scribblinlenore | SGA FIC: A Boyfriend For Christmas (Part 2 of 2)

The Christmas Rodney was twelve, his mother found a cocktail napkin in his father's overcoat, with a telephone number written in lipstick. There was the inevitable confrontation, the usual denials, much screaming, a pitcher of martinis throw in his father's face, the good china smashed to pieces, and the Christmas goose thrown in the trash. Rodney locked himself in his room, but even that hadn't been enough to block out the angry voices. You always do this. You ruin everything. I don't know why you have to get so hysterical about everything. It's nothing. Absolutely nothing. Rodney opened his window and crawled out onto the roof and stayed there for what felt like hours, shivering in the freezing cold.

That really hadn't been such a bad Christmas compared to this one.

Rodney huddled in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, waiting until the house was quiet, presuming that meant John and Brett had both gone. And then he lingered there some more, because when he came out, he was going to have to face Jeannie. A smug I knew you couldn't really get a boyfriend that hot on top of how stupidly heartbroken he felt over John was...well, maybe he could just stay here in the bathroom for the rest of his life.

Soft footfalls came up the stairs, making Rodney tense, and then there was a knock at the door. "Mer? Everyone's gone now. You know, if you want to come out." There was a pause, Jeannie waiting for an answer, but Rodney really didn't have anything to say right now. "Okay. Well. We'll be downstairs. You know, if you want to talk or anything."

He listened to her walk away.

Rodney glanced back over his shoulder at the bathtub. Okay, so trying to sleep there would turn him in a paralysis victim, and he doubted that Jeannie would agree to slide meals under the door. If he didn't want top off this disaster of a holiday with a hypoglycemic episode, he was going to have to come out eventually. He sighed and hauled himself to his feet.

He splashed some water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror. "This is why thirty-seven year olds aren't supposed to believe in Santa Claus," he told himself.

He emerged from the bathroom and trudged downstairs. This brought the family spilling into the hall to meet him. They all stood there awkwardly, watching him with big eyes, not exactly helping matters.

"Why don't you two go back out and ride the bike some more?" Jeannie gently suggested.

"Oh," Caleb said, getting the hint. "Yeah. That's a good-- Come on, Mads. Let's get your coat."

They bundled up. Madison gave Rodney one last sympathetic look before heading outside with her dad.

"All right, Mer." Jeannie started pushing him toward the kitchen. "Now you're going to tell me everything."

She got them both coffee, and they settled at the table.

"So spill it," she prompted.

Rodney mumbled an explanation: about the Christmas tree lot, and the messy haired Adonis who wasn't a handyman so much as the CEO of Rodney's company whom Rodney had just called a moron via voicemail, and the good idea for getting Jeannie off his back that had turned out to be pretty much the worst idea that Rodney had ever had.

Jeannie stared at him, a pinch between her eyebrows. "Mer, I never meant-- I only want you to be happy." There wasn't a trace of smugness at all, only concern. This was possibly worse.

Rodney looked down at the table. "Yeah, that's why this--" Really sucks, but pride kept him from saying it out loud. "There for a moment, I honestly thought-- Well, you know what I thought. And he was just-- Playing some kind of mind game, I guess. I don't even know what that was."

"You really think he did all this just to get back at you for a rude message?"

"Yes!" Rodney snapped. "What else could it be?"

Jeannie hesitated, "I don't know. I just-- I did really get the feeling that he liked you."

"Yes," Rodney said dryly, "because heads of multinational corporations are never accomplished liars."

"Yes," Jeannie countered, "and heads of a multinational corporations never get outraged phone calls. Of course, his first impulse would be to create an elaborate revenge scheme that involves spending Christmas with your family and having much-too-loud sex with you in your sister's guest bedroom. Ingenious. Machiavellian even."

Rodney glared. Jeannie glared back.

Finally, Rodney let out his breath. "Well, he's still a jerk, whatever his stupid reason was."

He took a big slurp of his coffee. Even this wasn't as comforting as it usually was.

Jeannie considered him curiously. "What about Brett? Why didn't I ever hear about him?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Because I wasn't so creepy that I wanted to talk about my love life with my thirteen year old sister?"

Jeannie made an impatient face at him.

"Fine!" he huffed. "He was the popular guy I was tutoring in physics, and I was the geek he didn't give the time of day to unless we were in bed together. It only lasted a few months. I never saw any point in mentioning it."

"Well, he seems interested now," Jeannie observed.

Rodney shrugged. He really couldn't think about that right at the moment.

Jeannie patted his hand. "Why don't you stay another night or two?"

"I have to get back to--" he started. Then realized: oh, yeah, he'd quit. There was no work to go back to. "Um. Okay. Thanks."

He took his coffee into the living room and slumped onto the sofa and planned to spend the rest of the day there, wallowing in his misery. He vaguely noted the door opening and closing, and then a few moments later, Madison tiptoed up to him.

"Uncle Rodney?" she said softly.

He cracked an eye open. "Yeah?"

She clambered up onto the sofa with him.

"Watch the gall bladder!" he squawked, as little elbows and knees caught him in the stomach.

She settled at last, curling up with him. He curved his arm around her and rested his chin on top of her head. At least Madison wasn't just pretending to like him.

"Um," Madison said in a small voice. "Does this mean John isn't going to be my uncle?"

A wave of emotion caught Rodney in the chest. It was ridiculous to feel like his heart had been torn out and stopped on, he told himself sternly. He'd known John a day. Oh, hell, who he was he kidding? He hadn't known John at all.

"I'm afraid you're stuck just with me," Rodney told Madison with a heavy sigh.

"You're still my favorite," Madison declared, hugging him fiercely.

Rodney hugged her back. "I'm glad someone feels that way."

Caleb came to join them, casting sympathetic looks at Rodney that seemed to mean, I'm here if you want to talk. Just the idea of it made Rodney feel exhausted.

"Hey," he said to Madison, "why don't we watch your movie?"

He'd rather sit through two hours of an angel getting his wings than have to talk about John Sheppard.

Rodney moped around Jeannie's house for several days, until finally he couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. Caleb volunteered to give him a ride home, and Rodney turned on the radio as soon as the car started up to stave off any awkward attempts at conversation.

An hour and one Pink Floyd marathon later, they pulled up in front of Rodney's apartment building.

"So, uh, you want me to come up, maybe hang out for a while?" Caleb asked, a concerned look on his face.

Rodney imagined his apartment, how quiet and empty it would feel after the holiday chaos at Jeannie's. In any other circumstances, that would have been such a relief he would have jumped out of the car and skipped up the front walk. Today, though, it just made him feel-- He scowled as his treacherous brain supplied the word lonely. For a moment, he almost took Caleb up on his offer.

He let out his breath. "No. It's okay. I'm fine. Really." He forced a smile. "Thanks for the ride."

Caleb didn't look especially convinced, but he said, "Okay. Call us if you need anything. Or just to talk."

Rodney nodded and grabbed his bag out of the back seat and waved from the curb. He went inside, up in the elevator, unlocked his apartment door and...felt like he'd been punched in the gut by the sight of that stupid Christmas tree. He'd completely forgotten about it, and seeing it now only added insult to injury. He heaved a sigh and dropped his bag by the door and went down the hall to the linen closet for a sheet. He didn't have the energy to chuck the tree right at the moment, but at least he didn't have to look at it. That was something anyway. Once he'd finished covering it, he headed straight for bed, pulled the covers over his head, and decided that he'd come out again when he felt better. In a couple of years.

It was a fine plan, except for the part where his sulking kept getting interrupted by the answering machine.

First it was Jeannie, "Hey, Mer. Just calling to check on you. You don't have to call me back. I just wanted to-- You know, okay, I take it back. You do have to call me. Just to let me know you're all right. Okay?"

Then there was Radek, "Rodney, there is rumor going around that you no longer work for Pegasus Labs. I can not believe this, because surely if such a thing had happened, you would have called your research partner." He let out a deeply put upon sigh. "Did I tell you not to leave that message? You never listen to me. Call me, so we can figure out how you can make amends and get back to work. I have no intention of losing out on a Nobel Prize because you are bad with people."

Worst of all were the messages from John. They all went something like this, "Come on, Rodney. I know you're there. Pick up the phone. Okay, okay. Then just listen. I'm an idiot, all right? I handled this all wrong. But I didn't do it because-- The only thing I lied about was my name. The rest of it-- Just give me a chance, okay? I swear to God I'll make it up to you."

Rodney lost count of exactly how many times John called. Finally, he switched off the machine and unplugged the phone. He just couldn't listen to it anymore.

The next morning, he woke up to the doorbell ringing shrilly. He glanced blearily at his clock. It wasn't even eight o'clock yet, and he had nowhere he needed to be, and why couldn't people just leave him in peace to brood? He closed his eyes and ignored the bell and hoped the person would give up and go away. Instead, they started pounding on the door. Rodney let out an exasperated sigh, threw back the covers and stomped to the door, grumbling the whole way there.

There was only one person he could imagine being this persistent, and he threw the door open, declaring, "I don’t care what you have to say or how good you are in bed--"

The Fed-Ex delivery guy was standing there. "Um." He blinked. "Here." He pushed a package at Rodney.

"Thanks," Rodney mumbled, careful not to meet the guy's eye as he signed for the package.

He closed the door, sat the box on the dining table and regarded it as warily as if it contained a bomb. He couldn't imagine what John would Fed-Ex to him, but he also couldn't think of anyone else who'd be sending him a package. Belatedly, it occurred to him to check the mailing label.

The return address read: B. Hall, 129 Kingston Avenue. Rodney sighed heavily. He so did not need any more complications right now. He tried to walk away and just ignore the thing, but his sense of curiosity just couldn't take it. He tore into the box. Inside was a letter and something wrapped in tissue paper. Rodney opened the envelope and read:

Dear Rodney,

I don't know exactly what happened the other day, but I could tell
it upset you, and I'm sorry. Maybe this isn't the best time. Probably it isn't.
But the thing is, I've thought about you for twenty years, and now that
I've run into you again...well, I just can't let it go, you know?

There's no reason for you to give me a second chance. I get that. I was a big,
stupid jerk to you back in college, and I've felt so bad about it. Really
wanted to make it up to you. Tell you how sorry I was. That I never
meant any of it. I know how lame it sounds to say it was me, not you...
but, well, that's the truth. I wasn't comfortable with being gay, and I
took it out on you, and that was really immature, and you didn't deserve
it. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

Anyway, it's like two decades late, but here's what I was planning to give
you that last Christmas, before you broke up with me and wouldn't talk to
me anymore. I just...wanted you to have it.

Merry Christmas,

Brett

Rodney unwrapped the tissue paper, and inside he found a college ring. He picked it up and squinted and Brett's name circled the blue gemstone. God. It was Brett's college ring. Then he noticed that there was an inscription on the inside of it: Better late than never.

He put it down and went into the kitchen for a beer. He didn't want to be charmed by anything Brett Hall did, but he was only human, no matter what anyone claimed to the contrary. Rodney let out yet another sigh and took his beer back to bed with him.

Two days later, he felt ready to rejoin the world at last. He plugged the phone back in and turned on the answering machine. He still wasn't in the mood to tackle getting rid of the tree, so he did his best to keep on ignoring it. Eventually, he'd need to look for new employment, but he wasn't up to that just yet, either. Instead, he took out his notebook to mull over his millennium problem. Just because he didn't have a job didn't mean he didn't have work to do, he consoled himself.

He settled at the dining table with a dozen newly sharpened number two pencils lined up in front of him. He flipped through the pages of equations, and somehow it all just reminded him of John. Why did a hot guy who understood Yang-Mills theory have to be a lying bastard? Life really sucked sometimes.

Rodney was just starting to consider giving up the whole stay-upright-the-whole-day plan when the phone rang. That was it, the last straw. He snatched up the receiver. "I don't want to talk to you, okay? That's what it means when a person doesn't answer their phone all four thousand times you call. So, just. Stop it. All right?"

"Um, Rodney?" a voice said hesitantly.

It wasn't John. It was Brett.

"Oh," Rodney said. "Um. Hey."

"Hey. Sorry to bother you."

"No, no." Rodney waved his hand, although of course Brett couldn't see that. "It's fine. Really."

"I just-- Um. I wondered if you'd gotten--"

"Yes, yes. It was very--" Rodney let out his breath. "You know what? College was a long time ago. Let's just let bygones be bygones."

"Really?" Brett's voice brightened. "That's so-- Thank you. Maybe, we could--" He cleared his throat. "I'd love to get together sometime."

"Well," Rodney said hesitantly. "Maybe sometime."

"Actually," Brett said, sounding sheepish. "I'm outside. In front of your building. You know, calling you on my cell phone."

Rodney moved over to the window, pulled the curtains back and peered out. Sure enough, there was Brett Hall standing on the sidewalk. He sighed.

"Look, now really isn't a good--"

"I know. I'm sorry," Brett hurried to assure him. "I just-- Listen, Rodney, I'm not asking for anything. Or expecting anything. I swear. I'd just like to get to know you again. I'd do anything to make it all up to you."

Rodney's gaze fell on the tree. "Well, if you really mean that, maybe there is something you could do for me..."

Half an hour later, the tree had been stripped bare and carted out to the curb for pick up. Brett hadn't stopped there, either. He'd busied himself putting away the Christmas decorations and even asked Rodney for a broom and dustpan to sweep up the remaining pine needles.

"You really don't have to do that," Rodney insisted, starting to feel uncomfortable as he watched Brett wield the broom, like maybe he was taking advantage a little bit.

Brett broke into a big smile. "Oh, I don't mind."

It was a nice smile actually, easy and friendly, Brett's eyes crinkling at the corners. Rodney had a sudden flash of what he'd found so appealing about him back in college. He was still good looking. Maybe there was a little silver mixed in with his blond hair now, but that just made him look less like an overgrown fraternity boy and more like an actual grownup. He still seemed to be in pretty good shape. Oh, maybe he'd gone a little soft around the middle, but who hadn't at their age?

John, Rodney's subconscious piped up. He lectured his subconscious sternly, Really not helping!

Brett finished sweeping and bagged up the errant pine needles. "I can throw this out if you want."

Rodney didn't have the energy to argue, so he just gave directions to the trash chute. Brett ducked out into the hall. The phone rang, and Rodney walked over to the machine. John's voice unfurled in the air. Rodney listened, getting more irritated with every word. He really was getting sick of this. It was time to purge John Sheppard from his thoughts once and for all.

Brett returned from his trash-dumping errand. He let himself back into the apartment and stood by the door, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Well," he said at last, "I guess I should--"

"How would you like to go out with me tomorrow night?" Rodney blurted out.

Brett just blinked for a moment, and then he broke into a huge smile. "Do you like Italian?"

Rodney nodded. "Who doesn't, really?"

Brett bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet. "Great! I'll pick you up at seven." He hesitated a moment and then fumbled a kiss to Rodney's cheek. "You won't regret it."

As Rodney was closing the door behind him, he thought: I really hope you're right.

John tightened his grip on the phone. "And you know what else, Rodney? Your resignation isn't accepted. I've reviewed your research and given it the green light and a bump in funding. You have a contract with Pegasus Labs. So don't make me call in lawyers. I'd much rather take you out to dinner than take you to court." John scrubbed a hand over his hair. "So. Just. Call me, okay?

He hung up with a sigh. God, he was an idiot. He was trying to win Rodney over and just ended up yelling at him instead. Honestly, though, leaving four thousand phone messages without a single response could fray a person's patience. John kept trying to convince himself that he couldn't lose the first person who'd interested him in practically forever over something so stupid it should be the plot of a Lifetime TV movie. His faith, though, was starting to wear a little thin. Frankly, he blamed Santa for this whole mess.

The phone rang, and John knew it had to be Rodney. He really wasn't one to pass up having the last word. Maybe yelling at his answering machine had been a stroke of genius on John's part after all.

"Just don't hang up, okay?" John said quickly. "I know you're pissed off at me, but it's not what you think. I really can explain. Or-- you know, at least I can make it up to you. So will you please, please let me see you?"

"Oh dear, Johnny. What have you done now?"

John could feel all the color drain out of his face. It was his mother. And just when he thought things couldn't get any worse.

"Um, Mom. I wasn't expecting--"

"Clearly," she said, with a hint of amusement that John really didn't appreciate. "Well, I was calling to remind you about the annual Opera Society charity event. It's tonight, as you should know, although I do realize your propensity to forget things you're trying to avoid. I was going to tell you that I have it on good authority that the Rosemont sisters will be there and Alicia Newman and several other eligible women, but it seems there's already a new person in your life." His mother's voice lilted upwards, inviting John to fill in the details.

His mother was always prying into his love life, and the thought flashed through John's head that it would serve her right if he actually told her something for once. Then somehow this notion took charge of his mouth. "His name is Rodney."

There was silence on the other end of the line for an uncomfortably long time. John had never gone out of his way to hide it from his family that he dated both men and women, but they'd never actually discussed it either. This was just how they did things, leaving all the big, important, potentially explosive things unsaid. John had no idea how his mother would react now that the truth was actually out there. After all, her one ambition in life was to have grandchildren.

At last she spoke, "And how long have you been seeing this Rodney?"

"Seeing" was something of an overstatement, but John answered anyway, "Couple of days."

"And you've already managed to make a mess of it? John, dear, how have I raised a son who is so smart at business and so abysmally stupid with people? I blame myself entirely. I should have taken you to the playground more often when you were a child, so you'd understand how human beings are supposed to behave with one another."

"Thanks a lot, Mother!"

"You're welcome, dear," she said sweetly. "Now, tell me this. Do you really like this man? Because it sounds as if you do."

The question made John no less tongue-tied now than it had when Jeannie had been grilling him on the subject.

"I'm going to interpret that stoic silence to mean yes. So what exactly are you doing to get him back?" she inquired.

This was so not what John was expecting her to say. "What?"

"Dear, however dreadfully you've mishandled things, you're still a Sheppard. We don't take defeat lightly. So stop moping around and go convince this Rodney that you’re the man who truly appreciates him and can make him happy. In the end, that's what everyone wants."

John was still having trouble catching up. "So you're saying--"

"You and Rodney can adopt orphans from…wherever people are adopting orphans these days. I want grandchildren," she said, almost like a threat. "Wait. Rodney does like children, doesn't he?" John could practically hear his mother frowning.

"He pretends not to," John told her. "But he has an eight-year-old niece he's crazy about."

"Then I approve. Of course none of this means you're off the hook for the benefit tonight. You're father has put his foot down about going, and we've got the Sheppard name to uphold. You can be my escort. I'll see you at eight." She hung up with a cheery bye.

John heaved a sigh. He knew there was no point in arguing with his mother where upholding the Sheppard name was concerned.

That evening, he met his mother at the theater, and the benefit turned out to be just as stultifying as John had imagined. There were a couple of performances, which were okay, although honestly John was no connoisseur of opera. Afterwards, he worked the room, glad-handing politicians, charming society matrons, and chatting up executives of companies he might want to do business with in the future. All of this was as much part of his job as setting his company's strategic vision, driving new research initiatives and outmaneuvering competitors in the market place; it was just a hell of a lot more boring.

By the end of the evening, he was so restless he was practically twitching, pulling at his collar, seriously ready to ditch the tie. More than once, while he'd been plastering on an "I'm listening" look as some florid, half-drunk corporate wonk rattled on not particularly insightfully about green initiatives and the future of nanotechnology, John had imagined how much more fun all this would have been with Rodney at his side, whispering sarcastic asides in John's ear.

When John's mother was finally ready to go, she came to collect him. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Time of my life," he said in a deadpan.

His mother cut her eyes at him. "Sometimes, you'd think you had been raised by wolves."

Outside, it was just beginning to snow. John held out his arm to his mother, and they started down the marble steps. On the sidewalk was a man dressed in a Santa suit, standing by a kettle and ringing a bell, a holdover from Christmas. Maybe they continued to collect for charity until New Years?

John walked past, not really paying attention, but then something occurred to him. "Hold on just a sec, Mom."

"Johnny!" she hissed after him. "Those things aren't real charities. I saw it on Dateline."

The Santa looked up as John approached.

"It's you!" they said in unison.

Santa looked around. "Where's Rodney?"

"Avoiding me!" John told him hotly. "Also hating my guts. Thanks so much for that, by the way."

Santa looked taken aback. "But I was sure you two would hit it off--"

"We did. That's-- well, that's kind of the problem." John sighed. "See, when you sent me over there with the sparkly note, he said something about me being his consolation prize--"

Santa shook his head sadly. "That one never had any faith."

"And then he asked me to pretend to be his boyfriend and-- that didn't end so well. Let's just leave it at that."

"Oh dear, that's not at all how this was supposed to go. You're going to have to fix it," Santa told him. "A promise is a promise. My good name is on the line here."

John frowned. "What promise?"

"Never you mind that," Santa said. "The important thing is that it's not too late for you to make him understand that you're what he was expecting, not some consolation present." Santa sniffed indignantly. "As if I'd ever stoop to such a thing."

"What is that supposed to mean?" John demanded, bewildered.

"It means you have to go woo him back." When John didn't jump right to, Santa waved his arms. "Well, what are you waiting for? The Christmas season is almost over."

John wasn't sure why this was what spurred him to action, but maybe where Santa was concerned, it was best not to ask too many questions.

He hurried back over to his mother. "Come on, Mom. There's something I need to take care of."

"You're not rushing off to sign over the company to Kris Kringle, I hope?"

John shook his head. "Actually...I think he was trying to give me something."

After John dropped his mother off, he hurried home and spent half the night drawing up a strategic plan for Operation Woo Rodney. The brainstorming got off to something of a bumpy start. John sat there for who knew how long twirling his pen in his hand, staring at a blank piece of paper. He wasn't much of a wooer by nature, more of a let-them-come-to-you kind of guy. Even then, he rarely saw it coming. Trying to figure out how to actively pursue someone made him feel like a fumbling teenager. Finally, though, he'd come up with some ideas, borrowing heavily from movies and the kinds of things his old girlfriends used to hint around that they'd like.

When he got to the office the next day, he called up the florist and sent Rodney three dozen roses, an arrangement of wildflowers and a potted palm, because he had no idea what Rodney might like and he wanted to cover all the bases. Next, he went online and ordered a hamper the size of a Volkswagen filled with gourmet items from Dean and Deluca. If there was one thing John did know about Rodney, it was that he enjoyed food.

His assistant struck out trying to find a place that actually did singing telegrams. "I think those might have, you know, gone out in the 50s?" she said with a shrug.

At lunch, John went to Best Buy, and his luck was better there. He found the boxed set of Doctor Who, which he planned to deliver to Rodney himself. He was not at all above trying to bribe Rodney's inner geek.

The real question now was: how could he get Rodney to see him? He must have picked up the phone at least a dozen times, but always set it back down without calling. Rodney had made it clear that he wasn't going to answer. John wasn't sure if it would be any different if he just showed up at Rodney's apartment, but at least he'd actually be doing something. John always had preferred the direct approach.

An emergency with one of their subsidiaries kept him at the office later than he'd hoped. It was going on seven by the time he pulled into the parking lot outside Rodney's apartment. He grabbed the Doctor Who DVDs and started out of the car, only to freeze in his tracks. Coming out of the building was Rodney...with Brett Hall.

John scrambled back into the car and watched them head down the front walk. It's not necessarily a date, he insisted to himself. They could just be two guys who'd gone to college together and managed to patch things up over the holidays and were now going out in a perfectly platonic way to talk about old times. But then, Brett reached for Rodney's hand, and Rodney didn't pull away, and John's reassuring self-delusion fizzled. The two of them walked to the car hand-in-hand, and Brett planted a kiss on Rodney's mouth before unlocking the passenger door for him.

For the longest time, all John could do was sit there staring stupidly. He really couldn't believe that Rodney wasn't going to forgive him, but he was going to take back the guy who'd been a jerk to him in college. John felt as if someone had kicked him in the ribs, repeatedly, very hard, with steel-toed boots. Actually, that had happened to him a time or two back in his military days, and seeing Rodney with someone else might actually feel worse.

There was, of course, only one dignified thing to do in a situation like this. Wait until they were gone, and then go home and make his peace with the whole thing. Brett's car pulled out onto the street, and John put his own car in gear. At the exit of the parking lot, he needed to make a left to head home.

He made a right instead. Brett's car was still in sight in front of him. It wasn't stalking, he told himself. At least, he was pretty sure it didn't meet the legal definition of the term.

The restaurant was dark-paneled and dimly lit. Candles flickered on the tables, and music played softly in the background. Rodney glanced around, and the entire place was filled with couples. Clearly, it was known as a date restaurant. He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

Brett raised his wine glass. "To us."

Rodney tried to smile and didn't quite succeed. He downed half his wine. He still wasn't sure what he was doing here. He'd only suggested it because Sheppard's insufferable phone message had pissed him off. He'd regretted it later, and that morning had woken up resolved to call Brett and cancel. Then the flurry of floral activity had started up. Apparently, Rodney hadn't mentioned his pollen allergy to John. He wasn't sure his sinuses would ever be the same. Those barbequed peanuts from Dean and Deluca, on the other hand, those were pretty tasty… Not that that was the point! The point was that Rodney wasn't easy. He had his pride! He couldn't be won over by a jerk with some trinkets and a charming smile and some really hot sex.

Well, probably not anyway. Which was why he needed to start dating other people, pronto.

"So, Rodney." Brett smiled. "Tell me what you do. Tell me about your work."

"I'm a research fellow at Pegasus Labs. Was anyway. Maybe still am. Anyway, I'm in the middle of a very important project right now. It's interesting actually," Rodney warmed to the subject, explaining his research in the simplest terms possible.

Brett's attentive expression faltered after a few minutes, and before Rodney could even get to the part about how this work might earn him a Nobel Prize one day, it was clear that Brett wasn't listening. He was just waiting for Rodney to stop talking. It's not like he understands Yang-Mills theory, Rodney thought with a pang.

He let out his breath and said, "So what have you been doing since college?"

Brett puffed up proudly. "I've got my own heating and air conditioning business." He went on tell Rodney more than he'd ever wanted to know about compressors and duct work.

By the time he'd finished droning on, Rodney was so bored he'd actually gone numb. Memories from college were rushing back to him, like the time Brett had spent a solid hour describing his every move in an intramural lacrosse game he'd played in. Brett always had preferred to talk about himself, and back then, Rodney had been young and lonely and willing to put up with pretty much anything just to keep on having sex.

He threw back the rest of his wine, and the waiter circled over to refill his glass. Brett launched into the long, tedious tale of the early years of Hall HVAC, the struggle to make those cretins at the bank see how kick-ass his business plan was, the fierce battle against the other outfit in town, and Brett's ultimate victory, making him the king of heating and air conditioning in three counties.

Rodney started in on his second glass of wine, plastering on a fake smile. There were nights--okay, every night--when he woke up hard and aching, because he'd been dreaming about John's hands and John's mouth and John's-- He figured the only way he was ever going to get over it was to have sex with someone else. Brett was here and transparently willing, and all Rodney had to do was survive the rest of the dinner. He consoled himself that when the food came maybe there'd be less talking.

They made their way through the salads and entrees, and when the waiter came to ask about dessert, Rodney declared desperately, "Oh God, no."

Brett insisted on paying for dinner, and they headed back to Rodney's place. Brett parked the car and walked Rodney to the door.

"So, um." Brett fidgeted, as if trying to figure out how to ask Rodney for a goodnight kiss.

You've got to get over John sometime, Rodney reminded himself.

"You want to come in?" Rodney asked before he could change his mind.

Brett's face lit up. "Yeah. Yeah. Sure. Of course."

They went up in the elevator, and Rodney unlocked the door. Brett followed him inside.

"Would you like--" Rodney glanced toward the kitchen. He thought he had a few beers left in the refrigerator, and maybe he could come up with a bottle of wine if he dug through the cabinets. Then he imagined spending more time talking about heat pumps and discharge lines. "So, do you want to have sex with me or not?"

"Oh my God, Rodney. I thought you'd never--" Suddenly Brett was all over him, kissing messily, tugging Rodney out of his coat and then the rest of his clothes.

"We're too old for sex on the floor," Rodney insisted and hustled Brett off to the bedroom.

"You have no idea how much I've thought about this," Brett said, staring at Rodney as he stripped off his own clothes.

He grabbed Rodney by the arm and practically piledrived him into the mattress. He landed on top of Rodney, running his hands over Rodney's body, kissing him frantically. It didn't take long for Rodney to be reminded that Brett wasn't exactly the most sensitive lover in the world. He pinched Rodney's nipples too hard and barely touched his cock at all. He didn't bother to ask Rodney what he wanted. He just rolled Rodney over onto his stomach, rooted around in his pants pocket for the lube and condoms he'd apparently brought with him, slicked up, and pushed inside.

Rodney was unhappily transported back twenty years, remembering how desperate he'd been to have someone touch him, and then how strangely lonely it had felt to have a guy on top of him sweating and grunting and fucking away, but without any sense of connection. He remembered so clearly wanting more and being certain he was never going to get it.

And then he did finally find what he wanted. With John.

He tried to force that thought away and concentrate on getting something out of the sex he was currently having. He was halfway hard, and he pushed his hips into the mattress, rubbing against the comforter. Occasionally, Brett managed to hit his prostate, purely by accident Rodney imagined, and he tried to focus on that spark of pleasure, let it build, let it--

Brett came with guttural cry and slumped heavily against Rodney's back. Rodney fisted his hands in his pillow and sighed with frustration. He waited for Brett to move, and waited some more, and finally had to say, "Need to breathe now."

Brett rolled off. He had the slightly dazed expression of a man who'd just had one hell of an orgasm, not that Rodney would know much about that right at the moment. He flopped over onto his back and glared impatiently at Brett.

"Oh, you didn't--" He frowned at Rodney's erection, as if he couldn't imagine how the seven whole minutes of sex they'd had wasn't completely fulfilling. Then his mouth curved into a lewd smile. "Get yourself off. I want to watch you."

Rodney looked to the ceiling. Do I have to do everything myself? He took hold of his cock, feeling disgruntled, and started to stroke. Brett stared at him, his beady eyes bright and interested, his mouth gaping open. It was hardly inspiring jerkoff material, and Rodney shut his eyes and tried to think of something, anything else. Pictures of John sprang instantly to mind, and this time he made no attempt to push them away. He let himself remember how John looked kissing Rodney's chest, the way his skin had felt sliding against Rodney's, how he'd smiled afterwards like Rodney was a revelation.

When Rodney came, he had to bite his lip to keep from saying John's name.

"Yeah, yeah," Brett said, with a self-satisfied expression, as if Rodney's orgasm had anything to do with him. "That was hot. You really got off on it."

He made a grab for Rodney, as if he was planning to stay for a while and maybe even thinking about cuddling. Rodney snaked out of his grasp, scrambled out of bed and started picking Brett's clothes up off the floor.

"I, uh-- Very early meeting in the morning. Very, very early." He shoved Brett's pants at him. "I wouldn't want to wake you up."

"Oh." Brett's face fell for a moment, and then he perked back up. "But we can do it again, right?"

He started to pull his clothes on without even waiting for an answer. Once he was dressed, Rodney walked him firmly to the door.

"I'll call you. Oh, hey, it's New Years Eve tomorrow, isn't it? We should definitely go out. A guy I work with is having a party. Should be a lot of fun," Brett said as Rodney nudged him out the door.

Rodney turned the lock. "Yeah. I really don't think so."

The executive staff meeting bright and early the next morning wasn't nearly the distraction John had hoped it would be. The members of his team reported in on year-end numbers and research updates and ideas for future acquisitions, and John couldn't pay attention to any of it. His mind kept flashing back to the night before, to sitting in his car, watching Rodney invite Brett Hall in after their date, waiting for nearly an hour, hoping Brett would come back out again, finally giving up and going home when it became clear he was staying the night.

John had even considered calling Jeannie and throwing himself on her mercy, begging her to help him figure out how to get Rodney back. But then, he had no reason to believe she'd take his side. He'd accepted her hospitality, all the while he was lying to her. Brett Hall, on the other hand, delivered food to old people.

"Uh, John?"

He blinked and realized that his CFO Sam Berman was watching him expectantly.

John shook his head. "Sorry. Say that again."

Sam looked surprised, but repeated himself nonetheless, "I was asking how you wanted to proceed on the Lattimore deal?"

John nodded and answered, and for a few minutes at least, he could think about something besides Rodney in bed with someone who wasn't him.

After the meeting, he headed back to his office and dug into more of the Pegasus Labs research summaries. He had less than a week to make his final decisions if he was going to get people back to work on schedule, and he needed to make some serious progress. He tried to tell himself that this was the reason he had no plans for New Year's Eve, not because he was a pathetic loser.

The company was closing early to give employees a head start on the celebrating, and John's assistant poked her head in at three to ask, "Do you need me to stay? I don't mind."

He smiled wryly at the mess on his desk. "Nobody can help me with this. Enjoy your holiday."

The office got gradually quieter as people cleared out. Around seven, the absolute stillness started to feel depressing, and John got up to go, taking a mountain of paperwork with him. Things weren't that much more cheerful at home, the place empty and just as quiet as the office had been. John called out for pizza and fished a beer out of the fridge and settled down at the dining room table for a long night of research reports.

The morning after the date from hell began all too early, not to mention unpleasantly, with the phone blaring insistently in Rodney's ear. He snatched it up, thinking that if it was Brett he really couldn't be held accountable for his actions. "This better be important."

"Good morning to you too, sunshine." It was Jeannie, which was only marginally less annoying.

Rodney sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I hope you're calling me this early because someone is dead."

"It's a real mystery why no one thinks you're a people person," Jeannie told him cheerfully. "I heard you had a date last night."

"What?" Rodney said snippily. "Was there a press release or something?"

"Practically," Jeannie said. "Brett called me at 6:30 this morning to tell me all about it. So how'd it go? You know, from your perspective. Because he sounded ready to pick out rings."

Rodney snorted.

"Enthusiasm a little one-sided, I take it."

"Let's just say that the only ring involved is the one I'll be returning to him at the first opportunity. And before you say it, yes, yes, I know. I'm too picky. A regular menace when it comes to relationships. I'm going to die alone with only my three hundred cats to keep me company. Blah, blah, blah."

"Actually," Jeannie corrected him. "I was going to say that maybe the problem was that you were out on a date with the wrong person."

Rodney scowled. "Oh, fine! Take his side!"

He could almost hear Jeannie rolling her eyes. "Why won't you at least give John a chance, Meredith? You lied to me, and I forgave you."

"Very nice!" Rodney huffed.

"From what I saw, he really does care about you. And you like him. You know you do, Mer. So stop being so stubborn and call him."

"I can't do that! Then he'll--he'll win!"

"Oh my God, is this some stupid pride thing?" Jeannie demanded.

"It is not!"

"Is too!" she insisted. "You know you really are going to die alone if you're this idiotic."

"Thanks so very much!"

"Just ask yourself this, Meredith. Would you rather have a smart, good-looking guy who really likes you in your life or three hundred cats who will probably eat you after you're dead?"

Rodney sighed and hung up and went around the rest of the day thinking: Little sisters don't know anything.

Eventually, though, that comforting sense of superiority wore off, and other thoughts started to filter in. Like how John was the CEO of a multinational corporation, and he'd still spent two days helping Rodney with the Jeannie situation, however duplicitously he'd gone about it. And maybe Rodney didn't get to be all that self-righteous about John lying to him when he had been doing the same thing to his sister. And didn't it mean something that John just seemed to get him, better than any of his boyfriends ever had, Brett Hall most certainly included? Maybe Jeannie was right, not that he'd ever tell her that. Maybe Rodney wasn't so much pissed at John, as he just really didn't appreciate anyone being able to put one over on him. Geniuses were supposed to see it coming.

Then, too, cats were carnivores. He really didn't want to die alone with them.

Rodney paced around the kitchen as he worked through all these thoughts and finally lurched to a stop. "Oh God, this means I have to do something, doesn't it?"

He pondered his options. Maybe he should call John? No, no. He should go see him. There was a return address on the card that had come with the floral tribute, not that Rodney had kept it for that reason or anything. He'd just drive over there and--

Then he remembered. It was New Year's Eve. No doubt John had plans for the evening. Rodney glanced at the clock. It was already past seven. He dithered about what to do: wait until tomorrow, or settle for calling, or track John down at whatever party he'd gone to and have a When Harry Met Sally moment. Rodney was definitely ready for the rest of his life to begin pretty damned soon.

Finally, though, he decided on something slightly less cinematic. He wrote a note and stopped by the wine store for a bottle of champagne on his way to John's. If the flowers and food hamper were any indication, John should appreciate the gesture. He parked on the street and walked up the long sidewalk to the porch, his heart doing backflips in his chest. There's no point in freaking out, he lectured himself. He's probably not even here. And even if he is, it's not like anything is going to happen. You're only here to talk. Seriously, you're not that easy.

The house looked dark. Rodney rang the bell anyway, just because it seemed the thing to do. He waited a moment, and nothing. So he set down the bottle with the note and turned to go.

Then the door opened, and he stopped in his tracks.

"Rodney?"

He turned back around, and the words just flew out of his mouth, "Oh, God."

John had on a white dress shirt, open at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his strong forearms. His trousers clung lovingly to his muscular thighs. His hair was mussed, and his pretty lips looked like he'd just licked them. Who was Rodney kidding? He was totally that easy.

"I, uh, didn't mean to bother you," he started to babble. "You're probably in the middle of something. I can come back later--"

John caught him by the arm. "You're saving me from paperwork. Come on in. Have a beer or something."

Rodney stepped inside and glanced around the foyer. There was wallpaper and antiques and a Persian rug. This really wasn't what he would have pictured.

"My mother sicced her designer on me," John explained.

"Oh," Rodney said, nodding. "That makes it make a lot more sense."

John laughed, and a little of the tension went out of Rodney's shoulders.

"I promised you beer," John said and led the way to the kitchen.

He grabbed two bottles of Blue Moon out of the refrigerator and handed one over. Rodney took a sip to give himself something to do, and they just sort of stalled there, standing by the sink, drinking their beer. Rodney's palms were so sweaty he had to be careful that the beer didn't slide right out of his hand.

"So, uh." John looked no less nervous than Rodney felt. "You got my message."

Rodney nodded. All four thousand of them. "Thanks for the funding."

John raised his beer bottle. "Thanks for making my company a ton of money with your brilliance."

Rodney shrugged. "It's what I do."

John grinned. "I've missed your modesty."

Rodney was ready to take offense, but the expression in John's eyes was warm and teasing and affectionate. And oh. Just...oh.

He swallowed. "You know, it, uh, occurred to me kind of recently that you went to a lot of trouble pretending to be my-- well, you know. Especially for someone in your position." He gave John an intent look. "Why'd you do it?"

"Well, at first, I just wanted to explain," John said, "you know, when I saw you at the Christmas tree lot. And then I wanted to make you happy. And then I just--" There was something hot and sharp in John's eyes.

God. John wanted him.

Rodney's mouth went dry. "I, uh--"

John looked down at the floor. "I guess you're back with your old boyfriend, huh? I, uh, saw you two together."

Rodney frowned. "Where?"

"I might have--" John cleared his throat. "Spent some time sitting in my car out front of your building. It was absolutely not stalking!"

"I'm pretty sure it was," Rodney said mildly. "But to answer your question: no. I'm not back together with my old boyfriend. He's cute enough and not hopelessly stupid, I suppose, but he doesn't appreciate me, and he never will."

"Then he sounds pretty stupid to me," John declared.

Rodney's mouth curved into a smile. He knew he'd been right to include that "has to appreciate me" rider in his wish to Santa. "All right," he told John. "You're forgiven. You can stop sucking up now. And definitely no more wildflowers. I had itchy eyes and a runny nose for days."

"What about the boxed set of Doctor Who I got for you?" John's eyes were bright with humor. "Should I take that back?"

"Not if you don't want to start the second fight in our admittedly brief relationship."

John laughed and reached for Rodney.

Rodney went, easily, because apparently that was just the kind of guy he was. John felt good, and he smelled good, and Rodney pressed his face against John's shoulder. There was nowhere else he wanted to be. Ever.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth sooner," John said quietly, stroking his hands over Rodney's back. "I really wasn't trying to--"

Rodney nodded. "You just can't do it again, okay? I've waited a long time for you. So you're not allowed to suck."

John laughed and held him tighter. "I'll really try not to. You know, except in the good way."

Rodney groaned. "You did not just say that."

John pulled back, grinning.

"It's a good thing you're really pretty," Rodney told him.

John grinned harder and kissed him. "So, how do you want to spend New Year's Eve?"

"I'm thinking naked." Because, hey, Rodney liked being easy.

"I know I've said it before, but let me say it again. I like the way you think." John slung his arm across Rodney's shoulders and walked him to the stairs.

Something occurred to Rodney as they were heading up the steps. "You realize that-- Well, we kind of have Santa to thank for all of this."

"I guess we do," John said slowly.

They looked at each other.

"Hey, you know how couples have secrets that they never, ever share with anyone?" Rodney said. "I think this should be one of ours."

John nodded emphatically. "Another excellent idea."

He pulled Rodney into his bedroom, shut the door, and then proceeded to show Rodney that he had some pretty good ideas of his own.

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From:

kassrachel.livejournal.com

::FLAIL

OH BOYS YAY!!!!!!!

Best Christmas story ever. I am so totally saving this to my delicious feed so I can read it over and over and over again.

From:

Not a homecoming queen

SGA FIC: A Boyfriend For Christmas (Part 2 of 2)

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