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Homesickness

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Rodney's never been one for the post-it notes, because it takes more time to write things down than it does to type them up. Long hand is just not something he does anymore.

At the moment, he's getting used to Earth again, the weird things, like his refrigerator, like carpeting, like Area 51, and he just doesn't get the yellow pieces of paper that are everywhere in people's offices.

They didn't bring any with them on the first expedition, and if the Daedalus brought any on their supply runs, Rodney never saw them.

Area 51 seems to be run on post-its, though. Their supply closet has at least four shelves devoted to the damn things, varying in size and shape and color. Rodney likes them even less, now.

John, however, has a fondness for them, and when he stays at Rodney's place, he likes to leave them behind on

Rodney's bedroom door,

his toaster,
his toilet seat.
At first, it's simple stuff, like

YOU NEED MORE MILK and YOUR MEAT IS GOING BAD on the refrigerator, and
CLEAN ME near the kitchen sink.
But then other things start popping up, like

NO HANDLES hidden where the hinges of the front door meet the wall,

THE WAY LIGHT LOOKS IN THE MORNING against the window in Rodney's room,
THAT FAKE-CHICKEN I NEVER REALLY LIKED on the stove.
Rodney doesn't know where John gets the post-its from, perhaps the SGC supply closet, but he certainly brings them with him when he visits, and he certainly takes them with him when he leaves.

Late one night, after John's gone to sleep, Rodney steals the pad from his luggage and writes on the top note,

ONE DAY (maybe)

and puts the pad back where he found it.

The next morning, after John's left for Colorado again, Rodney finds

YEAH on his bathroom mirror.

And he smiles.

FIN.