crimsonclad (crimsonclad) wrote,


It is helenish's birthday! Hurrah! In celebration I have this, uh, fic. Because she and I have talked about how strange it is that people write fics about how FAT and DISGUSTING Rodney is, and we both find it baffling, since Rodney McKay is clearly an absolute dish.

And I joked about writing something like this, and she said yes I should, so. Here it is. Fast and wonderful beta by maribouquet! She healed me with love!

commutative property


Sometimes, their missions didn't go badly-- they just went stupid. This was one such an occasion, Rodney realized, as he looked down at Sheppard, who had only just taken a completely uncharacteristic faceplant in a largish patch of mud. Considering that the man usually moved with a black-ops sort of prowling certainty, Rodney looked around for a tripwire. Or signs of an earthquake.

"Colonel?" Teyla asked uncertainly, and Ronon frowned.

"I tripped," John said, in a quietly astonished sort of way.

"Maybe there was a tree root," Ronon offered, which was patently untrue but very kind.

"I think I just-- tripped," John admitted, sitting up and wiping a smear of mud off his cheek. "I-- huh. Oh, great, mud in my socks."

"You sound like a five year old," Rodney pointed out, and John glared at him.

"It's gross!"

"Oh, that helps you sound mature."

John stood up and cringed at the slick noises of the mud releasing him. "Ugh. McKay, give me your pants."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Very funny. Can we get back to the jumper, please? Perhaps we can soothe you with some fruit snacks."

"Your extra pair-- come on, I know you have extra pants. You always carry a spare pair, ever since that thing with the moldy--"

"Please, Colonel," Teyla interrupted, looking pale and a little sick.

"Right, sorry. McKay? Pants?"

Rodney sighed and started rooting around through his pack, handing over his carefully rolled BDUs. "I'll want those cleaned and returned by tomorrow morning."

"Right, because you don't have eight extra pairs ready to go in your quarters." John pulled up the fresh pants, then looked down at the waistband in dismay. "You've gotta be kidding me. Don't these come with a belt?"

Rodney didn't look up from rearranging his emergency items. "Very funny."

"No, seriously-- suspenders? I'm gonna look pretty stupid climbing out into the jumper bay, holding my pants up with both my hands."

"They aren't your pants," Rodney said, zipping his pack.

John snorted. "No kidding-- I can tell from the way I could fit another me inside without much of a squeeze."

"From now on I'll try to bring a pair in your size." Rodney followed Ronon up the trail, ignoring John's half-hearted bitching that continued all the way back to the gate.


Rodney was blearily stumbling out of his lab in the wee hours of the morning when a disgustingly chipper Cadman jogged up to him, golden ponytail bouncing and shimmering as she grinned. "Hey, McKay! I'm just heading out for my morning run. You wanna come with?"

"After sixteen hours of running combustion simulations, I'm going to say no. Have fun."

"Come on, Rodney, you know you liked it when I made you go. And we both know you could use it!"

Her bright laugh echoed in the hall, but he just headed for his room, thinking bed, bed, bed.


The people of PX9-72S were fascinated by Rodney, kept curling in against him as he flinched, sending John desperate looks.

"We have never met a man so blessed," the priestess murmured, and John stifled a laugh. There were curious fingers at Rodney's waist, his chin, the curve of his ass.

"You must be from a prosperous and well-protected land," one of the girls said, gazing solidly at his wrists. "All of our men are required to be trained as warriors."

Rodney tried to pull back, but there were more enthralled exclamations behind him, and there was nowhere to go. "Ahh, yes, we've moved a bit beyond that. I'm told."

"Lush," a man's deep voice offered, and when Rodney looked up, Teyla and Ronon were giving one another bemused smiles.


Sometimes people still got excited for the weekend, inexplicably.

"Zelenka!" Lt. Peterson shouted from the lab door. "Soccer match, fifteen minutes, I called you for attack."

Radek shot Rodney a rueful grin. "I should not have let them know about my youthful aspirations, I am afraid."

Rodney snorted, and when he looked up, Peterson gave him an apologetic shrug.


Sick of waiting for John and Teyla to finish training, Rodney finally just went to lunch by himself. It was pasta day, and he had skipped breakfast, and "we should be done by 12:30" was kind of a shitty thing to say if they weren't planning on finishing before two o'clock.

He sat down with his tray at an empty table and tried to get excited over fettucine with some sort of cream sauce. He was starving, but he felt nauseous, and it took him a minute to twirl some pasta onto his fork in a half-hearted way.

The fork hadn't even reached his mouth when someone ripped it out of his hands, sending his tray skidding off the table and onto the floor at the same time. "Don't even think about eating that, fuck," and Rodney looked up to see Lorne looking furious, looking baffled, looking like he didn't much care that everyone in the mess hall was staring at them. "Just get a damn salad, McKay."

Rodney opened his mouth, then pressed his lips together. It was one thing to think it.

"There's lemon zest in the sauce. I didn't notice, but Parrish mentioned it-- and I saw you about to eat it, sorry for jumping on you. I think there's a new guy working in the kitchen-- probably thought it would be a good idea."

Rodney nodded. "No, yes. Thank you."

"The bread's safe, I think. And the salad, like I said."

Rodney swallowed heavily. "I'm actually not very hungry, just now. Thank you, Major." He headed out the door, ignoring the way people watched him with wide eyes, and walked back to his quarters.


He could never remember the address of the cannibal planet, probably because of the concussion he had gotten from their truncheons, and the subsequent confusion.

Mostly he blurrily remembered how they worshipped and emulated the Wraith by capturing visitors and consuming them. He remembered John and Teyla, rejected as too insubstantial, Ronon dismissed as too gamey for a proper celebration feast.

He remembered the way the priests had basted him with savory oil, chanting about his haunches, one teenager who tried to take a bite out of his side before he was properly cooked. They had given him some sort of anaesthetic that made the heat of the fire seem pleasant, and the smell of his own flesh cooking hadn't been as disgusting as he would have imagined.

Days later, even morphine couldn't block out the red agony of what parts had been roasted before John killed their chief and subdued the village while Teyla doused the fire. John dutifully visited the infirmary and made unfunny jokes about the prodigal son and fatted calves while Carson prepared the Ancient flesh synthesizer. It was a marvel of technology, a vast improvement over regular old skin grafts, and it hurt more than anything Rodney had ever felt in his life. He refused to get addicted to morphine if it couldn't even save him from this.


He started joining Cadman on her runs. She almost fell over in disbelief the first time he showed up, but he just shrugged and zipped up his sweatshirt.

"You were right," he admitted. "It made me feel better."


John always seemed to arrive at the mess hall just as Rodney was leaving, lately, which made it hard to have the cozy team breakfasts they had all gotten used to. "Ronon will be here in a few minutes," John pointed out. "You could just get some more coffee."

Rodney shrugged and set his empty tray in the dishwashing window. "No, I've had more than enough. I'll see you later."


Rodney rushed off after the greeting feast on RT9-87C, heading for the woods before Teyla could finish asking him what was wrong.

When John found him, Rodney was still gagging slightly, his undigested dinner spattered over the glossy leaves of a tark-roh bush. "Geez, McKay, are you alright?" John wrinkled his nose at the smell.

Rodney wiped wet fingers on his pants. "Not all of my allergies are deadly, Colonel. Some just make me violently ill."

John inched forward. "Yeah, I can see that. I guess I always thought of you as an iron stomach kind of guy."

Rodney spat, not even wincing at the taste.


Elizabeth stepped into Carson's office, and blinked in surprise to see Rodney sitting in one of the extra chairs. "Oh, Rodney-- I didn't realize--"

"Rodney came to me first, and he agreed that you should be informed about this matter, Elizabeth. Please sit down."

She did, warily, but Rodney rolled his eyes. "Don't look like that. I don't have space cancer or anything."

Carson rolled his eyes. "Rodney came to me a few days ago-- he's been having some trouble keeping food down, and he noticed that he'd lost a bit of weight. I told him that might not be such a bad idea for someone his age--"

"Hey! Come on, I'm in the room--"

"--but given his recent problems, I have been running some tests. His food allergies have been flaring up offworld-- Colonel Sheppard had informed me of this, as well, and I'm going to be supplementing Rodney's diet with some nutritional shakes. Not very appetizing, but until we find the cause of his recent difficulties, it seems like the best course of action."

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. "You wanted me to know about Rodney's...digestion?"

Rodney sighed loudly. "Thank you, Carson, for making this as awkward as possible. Elizabeth, I've lost some weight, and a few people have made comments about it-- I just wanted you to know, in case anyone asks, or mentions it to you. I'd rather not send an email to everyone in the city concerning my daily weigh ins."

"You're having daily weigh-ins?" Elizabeth asked, alarmed.

Carson smiled. "Well, not here. But Rodney is monitoring himself and letting me know how much his weight is fluctuating, and I'm sure that we can trust him, of all people, to be scrupulously honest, at least as regards his health."


They were hunkered down behind a hill, waiting for John's signal, when Ronon looked at Rodney and nodded, slowly. "On Sateda, active soldiers were never permitted to participate in the elevation fast."

"Yeah, great. Can we wait until we aren't about to die for you to tell me quaint anecdotes about all the wacky fun back on Sateda?"

"I wouldn't have thought you would choose it."

Rodney swiped at the sweat running down his temple and ignored him. Ronon didn't make a lot of sense, lately.


Rodney left John talking with Carson and headed for the infirmary door-- but when he got there, it wouldn't open. "How long has this door been malfunctioning? I can't fix problems if you don't tell me about them."

Carson turned to frown at him. "I wasn't aware it was a problem, Rodney. No one else has had any difficulties with it."

John walked over, and the door glided open smoothly. "You were saying?" he smirked, and Rodney walked out the door without another word.

"Last time I saw that happen was when Lorne had appendicitis but didn't know it," John mentioned. "You feeling okay?"


"Awww, Rodney, maybe Atlantis is worried about your allergies! How sweet."

Rodney nodded vaguely. "Yeah. Sweet."


"McKay, would you hurry the fuck up?" John ground out in frustration, glaring down at where Rodney was still toiling up the mountain path.

"Sorry if mountain climbing isn't part of my skill set," Rodney wheezed, clutching at his chest.

John snorted. "You know, you've been doing this long enough that you'd think it wouldn't be so hard at this point. What, are you going to faint now? Sorry, pass out from manly--"

"--I'm fine," Rodney interrupted, brushing off Ronon's hand at his elbow. "I'm fine." His cheeks were hectic with color, bright red against his pale skin. Something about his coloring made him look drawn, almost gaunt, and John frowned.

"We can stop and rest, if you want. Grab a powerbar."

Rodney shot Ronon an accusing look, but Ronon just nodded uncertainly.

"I'm fine," Rodney muttered, pushing past John on the trail. "Can we just find the caves and get out of here?"


Teyla's brief sabbatical with her people was lasting longer than she had anticipated, but John assured her that she could take all the time she needed. "We're just giving Lorne's team all the really hard work. We miss you, of course, but, uh, you should do whatever needs doing."

He had flown out in the jumper to drop off some gifts for the kids, and Teyla pulled him aside when they reached her tent. "John, please tell me, truly-- how is Rodney these days?"

"He's good, I guess. He was working on some breakthrough when I left, so, pretty much the same as always."

Teyla frowned. "No, I mean his illness. I have been quite worried about his well-being, and our elders are praying for him."

John blinked. "Well, that's-- that's really nice of you, but it's just some allergies. I'm sure it'll clear up soon."

"But to go from becoming ill from one food to all foods-- it seems quite serious."

"Hey, it's McKay. I'm sure he'll work it out somehow." John smiled reassuringly.

Teyla nodded, troubled.


"Dinner?" John suggested, but Rodney shook his head.

"No, I'm going running with Cadman. You know how much she likes to make fun of me as I huff and puff." He waved as he headed down the corridor, and John chuckled to himself. He even mentioned it, later, as Ronon was finishing his third helping of mashed potatoes. Ronon, though, nodded solemnly.

"I had never realized he was so spiritual."

John choked on a bite of his bread. "What? Uh, McKay? What are you talking about?"

"It was considered a great honor for Satedan warriors to undertake the elevation fast, and moreso to push the body to its physical limits for the duration of meditation. Most did not possess such determination to find enlightenment at the expense of their own flesh." It sounded like he was quoting from a handbook.

John blinked. "I seriously have no idea what you're talking about, Ronon." Spying Cadman sharing a brownie with Carson at a nearby table, John waved and walked over. "Hey, how was the run with McKay?"

She gave him a puzzled look. "This morning? Fine."

"No-- he said you guys were going for one tonight."

Laura looked over at Carson, then back at John, a line of worry between her brows. "We go running in the mornings. Every morning, and I make fun of how many layers of clothing he's wearing, and then he complains about his back, and he drops me off at my quarters or the gym before heading off to work."

"But he said--"

An alarm suddenly blared through the mess hall, and John started at the sound. "What the hell--"

He could hear Elizabeth in his radio, Lorne asking for instructions, but something about the alarm was worming its way into his brain, telling him where to go. "I think it's giving directions," he managed, following a trail of lights that felt wrong down to a corridor they had cleared but not started using yet. And it was so easy to find the right door, the door on lockdown, keeping someone inside. John pulled out his lifesigns detector, still in his pocket from a training session earlier that day. He saw a single dot in the room beyond, flickering, wavering.


John ran along with the stretcher, listening as Carson cursed, barked instructions, told Rodney to hold on. Atlantis apparently had an emergency protocol for one of her citizens facing imminent heart failure, and it involved sealing the room he was in, pumping it full of pure oxygen, and sending an alarm through the rest of the city.

"Why would his heart-- I mean, blood pressure? Cholesterol?" John asked, desperate, not sure why Rodney's face looked so suddenly drawn now that his eyes were closed.

"He told me he was having problems with his allergies," Carson spat, pushing John back as they finally wheeled Rodney into the infirmary. "You lying sonofabitch," was the last thing John heard Carson growl before Rodney was beyond the doors, and the hall fell quiet.


Carson's hands shook as he cut through another shirt, and the one beneath it, and beneath that. Rodney was bundled up like he had been out skiing, not running hard in balmy summer weather.

Once he finally found his way to Rodney's skin, Carson had to take a deep breath. He had seen this since coming to Pegasus, but only when they took in refugees whose crops had been destroyed, or war prisoners who had been starved and worked hard. Never one of his own.


"How could you not know about this?" Elizabeth asked, her voice low. They were waiting outside the infirmary, and Lorne had to keep sending people away, telling them to check in later.

"I--" John managed, but he couldn't get any further. He wasn't good at talking, sometimes.

"He's on your team," she insisted, and he nodded helplessly.

"He said he was-- with his allergies--"

"I talked to Ronon, he had it in his head that Rodney was doing some spiritual warrior fast, for some reason, and Teyla's away, but John. You're with him all the time. You should have seen what was happening."

John kept nodding. He had noticed, kind of, but he mostly just told Rodney it was about fucking time that he started getting in shape, because saying "I stare at your ass a lot and it looks different," wasn't really allowed, and now he remembered the way Rodney had laughed, looking down at the ground, the way it had sounded like choking, maybe a gasp.

"I should have seen what was happening," Elizabeth was saying, her head in her hands.

John tried to peer through the window, but Carson hadn't opened the curtain yet.


Rodney woke up to find Katie Brown sitting next to his bed. He would have said something, but there was a tube down his throat, so he didn't bother.

"Colonel Sheppard was pretty mad that I got to see you first," she said, and Rodney discovered that talking to Katie was a lot easier when he wasn't expected to answer back.

"Dr. Heightmeyer wanted to talk to you herself, but she decided that you might be more comfortable with someone you knew. I told her you didn't know me that well, but she insisted..." Katie trailed off, fiddling with the pale material of her skirt.

Rodney looked down at his hand. The skin looked gray.

He was having trouble paying attention to what Katie was talking about, but he heard her say something about how she had stopped eating, sometime before the Daedalus had shown up.

"...something I could control, I guess..."

He closed his eyes. Psychology was more ridiculous than botany, but at least she wasn't shouting at him.


They let him go back to work sooner than he expected (sooner than Carson recommended, too), but he was kind of essential for everyone's survival, so it wasn't too surprising.

"Someone will need to check in at mealtimes and see that you're eating," Elizabeth said tiredly. "Colonel Sheppard--"

"No," Rodney interrupted.

Elizabeth sighed. "Rodney, I don't want to put you on a mandatory feeding tube, but we have to have someone checking in on you."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, got that, thanks. I just mean not Sheppard. I don't want him watching me all the time."

Elizabeth paused. "Oh. Alright. Teyla?"

Rodney shrugged. "I think she's mad at me. She takes it as an insult to her people and their years of lean provisions."

"I'm sure she is just worried about--"

"Yeah, sure."

Elizabeth looked down at her desk, tired. "I'd say Katie, but Dr. Heightmeyer thinks that might have a triggering effect for her own problems. Will Ronon do?"

Rodney nodded, vague, distracted.


John never saw Rodney anymore without Ronon hovering behind him. Ronon still felt bad about the misunderstanding of the fast, and he always kept cookies with him, now, or packets of crackers. Mostly, though, he just hustled Rodney to the lunchroom at every mealtime, where people stared at the two of them constantly. John didn't know how they stood it, and tried to ask, but--

"--being looked at like a freak is hardly a new experience for some of us, Colonel," Rodney snapped, fingers busy on his keyboard.

"That's not what I--"

"You should probably go," Ronon rumbled, moving between them quietly. Protectively, John realized, his eyes widening.


"--yes, fine, but if you don't mind I have several hundreds of things I could be working on--"

"Okay, SHUT UP, no one will ever let me finish a goddamned sentence lately!" John shouted, wincing at his own volume.

It was just-- being forced to look at Rodney was unbearable. After the first sex dream focused on Rodney's hands, over a year ago, John had reluctantly ordered himself to stop watching him. It had worked out great, in terms of not accidentally kissing Rodney's mouth, or opening up his pants to press a hand against the curve of his hip-- then again, he hadn't quite noticed Rodney losing a truly startling amount of weight, either. John had been quick to think, "Rodney looks thinner, but that's probably just because I want to have sex with him," and cut himself off before thinking on it any further.

But now it was explicitly expected that he would look at Rodney, look at his arms and waist and thighs, notice parts of him, notice his shape. He was supposed to watch him eat.

And of course, once he had free rein to watch Rodney whenever he wanted, it meant that he couldn't stop himself. John knew it wouldn't be too long before that caused problems, and of course, he was right--

"Look, would you please cut it out?" Rodney said, tiredly. "I'm having a sandwich, I'm not going to throw it up later, I'm fine."

John nodded. "Yeah, no, I know. I was just--"


"--watching your mouth," John finished, the words out before he could stop them. "Because. uh," he tried to add, but Rodney had already figured it out. Rodney was a smart guy.

"Fine," Rodney said, pushing away his plate. "Yes, fine. Let's."


He was still too thin, but John knew it would be rude to say anything about it, so he just applied himself to mouthing Rodney's wrists, the sharper line of his jaw.

"Yeah," Rodney breathed, thrusting up against him. "Yeah, good."

When John had imagined this, there had always been Rodney talking, talking, pressing John down with his solid body, telling John what he wanted, exactly, possibly in outline form. To have him looking small and pale, nearly silent under John's hands was a bit unexpected. Not bad, exactly-- but different.

Rodney shivered against him, breathing hard, eyes glittering as John finally managed to get out of his shirt. He ran a hand up through the hair on John's belly, his expression hard to read. "Nice."

John wanted to say 'you too,' but he choked on it-- Heightmeyer had given him a talk about reinforcing body image problems, mentioned all the praise Rodney had been given for shedding weight before everyone realized he was dying from it. "I--" he managed instead, before, diving in for another kiss, trembling from the pressure of Rodney's tongue in his mouth. "God."

Later, with Rodney's cock stroking into him, John felt his sharpened hipbones with simultaneous regret and relief, holding onto the headboard for dear life. "Rodney," he breathed, starving for it.

"Mm-hmm," Rodney mumbled against his neck, his rhythm never faltering.


John woke up in Rodney's bed, to the sound of Rodney's annoyed voice, hissing to someone outside the room. "--yeah, great, brilliant idea. What did it take for him to agree?"

"McKay--" a low voice tried to interrupt, but Rodney just sighed.

"Look, thanks for the thought, but I could really do without pity fucks from people who just want to see how much weight I've really lost. What, did you tell him it was his duty to the team?"

John sat up slowly, looking over at the door. Rodney was scowling up at an unhappy looking Ronon. "You want to feed me, fine. But I don't need you acting as my pimp, especially not with people who are supposed to be my friends."

"I didn't-- oh, hey," Ronon nodded, and Rodney whipped around to see John frowning at them.

"Perfect," he sighed. "Okay, well done, now you can just head back to Elizabeth and let her know that I'm recovering, or not, whatever you want."

John tried to say something, explain, but Rodney was already dressed and heading out the door. Had been before John was awake. "I--"

Rodney rolled his eyes, and the door slid shut.


They didn't talk much after that.

They still went on missions, blew stuff up, accidentally killed a sacred chicken. Teyla finally forgave Rodney, and even took him with her to visit some Athosian wise woman for a weekend. It was good, John told himself, good that Rodney was finally so close to his other two teammates. Rodney and Ronon had a whole silent communication thing going on where Ronon gave him snacks and Rodney at them, and Teyla was laughing at Rodney's jokes again. Which was awesome, John reminded himself. Stress in the workplace was...unhealthy.

It was on another run-of-the-mill Thursday-- jumper wedged between two tottering rocks at the top of a waterfall, flight crystals damaged-- that John noticed something. "You aren't panicking," he said to Rodney, who was elbow deep in the console as he sorted through seemingly identical wires.

Rodney glared at him, but then shrugged as he went back to work. "Not really, no."

There wasn't much John could say to that, so he just sat back and waited to die or hear Rodney say "oh oh oh I have an idea!"

"I, uh--" Rodney started, squinting at something between his pliers, "I think getting cooked had something to do with that."

John flinched. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, you know."

John didn't. "What?"


John gave up. Rodney was talking to him: that was nice. Vague and impossible to understand, but nice. He wondered if Ronon and Teyla had made it back to the Stargate yet.

"Heightmeyer's kind of bad at her job, after all. I don't think that helped."

John looked back at where Rodney was working. "She--"

"She used to say things like, Rodney, you were perfectly healthy and good-looking just the way you were, and that was clearly incorrect, which seems pretty unfair. I mean, I had PTSD, but that was no reason for her to lie to me."

"You were good-looking-- are, I mean."

Rodney snorted. "Right, okay. People laughed at me-- you thought I was out of shape too, remember?"

"I said that, but--"

"And I was chosen for roasting, let's not forget that. Empirically speaking--"

"You had a hot ass."

Rodney carefully set down his tools, squirmed himself free of the the dashboard, and gave John an incredulous look. "What did you say?"

John stared at the floor. "You, uh. Your ass. I used to kind of stare at it. You never noticed?"

"You're the guy who made fun of how big my pants were. You used to say, do you really need another muffin, McKay? Those things aren't very good for you."

John sighed. "I was-- I'm too skinny, and your pants were big because of me, I was saying. And god, like you never made fun of me for--"

"Right, fine, I can see that being cooked over an open flame hurt my judgment somewhat, and I was a fine figure of a man before I started having panic attacks at the thought of some other tribe considering me too delectable. Thank you." Rodney turned back to his toolbox with a blank expression.

"Fuck." John scrubbed at his face. "I don't know how to make you believe me, but you can ask Teyla-- she guessed. Hack into the security feed for my room-- I used to say your name when I-- well. I still have nightmares about you over that fire, and I have dreams about you-- about you--"

Rodney held up his hand. "Fine. Not a pity fuck, then."

John remembered that night with a jolt, and he felt his cheeks warm. "No."

Rodney nodded. "Okay," he mumbled, and then he got back to work. He fiddled and adjusted settings for seventeen minutes, and then it took another five for him to have the jumper back in the air. "We can fly back to the gate, meet Ronon and Teyla there."

John nodded, focusing on steering.

"My ass, huh?"

John swallowed hard. "Yeah."

"So Ronon didn't tell you to--"


"So maybe we could-- if you still want--"

John closed his eyes. Not for too long or anything, since he was kind of flying a spaceship. But long enough. "Yeah, I-- yeah." Rodney was still busy with his tablet, but his cheeks were pink, and he looked-- happy.

John remembered to breathe and kept on flying.

Tags: fic, sga

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  • p&r fic: Human Disaster Relief

    Title: Human Disaster Relief rating: pg pairing: Leslie/Ben notes: I have to believe in this future in order to endure the present. This is totally…

  • two years later...

    jk, it's only been about 1.5 years since I last posted here! TOTALLY REASONABLE. Just wanted to drop a note mentioning that I've been working on…

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