodding, just relieved that Teyla and Elizabeth didn't seem to be on the list, when Rodney said, "Do you think Elizabeth would insist on a public school education? She seems the type. I mean, our kids would be brilliant and attractive, of course, but she'd probably have them practicing yoga and eating macrobiotic foods. Not that there's anything wrong with that, per se. At least they'd probably be very well behaved."

John shrugged noncommittally and tried to steer the conversation to the trade mission on the off-chance it would prevent Rodney from listing Teyla's potential as the wife of a future Nobel Prize winner and wondering if he could convince her to marry him in a white string bikini—or maybe the one Ursula Andress had worn in Dr. No.

Not that John had ever pictured any such thing.

*

They had traded some lumber from the mainland for some of the local sheep for the Athosians, and Rodney was trying to lead a wooly yellow thing to the gate, but it was having none of it, stubbornly digging its six legs in the muddy track and growling like a cougar. Ronon smirked at him; he'd solved his own sheep-thing problem by simply tucking one under each arm, where they hung limp and resigned, like weird, overstuffed couch-cushions. Teyla stroked Rodney's squalling sheep gently under its bearded chin and it mewled and fell into step behind the three other sheep she had in tow.

"I am told you are seeking a wife, Rodney. I know of a woman of the Giv whose first husband was taken before they were blessed with children. Would you like me to arrange a match?"

Rodney looked surprised. "Would she want to marry someone from another galaxy?"

"Would you?" Teyla asked reasonably.

"Um. Sure. I'd like to meet her."

"We can dine together at the harvest ceremony. I shall see to it."

"I can't tonight, actually. I have another date. So does John," Rodney added.

Teyla gave John a strange, unreadable look.

"I'm his wingman," John explained awkwardly. His own sheep-thing was craning its neck and rearing up on four of its hind legs, doing its damndest to eat his hair, and he was having a hell of a time keeping it away without actually shooting it.

She smiled, and John wondered if she even knew what that meant.

Then he wondered if he did.

*

Since Ronon was with Teyla at the Giv harvest ceremony, Rodney had secured Radek's services as the evening's waiter ("He's an extortionist. I'm into him for three bags of Peppermint Patties for this, can you believe it?"). With his hair slicked back and wearing a bow tie, Zelenka too looked like he could have come from a long line of maitre D's. He was just as attentive as Ronon had been, but he smiled more, and he poured the wine with a heavy hand.

John wouldn't have minded a little time alone with Sgt. Amphora, who had legs that went all the way down and freckles on her pretty nose, but Rodney and Dr. Hampton were arguing bitterly over whether or not Pluto was a planet and it kind of drowned out any attempts at pleasant dinner conversation. The evening was cut short when Dr. Hampton tossed a glass of wine in Rodney's face and stormed out. Amphora, who was a close friend of hers, made her apologies and followed her out to calm her down.

"That went well," John said.

"She's completely wrong, of course," Rodney said expansively, "But she's really cute when she's angry. Do you think she'd go out with me again?"

John didn't.

Zelenka cleared the table with a twinkle in his eye, and left the last, mostly full wine bottle.

Chuck and Delgado showed up and set up for another night of karaoke. John persuaded Rodney to stay on and watch, half hoping for a repeat performance of karaoke brilliance; maybe a Journey medley. This time, though, Rodney turned melancholy while Miko warbled Dixie Chicks covers.

"Sam Carter's the one," he intoned moodily. "I'm wasting my time with these people. She's the woman I was meant to be with, and she's in another galaxy dating someone else. Why can't she see we're meant to be? Hm. That rhymes.

"I should just give up on women entirely. She was the one, Colonel. Samantha Carter. The one," Rodney insisted. He staggered to his feet and climbed on stage, shuffling through the stacks of CDs before finding one and ejecting Miko's CD to replace it with his own and taking the mic from Miko's hands.

"This song is going out to Colonel Samantha Carter," he said unsteadily, and took a long breath before bellowing, "She's my cherry PIE! Cool drink of water, such a SWEET surprise, tastes so good make a grown man CRY, sweet cherry PIE!"

John wondered who he'd have to talk to about making sure that Rodney's serenade didn't get back to Carter. Sure, it was pretty entertaining, but it also made him feel sort of guilty, so he made his way on to the stage and pried the mic from Rodney's sweaty palms.

"I think it's time for you to get some sleep, buddy," he said, leading Rodney out of the mess.

"Easy for you to say. You don't have a lifetime of empty beds waiting for you. Everyone wants to marry you," he said petulantly.

"Oh yeah? Like who?" John stepped inside the transporter and lugged Rodney in after him.

"Only everyone!" Rodney insisted. "You and Sam. You're colonels and you're hot and smart and anyone would be lucky to have you. You should marry each other! That way I'll be completely shut out. Go ahead," Rodney mourned. "It's not like I have chance with either one of you, anyway."

John steadfastly ignored the fact that Rodney was apparently sort of in love with him and focused on the whole Carter fixation thing. He wondered why she hadn't given Rodney a chance, at least. Rodney was a good guy. Once you got to know him.

"Tell me, be honest, I can take it, do you think I have a shot with the new chemist? He's got degrees from MIT and CalTech."

"Sure, Rodney," John said. "He'd be a jerk not to jump at the chance."

"You really think so?"

"Yup," John said dutifully. They were at Rodney's door, and Rodney blinked at him owlishly.

"You're a good friend," he said.

"So are you, Rodney. Get some shuteye and we'll find you someone nice in the morning."

"You're nice," Rodney said sadly. "You deserve her, you know. She's really wonderful and you're—you'd be worthy. I mean that."

"Uh. Thanks, I guess."

Rodney nodded and his door slid open, and he swayed toward it. John still had his arm anchored around Rodney's waist and helped him inside.

"I don't know if I could be the best man," Rodney was saying. "You'd have to ask Ronon."

John had only met Colonel Carter once, and he'd liked her, but he didn't see marriage in their future, and he said so.

"Really? You wouldn't marry her? That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," he wrapped himself around John's shoulders and John gave Rodney's back a manful pat. The weird thing was, Rodney felt good in his arms. The side of his neck was hot against John's throat and his head was sweetly heavy on John's shoulder, and he smelled like wine and aftershave and familiar sweat.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, he cupped a hand against the back of Rodney's neck and turned his head and kissed him, slowly, gently, experimentally.

Rodney kissed him back, warmly, lazily, before letting him go and falling backwards onto his bed, eyelids fluttering shut, already snoring.

*

The next morning found Rodney at John's door again, looking hangdog and hung over. John wished he'd had time to shower first, but let him in anyway.

"I, uh, I wanted to apologize," Rodney said. "I was a little drunk last night. Maybe more than a little. Anyway, I just want to say that if I did anything... untoward, I'm really, really sorry."

He looked it. There was something dark and desperate in his expression that made John feel like an asshole, so he said, "Rodney, I kissed you. And I wasn't drunk."

"Oh."

John dropped down on to his bed and sighed. "Yeah. Oh."

After a charged silence, Rodney said, "Teyla fixed me up with Ara. We met her yesterday—she's really hot and she plays this thing that sort of looks like a harp, only with foot pedals. You, uh, pluck the strings with a hook made out of polished sheep horn. And Sgt. Amphora already made me promise her a second date with you. So."

"Rodney," John said seriously, "I'm pretty sure I can't help you get married."

"Marriage is overrated," Rodney blurted. "I mean, me, myself, I'm a big fan of living in sin."

John frowned thoughtfully and Rodney fidgeted by the door, finally saying, "Listen, can I—would you mind if I kissed you while I was sober? I was pretty sure I'd made that part up, at the time."

John stood up instantly, still only in his boxers, his dick heavy between his legs, and Rodney dove in, crushing their chests together and clutching at John's hip, sinking his free hand into John's hair and angling his head so he could lick past John's lips and into his mouth. The kiss was heady and voluptuous; it made Rodney moan and John shudder. He found himself rocking his hard-on against Rodney's belly, slowly, with intent.

"Jesus, you're amazing," Rodney gasped, and John hummed against Rodney's ear before closing his teeth against the shell and petting it with his tongue. "How do you feel about kids? I mean, we could probably have Carson whip us up a few, somewhere down the line. They'd be pretty; I'll have Carson make sure they look like you."

"Shut up, Rodney," John said, refusing to be sidetracked by the image of Rodney crooning Warrant's "Cherry Pie" at his imaginary infant daughter.

"Shutting up," Rodney promised, sliding his hand into John's boxers.

John bucked his hips and Rodney stroked him with his hot hand, rubbing the crown of John's cock with his thumb and making little hitching sighs as John pressed Rodney rhythmically against his hip with a hand spread on Rodney's ass. They necked for a long time, Rodney's breath see-sawing hot and wet against John's lips whenever they pulled apart to breathe.

"I realize I'm making some assumptions, here," Rodney whispered, unbuttoning his own pants and baring his erection, "But I really would like to see this as a long-term relationship with possible future co-habitation." John made a vague, noncommittal sound and curled his hand around Rodney's so that they were both cradling Rodney's cock. Rodney pushed his face against John's throat, nuzzling John's unshaven skin before John squeezed their joined hands together again, making Rodney utter a sharp little groan and shoot all over John's boxers. He kissed John's collarbone with sloppy satisfaction and slid down the rest of his body, dragging John's boxers with him. "Seriously, you should consider my suit, if only from a bread-winning standpoint." He kissed John's thigh and stroked the cups of his hips with his thumbs before licking the leaking head of John's cock. "Millionaires who give good head don't grow on trees, you know." He applied himself to giving John what was easily the best blow-job he had ever received: eager, focused and surprisingly coordinated. His mouth was wide and hot, and his left hand kneaded John's balls pleasantly while his right squeezed John's shaft with wicked finesse. John came with his hands tensing in Rodney's hair, biting his own lip to keep from making any embarrassing noises, and later, when Rodney had spread John out on the bed and was napping beside him, John stroked his hair and considered his offer.

*

Zelenka was bringing Ronon and Novak another basket of bread when Chuck and Delgado set up for the evening's round of Karaoke.

Cadman sang a No Doubt cover, a little lab tech John didn't recognize sang something by Evanescence, and Lorne belted out Neil Diamond's "Love on the Rocks," while sending heart-rending looks Novak's way.

Teyla had presented Rodney with a little keg of Athosian cider, giving John an enigmatic smile. Three glasses into it, Rodney bullied Chuck from the stage in the middle of his rendition of "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys" and began to sing something that it took John a while to recognize as a Liz Phair song. By the time he got to the line, "—your kisses are as wicked as an M! SIX-TEEN! and you fuck like a volcano and you're EVERY-thing to me—" he was staring right at John. John's ears were hot and he had to promise himself that everyone in the mess wasn't smirking at him.

Later, manhandling Rodney home yet again, John said, "Maybe you should take it easy on the drinking, Rodney."

"Hey, we're at my place. We should make out!"

"New rule," John said. "You can only kiss me when you're not drunk."

"That's a stupid rule," Rodney said.

"I'm sorry you think so," John replied, slinging Rodney onto the mattress.

"Wait, wait, stay, you should stay, and then when I wake up I won't be drunk anymore. And then," he grinned, sweetly eager, "then we can make out."

John looked at Rodney sprawled out on the bed and shrugged.

"Okay." He kicked out of his boots and pants and joined Rodney on the bed, and Rodney wriggled close and rested his head on John's shoulder with a moist sigh.

"And then you should marry me."

END