wickedwords

Title: Sand and Sea
Author: Rachael Sabotini
Summary: Rodney usually slept in while John checked the crab traps in the morning.
800 words, Sheppard/McKay

Well, see, this started as a cheer-up comment sort of story thing for

_inbetween_, but then I remembered a doodle that

spaggel had done, so beaches got involved, and, uh, yeah. Anyway, many thanks to

elynross for both the title and for her beta work, plus to

z_rayne for her beta as well. I make no money from this, I mean no harm. All mistakes are my own.

Sand and Sea

Rodney usually slept in while John checked the crab traps in the morning, but today, he'd taken his tea out onto the deck and watched as John took the skiff out onto the water. The black-winged seagulls had circled around him, crying out as Rodney watched John paddle out to the buoy and haul the crab pot in. His whoop of joy echoed over the water, and Rodney could see his fist pump the air; John triumphantly held up the cage with three-clawed blue giants inside, then set the thing down before the skiff could tip over.

Huh. Who knew John had a talent for this. Rodney waved at him as John headed back to the beach. Looked like John would be the one cooking tonight.

In fact, John spent the rest of the morning digging a pit and building a fire, while Rodney puttered around the house, checking in with Pederson back at Atlantis. Rodney didn't have much to do at the moment, so after his shower, he headed down to the beach to watch John work. He brought along some sandwiches as John was still too skinny, and he ate his share as he perched on one of the logs near John, watching as he added some clams and native bivalves to the pit, then covered it all with wet planier fronds. In his Athosian shorts, which came almost to his knees, he looked like a kid making a sandcastle with a really huge moat.

"That's it," John said, dusting his hands off on his thighs. "Now we just have to wait for it to cook. Shouldn't be more than a few hours." He spread out the blanket Rodney had brought, easing his way down onto it, and spreading out in the sun-warmed sand.

Rodney watched as John's breathing evened out, then glanced out at the waves and the gulls riding the wind above them, before looking back again at John. Salt and pepper hair, skin weathered by the suns of a hundred different planets -- John still made Rodney's heart race, despite the changes that time had crafted in them. John had a lot more scars than he'd started with: the old one on his neck from the Iratus bug had been only the first of a new collection. He had a scar from a bullet on his shoulder, a couple on his back from a knife, claw marks on his ass and thighs from a gracite, and scars on his wrists from the chains the Genii had used. The scar on his arm from where the Wraith-girl grabbed him had never completely faded, and Rodney still yelled at John for scratching it.

He also held John at night when John shook, thinking the scar was turning blue.

Picking up one of the pebbles by his feet, Rodney tossed it toward the ocean. The scars were their history together, and he had traced each of them with fingers and tongue; he knew them better than the power schematics of Atlantis. Oh, he had his own scars, and like John's, not all of them were visible. They were both aging, and a few months ago, the SGC had offered John a civilian contractor position and a chance to go back to Earth. Elizabeth had counter-offered a pre-fab cabin near the Athosian settlement, one with a great view of the ocean, and a chance to stay on in an advisory position. For the both of them.

So while they couldn't see Atlantis from where they lived, there was never a second's doubt about her offer. There was nothing left on Earth for either of them.

Smoke from John's fire wafted past him and Rodney's mouth watered. "That smells great," he said quietly. If John was asleep, Rodney didn't want to disturb him.

But John wasn't asleep. Instead, he turned his head slightly to grin at Rodney, the mischievous grin that meant that Rodney was going to be in serious trouble later that night. "Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" He settled back down, hands folded across his chest, and closed his eyes. "Just remember, since I cooked, you get to do the dishes."

"How about we eat with our hands?"

"Uhmm. I'm good with that. Butter sauce will be involved."

"You and your nefarious plans." Standing up from his perch, Rodney dusted himself off before strolling over to John. "Scoot over," he murmured, and John did, not even opening his eyes while he made room.

Rodney sank onto the blanket, pressing his back against John's chest, and threaded his fingers though John's. Then he closed his eyes and listened a moment to the sound of John's breathing and the sound of the sea.