Filling In The Blanks by liketheriver (Wordless Challenge)

[liketheriverrun.livejournal.com]

Title: Filling In The Blanks
Category: Gen/ angst/ h/c. 
Word Count: ~5,500
Rating: T 
Characters: McKay, Sheppard, Carson, team
Warnings: None 
Spoilers: Set sometime early season 3 because I wanted Carson in it.
A/N:  Thanks as always to Koschka for the quick beta.
Summary: Sheppard’s grin just grew at the way he could hear the sarcasm even though McKay remained completely silent. He could hear it as clearly as he had heard the entire unspoken exchange they’d had under the house on the mission, his time he’d spent with the scientist allowing John to fill in the blanks of their conversations even when he was the only one talking. 

Filling In The Blanks

by liketheriver

 

“Atlantis, this is Sheppard. We have a medical emergency.”

 

John gripped the controls of the Jumper a hell of a lot tighter than was really necessary to pilot the craft, but not nearly tight enough to keep his growing anxiety in check.

 

Elizabeth’s voice came back through the gate, which had burst to life just ahead of him seconds before. “John, what happened?”

 

“McKay was hit with some electrical... barb… thing.”

 

“Is he conscious, Colonel?” Carson’s voice in full on doctor-mode cut across the radio in response to his less than eloquent explanation.

 

Behind him he could hear Ronon let out a curse as Teyla ordered, “Help me hold him down!”

 

Craning his neck to see into the back of the Jumper where his two teammates were working on the third, Sheppard could just make out Rodney’s flailing legs. “What’s happening back there?” he asked tensely.

 

“Colonel?” Carson called again, still waiting for an answer.

 

The gate was coming up fast and he couldn’t spare the time to watch them and pilot through the event horizon, so he ignored Beckett, turned his eyes back to flying, and demanded, “Talk to me people!”

 

“He’s convulsing again,” Ronon gritted out.

 

“He seems to be having trouble breathing,” Teyla added.

 

And as he took the ship into the wormhole, the one person John wished would speak, the one who had nearly exploded after a good hour of mandatory silence on the mission, remained eerily quiet the entire time.

 

*              *              *              *

 

It had seemed like a good idea to Sheppard to begin with. He and Rodney would simply crawl under the house where Teyla and Ronon were being held, come up under the floor, overpower the few guards, and off they’d scamper back through the woods to the clearing where the Jumper was parked. The two guards stationed at the only door that looked out across the open field made a frontal assault dangerous, to say the least. Thanks to the two full moons overhead, the soldiers would see them coming from a mile away even in the dark, and those glorified spear guns they carried with the electric darts seemed to have quite a range on them. But when John had noticed the large, chicken-like birds of the planet roaming in and out from under the building, he figured there must be enough space for the two of them to fit easily under there, as well. So he had suggested the plan.

 

He had spelled it out from where they squatted at the edge of the forest as best he could using standard protocol hand signs, which just had Rodney furrowing his brow in confusion. So he had tried again using more of a charade approach. Fingers pointed first at McKay then at himself. You and me… Next he had his fingers on his right hand run along his left palm then pointed to the back of the house. Run to the house… Forming the floor of the structure, he used his other hand to indicate them moving underneath then pointed his P90 up in the air, pretending to fire, and gave two thumbs up with an overzealous smile. We sneak under, attack from below, and save the day.

 

Rodney returned the thumbs up and within a few minutes, after the guards had finished their walk around of the back of the structure, they were crawling in the dirt below the house, glancing up through the slatted floor into the single, large room where they could just make out Teyla and Ronon tied to chairs above them. Sheppard motioned for McKay to stay put then moved down a ways away from their teammates, pulled C-4 from his vest, and started to secure it to the floorboards. Of course that’s when the five guards grew to twenty when the rest of their squadron, evidently, returned to the outpost for their evening meal.

 

From the lamplight shining through the floor, John could just make out Rodney throwing his arms open with an annoyed widening of his eyes. What do we do now?

 

Frowning in frustration himself, Sheppard held up a halting hand. Wait. Then he crawled back over to where McKay was sitting in the dirt. Giving Rodney his best, unconcerned shrug, he pointed up, mimicked eating, then had his fingers walk away across his hand again. Don’t worry about it. Once they eat they’ll leave again.

 

Waving a hand between them, McKay once again spread his arms wide impatiently. And in the meantime, what do we do?

 

Sheppard shot McKay his most sarcastic What the hell do you think we do? expression, rolled his eyes, and pantomimed the universal sign for whacking off.

 

Rodney flipped him off for his mockery of his question and rolled his own eyes in irritation.

 

John simply shrugged again with a shake of his head. That’s what you get for asking stupid questions.

 

Pointing his finger up frantically, McKay pointed at his ear then the two of them. What if they hear us?

 

Sheppard placed his fingers on his lips with a condescending grin. Be quiet and they won’t. But Rodney just crossed his arms impatiently and stared at him until he finally patted his P90 then formed a gun with his thumb and forefinger and hitched the mock hammer a few time. Shoot them if they do.

 

With an understanding nod of his head, McKay sighed quietly, leaned back and propped his elbows on the ground, and set in to wait it out. About fifteen minutes into the meal, Rodney gave him a panicked look, waving a hand in front of his face, and crinkling his nose as he sucked in a breath. Oh, shit! He was going to sneeze. Sheppard lunged for him, covering McKay’s mouth and nose with his hand just as the sneeze erupted. Fortunately the colonel’s desperate actions had the birds under the building with them squawking and scattering and muffled the sound. But the two of them lay unmoving, John still covering half of Rodney’s face with his hand, waiting for a reaction from above. They got it in the form of a kick on the floor and an admonishment for the birds to be quiet.

 

Waiting for a few seconds more just to be sure, Sheppard finally tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. You okay, now? Rodney’s nod in the affirmative had John releasing his hold and wiping his hand on his vest with a grimace to which McKay simply grinned abashedly. 

 

John pointed at Rodney, tucked his hands and flapped his arms like chicken wings, then faked a silent sneeze. Are you allergic to chickens, too? Because if he was, this sure as hell wasn’t a good place to hang out for a while.

 

McKay gave a dismissive shake of his head then let some dirt sprinkle from his fingers and waved a hand in the air. Just the dust. With an exaggerated wipe of his brow in relief, Sheppard had Rodney nodding his head in sincere agreement of his assessment.

 

They lay there for another twenty minutes or so waiting for the meal to end, but it didn’t seem to be breaking up anytime soon. Rodney let his head drop back in that way that said, God, I am soooo bored, and Sheppard couldn’t have agreed with him more. What the hell were these guys doing? He sure didn’t remember long, leisurely meals when he was on active patrol duty. Deciding this must be some sort of cultural thing, or bizarre cosmic punishment to be trapped with the universe’s most verbose person in a situation where he couldn’t speak, he pulled his knife and sketched out a tic-tac-toe board.

 

McKay gave him a noiseless snort of disdain at the idea.

 

With a tilt of his head, he offered the blade to his teammate, as if to say, You have a better idea?

 

This time Rodney mimed jerking off and John rolled his eyes and lay on his back to stare up at the floorboards over his head, resigned to waiting out the apparent seven-course meal complete with palate cleansers these damn guards were eating above them.

 

Beside him, he could hear McKay scraping in the dirt with his knife, and when Rodney tapped him on the shoulder and offered it back to him, he saw the physicist had graphed out a parabolic shape. When Sheppard just stared at him in confusion, McKay started writing a formula, rolled his hand, then handed John the knife again. Picking up on what was expected of him, Sheppard took the knife and quickly solved the equation. After a few rounds of that, in which the two of them got into a silent argument about whether or not imaginary numbers were allowed, Sheppard suggested rock, paper, scissors instead. Simple, straightforward, no room for interpretation of the results.

 

That went fine for about five minutes until John won his third throw down in a row and whaled his fist into Rodney’s arm so hard the scientist had fallen back gripping his arm with an open-mouthed contortion of agony before sitting back up and slammed Sheppard back just as hard. The colonel’s smug smile… because, really, he had gotten in a sweet hit there… turned into his own wince of pain and he started to punch back yet again until Rodney grabbed the knife from the ground and held it in front of him with a scowl.

 

Raising his hands… okay, okay, enough… John rubbed at his arm and turned his attention back up above them. One of the soldiers was reading a message from their high commander, blabbering on about the importance of hygiene and Sheppard suddenly had a flashback to some of the really bad training films he’d had to sit through in OTS. Rodney rolled his eyes, yet again, and puppeted a talking motion with his hands. Blah, blah, blah. John nodded in exaggerated agreement and realized they were going to be there for a while.

 

Taking the knife he scratched ‘Best Ever (blank)’ on the ground and then made the charades symbol for movies. Rodney caught on, nodded his agreement that it seemed like a decent way to pass the time and pointed at Sheppard. You go first.

 

John used the knife to scratch, ‘Casablanca.’

 

Rodney’s face twisted into one of disbelief before he wrote, ‘Citizen Kane.’

 

Sheppard’s own expression was along the lines of, Give me a fucking break.

 

The way McKay frowned and placed a hand on his hip, John could almost hear the, And why the hell not?

 

Sheppard answered with a broad yawn.

 

Rodney threw his arms up. Typical.

 

The rest of the comparisons didn’t go much better: Powerbar flavor (peanut butter vs. chocolate chip), Beatles albums (Sgt. Pepper’s vs. The White Album), Pink Floyd albums (Wish You Were Here vs. Dark Side of the Moon… although they both agreed The Wall was overrated), beer (Corona vs. Labatts… Rodney actually made a motion to stick his finger down his throat to gag himself over that one, even though John had seen him put away more than one Mexican cerveza while he was present), sport (football vs. hockey… surprise, surprise). They were in such disagreement over Free Bird vs. Stairway to Heaven for guitar solo that they had the alien chickens fluttering around and screeching again.

 

It took Ronon clearing his throat loudly above them to regain their attention when the troops finally started out of the building. John really wasn’t too surprised the big guy had known they were there, fortunately, the guards never did and when they had waited another fifteen minutes to give the departing troops time to get out of the immediate area, Sheppard fired off the C-4, and they put their plan into action. The two guards in the room were taken out by the blast and the three others who started to come in the room quickly scattered thanks to the spray of P90 fire. 

 

Rodney used the knife to cut Ronon and Teyla free and John gave a small, satisfied grin from the doorway where he watched the men go running off into the night. “Well, that went pretty well.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” McKay exclaimed, taking in a deep breath before laying into John. “’Casablanca’? Casafuckingblanca?”

 

“It’s a classic,” Sheppard countered.

 

“And ‘Citizen Kane’ isn’t?” John’s unimpressed hitch of one shoulder had Rodney continuing. “Do you even comprehend the magnitude of what Welles accomplished with that movie? With structure? With cinematography? How he changed movie making as we know it? He shot the fucking ceilings for Christ sake. He was a cinematic genius, and rather unappreciated, to which I can completely relate.”

 

“Why does shooting a ceiling make a guy a genius?” Ronon asked in misunderstanding as he retrieved his gun from where the guards had stashed it.

 

Rodney sighed dramatically, “Not shoot, bang, bang. Shoot with a camera… film it.”

 

“And that’s important because…?”

 

“Exactly,” Sheppard agreed with Ronon’s question. “Who cares about a damn ceiling? We’re talking Bogie here.”

 

“Who cares about the ceiling?” Rodney crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “How about the Alien movies where the creature sneaks up on the unsuspecting victims from above? You sure seem to enjoy the ceilings when that’s going on.”

 

Teyla glanced out the door to ascertain the guards truly were gone. “Perhaps this is a discussion best saved for when we are back on Atlantis.”

 

“Ohhhhh, no. I’ve had to sit in the dirt for the past hour and a half, surrounded by chickens, and hold my tongue while Colonel No Taste here insults me and half the culture icons of the twentieth century, not to mention gave me a really, nasty bruise.” He lifted his sleeve to show off his arm with the purpling smear.

 

Teyla frowned at John when she saw the mark and Sheppard lifted his own sleeve to show how McKay had reciprocated. “He started it,” Rodney insisted with a pointed finger when Teyla turned her disapproval on him. Ronon took the opportunity to give Sheppard an appreciative nod, although his face went neutral when Teyla glanced over at him.

 

“This is how the two of you spent your time waiting to secure our release? By beating one another and bickering?”

 

John squirmed under Teyla’s displeasure. “Well, it’s not like we had anything better to do.”

 

“You could have been discovered. Ronon and I were both aware of your presence; the guards could have just as easily heard you.”

 

“Hey, we were quiet,” Sheppard defended and McKay quickly joined in with an insistent nod of his head. “And for McKay, that was a huge accomplishment.”

 

“Now wait just a minute…”

 

“That was a compliment.”

 

“It sure the hell didn’t sound like one.”

 

“Face it Rodney, you’re not a quiet person.”

 

“I can be quiet when I need to be.”

 

“Well, you aren’t being quiet now.”

 

“I said when I need to be. I don’t need to be quiet now.”

 

“Well, I sure wish to hell you would be.”

 

“If certain people would listen the first time, I wouldn’t have to repeat myself and I could cut down on my talking by a good…”

 

And that’s, unfortunately, when Sheppard got his wish, because Rodney stopped talking. In fact he stopped standing and nearly stopped breathing when he fell seizing on the floor with a barb in his shoulder. Ronon fired into the night and was rewarded with a cry of pain when his shot hit home but John was already on the ground beside Teyla, yanking out the small arrow.

 

“Son of a bitch!” he yelped at the jolt that went through his hand when he touched the still glowing dart, pulling his hand away before trying again. That time it came free but it didn’t immediately stop the convulsion.

 

Sheppard held Rodney’s shoulders while Teyla practically lay across his legs. “Ronon, what’s it look like out there?” The quakes were lessening but hadn’t stopped completely and John knew they needed to get their injured man back to Atlantis.

 

The Satedan fired again. “There’s a few brave ones. Stupid but brave.”

 

“Rodney? Can you hear me, buddy?” McKay was twitching now, the more violent tremors had subsided, and Sheppard checked his pulse, which was erratic as hell, and his breathing, which was even less encouraging given how shallow it was. “Shit. Ronon, make us a backdoor,” John ordered, covering Rodney as best he could when Ronon shot a large hole in the wall. 

 

“Teyla, you have point.” Standing so he could heft the unconscious man over his shoulder, John paused when Ronon’s large hand landed there instead.

 

“I’ve got him, Sheppard.”

 

He started to protest, but instead nodded silently. Ronon was bigger, stronger, could move faster with the added weight. It made sense, or at least as much sense as something in this situation could. “Go. I’ll cover your sixes.”

 

That’s how they ended up back on Atlantis with Beckett overseeing the medical team as they rushed McKay down the hall and into the infirmary. Carson eventually came out to give them an update. Rodney was in a coma, he continued to have seizures, although they were lessening, which hopefully meant it wasn’t a sign of brain damage.

 

“Hopefully?” Sheppard asked with a sickening twist in his stomach.

 

“We won’t know for sure until he wakes up, Colonel.” Carson paused before adding reluctantly. “If he wakes up.”

 

John took first watch. That’s how he thought of it, as if by just being there he could guard Rodney from the Grim Reaper if he tried to show up. He sat silently that first night, forcing a small smile in return to the ones the nurses gave him when they came to check on McKay, moving to the door to converse quietly when one of the others came by to find out how Rodney was doing, standing in the corner and observing whenever Carson came in response to a seizure, then retuning to his silent vigil by the bed when he was done.

 

Making a note in his electronic tablet, the physician asked him at one point, “So, how are you doing, Colonel?”

 

Taken aback by the question, Sheppard sat a little straighter. “I’m… okay.”

 

“You just seem very quiet, is all.”

 

“Well, I thought… you know…  McKay needs rest… peace and quiet… so he can get better.”

 

Nodding sagely, Carson continued to record his notations. “You know, there is a great deal of clinical evidence that suggests patients in comas can hear what’s going on around them, at least to a certain extent. And with a person like Rodney, he’s bound to get bored just laying about twiddling his subconscious thumbs.”

 

“So, what are you suggesting, Carson? I tell him a few jokes.”

 

“Aye. For starters. Or read him a book, tell him about your day, anything you fancy.” He reached out and squeezed John’s shoulder. “Talk to him, lad. I think it would do you both some good.”

 

Sheppard sat for a moment after Beckett left, listening to the beat of Rodney’s heart on the monitor, before leaning forward, starting to speak, stopping, and then finally admitting, “You know why I like ‘Casablanca’ so much, McKay? It has nothing to do with the sacrifice Rick makes for the greater good or the fact it’s this huge epic told through the lives of a handful of people, although that truly is top-notch story telling. It’s the last line, that very last line about this being the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Because I can’t think of two people who are more different from each other and yet seems to genuinely hit it off like Rick and Renault… except for you and me.”

 

Leaning back he propped his feet up and crossed his arms. “But I guess it just goes a long way in explaining why you enjoy that snoozer ‘Citizen Kane’ like you do. And Stairway to Heaven? Can you say clichéd?” 

 

John wished like hell he would say it, or call him a moron, or state his case in excruciating detail. Hell, he’d be happy if he just opened his eyes or responded better to the stimulus tests Carson gave him. But since he didn’t, John decided to keep talking until he did.

 

“You’d fall asleep with your lighter in your hand before the song was even over. So when you get right down to it, that song is really nothing more than a fire hazard….”

 

Teyla relieved him at dawn, sending him off with a friendly smile and admonishment to have Carson check him as he sounded like he was possibly coming down with an illness seeing as he seemed to be losing his voice. But the next evening when he came in and found Ronon explaining the fine art of Satedan blade maintenance, John figured he wasn’t the only one with whom Beckett had conversed.

 

Sheppard had come prepared with throat lozenges this time around, opening his copy of ‘War and Peace’ after a quick greeting in which he told Rodney he needed to cut this shit out because sponge baths from nurses could only be used as an excuse to slack off for so long. 

 

But after about five pages of reading, he stopped and said, “Any time you feel like listening to something else, just let me know.” He waited a beat in which McKay simply lay unmoving on the bed. “No, huh? Of course you probably love this stuff. Great structure. Tolstoy was an underappreciated genius, no doubt.” Another pause and John frowned. “You know, Rodney, I’m really starting to get tired of this one-sided conversation we’ve got going here. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s kind of refreshing to actually be able to get a word in edgewise, but just a hint of whether or not you’re even enjoying the book would be helpful.” Still no response and he settled back into his chair.  “All right, I guess we go back to finding out what Pierre and Natasha are up to.”

 

After ten more pages, Sheppard scrubbed at his face and confessed, “Okay, this is even more boring when it’s read out loud. There has to be something else around here to read. Give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”

 

John returned a few minutes later with a book he borrowed from one of the nurses on duty. Showing the novel to the unresponsive man in the bed, he told him, “Laurell K. Hamilton. I’ve never read any of her stuff but I’ve heard she’s pretty good.”

 

After a few hours, Sheppard looked up from the page he was reading and shook his head. “Damn, I had no clue there was so much sex involved in vampire slaying. I think we chose the wrong profession, McKay.”

 

He looked over at Rodney with a grin and could picture him rolling his eyes with a derisive, Yes, because the daring, space pilot career has been such a let down for you in that arena.

 

Sheppard’s grin just grew at the way he could hear the sarcasm even though McKay remained completely silent. He could hear it as clearly as he had heard the entire unspoken exchange they’d had under the house on the mission, his time he’d spent with the scientist allowing John to fill in the blanks of their conversations even when he was the only one talking. 

 

“Yeah, okay, you’ve evidently chosen the wrong profession, then.”

 

By the time Teyla arrived again, John was several chapters in and in desperate need of a shower… a cold shower. The woman had brought her own reading material but when she saw Sheppard already had a book she brightened. “Oh, should I continue reading the one you have?”

 

Suddenly embarrassed to let Teyla know what he’d been reading, he put the book behind his back. “No!” When his teammate just blinked in surprise at his reaction, he tried to justify, “I’m just interested in seeing what happens myself. In fact, I think I’ll take it with me and read ahead a little bit. You know, to see if it’s something Rodney would be interested in.”

 

“Very well.” Teyla’s smile wavered at his odd reaction. “I shall see you later then.”

 

“Yeah. Later,” he confirmed before reaching out and patting Rodney’s leg. “See you tomorrow, McKay.”

 

“Or sooner,” Teyla offered hopefully.

 

“Or sooner,” John echoed, although his optimism wasn’t nearly as strong as the Athosian’s.

 

He was right to be less than confident because nothing had really changed when he showed up again the next night. Taking his seat in the chair that was still warm from Ronon, John addressed his friend. “So, still giving me the silent treatment, I see. If I’d known all it took was to beat you at rock, paper, scissors a few times, I’d have done it years ago.”

 

Who the hell throws paper three times in a row? He’d seen that annoyed question written all over McKay’s face when he’d done it sitting in the dirt.

 

“It worked, didn’t it?” he responded smugly to the comatose man.

 

The creativity of your strategic planning is staggering. You must have been at the top of your class on Relentless Smothering of the Enemy with Paper Products.

 

“Haven’t you even heard of a propaganda campaign? Disseminating leaflets over enemy territory? Besides, it just means you threw rock three times in a row. What’s that say about your tactical abilities?”

 

That I gave you far more credit than you deserved in your capability for diversified attacks.

 

“Speaking of attacks, what say we see how many Anita’s going to kill today… or sleep with… or both.”

 

The next night when he came to the infirmary, Carson was sitting by Rodney’s bed reading a letter from home. “The girls will be coming down on Sunday and I am planning to invite Mrs. McGill over for tea. She seems to believe her own granddaughters have hung the moon when the poor dears are more likely than not to attempt to jump over it like the nursery rhyme animal they so resemble. You know I am not one to speak ill of another, but those two are destined to spend their lives in spinsterhood.”

 

John cleared his throat in amusement and that had Carson looking up with a slightly abashed grin. “My mum, God love her. She’s at an age where the only things keeping her going are the town gossip and one upping the neighbors.”

 

“I’m sure McKay’s enjoying hearing about all the happenings back home.” He tried his best to hide his grin when he imagined Rodney’s true response.

 

Sheppard, thank God you’re finally here. Any minute now he’s going to go into the livestock report. See what you can do about booting Mother Beckett so we can get back to the vampire porn.

 

“Aye, well, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to take care of a few things I’d been neglecting all in one sitting. But now it’s time to get back to work. I’ll check back in with you lads in a bit.”

 

“Any change?” John asked hopefully.

 

“I’m afraid not. But his vitals are holding strong and the convulsions appear to have stopped, so I’m hopeful his body is just taking its sweet time recovering from the jolt it received.”

 

Nodding his understanding, he said his goodbyes to Carson and settled back into his chair. “Hate to disappoint you, but Radek’s worried he might get stuck running the science division if you didn’t snap out of this and then he’d have to complete the annual reviews if it ends up you’re actually brain damaged. So, he wants me to read you something to stimulate the mind seeing as we’ve concentrated on other parts the past couple of nights. That’s why he sent the International Journal of Modern Physics. I don’t know about you, but I’m giddy with anticipation as to what we’ll find in here.”

 

Sheppard struggled through the first article on quantum light, then one covering tunneling between black holes, and he was well into the third on the scale of the universe. This one dealt a lot with Planck time and Planck lengths and John really thought he might possibly be on the verge of understanding what a singularity really was when he heard, “Plahngk.”

 

He’d been pronouncing the name ‘plank’, like a board, and seeing as he was busy trying to make sense of a diagram that was supposed to represent the Big Bang, he mumbled distractedly to what he was sure was another imaginary response from McKay, “Really? It looks like plank to me.”

 

“He’s German. Not wood.”

 

The weakly mumbled retort had Sheppard looking over the top of the journal to see slivered, blue eyes looking back at him. The periodical hit the floor without a second thought as John lunged from the chair to lean over the railing of the bed. “Rodney?”

 

The eyes started drifting shut again and Sheppard reached over and squeezed his arm, “McKay!” causing them open again.  

 

“Don’t you… ever… shut up?” 

 

He laughed out loud at the comment before turning and yelling toward the door, “Carson!” And this time the hoarseness in his voice had nothing to do with talking too much.

 

It was still several more days before Rodney was conscious for more than a few minutes at a time, but each time he stayed awake a little longer until everyone, especially the medical staff, was secretly wishing he was comatose once again. John stopped by with dinner, his eyebrows rising in humor when he noticed the Anita Blake book he’d been reading to McKay sitting on the bedside table. And that had him thinking.

 

“Say, McKay? Could you actually hear what we were saying to you while you were out?”

 

“No,” he dismissed as he instantly started on his cake before touching the rest of his meal. “Not really. It was kind of like a biology class in college when you’d zone out and you knew the professor was lecturing but afterward you couldn’t recall anything he’d actually blabbered on about.” Rodney took another bite of cake before realizing what he’d said. “But don’t tell Katie Brown I said that. I think I might still have a shot with her.”

 

John nodded conspiratorially before probing a little further. “So, no details of anything?”

 

“Nope. It was pretty much this incessant droning that drowned out the beckoning of the dead relatives.” He gave Sheppard a chocolate smudged smile and John did his best not to wince at how close he had thought that statement might have come to being accurate.

 

“Oh, well, as long as it helped.”

 

But when they finished eating and John started to leave, McKay stopped him with a question of his own. “So which one am I?” When Sheppard furrowed his brow in confusion, Rodney elaborated. “Rick or Renault?”

 

“I thought you said you didn’t remember any details,” Sheppard challenged, covering his embarrassment over the confession with annoyance.

 

Rodney shrugged from where he sat in his hospital bed. “A few things might have slipped through. My brain just seems to absorb information without me even realizing it. I mean, I did end up with an A in biology, after all.”

 

John studied his boots for a second before finally lifting his eyes to McKay’s. “Renault. There’s no way you’re smooth enough to be Rick.”

 

After a moment’s consideration, Rodney nodded in agreement of Sheppard’s assessment. “I think, possibly, I might have been a little overcritical of that movie.”

 

“Eh, that’s okay. It took me a while to appreciate it myself. It tends to grow on you upon subsequent viewing.”

 

“Maybe I’ll have to give it another shot. You wouldn’t happen to know where I could get a copy, would you?”

 

Sheppard gave a slow smile. “I think I might be able to track one down.”

 

“I have a copy of ‘Citizen Kane’ in my room,” Rodney volunteered in sudden excitement. “We could let Teyla and Ronon decide which they like best. They seem like they’d be unbiased judges.”

 

“Sounds like a reasonable way to settle that dispute. I’ll round them up and we’ll set up the movies if Carson will let us spring you out of here for a while.” He started for the door before turning and asking almost dreadfully. “About the whole Rick, Renault thing… you’re not going to say I’m your Rosebud or anything like that, are you?”

 

“Oh, God, no.” Rodney snorted at the idea. “And Carson was worried I was the one with brain damage. You, Rosebud? Please.”

 

“Okay, good. Just checking.”

 

But as he started out the door, he heard McKay mumble, “Kane never actually had a chance to enjoy his time with the sled.”

 

John paused, thought of going back in, but decided against it. Besides, when he stopped to think about it, that was one blank he really hadn’t needed to have filled. But he couldn’t stop the grin that actually overhearing it brought to his face.

 

Maybe he’d misjudged ‘Citizen Kane’, after all.

 

The End