Seeing Heightmeyer

This story is a remix of Epiphany by Karen McFadyyon (no longer on the web), written for the SGA Remix 2005 Challenge.

There stood Dr. McKay, a look of surprise on his face. "Teyla!"

"Dr. McKay," she replied, equally surprised.

"I was just, um...." He took her by the arm, guided her around the corner. "We're seeing each other," he whispered.

"You and Dr. Heightmeyer?"

He looked distinctly uncomfortable, and she wondered if there was some taboo among the Earth people about discussing their lovers. "Well, you know how much I love women with great ... um ... minds. Just, um, just don’t say anything to anyone?"

She smiled. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Will you look at that," said John, a slow grin stealing across his face. He jerked his head in the direction of the food line, where Sergeant Bates was apparently trying to sweet-talk Kate Heightmeyer. She was having none of it, and after a moment they moved off in separate directions, his face glum, hers relieved. "I never knew the man had a thing for blondes. Too bad for him she's not interested."

Teyla shrugged. "I suppose she told him she was already involved with Dr. McKay," she said, spearing another piece of meat with her fork and popping it neatly into her mouth.

John's mouth dropped open. "She's involved with McKay?"

She looked up from her plate with a guilty expression. "I am sorry. I was not supposed to say anything."

"She's involved with McKay?" he repeated.

She put down her fork. "Please, do not tell him that I told you. I saw him leaving her room...." She made a small motion with her hand, and smiled slightly. "He does not want people to know."

"She's involved with McKay." This time, it wasn't a question, just a dumbfounded statement. He shook his head. "I suppose stranger things have happened," he said, taking another forkful of food, then pausing just before putting it in his mouth. "But at the moment, I can't think of any."

John lay back on his bed, thinking. It shouldn't bother him that McKay was involved with Heightmeyer. Kate. She wasn't bad-looking, but not at all his type, so where did this sudden ball of jealousy in his chest come from? Why did he have this urge to stalk into McKay's room and tell him to keep his dick in his pants?

Maybe it was because McKay had told Teyla, but he hadn't told him. They were teammates. They were, he had thought, friends. McKay had told him about his cat. He had told him about his science fair project that involved building a nuclear bomb. He had told him, in far more detail than John really wanted to know, about his allergies.

So why the hell hadn't he told him about Heightmeyer?

He tried to remember all their conversations about women. There hadn't been many, really. There had been Chaya - well, that had been more of an argument than a conversation, hadn't it. Then there was that thing with Allina, and he grinned, remembering how clueless Rodney had been about her flirting. They'd really ribbed him, he and Ford, and - wait. That must be it. Rodney was probably keeping his love life secret because he didn't want to be teased.

Well, that was just too bad, wasn't it.

He found McKay in his laboratory, which wasn't surprising; with the hive ships on their way, everyone in Atlantis was hard at work trying to find ways to defend against the inevitable attack. In fact, it was amazing, thought John, that McKay even had the energy to carry on with Heightmeyer. Then again, with their future survival uncertain, maybe things like sex became more important.

"McKay," he said, swinging around the doorframe and dropping lightly into a chair.

McKay looked up, his eyes faintly bleary. "Oh, you're finally here, good. Tell me if you think this is a schematic of a weapon, or of a toaster."

"What do you mean, finally? You didn't radio me."

"I didn't?" He furrowed his brow. "Oh. I meant to, all right? So, weapon or toaster?"

John bent over the laptop. "Um. It looks like a...I don't know what it looks like. Why are you asking me?"

"You're the weapons guy, Major."

"Look, I know how to fire them. I don't know how to design them." He peered at the screen again. "Maybe it's an Ancient sex toy."

"If you're not going to help, you can go away," groused McKay.

"Sorry. Hey, I hear you're seeing Kate Heightmeyer."

McKay's head snapped up. "Will you not say that so loudly?" he whispered, turning his head to scan the lab. Miko Kusanagi and Radek Zelenka were off on the other side of the room, conferring; of course John wouldn't have said anything if they'd been within earshot. Probably.

"What? Don't want Miko to be disappointed?"

"It's not the sort of thing I want to advertise," said McKay. He frowned. "Whoa, wait a minute. How did you know?"

John smiled. "Oh, it's no big secret."

"Oh, great. Great. There goes my reputation."

"Come on, Rodney. It's not like anyone here would hold it against you. Well, except for Bates, maybe," he added, thinking about the scene in the mess hall.

"Bates?" McKay's voice was a nervous squeak.

"He's not going to do anything, don't worry. I'm sure he understands. It's perfectly understandable."

"Oh, it is? You think so? It doesn't bother you?"

It did bother him, of course, but he wasn't going to say so, because then he'd have to say why it bothered him, and he hadn't figured that out yet. Instead he shrugged. "As long as it makes you happy."

"Happy? Right, because with three hive ships breathing down my neck, I am so incredibly happy." He shrugged. "It helps with the stress, which, as you might notice, I'm under a lot of, these days."

"You've got a point, there," said John, although privately he thought that was a rather unromantic attitude. "It certainly helps, doesn't it."

"And how would you know?"

"Well, it's not like I haven't been there myself."

"Huh," said McKay. "I never would have guessed." To John's utter astonishment, he looked serious. "Now if we're done here, I have work to do."

"Yeah, all right," said John, confused. As he walked down the hall he tried to figure out how Rodney could possibly think that he, John, was inexperienced. Maybe - oh, Christ, that must be it. Rodney obviously thought that sometime in the past, John had slept with Kate Heightmeyer. No wonder he'd dismissed him from the lab so quickly. He was going to have to patch things up, or they'd never be able to work together again.

At breakfast the next day he cornered McKay just as he was snatching up the last of the bagels. "Look, McKay. I don't want you to get the wrong impression."

"And what impression would that be, exactly? That the Wraith are going to descend on our city in, oh, two weeks and change? That nobody here has the slightest clue what to do about it? That genius works better when it's not being constantly harassed, because let me tell you, everybody else seems to have the impression that I need to be interrupted every five minutes, and I'm about -"

"McKay. No tantrums in the mess hall."

McKay looked around, saw that several people were watching, and he lowered his voice. "Oh. Right."

John lowered his voice as well. "I just wanted to tell you I never slept with Kate Heightmeyer."

"You, okay. You never slept with Kate Heightmeyer. Fine. Any particular reason you felt the need to tell me this?"

"I thought you might be, I don't know. Jealous?"

McKay's eyes went wide. "You. Jealous. Me."

"Me Tarzan, you Jane. Considering the way you went ballistic about Chaya -"

"That wasn't jealousy! That was an ascended Ancient, pretending to be an alien priestess, pretending to be a goddess. God, there were just so many levels of wrong there, serious deception going on, and all you could think about was getting a little alien priestess nookie."

"Jealous. Jea-lous," John sang quietly close to McKay's ear. "You just wanted a little alien priestess nookie yourself. Although between you and me, glowy noncorporeal sex isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"I think I've heard enough about your sex life for one day, Major."

"Anyway, you have nothing to worry about," said John, as he turned to leave. "Except, of course, the Wraith about to descend on the city."

If McKay's relationship with Kate Heightmeyer was helping his stress level, it sure wasn't apparent to John. He'd stopped in the science lab to ask his opinion on a couple of the planets they'd been to in the previous weeks - trying to narrow down some Alpha site choices - and Rodney had practically bitten his head off, yelling some nonsense about Lagrangian satellites and weapons systems and toasters, and John had decided it was probably in his best interest just to leave quietly.

About twenty minutes later, Dr. Zelenka had slipped into John's office with an apologetic smile and a memory card, saying, "Rodney is acting like that to us all, lately. It is just his way." The memory card held McKay's off-world mission notes, which Zelenka had surreptitiously acquired from the computer, and for which John thanked him profusely.

At dinner McKay was sitting alone in the mess hall. Not too surprising that nobody wanted to sit by him, considering his current mood, but what the hell, Rodney was his friend, right? Placing his tray on the table, he slid into the seat opposite. "Hey."

"Is there a crisis I need to solve right now, or may I finish eating?"

John held up his hands. "Eat. I'm just here to eat, too." He waited until Rodney had a mouthful of food before asking, "So, how's your love life?"

That got a glare. "My love life - what is it with all these questions about my love life, all of a sudden?" Rodney sputtered.

He smiled and shrugged. "I just thought I'd ask. You don't seem very relaxed."

"Of course I'm not relaxed! We are facing certain death by Wraith in less than two weeks, I have had no sleep in three days, we've run out of coffee, and you keep asking me about my love life!" He took another bite of food. "Which, not that it's any of your business, is lousy."

"Aw," said John, and was it wrong to feel a little glee at that? "Did she dump you?" Rodney stared at him uncomprehendingly, and he clarified. "Kate Heightmeyer. Did she dump you?"

"What are you talking about? She didn't dump me, I don't know where you even got the idea, you - look, whatever your fascination with Heightmeyer is, this has got to stop right now."

"I was just -"

"No, no, right now. Go away. Just - I can not deal with this now, I can not deal with you now, go." Rodney ostentatiously dug into his food. "Not talking to you. Not listening. Go."

"All right," John said, standing. "I'm going."

He was going, all right - straight to Heightmeyer's office. He called on the radio on the way up, to verify she was free, then threw open her door in a righteous fury. "I need to talk with you."

"That's what I'm here for, Major Sheppard," she said gently. "Please, have a seat."

He decided to remain standing, just for the psychological advantage. "Not about me. About McKay."

She shook her head. "That's confidential. I'm sure you understand."

"Look, normally it wouldn't be an issue. But Rodney's my friend, and he's on my team, and in case you haven't noticed, we're about to be attacked by three Wraith hive ships. He's got a lot on his plate. And when he's acting all pissy because his girlfriend isn't being supportive enough, I think I have a right to get involved."

"I see," she said, leaning forward in her chair. "Why do you feel that his problems are your responsibility?"

"Because I care about him!" He swallowed hard; that wasn't exactly what he'd meant to say. "He's got a lot to do right now, and he can't do it if he's not happy. He's important to Atlantis."

"And to you?"

"Of course, to me. He's my friend," he repeated. "But is he important to you?"

"Everyone in Atlantis is important to me. That's what I'm here for."

"I'm talking about Rodney. About your relationship."

She raised an eyebrow. "I assure you, my relationship with Dr. McKay is strictly professional."

"That's not what he said," he said; then it struck him, in a burst of clarity. "No. That's not what Teyla said. Oh, Christ," he muttered, finally collapsing into the chair behind him. "He was seeing you, not seeing you. I'm an idiot." But he couldn't keep the relief out of his voice, couldn't keep the smile from stealing over his face, and he felt as though he had never been so pleased to have been completely, totally, idiotically wrong.

"It bothered you to think that we were seeing each other," she said, which was too damned perceptive of her. But he supposed that was her job, to be perceptive. "Why do you think that is?"

"He didn't seem very happy," John temporized.

"If he had been, how would that have made you feel?"

"Happy for him, I guess," he said, but he hadn't been, really, and he knew it showed on his face. "All right. Not happy."

"Because you feel he's your responsibility?"

"He's my friend. He's my teammate." He's mine, John thought, and the abrupt realization, the sheer possessiveness of it, made him dizzy. Mine, he's mine, and I wasn't jealous because I wanted Heightmeyer, I was jealous because -

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Epiphanies were a bitch.

He rocketed to his feet as though his chair had suddenly sprouted spikes. "I have to - I have to go. Um, thanks," he said, and fled.

Fuck.

It was cool out here on the balcony, the sky dark and scattered with stars that had almost become familiar; John leaned on the railing, letting the light breeze caress his face, and thought about Rodney McKay. Rodney, who was exasperating and arrogant and petty. Rodney, who was brilliant, and could solve six impossible problems before breakfast. Who would sacrifice himself to save any of them - complaining all the way, sure, but he would do it. Rodney, who was - who was Rodney.

Rodney was his friend, he admitted that to himself easily. He cared about him, which was a more difficult admission to make. And there was another admission in there, one that he was not sure he could make at all. An admission he was skirting around the edge of, an edge he was separated from by only a paper-thin railing, and on the other side was a drop immeasurably farther than the drop between the balcony he was standing on, and the surface of the unseen ocean below.

There was no place in the military for men who loved other men, so he'd put that part of himself behind a railing as high and wide as he could make it. It wasn't anything he'd ever acted on, so it wasn't an important part, he'd rationalized; there were still plenty of women out there, and he'd fallen in and out of love with enough of them that he figured he'd be all right that way. He just hadn't figured on falling in love with Rodney McKay.

And boom, there went the railing around his heart.

The laboratory was empty except for Rodney, who had three laptops in front of him but was not looking at any of them. Instead he was asleep, sitting on a stool and slumped across a lab table, his face buried in his arms. Looking at him, John felt a wave of affection surge through him. Rodney's back was going to kill him tomorrow, for sure.

Crossing to him, he gently rubbed the back of Rodney's neck, feeling his heat through the thin fabric of his shirt. "Hey," he said quietly.

"Mmm. Don't stop that," said Rodney, and then promptly sat up straight. "Oh. Hey, I was just thinking about how we might use one of the jumpers to launch a weapon," he said, pulling one of the laptops close.

"Not now," John said, pushing it back along the tabletop and grabbing a seat for himself. "Listen, I'm sorry about, you know. The past few days."

"No, I don't know. What have you done now?" Rodney looked genuinely clueless, and John was tempted for a moment to let it be. But they might have only two weeks to live. And he wasn't going to be a coward.

"About Heightmeyer -"

"Not again," muttered Rodney, and turned away.

"No, I mean, I thought you were seeing Heightmeyer."

"I am seeing Heightmeyer, not that I particularly care to be reminded of it."

"I mean, seeing her. Seeing seeing."

Rodney's head swiveled around like it was on ball bearings. "You thought, okay. Seeing seeing." A smile fought its way onto his face. "Well, she is blonde. And smart. Hey, that might not be a bad idea. You think she might go for a guy like me?"

"I hope not," said John. "Because I was kind of jealous."

The smile vanished. "Well, I'm not seeing seeing her, I'm only seeing her, so there's no reason to be jealous of me."

"I wasn't jealous of you, Rodney," said John.

Rodney stared at him for a moment, and John felt a sort of twist and tug in his gut, a dizzy feeling like he'd just leapt off the edge and was falling, falling. He shrugged. "It was a surprise to me, too. Anyway. Now you know." He stood up, started to turn away, to leave Rodney to his laptops and his plans, because if anyone could save Atlantis it would be Rodney McKay, but a hand reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Wait," said Rodney. "Chaya. I was, that is, when you and she were, you know. I was jealous, too. Not of you."

John looked at him and it was obvious, it was all over his face like sunlight, and why hadn't he figured this out before? And that was obvious, too: because he hadn't let himself figure it out, but now that he had, the next step was, well, obvious, and he stood and pulled Rodney to him, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, and kissed him.

Rodney relaxed into it for about a tenth of a second before squirming away, his eyes wide. "The door. Someone could come in, it's not that late, we can't just -"

"Don't worry about it," said John, and thought hard at the door, which obligingly slid closed and clicked with finality.

"Can you open that again? Because if we're stuck in here all night it might be a little, I don't know, awkward, not to mention uncomfortable."

"Might be," agreed John, and kissed him again. This time Rodney's arms came around his back and his mouth opened to him, lips softening against his, tongue meeting his own, and he pushed Rodney back against the edge of the table and dove in with abandon. It was like exploring a new planet; he measured the width of Rodney's mouth with his tongue, delicately investigated the edges of his teeth. And that wasn't even counting the rest of Planet Rodney that was shifting restlessly in his arms, pressing against him, reminding him of all the new territory waiting for him to discover.

But then Rodney's tongue flicked gently against his, bringing his thoughts back to the kiss. The delicious mystery of Rodney's mouth would be enough to occupy him for a week, he thought deliriously. How did that poem go - a hundred years to adore each breast? Too bad they didn't have a hundred, a thousand years. Whatever time was left to them, he was determined to make it count.

Rodney must have been reading his mind, because when they parted enough to breathe he smiled slightly and said, "Took you long enough."

"Oh, yeah?" He nuzzled his cheek against Rodney's jaw, and God, he could do this forever. The light scraping of stubble gave way to the softness of lips as Rodney traced a path along his neck to where his collarbone was just exposed under his shirt collar. "Mmm. How long have you been waiting for me to wise up?"

"Let's just say, a long time, shall we?"

He arched his neck to give Rodney a little more room, because, mmm. "Come on. When?"

"Well, there was this Wraith bug sucking the life out of you. That's when I knew -"

"You'd rather be in its place? I've got to say, your mouth feels a hell of a lot nicer." Because by coincidence or design, that was right where Rodney's lips were nibbling on him, and instead of draining his life force it felt almost as though he were extracting energy from Rodney's kisses. Like he was absorbing Essence of Rodney with every kiss, a sort of caffeinated buzz making his skin tingle.

"I knew I didn't want to lose you," Rodney was saying against his skin, and the tingle stepped up in volume. "Not that I had you, exactly, and it was something, well. I never expected I would, I just thought, you know. I couldn't lose you. I couldn't."

"You have me, Rodney," he murmured, pulling him up for another kiss.

Essence of Rodney, he thought, except really, the taste of his mouth was very nice, but it would really be - it would be something -

He didn't think about it, because if he thought about it he wouldn't do it; he just went straight for the source, unsnapping and unzipping and fuck, Rodney was hard, and he was right there in John's hands, his eyes going wide like he couldn't believe what John was doing. Which, to be perfectly honest, John couldn't either. Rodney's dick was in his hands, hot and solid and smooth and there, there on the tip: Essence of Rodney.

So he slid down and gave it a lick, swirled his tongue across the thick head, tasting it, and Rodney sort of groaned and thrust his hips just a tiny fraction and then pulled back, like he was thinking maybe it wasn't a good idea. John flicked his eyes upward, and Rodney was staring, staring at him as though he'd never seen him before.

He carefully modulated his voice to be nice and even. "All right, there?"

"Yes, of course yes, I just - I didn't think - you never struck me as particularly the type to be gay, exactly," said Rodney. "Not that I'm complaining, I'm quite pleased, actually -"

"I'm not gay. I just, um." Christ. He had never thought of himself as gay; that was an insult, something you said about someone else's unfortunate choice of clothing, or their hairstyle, or the way they walked. Even if he'd always looked at guys the same way he'd looked at women - okay, maybe a little more surreptitiously, because he didn't want to be called, well, gay. Although considering he still had Rodney's dick in his hands and was stroking it gently, almost absently, like a cat he was petting, he probably was. Well, bisexual, anyway, but that was just like being gay, in all the ways that counted. He tried it on. "Well, maybe I am, a little."

"Oh, is that like being a little pregnant?"

"A hell of a lot more likely in my case, don't you think?"

"Frankly, Major, I don't know what's likely when it comes to you, because, oh, oh God, because you, oh." And that was more like it, thought John, who had grown tired of Rodney's chatter and had tightened his hold and had slid down again to where he could lick and stroke and suck and, yeah. Rodney smelled good, the pleasant kind of muskiness, and his wiry hairs tickled John's nose.

Except his own pants were feeling a little too tight, now, so regretfully he moved off Rodney and undid his belt and unbuttoned his fly, and whoa, Rodney's hands were pushing down his pants and pulling him close. Rodney's mouth closed on his for another kiss, and he was kissing John desperately, frantically, kneading his ass, pulling him close, and John's cock nudged against cloth, then the cold hard edge of a zipper, then a tangle of hair and Rodney's warm hard yes yes yes.

"Yes," breathed Rodney into his mouth, "that's it, that's, oh, John -"

- and that was what broke him, right there, hearing Rodney say not Major or Sheppard but John, John, and he thrust his hand between their bodies and stroked roughly, fast, faster, until he heard Rodney say his name one more time, and maybe he said Rodney's name, too.

Afterwards, he leaned against Rodney, his head resting on Rodney's broad shoulder. Their mingled semen was cooling and sticky on his skin, but cleaning up would require him to move away from Rodney, and right now that seemed like too much effort. Far easier to just relax into Rodney's arms and listen to him breathe.

But after a moment Rodney made a noise and shifted, a clear message to move, so John did, stepping back a little and surveying the wreckage of their clothing. "Probably some paper towels left in the cabinet behind you," said Rodney, his voice sounding subdued and un-Rodney-like.

"Okay," John said, turning and opening the cabinet. The paper towels were on a shelf that was clearly Rodney's emergency food supply, next to a small pile of Powerbars and packets of snack food that looked like they'd come from MREs. He extracted a wad of paper towels and handed a couple to Rodney, and they cleaned themselves in silence.

"I hope -" he started, just as Rodney said, "Are you -" and they both stopped. "Okay, you first," he said.

Rodney looked down. Softly he said, "I was wondering if you were still thinking you might be, you know, a little gay, or if you got the jealousy out of your system, there, because if you're going to be having regrets, I don't want, I'm not asking -"

"Rodney," John said, reaching out to stroke the closest bit of Rodney in reach, which happened to be his left arm. "I have to say that I do have some regrets," he said. "For one thing, I regret it took me this long to figure out what I wanted." Rodney looked at him suspiciously, but the corner of his mouth was beginning to quirk up in a smile. "Oh, and also, I was thinking that it probably would have been a lot more comfortable in a bed."

That was a definite smile taking shape on Rodney's face. "Maybe next time," he said.

Next time. John liked the sound of that; he slid closer and dipped his head to nuzzle at the edge of that smile. "How about now?"

"Now," said Rodney, pushing him away, "I need to get back to work on this weapons launch program." John heard the unspoken coda - or we might not have the chance for a 'next time' - and nodded. Rodney had already pulled his lab stool back into place and turned back to his array of laptops; John moved behind him and, putting his hands on Rodney's shoulders, bent to kiss the back of his neck.

"Weapons launch program," said Rodney warningly, and John laughed.

"I know. I'm just getting used to the idea of -" Being a little gay? Having a boyfriend? "Just getting used to the idea."

Rodney turned his head. "If you're having trouble wrapping your brain around the concept of, well, the concept, you could always try what I'm doing."

"What's that?"

Rodney grinned. "Seeing Heightmeyer."

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http://hieroglyfics.net/height.htm | written September 2005 by Isis