New Fic: Figure-Ground, by kuonji (R) [Amnesty 2006, Culture Clash challenge]

[kuonji14.livejournal.com]

Title: Figure-Ground
Author: kuonji
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters: Ronon Dex, Rodney McKay
Rating: R (mostly for language)
Spoilers: none
Summary: "Does he fuck you?" Ronon asked.

A/N: I started this back for the "This Is Not Happening!" challenge, but by the time I finished it I decided it didn't really fit anymore, so I shelved it.  Thank goodness for Amnesty! :D

Update: D'oh! I can't believe I forgot to thank dracostella for the beta!  Anyway, give thanks to her if you like the story. :D

   

Figure-Ground
by kuonji

"Does he fuck you?" Ronon asked.

McKay coughed, spit out his roasted bird meat, gulped some water, choked on that too, then settled for alternately gasping and sputtering, "What?"

"Sheppard. Does he fuck you."

"Holy--" McKay waved his hands, windmilling them like they were on fire. "Why would you-- No! What the hell gave you that idea? And did I mention, no!"

Ronon frowned. "I just wondered." The frown cleared as a thought occurred to him, unorthodox of course, but he didn't understand Atlantis culture so, why not. "Teyla?" he suggested.

"What about her?" McKay was wiping his mouth with a napkin, looking over the damage to his food tray.

"Does she?"

"Does she what?" McKay choked again, this time on air, and stabbed a finger in Ronon's direction -- repeatedly. "Don't answer that!" he shouted. "And no, she doesn't."

Ronon's brow furrowed again. He'd really thought he had it figured out.

"Honestly, where are you coming up with these? And before you ask, no, Sheppard and Teyla aren't sleeping with each other either."

"Of course not. They're soldiers."

"Oh, of course. It's only geniuses who are easy."

McKay's sneer plus eyeroll provoked Ronon enough that he explained, "It causes favoritism. Besides, it's a little bad on morale if your lover dies."

McKay blinked a few times. "Oh."

"That's why on Sateda our military has pleasure workers."

"We didn't bring any of those along with us, if that's what you were looking for." McKay's tone was sarcastic, his reaction completely not what Ronon had hoped for. McKay frowned, then leaned forward. Ronon did the same, hopeful. "Ronon, you'd better know. The military here, they have this policy. It's called Don't Ask Don't Tell. Dumb name, I know..."

"Don't ask and tell what?"

"I'm getting to that! Look, the U.S. military doesn't like homosexual relationships, so--"

"What relationships?"

"I'm sorry, let me explain in caveman terms." He had called Ronon that before. Ronon wasn't sure how his having lived in a cave was relevant to intelligence, but he had learned to ignore the more esoteric sayings here. "It's men sleeping with other men, in, uh, a sexual way. Or women. Though that's not talked about so much."

Ronon stared. That was the most preposterous thing he had ever heard. "Men and women aren't allowed to sleep together on your planet?" How did they procreate?

"No, you... Are you being deliberately dense? Men don't sleep with men, and women don't sleep with women. Or at least, you can't talk about it. The point is, Sheppard can get in a lot of trouble if you talk about him and me-- him and any man sleeping together, got it?"

Ronon mulled that over. "So you and Sheppard can fuck as long as you don't talk about it."

"We're not-- No!" McKay's eating implement -- his 'fork' -- sent a stalk of vegetable sailing toward the neighboring table. "I mean, okay, technically yes. I could be sleeping with any of the military officers in this city as long as no one finds out."

"Makes sense." McKay's face seemed to fall a little at Ronon's casual acceptance. Ronon had seen stranger things, though. This didn't faze him. Besides, he was pleased, because it all made sense now.

He studied McKay's receding hairline, his too-pale face, his soft arms, his protruding gut.

Or maybe not.

Ronon leaned forward. Time to be blunt. "Why did Sheppard choose you for the team?"

McKay's eyes got wide and he snapped back in his seat. "Excuse me? If you haven't realized yet, I'm the smartest person on Atlantis, probably in this galaxy."

"But what are you bringing to the team in the field?"

"What is this, an interview? Aside from my vast scientific knowledge, there's my quick thinking, my excellent grasp of... Oh my god," he said, as his quick thinking and excellent grasp of whatever must have caught up with him. "I'm not the team whore, if that's what you're asking. Jesus." He stopped eating and threw down his fork, which, if Ronon judged by what he knew of McKay so far was correct, was as upset as he could get. "Look, was there a point to this?"

"I guess not." Ronon had hit a wall on this line of reasoning.

McKay ran a fist over his forehead and sighed. "Okay, Ronon," he said, voice lower. "You know what I said about Don't Ask Don't Tell? Well, another thing we weird Earthlings don't do is go around calling people prostitutes. Aside from the fact that it's illegal, it's a disgusting insult."

The concept was foreign, but McKay really did look offended. "Sorry," he offered. "On Sateda, pleasure workers ply their trade as an art. They generally get paid very well," he added, with an inquisitive glance.

"Well, I don't," McKay snapped, crossing his arms. His mouth twitched. "I mean, I do get paid well. We're talking about the U.S. Defense budget here, plus easily millions in worldwide grants... Anyway. I do. Get paid well. Not the other thing."

Ronon shrugged. "Sure."

McKay frowned. "Don't you people have scientists?"

"Sure." Scientists in Ronon's concept stayed in their labs and offices. They designed and built the guns and arms, but they did not go out in the field to (ineptly) fire them.

"So what do these so-called scientists do?"

Ronon glared. "They stay to themselves and do their jobs. And they listen to their leaders' orders."

McKay barked a laugh. "Wait, is that what this is about? You're mad because I don't run around after Sheppard like a trained puppy? As if you and Teyla do everything he says," he snorted.

"Teyla said we could choose."

"So can I."

"You're a civilian."

"I'm a scientist. I know more about Ancient technology, electronics, and applied physics than the whole military force here combined. Maybe you'll appreciate that when I save your ass sometime. Oh, wait, I've already done that!"

"After getting us into trouble in the first place." The Atlantis teams wasted an incredible amount of time investigating scientific curiosities. Ronon did not fancy himself as an armed escort. He refused to believe that Sheppard, who was head of the military contingent here, would deign to do so either.

Which brought him back to the question: What the hell did Sheppard think McKay brought to the team, other than distractions?

McKay was tight-lipped. Angry. "I don't think you understand what we're doing here," he said, finally.

"No, I don't," he agreed readily.

"The Atlantis Expedition was formed to explore a never-before-seen galaxy. We came here to learn. About the Ancients and the advanced technology they developed. It was this grand project for discovery and study and, and... we just wanted to know things. The Wraith were... extra. And yes, I've used my significant skills to save all of our lives more than a few times, but that's not--" McKay slumped slightly, the spark of building excitement leeching out of him. "This isn't my job."

Ronon studied him again. The receding hairline, the pinched white face, the tense shoulders.

When he had agreed to join Sheppard, he had thought they would be the alpha team in battling the Wraith -- using his strengths for a meaningful purpose. Maybe what they actually did was equally significant, but for Ronon it seemed sometimes irritating, unfulfilling.

Not quite as he had hoped.

"What was the favor you wanted to ask me?" There had been an actual reason for this meal with McKay, he remembered.

McKay flinched. "Yeah, about that... Ford used to help me practice. You know, hand-to-hand combat, et cetera. Sheppard has, I don't know, commander-ish things, and I can't fight Teyla, so..."

Ronon did not react outwardly. Ford was a sore topic for all of them. Despite thinking he was on the path to insanity, though, Ronon couldn't think too badly of the man. He had saved Ronon's life, after all. And it was because of him that Ronon had come to the City of the Ancestors, probably one of the last places in the galaxy capable of annihilating the Wraith once and for all.

"Sure," he said. He stood, wanting to avoid any follow-up babble McKay might have. "Tomorrow. 0600 in training room 2."

McKay made a face but nodded manfully. "Okay."

Ronon paused, balancing the tray in his hands. He gave a mental shrug. "Tell me what you do in the labs. Tonight at dinner," he invited.

McKay frowned up at him, his suspicious-incredulous-confused expression clearing gradually. "All right," he accepted. "I eat around eight."

"Sure. But skip second dinner. It's not good to sleep on a full stomach, and you'll want to go to bed early. You'll need the rest." He allowed some teeth to show.

"Fine, whatever." McKay waved his hands in Ronon's direction, a clear 'shoo' gesture. Ronon looked down, snagged McKay's fritter just for the indignant sqwawk that produced, and sauntered out.

End. 

A/N: I imagine this taking place soon after Ronon joined SGA-1, probably close to the time period of "Condemned".  

 

Comments

[panisdead.livejournal.com]

Not quite as he had hoped.

Ooh, I really like the sense of frustration throughout this.

[kuonji14.livejournal.com]

Thank you! That's such a good observation. I was trying to play with the fact that McKay and Dex in this story have opposite and complementary views of the expedition (thus the title of the fic), and both of them are unsatisfied. McKay expected discovery and Nobel-winning experiments (with a little danger, of course), and what he got was shooting and killing and nearly dying every other week. Dex, on the other hand, expected the shooting and killing, and what he thinks he got is... babysitting the scientists. What gives? The phrase, Not my job description!, comes to mind. :D