Adaptation Adapted

 

John walked a little more slowly than usual, his gut still hurt from the second last injury.  The shot from the fucking tentacle was just the gravy.  He'd smiled at Keller, pretending he didn't wish Becket was back in charge and finagled his way to an early release.  "Yes," he had said as he'd smiled.  "I'll behave myself and get some rest."  Christ all he fucking did anymore was smile at people, charm people.  Woolsey, had to keep him tame.  Keller, make her feel respected.  The men, he needed them to feel like nothing had changed.  He was good at it.  People fell for it; he didn't even have to sell it too hard.  Just smile, lean in a little and look them in the eye.  Say something earnest and supportive or maybe lighten the mood a little.  Run off to play hero with a joke and a smile, simple.  He was a natural. 

 

John headed for the rec. room.  The place had been Ronon's idea.  Sick of arguments over whose quarters they'd watch movies in; he'd found some empty rooms nearby and dragged in some sofas and chairs.  Rodney had hooked up one of the big Ancient screens to his third best laptop and they had a place to hang out in and relax, although their chances to do that were getting too rare.  They'd tried to get Teyla to join them occasionally, but she'd smiled and called the ambience a little too masculine, which John figured was polite for too much like Sunday morning at the frat house, so they didn’t push.  John wasn't really all that sorry that they didn't have to deal with a crying baby all the time. 

 

John walked in the room to find Rodney splayed out on the biggest sofa, earplugs in and a scowl on his face.  He was idly tossing and catching the Ancient ball-thing they'd found that changed colours at random when you threw it.  John aimed a kick at the sofa before he dropped into the chair opposite.  He pulled a Nerf football out from under his ass and thought about aiming it at Rodney's head.  The coffee table was littered with the remains of a mess hall meal and a couple of empty beer bottles were in danger of rolling under the sofa.  Rodney had hidden out in here to eat dinner.  He was doing that a lot lately. 

 

Rodney pulled off his headphones and glared at John.

 

"What the fuck, McKay?  You hiding out in here, listening to your emo music?"  John sounded a little angrier than he'd intended.

 

"Imbecile, I'll have you know that I was enjoying carefully selected works of Chopin and Debussy with a little Beethoven thrown in and yes, okay that could be considered a little emo by some.  Anyway if I decide to go for the all black look, I'll know whose closet to raid."

 

"Stay out of my closet."

 

"Yes well," Rodney looked away.

 

John put his middle finger to work and then slumped back in the chair.  "Joke McKay, remember those?  Shit, I can't even have a beer.  Keller doped me up with something before I could tell her not to."

 

"Oh of course, wouldn't want to tarnish that image with the need for some pain killers."

 

"Just shut the fuck up, McKay."

 

John was saved from Rodney's inevitable non-compliance by Ronon, who stormed in the door.  He stomped up to Rodney aimed about three hard kicks to the innocent sofa and waved one long finger at Rodney with a great deal more agitation than he usually showed.  Ronon hadn't been in the best of moods lately either.  He went right over the coffee table, rather than around it, one big foot planting in the middle of Rodney's meal tray on the way, and rifled through the drift of magazines and coffee-stained papers on the desk in the corner.  He stomped back with a sheaf of papers and a purple marker.  He made a spot on the sofa by shoving Rodney's feet to one side. 

 

Rodney struggled to a sitting position and glared in Ronon's direction.  Ronon ignored him and just scribbled furiously on the blank backs of the papers.  He held up one page and slapped Rodney on the thigh to get him to look at it.  Ronon's strange serifed printing, which he'd acquired by copying what he saw on computer screens, filled the page. 

 

YOU don't volunteer to go after Keller.

 

My Job.

 

Ronon stabbed his finger at Rodney a few times in case the identity of the you was in question.

 

"Well excuse the fuck out of me for actually being willing to help someone who inexplicably seems to like me a little.  It's not my Goddamned fault that you two have trained me to expect mortal peril as the price of, of, the whole being liked thing."  Rodney was trying to glare holes in Ronon's skull.

 

Ronon wasn't listening, he was scribbling some more.  He turned his pointing finger John's way and his glower darkened a little more.

 

YOU don't volunteer to take un-tested drugs.

 

Also My Job.

 

"Look," John said.  "I decide what are acceptable risks and when I can and can't ask someone to take that risk for me.  Woolsey's call anyway, and he went with my recommendation."  John wasn't terribly surprised to see Ronon ignoring him and scribbling some more. 

 

Woolsey is an ass.

 

"Exactly," Rodney echoed.  "Step back and just let me handle this, you said.  I know how to play guys like that, you said.  How's that working out for you, John?  Getting anywhere.  The guy is a talentless bureaucrat with the rulebook stuffed up his ass and he's going to get us all killed.  He brings a fucking mahogany table to Atlantis for Christ's sake.  Damn it, do I miss Sam."

 

"Oh, of course you do.  Trust me, no one's surprised by that." John rolled his eyes and possibly smirked a little.

 

"Oh, please.  Jesus, I had just got to the point where this woman, who even I can see I had a totally inappropriate fixation on - this woman, I like her.  I can just be friends with her and shit she's the only member of the United States fucking military that was ever worth working for so naturally she's gone."

 

"Thanks a lot, Rodney really.  Your esteem means everything to me, but she is gone and you need to get over it because Woolsey is here and he's not going anywhere.  We've been fucking over this, Rodney.  We have to make it work whether we like it or not.  And yeah, so far I am getting somewhere.  He's keeping me in the loop at least."  John didn't want to think about how lame that achievement was, when stacked against what he was risking to get it.

 

"Oh how fucking nice for you, Sheppard.  You're in the loop and you're out playing demolition derby with a jumper while I'm sent to my room like a recalcitrant fucking child.  I had to get Teyla to go stop those assholes from destroying this city while I was locked in my fucking quarters.  Jesus Christ Sheppard, this was a cock-up of monumental proportions, and you getting your way with Woolsey using your awesome corporate America tactics is not really any fucking consolation to me. "

 

John launched the football and it beaned Rodney in the forehead with an unsatisfyingly foamy plop.  "That's what this is all about isn't it?  You're just upset because you couldn't do anything.  We're all still here, crisis averted."

 

"Yes right, right, it's all my ego."  Rodney made to lunge up off the sofa.  Ronon got him by the back of his shirt and hauled him back down until he was sprawled along the sofa with his back against Ronon's chest.  Ronon held Rodney there in something that was half headlock and half embrace until he stopped struggling and then Ronon shoved him back to the other end of the sofa.   John was relieved to not have to get physical with Rodney when he'd only just got himself out of the Infirmary again.  Rodney consoled himself by sending the football back in a perfect arc that would have sent it plopping into John's face it he hadn't caught it first. 

 

"It's not ego, it's not," Rodney snapped at him, petulant and prissy.  "Give me some fucking credit for once.  Look," he said and his voice had softened to the quiet tones John thought of as Rodney's indoor voice.  Something seldom heard.  "You were gone.  Teyla was gone.  And then suddenly you're back, and no not quite - spoke too soon - there's a building landing on us and then you, both of you," Rodney drew a shaky breath.   "Both of you were under that rubble and we had to leave.  Leave.  Just fly off."

 

"Rodney I know this one, I know how it ends." John tried not to sound weary.  He did understand.  He just didn't want to talk about it.

 

"But when you were gone, and yes it wasn't even two weeks but I didn't know that, didn’t know if you were ever coming back, if Teyla was ever coming back.  When you were gone, I looked for you."  Which John knew was a monumental understatement but he didn't know how to say that without taking the conversation down an even rockier road. 

 

"I helped look for Teyla," Rodney said, even more quietly, "in the ways that I could.  When you were under that damn building, I at least knew the Daedalus was on its way.  This time was different.  I was pushed away, locked up.  Put under guard - and isn't that a marvellous use of resources in a crisis.  My intelligence was suspect; that's the damn problem.  I was effectively neutered and it didn't seem to be a problem for anyone.  I wasn't there and Woolsey didn't even know that he was missing anything, and once upon a time, when you weren't so busy trying to be the golden boy, you would have busted me out and taken me with you on your little joy ride."

 

John spun the little foam football around in his hands.  He knew that what Rodney said was true and he couldn't find it in himself to be sorry.  He still believed he'd been right; right in everything he'd done.  "I was on the clock, Rodney.  I had a job to do and I did it.  It's just, fuck Rodney, do you think I like this situation?  Do you think I like running around trying to keep everyone happy, manipulating Woolsey, worrying about morale?  Keeping the men invested in the place.  Worrying about whether or not their minds are on the job or if they're just busy resenting the suit that's going to be giving them orders.  Just because I'm good at it doesn't mean I like it."  John bounced the football off his knee.  He'd woken up one recent morning, fresh from a dream where he was still married to Nancy and schmoozing around some Washington party in his dress blues.  

 

John looked over at Ronon.  He had his head tipped back against the sofa, as if he had the headache from hell.  John sure as hell did. 

 

"Yeah well, maybe that's the problem right there.  You're so busy keeping that line drawn between the military and the civilians, being the buffer between Woolsey and the men that you've forgotten that this is my city too.  You're my team too.  Your problems are my problems."  Rodney looked away again.

 

John didn't know what to say to that.  Wasn't sure that it wasn't a little too close to a truth he didn't want to face.

 

Ronon lifted his head and reached around Rodney to lift up his, 'Woolsey's an ass,' page and wave it around.  He scribbled a new one and held it up.

 

Campfire on the south pier. 

I know where to get lots of wood.

 

Rodney snorted in laughter.

 

"Glad you two find it funny."  John said wearily.

 

Ronon flipped him off and went back to staring at the ceiling.

 

"The answer is obvious," Rodney said, because for every problem, Rodney believed there had to be a solution.  John wasn't so sure about that anymore.  "The answer is to put Teyla in charge, at least she listens to me." 

 

Ronon made a snort of derision. 

 

"Well sometimes she doesn't, but that's the point.  She knows when I'm full of shit and when I'm not.  Same with you two idiots.  She sure as fuck wouldn't have pissed around talking about blowing up one of our own people because the rescue might offend the IOfuckingA."

 

"I think your idea would require a revolution, Rodney.  Small roadblock I know but…" John was a little afraid Rodney wasn't really kidding.

 

"Well viva la revolución then."  Rodney laid his head back and closed his eyes tiredly.  It occurred to John, rather belatedly, that Rodney had likely been spending all the time John had been in the Infirmary supervising the clean up of their latest disaster site.

 

Ronon lifted his head again and emphatically pointed at the Ancient television. 

 

Interrupting this conversation before he found out just how serious Rodney was about revolutions seemed like a good idea to John.  "Anything in particular you want to watch?"  John stood up and remembered too late why stretching was a bad idea.  Ronon shrugged at him so John just pulled Blade Runner out of the pile of DVDs and fired it up. 

 

Relocating to the sofa meant fighting for room with Rodney.  John won that battle with the judicious use of his elbows.  They'd all seen the movie more than once, but the distraction worked to kill conversation.  Ronon tossed his paper onto the floor and turned his full attention to the action on the screen.  Rodney turned his eyes in the right direction, but John wasn't fool enough to think his brain followed.  John let the screen violence wash over him and gave up on worrying for a while.

 

John willed himself to relax.  He was pretty tired himself so he settled against the sofa back and let the familiar sounds of the movie lull him to sleep.  Before he drifted off, he decided that having a dream where he woke up in an Atlantis cut off from Earth and with Teyla in charge might be kind of nice.  It beat his usual run of fare which mostly involved waking up in an empty city with no hologram of an obsessive old man to get him home.