Chapter Text
As soon as the light from the Asgard beam had faded from Rodney's retinas, he knew he'd made a terrible mistake.
Yes, the engineers who had been working with him on the Daedalus' hyperdrive were so incompetent as to shame the very primates who'd been their recent ancestors, and had driven him in his righteous fury to stomp his way to Hermiod and demand he be transported, immediately, post-haste and forthwith to Sheppard's location without delay.
But that was before Rodney had imagined...this. He took in the bare wooden walls, the hand-pump, the stove, the rickety kitchen table, and the complete lack of sandy beaches, surfboards, or—
"Where are the cabana boys?"
"And good evening to you, Rodney," Sheppard said from behind him.
—yes, or of tanned John Sheppards in board shorts Rodney'd been hoping to ogle on the sly while eating fresh lobster under a beach umbrella—and dumped his bag on the dirty wooden floor.
"But I distinctly saw you packing your sunblock! And sunglasses!" Rodney spun and pointed. "I smelled coconut oil—dear Lord, are those long johns?" Fire engine red, all in one piece. Rodney gulped. His eyes traveled downward to where the buttons seemed to be bulging a little, outward.
"Like 'em?" John gave him a lazy smile. "Mountie who loaned me the cabin said I could borrow them." He dropped his comic book and sat up on the bed. "So, not to be inhospitable or anything, because it's damned good to see you, buddy, but what the heck?"
"I thought you'd be surfing or scuba diving or something else equally idiotic." Rodney shivered. "It's freezing in here."
"Must be all the snow," John said, nodding wisely.
"Snow." Rodney glared.
"Useful for all the skiing I plan to do." John slid a finger between two buttons to scratch his chest idly. "'Course, the nights are pretty long."
"Hmph." Rodney stalked over to the bed and kicked off his shoes. "Well, this will do just as well, I suppose." He lifted the corner of the heavy quilt and squirmed underneath it. Plans changed. Brilliant people knew how to adapt.
John was eyeing him, a lopsided smile on his face. "Do for what?"
"Tell me, do those long johns have a trap door?"
John blinked twice, and then his smile went wide. "Why, yes. Yes, they do, buddy."
"Good to know, Colonel. Good to know."
End.