One day, John falls down the stairs.
Thing is, he was that absorbed in his thoughts – thoughts he should not have – he simply missed the first step. Furthermore, he is kind of tired. With him not having slept for… too long, anyway. Which is no excuse. At all.
The fall is vastly embarrassing.
And kind of inconvenient as it leads to questions like, “Are you all right?”
Yeah, sure. Just sprained my ankle. Feels like it, at least. And my head kinda hurts. And I’m so tired, I could sleep right here on the floor – just that I CAN’T FUCKING SLEEP. Not that I’d be telling you any of this.
And, “What happened?”
I fell… Down the stairs… Obviously. And, great, I am starting to sound like McKay.
And, “Can you stand up?”
Do I have to?
Luckily, neither Teyla, nor Ronon, nor (worse) McKay have seen his little accident.
Unfortunately, it happened in the Gate Room - so they will know about it soon enough.
John gets up, mumbles something about seeing Dr. Keller and hightails it to his room. His ankle hurts like hell, but that he can deal with. And he has no concussion. Probably.
So, yeah. He’s just fine.
Not talking about shit has, to date, worked perfectly well for John. And he isn’t about to change this long-practiced habit of his. Just as little as he wants to think about stuff he’d rather ignore – also something he is good at.
The next day, John’s ankle hurts just as it did hours before. That’s to be expected. And, considering the kind of stuff he is getting up to on a regular basis, he is used to a little bit of pain.
Problem is, he still hasn’t slept. And in this state, his mind strangely numb and slow, he can’t possibly go on a mission. What, if his next mistake won’t be something like missing a step, but failing to react fast enough in the next inevitable fight on some not so friendly planet and getting his teammates hurt or killed? It’s a risk, he won’t knowingly take.
In the end, John swallows the pill, so to speak, and goes to see Dr. Keller.
She tells him to talk to Heightmeyer if his condition – “No idea, why I can’t sleep. Maybe something I ate?” – doesn’t improve soon.
“Sure thing, Doc,” John lies with an easy smile and doesn’t fumble around with the sleeping pills she gave him. He hates those things.
Getting some sleep doesn’t seem to help with John’s problem all that much.
“Not to point out the obvious, but you do realize that I will make fun of you for… oh, I don’t know… all eternity?”
John tries to ignore the damn pins sticking in his damn palm because he was so distracted he goddamn put his hand on them – and by the way… Fucking ouch! “Why don’t you go back to your vastly important project that no one else could possibly, ever, finish as brilliantly as you can?” He indicates the console McKay had been working under. “Except, maybe, for Zelenka.”
Unfortunately, McKay doesn’t raise to the bait. “I could put some more pins onto a chair, if that’s the kind of thing you are into,” he says. And then the bastard does go back to work – crawling under the console head-first…
Everything started right in the middle of a mind-numbingly boring meeting. A thought came to John out of nowhere:
McKay looks good, today.
This alone wouldn’t have been all that bad – if McKay actually had looked any different AND if this realization hadn’t been accompanied by a sudden, very unwelcome and inconvenient erection.
In a far corner of his mind, stuffed into a well-filled box labelled: “ignore”, John knows that sometimes his eyes might stray and linger, appreciate not a woman’s body but a man’s.
It has never been that much of an issue.
But with McKay, John can’t seem to forget. And – it isn’t even the “man” theme which bugs him, keeps him awake at night. If it had happened with Ronon, par example, John would have simply shrugged it off. Because the satedan is a logical choice regarding thoughts about attractiveness.
McKay on the other hand?
Even if you came to accept, that the man has … something … to him, he is still McKay. Whatever this may mean.
When John had met McKay for the first time, he hadn’t been keen on spending any amount of time with him. The man had been quite annoying. He still is. Except – he likewise isn’t.
John kind of … maybe … might silently enjoy the other man’s demeanour. Even when John is on the receiving end of McKay’s ranting. Especially then, to be true.
As if: “Seriously! It’s a miracle that you can even figure out how to put one foot in front of the other. You utter idiot! How did you even survive one day of your sorry life, when you are too dumb to avert being shot but instead walk right into the line of fire!” really means, “I care for you and don’t want you to die.”
It probably does. In some way, at least. Because without John walking into the line of fire, McKay probably would soon be the one catching a bullet.
Somehow, being attracted to McKay feels… John has no words for it.
On Monday, John contemplates the breadth of McKay’s shoulders while walking behind him and runs against a post which ends at crotch level. At least, that takes care of a - let’s say - growing problem. For the time being.
On Wednesday, John almost falls down a ladder.
On Thursday, he traps his finger in a door on Atlantis. Which shouldn’t even be possible without any kind of malfunction.
The next Monday, John loses his balance while changing into his BDUs.
… This is really starting to get ridiculous.
Sometimes – or quite often – missions entail a strange situation, ranging from frightening to hilarious.
So, when the priest on PX 953 says, “To prove yourself worthy, you need to kiss …,” John isn’t surprised at all. Instead, he feels a sudden rush of excited anticipation which he just so can hide beneath his friendly “yeah -sure-I-respect-your-absolutely-reasonable-cultural-identity-stuff”- expression.
Putting his lips against the feet of the stony goddess-statue a few minutes later, he very deliberately does not think about how the sentence didn’t end with: “… each other,” and that he had expected those very words.
And, of course…
When it’s McKay’s turn to kiss the goddess’ feet with badly hidden reluctance, John, yet again, can’t help but stare at him.
The man is hunched over, his body forming an unattractive heap of impatient disapproval – hopefully not all too obvious for their esteemed hosts – and his shirt is stretched across his back. Threatens to slip out of his trousers.
McKay shifts and – almost.
John realizes that he is licking his lips. He feels kind of hot.
Later, he is almost surprised that he didn’t hurt himself in some stupid way.
Somewhere along the way, McKay has become sort of like a friend. John thinks. He isn’t good with this kind of thing, is much better at keeping people at a distance. So, he can’t be completely sure.
At the very least, McKay is team. This should be more than enough.