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"Good morning," Zelenka greeted cheerfully and fell into step next to Rodney.
"Yes, yes," Rodney muttered. It was never a good morning before his first cup of coffee.
Zelenka wasn't offended by this kind of behaviour anymore, in the same way that Rodney didn't mind Zelenka grumbling, and probably swearing, in czech for the rest of the way.
When they reached the lab, they found a yellow post-it note stuck to the door.
It read 'door' in capital letters, and Rodney knew his day had just gotten worse. He thought open with a sinking feeling in his stomach. When the door was retracted into the wall the post-it fluttered to the ground. Zelenka retrieved it. "Keen observational skills, I'd say."
"You've always been easy to im--," Rodney stopped, taking in the state of his lab, "--press," he finished.
"I am impressed now," Zelenka said with barely concealed amusement.
"Really? I am extremely annoyed."
The lab reminded Rodney of his first college roommate, who had tried to perfect the method of learning by constant exposure. His side of the room had always been plastered with sheets full of vital information, stuck to every available surface.
The post-its that were scattered all over the lab were a lot smaller, but with strength in numbers.
"I'm going to kill him," Rodney promised. "I will."
Zelenka moved over to his desk. "Look," he said, with a suspiciously straight face, "this says 'inflammable'. We must be more careful in the future."
"It's a stack of paper, of course it's inflammable! It's made of--" Rodney froze, frowning. "Why am I dignifying that with an answer? And isn't this supposed to be a paperless office?"
He strode towards his desk and collected various post-its on the way, including the ones that said 'thing', 'other thing', and 'really cool thing' from three yet unidentified ancient objects, the warning 'addictive' from the coffee can, the one that marked his laptop as 'porn theater', and the one that said 'delicious' from the plate which had held a piece of chocolate cake the day before.
"I was going to eat that today!" Rodney complained accusingly, plate in hand.
"Remember, you were the one who gave the post-its to the colonel," Zelenka pointed out.
"Oh, right. It's all my fault."
"It certainly is not mine." Zelenka picked up a yellow-tagged ruler from his desk. "This is 'straight'. Says so, right here." He waved it, grinning. "I had not noticed."
For a moment Rodney considered throwing the plate at Zelenka. It wasn't like it would actually hit him, not with Rodney's limited ability to aim.
Zelenka seemed to sense the impending danger. "I feel a sudden attack of hunger. I will go and have breakfast now," he said and hastened out of the lab. His laughter carried through the corridor before the door closed behind him.
A full turn and a rough estimate told Rodney that Sheppard had to have used all of the damn post-its in his possession. Since everyone around here guarded their office supplies with their lives, Sheppard probably wouldn't be able to get his hands on any more. Which meant he couldn't repeat this prank, which meant it was actually worth the effort to rid the lab of the yellow little tags from hell.
Rodney worked his way through the room for a few minutes. 'Enlightenment' on a desk lamp very nearly amused him. 'Flux capacitor' on yet another piece of ancient technology made him snort and shake his head. His patience wore out soon enough. And one thing was absolutely certain, he was not going to go and get a ladder to retrieve 'ceiling'.
The coffee machine waited for him, also tagged, of course. Rodney would be able to handle this much better after a nice cup of coffee.
On second thought, this would best be handled by someone else.
He plucked the post-it from the coffee machine and went in search for Sheppard.
* * *
Rodney found Sheppard in the mess hall where he'd almost finished his breakfast. "Here you are."
"Here I am." Sheppard leaned back, not the slightest bit surprised, and looked up at Rodney over the rim of his coffee cup.
"Try that on someone else!"
"What?"
"That-- That innocent look! You don't fool me." Rodney crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"I wasn't aware I was trying to," Sheppard said and smiled, despite his visible effort not
to. "How does this morning find you, Rodney? Any strange incidents?"
"Like you don't know. Your redecorations keep me from working. I thought you'd put those things to practical use, not use them for a practical joke. Supplies don't grow on trees."
"Rodney, you have to see the bigger picture. I knew you'd have some much needed fun."
"Oh, yeah. Lots and lots," Rodney retorted sarcastically. "I've been clutching my sides from laughing."
Sheppard was grinning widely now. Rodney decided it was time for the more refined measures. "You don't care for warm water in your quarters, do you?"
Sheppard set the cup down. "You wouldn't--"
"I would, believe me."
"Elizabeth would intervene and order someone to--"
"No one will be able to figure it out," Rodney stated matter-of-factly. "I'll expect you in the lab in half an hour. Bring your own trashcan. And beware of scientists bemourning the waste of perfectly good post-its."
Sheppard knew when a battle was lost, which, at this moment, Rodney really liked about him.
"Fine," Sheppard sighed and rose. "But do me a favor, go find yourself a sense of humor, will you."
"I used to have one. It got sucked out by the Wraith, on eye contact alone."
"Ha!" Sheppard pointed a finger at him. "That was funny."
"See, not all is lost," Rodney said evenly. "I'm still pissed at you, better make it up to me while you can. Certain death lurks in every corner."
"Sure," Sheppard said, rolling his eyes.
Rodney turned to leave, then remembered the post-it in his hand. "By the way, you stuck this to the wrong thing." He pressed his palm firmly to Sheppard's chest for a brief moment.
Sheppard looked thrown for an instant, then bowed his head to read the note sticking to his black t-shirt. "'Caution! Hot!'," he read aloud.
It was only then that Rodney realized this could be seriously misinterpreted. Judging by the stunned look on Sheppard's face, that was exactly what was happening.
"I didn't, I mean, I wasn't-- See you later," Rodney said and fled.
* * *
Rodney managed to avoid Sheppard for the rest of the day simply by not returning to the lab. Sheppard had obviously cleaned up even without Rodney's close supervision, because when Rodney stuck his head in at midnight, the lab was clean as a whistle.
With his laptop tucked under his arm Rodney made for his quarters, where he planned to get some work done and then savor his well-earned beauty sleep which turned out to be no longer than four hours. When he woke, everything hurt. His back, his head, several muscles in unusual places. All Sheppard's fault because he'd been keeping Rodney away from his ergonomic chair all day.
And worse, when he opened his eyes, he saw yellow, and only yellow. A frantic mental search for terminal illnesses with that kind of symptom came up empty. Then his hand found the post-it stuck to his forehead and ripped it off.
'Annoying but cute' Rodney read disbelievingly, blinked a few times and read it again.
Oh, crap. Sheppard had decided to take Rodney up on the offer he certainly hadn't intended to make. Rodney was already on the verge of hyperventilation when the second, much more probable possibility sprang to his mind: Sheppard hadn't taken him seriously, and this was payback - exactly the kind of childish payback Sheppard was likely to pull off for revenge.
Also, cute? Rodney was nowhere near cute, not even in the most flattering of lights and most romantic of settings. He'd rather be manly, anyway. Sheppard was so pulling his leg.
Something rustled when Rodney sat up. Next to a stain on the pillow was another note: 'drool, fresh at 4:55'.
"Nice," he muttered. And what was this about breaking into his quarters in the middle of the night? The colonel needed a lesson about privacy. After all, Rodney could have been doing-- things here, with the colonel tip toeing in, watching -- and, hey, wasn't this a thought he really didn't want to have?
Rodney fingered the neck of his t-shirt. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes -- again. They clung to him, damp from sweat. Frankly, he stank. Wait a minute... He wriggled his toes. Someone had taken off his shoes, and there was the blanket he sure hadn't covered himself with.
Sheppard's doing, certainly. Rodney was mildly disturbed - because Sheppard! - and yet touched by the gesture.
He ran a hand through his hair. A shower, he definitely needed a shower, then coffee, to get his brain back on track.
Some time around the second cup he realized that, unfortunately, Sheppard didn't seem to have run out of post-its.
Well, two could play the game.
* * *
It turned out Sheppard was much more resourceful than expected -- and so far ahead that Rodney had difficulty keeping up.
That morning Rodney was forced to answer a lot more moronic questions than usual. His staff kept coming back to him, grinning stupidly, then talking even more stupidly. By the time he was really annoyed, Zelenka took pity on him. "Something is stuck to your back."
"What?"
Zelenka handed the post-it to him. 'Annoy me, please', it said.
"Oh, great," Rodney muttered.
"These things will keep turning up, yes?" Zelenka asked, amused.
"Probably. Oh joy."
When he ran into Sheppard in the mess later, literally, and in a totally non-accidental way, Rodney managed to place the previously prepared 'light switch guy' on Sheppard's jacket. The silent triumph lasted about ten minutes, until Miller behind the counter shook his head at him apologetically.
"What?" he asked impatiently. "There's nothing without lemon on the menu today?"
"That's not the problem." Miller grinned and gestured to Rodney's chest. Unsurprisingly, he found a note on his shirt: 'do not feed'. So Sheppard hadn't run into him by accident either.
"Funny, yes. You've had your laugh, now give me some food." Thankfully, Miller didn't argue the point.
After lunch Rodney went to the armory with a plan. Ronon was there, apparently stocking up on ammunition. He watched with mild curiosity when Rodney pulled a stack of post-its and a pen out of his pocket.
"Don't ask," Rodney ordered. "And don't tell Sheppard."
"Okay," Ronon said in his you-amuse-me-therfore-you-may-live-a-little-longer voice. He used that a lot when Rodney was around.
Rodney almost felt bad when he returned to his desk and found two power bars that hadn't been in his possession before, one labeled 'ZPM' and the other 'chocolate cake'. How very thoughtful of Sheppard. Several hours and one empty stomach later Rodney was really grateful. He had to work through the night, conducting repairs for the power connections Jameson had fried during her attempt to disable the smoke and fire sensors, actually a very useful system. How stupid could you get for a smoke? And how unfair was that? Nobody had informed Rodney of the black market on Atlantis.
When Rodney finally arrived back in his quarters at five-thirty, cranky and tired, it seemed that Sheppard had paid him another visit. On the wall, above his framed diplomas and commendations, there was a note that declared them to be 'superfluous'. Rodney was too tired to ponder the implications of that. A heap of clothes on the floor had the warning 'biohazard' stuck to it. Not very creative, in Rodney's opinion.
'Food for fantasy' on his underwear drawer, however, managed to pull him back to full consciousness for the space of a blink. Sheppard's twisted sense of humor again, he decided, then let himself fall, face down, on the bed.
* * *
With time, Rodney started to be more aware of his surroundings than usual because he kept an eye out for Sheppard and his Post-its of Doom all the time, and he was pretty sure Sheppard was doing the same. It wasn't long before people started taking interest in their trade-offs. Rodney's armory plan was what really got the rumors going.
Before their next mission, Sheppard - fully geared up and running a little late - walked the distance to the hangar through the crowded main hallways without noticing the post-it stuck to the P90 in front of his chest. Rodney was barely able to contain his glee when Sheppard entered the jumper. Teyla raised an eyebrow, and Ronon stepped forward to retrieve 'phallic symbol' from Sheppard's P90 by way of a greeting. Sheppard inspected the note and then, ever the graceful loser, stuck it to the jumper controls with a lopsided grin. "I thought I heard someone giggle behind my back," was all he said.
It was weird, how Rodney and Sheppard never actually talked about this.
After the incident, there were always people hovering in their immediate vicinity, trying to look occupied, but really waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Also, the scientists kept joking that at least now they knew what the 'P' stood for.
* * *
Another one of Sheppard's nightly visits followed, again with Rodney present and asleep. The few notes Rodney found in the morning made him wonder how much Sheppard already knew about him. They also told him it was time to start his own criminal career, because Sheppard: 3 Rodney: 0 was not an acceptable score.
Rodney believed in careful preparation, and that was why he spent the next morning at his desk, mainly just chewing on a pen.
"Someone's busy," Elizabeth commented, suddenly looking over his shoulder.
Rodney started and then frantically picked up the post-its he'd arranged on his desk. "Elizabeth, I--"
She put a hand on his arm. "Rodney, relax. I'm not going to reprimand you. You put in more hours than anyone. God knows you've earned yourself a little--" She gestured.
"The word you are looking for is fun," Rodney said dryly. "And no, this isn't fun."
"It isn't?" Elizabeth sounded surprised. "If you don't mind my asking, then why are you doing this? It would mean you are putting a lot of effort into something that serves no purpose, not even a minor one."
"Huh," Rodney said. The pen slipped from his fingers. "That's not very me, is it."
Time management had been one of Rodney's first skills. He'd had to divide his many talents justly between all kinds of problems almost since the day he was born, and it turned out to be a much needed skill on Atlantis, too. The thirty minutes he spent working on a project now could be the thirty minutes condemning the city to certain doom later if he didn't. Never waste a second. Then, why was he doing this? Where was the hidden purpose, because there had to be one. Rodney refused to believe he'd gone that far round the bend.
"Rodney," Elizabeth interrupted his thoughts and regarded Rodney's work with a smile. "Have you considered labeling his hair care products as 'life support'?"
"That's good," Rodney said admiringly. He reached for the pen and started scribbling again. Elizabeth left at some point.
With the stack of post-its in his pocket Rodney broke into Sheppard's quarters later that afternoon, while Sheppard was attending a briefing. Opening the door was a cakewalk, and the possibility of being caught was close to zero, but still, Rodney felt extremely uncomfortable. It was the violation of Sheppard's privacy that unsettled him. Maybe that was because Rodney valued his own so much. Why the colonel would want to do this repeatedly was a mystery to Rodney, and one he didn't want to ponder too extensively.
Rodney placed the prepared post-its as fast as he could. For the final touch he stuck 'Kirk' to Sheppard's bathroom mirror. Rodney took one last look around Sheppard's quarters from the doorstep.
He should have brought Sheppard something. The thought had come out of nowhere, and Rodney sent it back there immediately. Really, who was he, Santa Claus? And anyway, the only thing Sheppard had given to him had been fair payment for a delicious piece of chocolate cake.
Sheppard couldn't expect anything back.
* * *
Sheppard chose to visit him in his quarters that night, surprisingly when Rodney was awake. Sheppard couldn't possibly have expected him to be asleep at nine-thirty, and he had knocked, too. Rodney noticed the 'Caution! Hot!' post-it in Sheppard's hand when he gestured him in. He wondered why Sheppard had kept the damn thing.
"Did you want anything?" Rodney asked. "You can always drop by later when I'm asleep."
Sheppard just looked at him for a moment, then he said, "I'm confused." Slowly, pointedly, he stuck the post-it note to Rodney's shirt. "Is this taking the flirting to the next level, or is it a step back?"
Rodney blinked. "Huh?"
"Because, you should know, I've run out of post-its," Sheppard said, took Rodney's face in his hands, and grandunifiedtheory kissed him.
Rodney felt warm, soft lips on his for what couldn't possibly have been more than a few seconds, but unfolded into something more, something brand new, in his head.
When John released him, Rodney stared in a daze. "What flirting?" he asked distantly, his voice climbing an octave at the end of the question.
John's face fell ever so slightly. "This was a bad idea," he said, backing towards the door. "I thought-- I'll go."
"Wait, wait, wait." Rodney snapped his fingers. "Flirting, huh? You're a genius! I've been trying to make sense of this-- this-- this thing we've got going, you know, finishing each other's sentences, saving each other's lives on a daily basis, being able to annoy each other so much all the time, and now those notes. We've been flirting for months! I usually suck at flirting, big time. Really big time. You wouldn't think so-- okay, yes, you would. But this-- this is good. This-- Oh."
"Oh?" John repeated.
"You're not a woman."
"How very genius of you to notice," John deadpanned. "Is that going to be a problem?"
And that was the big question, wasn't it. Rodney stared, probably with his mouth hanging open. John's face turned into an expressionless mask, slowly, with every passing second. Rodney's brain was on a hamster wheel. Only one thought came through loud and clear: Rodney couldn't bear to see John like this, and he would do anything to wipe that look off John's face. Which was ultimately the answer to all his questions.
"You might just have given me the clue," Rodney said slowly, "that everything that ever went wrong between me and women probably would have gone wrong much better between me and men." He paused, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. "Did that make sense to you?"
"No," John said with a hesitant smile. "But I like the sound of it."
"So, what now?" Rodney asked. There was a familiar nervousness creeping up on him. Of course he would turn out to be as bad with men as he was with women. That was just his luck. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers.
John moved closer, cautiously, like he was approaching a frightened animal. "You're not freaking out already, are you?"
"Possibly. A little." Because Rodney wasn't good with things he knew nothing about, and this certainly qualified.
Sometimes Rodney was sick of being a coward.
"Look," John placed a hand on Rodney's shoulder, "we could go to the mess and have a coffee, or watch a movie, or whatever you want. We don't have to--"
Right now, Rodney was sick of only ever being brave for the benefit of others.
John was so close, Rodney hardly had to move to bring their mouths together for a second kiss. John's hand went from Rodney's shoulder to his neck instantly, pulling him in further. When Rodney touched John's sides hesitatingly, then sneaked one hand around to his back, and the other up to grip his hair, John grinned against Rodney's lips.
"You know, you really are hot," John murmered, then moved back a little. He leaned his forehead against Rodney's in the Athosian way.
"Right." Rodney said, breathing heavily. "Now that we both know that for a fact I won't be needing this anymore."
He ripped the note from his shirt, crumpled it, and threw it over his shoulder.
They stayed like that, foreheads touching, just breathing, until Rodney said, "This is really good," and leaned in again.
John met him halfway.
- end -