The Big Gay History of the World (Sheppard/McKay, Other) 1/3

[wickedwords]

Title: The Big Gay History of the World (click this link for the webpage)
Author: Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)

Based on the movie: Ball of Fire (and by 'based', I mean it provided the plot, the structure, the characters, and a bunch of the dialog.) Many thanks to sherrold, z_rayne, and movies_michelle for their support and beta work. All the remaining typos are my own. This was done for the reel_sga challenge, and I'm thrilled it was done by deadline.

Summary: Professor John Sheppard and his team have been working on a new encyclopedia for the past 9 years when the 'bad boy' of the Boylesque circuit, Rodney McKay, needs a place to hide.
Additional Info: Sheppard/McKay, Lorne/Parrish, and other relationships. 23,000 words.


The Big Gay History of the World

Long ago and far away,
In a world very much like this one,
There lived seven very brilliant scholars.
For nine years, they worked together
Writing the Big Gay History of the World, as Dr. Sheppard liked to call it,
Which wasn't so much a history as it was an encyclopedia
And the gay thing was more about the professors really.
Except for Zelenka, who preferred the label 'bi'.

These scholars were well-read and knew everything:
From the depth of the ocean
To seven ways to blow up a sun
To the real reason the Egyptians built the pyramids,
And what the Stargate was used for,
Though none of them were supposed to talk about that.

However, as they had spent nearly ten years on this project, they did not know that the coffee shop on the corner had closed five years before, or that carbohydrates were back in vogue. There were some other things that they were a little shy about as well....

No place on earth was as spectacular as Lake Washington on a bright spring day, with the sunlight glinting off the water, and not an ounce of wind anywhere. The gentle spring breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms as the group rounded the corner of the arboretum, heading back to the foundation. John could hear Dr. Zelenka and Dr. Emmagan arguing about benefits of a slow pace vs. a faster one--aerobic activity vs. the chance to enjoy the beauty of the landscape--while Dr. Carter walked along between them, head down, caught up in her latest physics journal. At every stoplight, Emmagan would casually curve her arm around Carter, preventing her from stepping out into traffic, while continuing her discussion with Zelenka; at the rear of the group, Dr. Lorne and Dr. Beckett kept a negligent eye out for Dr. Parrish, who had a history of stopping to examine the plants on their walk, and not showing up until dinner time.

John took a deep breath of fresh, clean air and sighed. Hiring Ronon Dex as the foundation's personal trainer had been the best thing ever. They had four times the productivity since he had arrived, and far fewer sick days.

They'd even gotten used to having soy milk in their coffee.

John's watch started beeping at him, and he sighed, clicking the alarm off. "Okay, team, time to go back."

"Spoilsport," Nick Lorne muttered as he stretched out in the sunlight, his T-shirt riding up enough to see his stomach. "It's a beautiful day."

"It really is, sir." Sam, like Lorne, had been in the military before joining the project. "Can't we stay out for another hour?"

"Oh, yes, please!" Parrish piped up immediately, his attention already sliding to the irises lining their path. "There is simply too much to observe this morning to be cooped up inside of the house."

"The longer we wait, the longer it will take," Teyla said, folding her hands across her chest. "I have no wish to be doing this in another nine years, so I suggest we get back to the foundation."

"True," John agreed. "We don't want to get bogged down in the letter 'S.'"

With a huge collective sigh, the group re-formed behind John and headed back to the estate. Behind him, John heard Lorne's distinct whistle, followed immediately by Parrish saying, "Oh, yes, the walk. Right."

John grinned. They weren't a bad group of guys to have been stuck with for the past nine years, though he really wished at least one of them would have been his type.

***

The moment they got back to the foundation, they all pulled off their coats and headed for the library. A huge, cavernous room, three stories in height, the team had decided to make this their central workspace. The walls were covered in mahogany bookshelves, floor to ceiling, and the carpet was thick and rich, a whirl of dark blues, reds, and greens. John always took his shoes off the moment he entered the house, eschewing the slippers set out in an attempt to save the wood floors, just so he could sink his toes into the carpet. With a fierce sigh, he wiggled his toes and padded over to his desk, turning on the computer before sitting down to work.

Zelenka was already opening the window behind his desk, letting in some of the spring day as Ronon came in and leaned against the door jamb. "You all look better already."

"Good morning to you, too, Ronon," Beckett said, wandering past him and up to his desk near the far wall. "Would you mind putting the kettle on for some tea? Earl Grey perhaps, if we have any."

"We don't. Ask me, you could do with a little less black tea, so I'm only buying herbals and green tea now."

"Oh, see here now--" Carson's mouth hung agape. "These ideas of yours--"

"Good morning, Ronon," Zelenka said, sliding past him into the room, and slinging his coat over the nearest chair. "Isn't it a lovely day?"

"Suppose." Ronon unwound himself and nodded at John and Teyla. "Someone ate the last of the strawberry jam last night." He pointed to the history section. "Found the jar there, behind the gladiator books." He turned and folded his arms across his chest, staring determinedly at Lorne. "You have an interest in gladiators, don't you Lorne?"

"Just...ah...there really is no good way to answer that, is there?"

John shook his head 'no,' along with most of the other professors.

"None of you need the sugar anyway."

"Oh, uh, dear. Ronon." Parrish stepped forward, wringing his hands. "I'm afraid it was me. I was," he waved toward the greenhouse, "working on the hybridization project, and, uh, got a kind of a," he swallowed, "craving, I guess. For--jam. Strawberry jam."

Lorne darted a grateful look at Parrish while Ronon snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Where are my documents, Ronon?" Teyla, who had the neatest desk in the building, sounded dismayed. "I left them on the desk last night."

Ronon rubbed his hand down his arm. "That poetry stuff?"

"Yes, the Sapphic odes--"

"Oh, sorry." He shrugged. "It's in my car. My girlfriend likes that kind of thing."

"Oh, really?" Sam perked up and looked at him. "The brunette with the--"

"Big vocabulary, and a tendency to split infinitives." Teyla glared at Sam, then turned back to Ronon. "While it is nice that she enjoys fine literature, I need them for my next article."

"'kay. I'll get 'em next week. We're sort of broke up at the moment."

"That will put me a week behind." Teyla inclined her head, her fury written in her eyes. "I suggest that you talk to her today."

"Yeah, but see--"

"Today, Ronon."

Picking up his book, John wasn't really listening to the conversation behind him. He stared out the library window, so peaceful on a beautiful spring morning like this; the sky was a brilliant blue from in here. His own image was reflected back faintly--skin pale enough from the lack of sunlight that his blue and grey bow tie was the most colorful thing about him, muddy eyes nearly covered by the dark hair spilling out on his forehead, with more of it sticking straight up as well, no matter how John tried to get to lay flat.

He heard a rumble and saw the contrail of a jet flashing across the sky, and sighed wistfully. He would have loved to have been up there himself, but bad eyesight would always keep him grounded.

"Oh, dear," Beckett said, grabbing his suit coat and pulling it on. "Better get your shirt on, Ronon, and some shoes. It's the lawyer from the foundation headed up the drive."

"Oh, hey!" yelled Lorne, springing out of his chair and pulling his own suit jacket on. "Maybe you better keep that shirt off."

"I guess we're in for our semi-annual review, I suppose," Zelenka added.

"Oh, and you, Dr. Sheppard." Parrish sighed heavily, dragging out his comb. "You have got to be more presentable than that."

John jerked away before the comb could even touch his head. "Hey, watch it!"

"Elizabeth Weir is very influential at the foundation." Parrish stuffed his comb back in his pocket in disgust. "You should at least try to look professional."

"She knows I'm not really interested, so what's the point?"

"Smile at her bodyguard instead, then."

"Who? Mr. T? I'm afraid he'd crush me what with those...arms of his."

"I think they're rather nice," Zelenka said, grinning.

"Do you even have a coat?" Lorne said, scrambling around on the floor near John's chair before heading back to his desk. "You are the world's worst gay man, I swear. You can borrow one of mine."

"It'll be too big," Zelenka said, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"Right." Lorne arched an eyebrow at him. "'cause I'm such a big guy."

"Well, not in the arms, no, that will be too short. But your shoulders are much broader."

"Hey!" John yelled, but the entire room ignored him.

"Here," said Sam, stepping between them all to drop John's shoes at his feet and adjust John's tie, while Lorne pulled a spare coat out of his bottom drawer and tossed it to her, rolling his hand to indicate that John should put it on.

With a betrayed look at them all, John shoved his feet into the shoes and pulled on the jacket, wincing. God, he hated the whole corporate uniform thing. It was really too bad that he hadn't gone into computer science. Surely a startup would have been better than this.

"He looks fine," Beckett said, smoothing his hair and resettling his own jacket. "She gets what she gets when she pulls one of these surprise inspections on us. We are researchers, you know, not politicians."

"And I'll smile at Elizabeth if you like." Sam grinned at Parrish who rolled his eyes and stomped off.

Teyla nodded to Ronon to bring in their guests.

"Good morning." Elizabeth nodded at everyone, her bodyguard an impressive shadow beside her. The cut of her suit cried designer, the rich burgundy silk blouse standing out against the pale grey around it. John had to admit that she looked good, if he were into that sort of thing. She carried herself with a sense of power and control that John found attractive.

Her bodyguard, though, wow, he was a stunner. Tight black T-shirt, bald head, arms and calf muscles that screamed hours in the gym.

"Sit here," Zelenka said, pulling out a ladder-backed chair for her with a soft smile. John had to hand it to him; when he wanted to be, Radek could be quite the charmer. "It's a very nice morning, isn't it Dr. Weir?"

"Yes, Dr. Zelenka, very nice," Elizabeth said, sitting down. "But I'm afraid I'm not here for the weather. T?" Her bodyguard opened the attaché case he'd been holding and pulled out a sheaf of papers, setting them down on the nearest desk while Elizabeth continued to speak. "The original grant that you were given for this project was four million dollars, spread out over eight years. You have exceeded that limit not only in time, but you are a million over budget. I've had to go back to former General O'Neill twice for additional funds, and I'm afraid the well is drying up. How much longer will this take?"

Wow. John took a deep breath, and Lorne elbowed him in the side. Right. Smile. He smiled tentatively at the bodyguard, and T arched an eyebrow at him in response.

Okay, yeah. He'd definitely snap John like a twig if it came to that.

"Maybe...three years?" Beckett said hopefully.

"I'm sorry, but that's impossible. I have other projects that need funding, and the foundation simply cannot afford it."

"Oh, but Dr. Weir. Surely the general would not discontinue Dr. Jackson's greatest work, his memorial?" Parrish gestured eloquently toward the painting of Daniel Jackson that dominated the room, hanging right over the largest desk, which Teyla used for her work. "In our encyclopedia, we guarantee that the work of Dr. Jackson will have an...appropriate amount of space."

"Three-quarters of a page perhaps?" Beckett said, glancing at Teyla.

"Perhaps even three pages," she said serenely, "given how radical his theories were when they were first published."

"As Dr. Jackson was found two years ago and his memory restored, the need for a memorial is not nearly as important as it once was." She brushed her hair back from her face, and sighed. "I'm afraid that even Dr. Jackson has lost interest in this project, caught up as he is in discovering the whereabouts of Atlantis. He's no longer as interested as he once was in human enlightenment."

"So, does that mean you don't want tea?" Ronon said from the doorway, silver tray in hand, the sunlight catching on his dreads as he padded into the room. "I brewed up some almond rooibos, in case you wanted it."

Elizabeth smiled as he set the tea down, her eyes flickering briefly with appreciation, and John nudged Lorne in the ribs. Ha! See. Ronon was the one they should have made smile. "Tea sounds lovely, thank you." She poured a little soy milk in after Ronon set down the tray.

"Try the cookies." Ronon said, leaning against the back of her chair, his voice a rumbling growl. "Just got out of the oven."

"They do look good."

Smelled good, too. John realized the whole place smelled like baked sugar, and it made his mouth water.

"Ginger shortbread." Ronon picked a cookie off the plate and held it up for Elizabeth to bite. "I'm trying some new recipes."

Rolling his eyes, John stepped forward. "Dr. Weir, it's just that we want to be thorough."

"Go on, Dr. Sheppard." She glanced at Ronon. "These are really good."

"Many of the ideas and theories that we are researching aren't in the mainstream texts. It takes time to cover everything, to delve into the past and show the impact on our lives today. Things change so quickly, Elizabeth, and both people and ideas fall through the cracks. It's our job to find them and bring them all back. Take Professor Lorne, our history specialist. He has to constantly re-write the political sections based on recent conflicts in the world. Or Professor Emmagan, and her analysis of the world's religions. Or Dr. Carter's astrophysics, or Beckett's genetics. All of it changes so fast."

"Leave no idea behind, is that it, John?"

"Exactly."

"You are lucky that English changes slowly," she nodded at Zelenka, "as does mathematics." She stood and finished off her cup of tea. "All right, I will see what I can do. But you will try to finish quickly, won't you?"

"Yes, of course," John said, while everyone else nodded and murmured in agreement.

Elizabeth tucked her arm in around Ronon, and asked him to give her the recipe before they swept out of the room.

Zelenka sank down into his chair and pulled out a handkerchief to mop his brow. "We are so lucky that Ronon decided to bake today."

"Ronon bakes every day," Sam said. "Didn't you guys know that?"

Everyone turned to stare at her before demanding details on what exactly it was that Ronon baked.

"Hey!" Someone was knocking on the library door. John turned and looked, and saw a young man in a UPS delivery uniform standing there, grinning at them. "Hope you don't mind, but I saw the kitchen door standing open and thought I'd come in, just in case, you know, something had happened." He had brown shorts, and a brown baseball cap, and his name tag read "Ford"; he also had the biggest, brightest smile as he spoke. "My grandma would never have forgiven me if something happened and I didn't help."

He didn't look anything like a serial killer, so John said, "Come on in."

"Hey, now that I'm here, you mind helping me with a few questions? I tried looking this stuff up on the Internet, but I kept getting a whole bunch of answers that just didn't make sense. I need to know something about...Cleopatra."

"Cleopatra? Why?" Lorne tilted his head and glanced over at Teyla, who looked just as puzzled as he was.

"This is some kind of think tank, isn't it?" Ford said, gesturing around the office.

John reached up to scratch his head, but the jacket Lorne had lent him was too tight, so he pulled it off and threw it back onto Lorne's desk. "Well, yes, but--"

"Cool." Ford hopped up onto one of the desks. "I've dropped off so many interesting-looking packages here, I figured you guys had to know most of the answers to this quizah they've got going on KMIX."

"KMIX?"

"The radio station? Monsters in the morning? The zooey babooies? Those guys." He stretched out, arms propping him up on the desk. "Every morning, there's a k-question, and I figure you guys might be able to help me out and answer it. I could sure use the card if I won."

"Do you have the questions here? We don't listen to the radio a lot." Or ever. There was a record changer in the small salon, and Carter had a CD player, but no one else had so much as a clock radio. When they went into the project, everyone agreed that electronic entertainment devices provided too much distraction; most of their computers didn't even link up with the Internet.

"Oh, sure!" Ford said, pulling out a handheld device. He pulled a stylus out of the side, and plucked around on the screen a few times, pulling up a file that he handed to Lorne. "There you go. I did most of them myself."

"I see." Everyone crowded around trying to read over Lorne's shoulder.

"And you got several of them wrong, too," Zelenka said, pointing at the screen. "That number is prime."

"Really? Well, blister my puppies." He nodded at Sam. "'scuse my language, ma'am."

Parrish coughed as Sam smiled and said, "No problem."

"Do you think you could fix them?" Ford asked anxiously.

"Sure." Lorne said, while the others murmured in agreement.

"Sweet. See, I met this dove bar last week. And I figure, if Brazil's right, then I can get the doe out of the bright lights and show her helapios. If you know what I mean." Ford winked at John who nodded back, hoping he'd picked up the gist of what Ford had said.

"I don't think I understood one word he spoke." Zelenka pulled his glasses off and polished them on his shirt. "Astounding."

"Neither did I, and my doctorate's in literature," John said ruefully.

"She's bomasitic, too, up front without wires. A real Latifah, not a Calista." He made a clicking sound with his tongue that Lorne, Zelenka, Carter, and Parrish all tried to copy, making the room echo with the sound.

"I am still completely mystified." John said, searching for a paper and pen.

"If I get today's questions right, I get put in a pool for a larger prize. A debtor would be great, free riders and everything."

"What is a...free rider?" Zelenka said, setting down next to Ford.

"A free rider? Well, it's a--"

"There's no such thing." Annoyed, John sounded harsh, but Ford just waved him off.

"Sure there is. It's the freebies you get with the card. Everyone knows that."

"Those are dividends."

"No, they're free riders, cause you get a free ride and you collect your two hundred dollars."

"Are you getting any of this?" Lorne whispered to Parrish.

"Not one word in ten." Parrish looked a little dazed.

"I'm getting about half," Carter said.

Teyla nodded slowly. "As am I."

"That goes for divs, squish, benny, roar. It's all the same."

"What about the doe?"

"That's what I need the card for. She wants to cirque, and for that, you need a card."

"To cirque."

"See some of the Boylesque shows. The circuit trainers. Those guys." He elbowed Zelenka. "I figure she watches them and then we get to do a little room boogie of our own."

"Room boogie." Lorne smirked and nodded.

"A little super-G," Ford said, slapping the desk and noticing the time. "Oh, hey, I gotta go. We're timed on our deliveries, so I'm booking it if I'm gonna catch up."

"Nice young man, don't you think?" said Beckett, waving good-bye at him.

Zelenka snorted. "You think everyone is a nice young man."

"Well, aren't they?"

"He was most likable," Parrish agreed.

"And I'm an idiot." Sheppard tossed his notebook onto his desk.

"John, are you feeling all right?"

"It's my article on slang." John gestured at his pile of printouts. "It's all useless. I forgot how quickly languages change and have spent the past three years researching and embalming dead phases while the world is turning around us."

"What are you going to do?"

"Do? Why I'll have to go out and collect new data, that's all. Television, movies, theater--buses and public transportation. Bars, pubs--anyplace people gather and talk. " He collected his wallet and pulled off his tie, opening the top button of his shirt.

Becket stepped closed, laying his hand on John's arm. "Are you sure--"

John nodded. "I know this is going to impact getting the article written, but it must be done. Tell Ronon I'll be away, and not to hold dinner for me. I may not be home until well past midnight."

He could barely hear Dr. Carter as she shouted out after him: "I study the sun, but I don't need to visit it!"

***

By nine that night, John was dragging. He'd been on the metro system for hours, listening to people talk. Ferries, parks, city museums. Shopping malls and their movie theaters. Not to mention the ballpark.

He couldn't wrap his mind around all the places he'd gone, how many miles he'd walked. Pubs and restaurants, the wharf, Ivar's Acres of Clams. From West Seattle to the Eastside, Renton to Shoreline, he'd covered it all. He'd given out his card to anyone who sounded interested, who had a good grasp of slang and used it all the time. His feet hurt, his shirt stuck to him and he just wanted to rest.

Just one more stop, he promised himself. He'd still be able to catch a bus back to the foundation's main entrance if he spent a couple of hours in the clubs of Pioneer Square. He passed The Underground, a comedy club, and made his way into the old brick building that housed The Feanix, one of the Boylesque shows that apparently was so popular now. Back when John had signed on with the project, Boylesque hadn't even existed. He stared a moment at the black and white images--men in tight pants and vests, like Vegas-style gauchos; a tall, thin man in a sexy version of the UPS uniform that Ford had worn; and one color picture that completely captivated him, simply because the man's eyes were so blue. The man was dressed in a tight, graduated blue shirt that showed off broad shoulders and muscular arms, and black dress slacks. He was seated at a piano, an old-style swing band behind him, and his lips had a wicked twist to them. John's heart beat a little faster just seeing the picture, and he shook his head at his own fancy.

Dr. Rodney McKay, huh? thought John as he went inside.

***

The crowd was yelling for his autograph the moment Rodney stepped backstage. He pushed through them with smiles and nods, waving them off as he finally reached his dressing room and got through the door. Heaving a sigh of relief, Rodney sank back against the door; he loved the attention, but God, he really hated the crush of the after-show horde. It had been a good crowd tonight, plenty of big spenders scattered around in the audience. He stood up and loosened his tie, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. Cowen would be here soon, and he liked it when Rodney was ready and waiting.

Someone pounded on the door and Rodney grinned. Speak of the devil. He jerked open the door with a big smile, only to feel it fade from his lips. Kolya and Kavanagh muscled in past him, shutting the door tightly behind them.

"Where's the boss? Hey, what's the fever?" Rodney said sharply, when Kolya grabbed his wrist.

"The District Attorney is looking for you, and Cowen says you have to on the lam."

Kavanagh nodded. "You have got to get dressed and get out of here before the cops get here."

"The cops?" Rodney jerked his hand away. "What's up? Why are they after me?"

"On account of Halling the Athosian having an accident."

"I've never heard of Halling the Athosian. Who's he?"

"One of the boys, you know," Kavanagh growled. "Cowen's poker buddies."

"So he had an accident." Rodney snatched his hand back and glared at the two of them. "And for that, I have to hide out?" He waved Kolya away. "That doesn't make sense."

"Halling was on a kind of an errand when the idiot grazed a patrol car." Kolya snorted. "And when the cop got out to give him a ticket, he saw Laden in the back, and Laden wasn't looking too good."

"On account of him being dead and all," Kavanagh supplied helpfully.

"Killed in the accident?"

"That's what Halling was going to say, until the cop saw the chains wrapped around his legs."

This was a total screw up. "Wait...is Cowen mixed up in this?"

"The DA had him picked up about a half-hour ago, that's why we're here and why you have to get stashed someplace."

"Cowen's mixed up in a murder?"

"Yeah."

"I don't believe it."

"He was framed, McKay." Kolya tugged on the arm of Rodney's shirt.

Kavanagh nodded. "They found those pajamas you gave Cowen in the back of Halling's car."

"The pink ones with the butterflies?" Rodney had meant them as a joke--kinda--but Cowen had no sense of humor.

"Yeah, those. He gave the whole dozen out to his poker buddies, and right there in the suitcase next to Laden is a set, with Cowen's initials embroidered on them."

Someone knocked at the door right then, and Rodney jumped upright. "Oh, God, the police."

"Stall 'em," Kavanagh said, folding himself up to hide in the closet while Kolya pulled out a gun as he ducked behind the dressing room screen and screwed the silencer on it.

"I'll take care of them," he said quietly, and Rodney couldn't suppress his shudder.

Rodney smoothed out the fabric on his costume, took a deep breath and opened the door to find an extremely good-looking--if rather dorky--guy looking admiringly at him.

"How do you do, Dr. McKay?"

"Hello," Rodney said frostily, leaning as casually as he could against the door jamb.

"I hate to intrude like this, but--"

"Yeah, yeah. Cut the corners. What is it?"

"Ah, I have an inquiry of considerable importance that I need to speak with you about."

"Just--stop." Rodney rubbed his hand over his face. "God, talk English, will you? Stop with all of the Harvard words. It's like listening to the hamster dance. I don't know anything, so boring me isn't going to get you anywhere. Be military, will you? About face and get out of here."

The guy's eyes lit up as Rodney talked. "Oh, you do know something, you do. And every word you say just convinces me of that." He started search around his coat jacket. "Now where did I put that?"

"You got a warrant on you? Or a subpoena?"

"A subpoena? I'm an English professor. Why on earth would I have that?" He took out a business card and handed it to Rodney. "I'm working on an article about current slang, and I was wondering if I you would mind if I observed you for a few days?"

"Yeah, I would." Just another guy with a new line. Rodney closed the door as the guy continued to chatter at him about the project, but Rodney's mind was back on trying to figure a way out of his current predicament.

"It would just be for a few days, three or four at most. And I have other people coming to the institute--"

"Shove in your clutch, okay?"

"See, now that's exactly the type of thing I'm looking for."

"Out, out," Rodney said, unable to completely wipe the smile from his face as he shut the door in the guy's face. He sagged against the door for a moment as Kavanagh and Kolya scrambled out of their hiding places. Tucking the card into his pants, Rodney grabbed his cashmere raincoat as Kavanagh opened the window and crawled out into the alley, extending his hand to help Rodney over the sill.

"Thanks, but I'm not that fat," he said, and squirmed through on his own, Kolya a few seconds behind him. "Great, rain," he grumbled as Kavanagh dashed for the taxi stand outside the theater, getting them all a cab.

"Where to?" the cab driver asked.

"Just keep cruising," Kolya said, while Kavanagh rubbed his chin in thought.

"What about that warehouse on Denny?"

"The one with the rats?"

"No, no rats," Rodney said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Where are you taking me, anyway?"

"It's only for the night, McKay," Kavanagh growled. "You aren't going to die from roughing it for one night."

"I will if there are rats around, and trust me, Cowen wouldn't like it if I died because of your stupidity."

"He'd like it even less if he ended up in jail because of something you let slip."

"Your place is crawling with cops, and Cowen's place is a no-go as well. They'll have all the hotels covered, and all the flop houses they know about." Kolya shook his head. "You're outta luck, princess. I guess you sleep with the rats tonight."

"Hey, wait." Rodney snapped his fingers and reached into his pants pockets. "The guy from the theater, that professor--" He pulled out the card and stared at it. "John Sheppard." He looked at Kolya and grinned.

***

Parrish handed John a glass of warm milk just as he was winding down his story. "Was he a blond or brunette?" Parrish asked, worming his way into the group of professors listening to John talk about his day.

"I, uh, didn't really notice." John grinned and winked at Lorne. "Though he did have excellent arms."

"Oh, man," Lorne whispered.

"What was really exciting," John said, taking a swig from the glass of milk, "was the way that he spoke. Abrupt, forceful, and every other sentence with at least a word or two of slang in it, like he didn't even know he was using it."

"So you spoke to him?" Zelenka asked.

"Yes, in his dressing room--"

"His dressing room?" Carson sank onto the floor at John's feet. "Oh, my. I mean, I used to be quite the follower of some bands when I was younger, but...I never visited their dressing rooms."

"Backstage passes." Teyla's eyes glittered. "I had a friend at a radio station who once procured one for me herself. There was an entire bowl of Smarties set out on the catering table." She sighed wistfully.

"Oh, Teyla. I didn't know you had a wild youth." Sam smiled brightly at her.

"But what about the musician?" Parrish demanded hurriedly. "Is he going to join us?"

"I'm afraid not." John shrugged. "He had no interest in our project. And he told me so in words so...bizarre, they made my mouth water. Not to mention the occasional tonal flattening that indicated his Canadian origins. He's absolutely brilliant." He patted Beckett's shoulder. "He pronounced 'about' as 'aboot' when he told me to 'aboot face.'"

"That's amazing," Lorne said, mouth slightly agape.

"But what was it like backstage?" Zelenka said, sitting down on the arm of the overstuffed wingback nearest the fireplace. "I assume there were a...number of good looking actors there?"

"Possibly wearing tights," Parrish said, nodding, his eyes wide and round.

"Or tight black leather pants," Sam added.

"With studs." Carson said softly, and there was a huge, collective sigh.

"Well, it's, ah, getting a bit late," John said. "And we all have to be up early in the morning."

With grumbles and sighs, everyone got up, gathering together robes and slippers and late-night snacks, before heading up the staircase to their rooms, only to stop, frozen, as the front doorbell rang.

"But it's 12:25!" Carson exclaimed. "Who could be calling at this hour?"

"Oh, it must be the samples I sent for," Lorne said, nodding at Beckett. "I paid extra for immediate delivery."

"I'll get it," John said, and opened the door.

Rodney stood there in the rain, black fedora perched on his head, and grinned at John. "Morning, professor." He strode in, and shut the door behind him. "Don't tell me I'm too late for class."

"Eeek!" Beckett scrambled for the stairway, running for the upstairs, the rest of the team right behind him.

"What was that?" Rodney asked, watching as the group rounded the corner of the staircase.

"Those are my colleagues." John smiled his most charming smile. "They were a little startled at your appearance when some of them don't even," his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "have pants on." John tried to tuck his shirt back into his pants. "I'm even half-dressed myself."

"Oh, that's okay, professor." He winked at John. "I've seen a lot of men in disarray." Rodney strolled into the entryway and glanced around, his eyes sweeping over the crown molding and antique furniture as if cataloging it all.

"I didn't expect you to be joining us," John said, running a little to catch up, before directing Rodney toward the library. "You were pretty forceful about saying 'no' before."

"I changed my mind. I got to thinking about it, and decided it might be nice to have my name in a book--my name will be in the book, right?"

"Oh, yes, certainly."

"That's what I figured. In which case, who am I to stand in the way of science?"

John flicked on the lights of the library, scaring Parrish, who had been hiding behind the door. Loitering with intent to steal jam, no doubt, John thought, as Parrish zipped around him and out into the main hall, repeating an endless steam of "Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear."

Rodney looked behind the door. "Any more of them around?" He glanced around the room, and his brow furrowed. "Wow, I haven't seen most of this stuff since...well, actually, I've never seen this stuff except for photographs and set pieces. Who decorated this place? Let me guess, this place doubles as a mausoleum."

"This is our work room. The living quarters are upstairs, for the most part. Ronon has his own apartment and only stays here during the days. Says it's freaky at night."

"I think I agree with him" Rodney whistled as he looked around the walls, his eyes slightly greedy. "That's a lot of books."

"We have a very extensive collection."

"I haven't had time to read since...well, it's been a long time."

"May I take your coat?"

"Oh, sure, thanks." Rodney absently handed his coat and hat to John, still staring at the walls. "You think I could borrow some of these? Just while you're observing me, of course."

"I don't see why not." John hung up the coat and hat on the hatstand in the corner, only to be startled when he turned around to see Rodney still in his shimmering blue costume from the show that night. Seeing him in and amongst all of the dusty tomes, Rodney stood out as something fresh and clean and new. Each flick of the wrists as he turned a page made the light catch and dance along his arm, and John felt his mouth go dry.

Maybe this had been a really bad idea.

"I wanted to go to college, but my dad said he wouldn't spend money on a fag, and paid for my sister to major in physics instead. Told me if I wanted it badly enough, I could make the money myself." Rodney set the book back down on the shelf and smiled at John. "So I hitched my way across the border, joined a band, and, well, here I am."

John couldn't stop himself from glancing at where the Rodney's nipples were clearly visible under the tight shirt. "Are you sure you don't want your coat?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm fine." Rodney sank down into one of the overstuffed chairs. "What do you guys do here anyway?"

"We're writing an encyclopedia. It's my idea, actually." John smiled and nodded. "I got the idea for this in '93 when we did the LBGT March on Washington. Gay pride flags waving from the subway platforms, everyone out and proud about who they were and what they were doing with their lives...I decided I wanted something that would last longer than just a day. So I pitched the idea to Jack O'Neill and his partner Daniel Jackson; they said it sounded like fun." John rubbed his hand across his face. "Then when Dr. Jackson died, O'Neill decided to fund the project in his name, making sure he got proper credit for his place in history."

"I thought Jackson was alive." Rodney frowned and rubbed at his forehead. "At least I think I heard about him on the news this week?"

"Oh, he is." John shrugged. "He got better. That's his picture over the desk there, the guy in the glasses."

Rodney glanced at the picture and back at John. "So, how does this work, exactly. It's been a while since anyone has wanted me for my brain."

"Well, uh." John ran his fingers through his hair. He really hadn't thought this all out. "I need you here by nine thirty tomorrow, and then I'll ask questions, and you'll try to answer them."

"Tomorrow morning?" Rodney shook his head. "No, that just won't do." He perched forward in his chair. "What's say we just begin this thing right now?"

"It's nearly one in the morning!"

"Oh, who cares, Professor. I do my best work at night."

"Ah, innuendo!" John scrabbled around on his desk, ignoring the computer to look for paper and pen. "Do you mind if I write that down?"

"Go right ahead." Rodney waved his hand royally at John and smirked, leaning back in his chair so that the shimmering fabric stretched tight across his chest. "I'm up for whatever you are."

"It's just--" John cleared his throat. My, it was getting warm in here. "A random discussion--" He took a deep breath as Rodney stretched out his legs, and John could see the clear definition of his cock through his pants. He shook his head and forced himself back on task. "It has to be a scientific inquiry, not a random discussion. With notes. And...and everything."

Rodney looked up at him through his eyelashes. "Okay, then. Where have you got for me to sleep?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Listen, if you want me here at nine thirty tomorrow…." Rodney stood and leaned over, untying his shoe in such a manner as John could make out the perfect curve of his ass.

Things whited out for a bit at that. John remembered whispering, "Oh, I do, Dr. McKay, I do," but then he took a couple of deep breaths, ignoring the way his heart was pounding and tried to find his place in whatever it was he had been going to say.

Rodney was sitting back in the chair, his socks and shoes off, and John had the distinct impression that he was being teased. "You can't send me out in the rain right now, see? Feel this foot." Rodney stuck it out for John to stroke. "Go on. It's completely soaked."

"Well, it is cold--"

"That's right, it's cold and it's wet. So if I go out, I'll probably catch pneumonia or something." Rodney flicked his hand at John, motioning him to come closer. "Come on, get closer. Closer."

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw that the rest of the team had also snuck into the library, and that they were all helplessly being pulled in closer to Rodney. John felt a little like the fly waiting for a spider, but for the life of him, he didn't have the strength to pull away. All he could see was Rodney's eyes and hands, and all he could hear was Rodney's voice telling him to get closer.

And John wanted to get very close indeed.

"Oh, come on." Rodney reached out and grabbed the front of John's shirt, pulling him down onto the arm of the chair--and noticing the other professors surrounding them for the first time. "Hello, kids." With a wink, Rodney looked back at John. "Look down my throat."

"I don't know what I'm looking for."

"My throat. It's sore."

"Oh!" said Carson, elbowing his way to the front of the group. "Here let me." He laid his hand on Rodney's arm while Rodney stuck out his tongue and said "Ahhhh." "Hmmm. There's a slight rosiness there, now that you mention it."

"Slight rosiness? It's cherry-red, I swear. Who are you? The local witch doctor?"

"This is Dr. Carson Beckett, our geneticist," John said. "I should probably introduce the others, too. This is--"

"I'm not good with names, so you're wasting your breath. Just let it all creep up on me. I'll get to know them." He grabbed Carson's hand and placed it on his forehead. "I'm running a fever, see?"

Brushing his thumb over Rodney's forehead, Carson swallowed. "You do feel a little warm to me."

Rodney looked up at John. "See? You let me go out there right now, and there will be no nine thirty for me. I'm a walking magnet for any germs that happen to be lingering out there in the night."

"We really can't have him going out on the bus tonight," Parrish said.

"It's settled, then," Sam agreed. "He can stay in my room, and I'll share with Teyla."

Lorne snorted, "Yeah, it's not like you ever use it anyway."

"All right love, let's get you upstairs." Carson held out his hand to help Rodney out of the chair.

"Well aren't you the charmer." Rodney snagged his hat and coat as he talked. "Where are you from anyway?"

"Scotland." Carson gave a shy smile, and John felt his heart sink.

Radek scooted in next to Rodney's other arm and smiled winningly. "I was born in Prague."

"Oh, now that's interesting too." Rodney patted Radek's arm and turned toward John, making a clucking noise as he winked. Rodney, Radek and Carson all went up the stairs nearly arm-in-arm, the rest of the team right behind them.

Well, the rest of the team other than John. He felt a little woozy, and leaned back against the wall, thinking about all the ways that this could go wrong. What if the foundation found out that he was keeping a research subject here? And what would Ronon say when he found out?

Okay, yeah, Ronon would probably just grunt and ask if Rodney was vegetarian. When the dizziness passed, and John felt that he could breathe again, he turned out the lights, and headed back to his own room.

***

The rattling of the doorknob woke Rodney up. Morning wasn't his best time of day, and he had to search around to find some pajama bottoms to put on--Parrish or Peckett or something like that had lent him a pair, but Rodney preferred to sleep in the nude.

"All right, All right. I'm coming." With a yawn, Rodney pulled on the blue stripped cotton pajamas and opened the door. All...whatever of them seemed to be standing outside of his door. "What's up? And can you turn down those lights? Man wasn't made to be up at this heathen hour."

"It is ten o'clock, Rodney," the dark haired woman said. "Dr. Sheppard started his round table ten minutes ago. We told him to let you sleep."

"He didn't like that much." Lorne, the short-haired American said. "Then this arrived, and we thought you might need it." He held out an overstuffed overnight bag, and Rodney grabbed it.

"Where'd you get this? Who brought it?"

"Two gentlemen," Beckett, the geneticist said. "One of them had his hair pulled back in a ponytail, while the other was...." He glanced at Zelenka.

"Quite intense." He smiled brightly. "And dressed rather sloppily. Ronon was quite concerned about the way his jacket bunched up at the shoulders, but the fellow refused to let him smooth it out."

"Any message?"

"It was...difficult to translate." The tall, lanky one with the horse-face--Parrish--said. "They were primarily concerned with our produce delivery service."

"Yes, they said," Carter screwed up her face as she thought, "it's too hot for the lettuce out here. Keep it in the cooler."

"Ronon is very meticulous about our produce, and he was quite incensed," Parrish assured Rodney. "He would ever let it stay outside and wilt."

"That's...good to know." Rodney smiled as best he could, feeling a little grim inside.

"Oh, and he said this," Lorne tapped the huge suitcase, "was the dressing. Do you know what he meant by that?"

"I, uh, have allergies, and I'm sure they packed special--food, in the suitcase, for me. Special--" Rodney shook his hand like he was shaking a bottle, "salad dressing."

"Allergies?" said Beckett. "Oh, dear. Perhaps you should make a list of them and we would let Ronon know."

"Just tell him I'm deathly allergic to citrus." Rodney patted Beckett's shoulder. "That covers most of it."

"We better hurry," Zelenka said. "It's lemon shortbread day, and he likes to get the baking started early."

"Yeah, do that. Please," Rodney added as an afterthought, shutting the door, his heart jackhammering in his chest. This wasn't good, not good at all. He unzipped the case and pulled out everything Kolya and Kavanagh left him, piling it up on the bed. Most of it was new and unwashed, still smelling faintly of formaldehyde, but at least they got the right size. There were a few changes of his own underwear, and some of his shirts still tagged with the dry cleaner that Cowen preferred, so they'd obviously stopped there first, and filled in the rest from the mall. He'd have to see about getting the new stuff washed before he could wear it.

From the pile of clothing, and their message, it looked like they planned on him being here a while. Which meant he should hurry and dress, and try to keep on Sheppard's good side--

Rodney froze momentarily, as an image of Sheppard from last night, his shirt unbuttoned and hair curling up from his chest darted through his mind; Rodney took a deep breath, then determinedly found a clean pair of boxers.

He really didn't need to be thinking about Sheppard's good side at all.

**

Rodney opened the sliding doors to the dining room and breezed in, nodding at Sheppard and the rest of the round table participants. "Don't tell me you dug in the chat without tweaking me."

"You're late." Sheppard gestured at the open chair, and turned his attention back to the others. "Rodney will be collaborating with us."

"Sounds exciting," Rodney said, letting his disbelief color his voice, assessing the other people as he sat down. A bus driver, a store clerk, a barista--Rodney could tell by the smell and the eyebrow piercing--a groundskeeper, and a UPS guy. And Sheppard thought he was going to corral this group and get them to haul grain in tandem.

"Don't look so surprised. I need to collect data from several different cultural backgrounds. I can guarantee that it won't be dull." He gestured at the box on the table. "Grab a doughnut. But don't tell Ronon I brought them in."

Not needed to be asked twice, Rodney grabbed the doughnut and looked around for coffee. Apparently, the barista--Laura, by her name tag--had brought in coffee and doughnuts for twenty, along with copies of the morning paper. Ignoring them for the moment, Rodney poured himself a large coffee and joined in the discussion.

"Now, the phrase 'narf' means--"

"You're agreeing with someone, but kinda being silly about it," Laura said.

"But sometimes it's sarcastic." Ford, the UPS guy, was spending his day off with the group. "Like when your buddy says that the Seahawks are a great football team and should be in the Superbowl this year, you respond 'narf'."

"It's big ideas that don't work out," Caldwell, the bus driver said. "But friendly."

"I see. So you're calling someone a Dreamer. An Idealist."

"Eh." Rodney held his hand out flat and waved it up and down. "Sorta. It's more of a...rollercoaster ride."

"And you're hitching a lift," Caldwell said. "Saying you'll back them up, like they're a criminal mastermind."

"Whatever it is, is fun," Laura said, "even if it doesn't work out."

"So. Fun. Silly. Big ideas and no guarantees." John smoothed a hand over his shirt front. "Is that right?"

"Narf," Rodney said, nodding solemnly.

It went on like that for days, with Rodney contributing what he could to the discussion, and getting one of John's happy, charming smiles in response. Every morning, Laura brought coffee and doughnuts, and at midday, Ronon growled at them to take a break, bringing sandwiches and iced tea with him and forcing them all out onto the terrace.

The other professors would join them sometimes, and Rodney couldn't help but relax around them. They were funny and smart, and God, most of them were gorgeous. Parrish was a little too long for his taste, but Lorne seemed to like it, while Rodney would happily listen to Carson and Radek argue just to hear the clashing accents. They talked Rodney into playing the piano for them, and it was like some sort of weird sing-a-long, as long as Rodney stuck to show tunes. It became an impromptu talent show, and Rodney had to admit that if Teyla wasn't a religion scholar, he could have used her in his act on-stage.

Sam seemed to enjoy Teyla's dancing too.

But mostly, there was John Sheppard. Rodney and he played cards at night, after the others had gone to bed, and sometimes Rodney read while John worked on his article; the click of keys the only noise in the quiet room. It was nice, still yet companionable, and very different from the life he'd been leading at the theater.

They talked a lot, too. John seemed to be interested in anything he said, treating Rodney just like he did the other professors--which in a way, was a little disappointing, but Rodney tried hard not to think about that. The whole team listened to him, which felt great; Cowen didn't care at all about anything Rodney thought, just how often he could get Rodney on his knees or get his ass in the air. So this was really...nice. Weird, but nice, and Rodney knew was gonna miss it once everything cooled off and he was back at the theater again.

His cup was empty, and with a huge sigh, he stood and stretched. "Come on, professor. Can't we take a break? We've been at this for hours."

"Just one more," John said, turning to Laura. "Now, when you say 'reality check'...."

Rodney waved him off and went to the breakfast bar to refill his cup. He was feeling incredibly tired--which was odd as he was getting more sleep here than he ever got when he was at the theater--and his stomach was letting him know it was still an hour until lunch. He unfolded the newspaper Laura always included, and felt his blood run cold as he saw the publicity shot of himself just under the fold with the caption "police seeking mystery boyfriend." Crap. He was going to have to get rid of this. The article with it looked long, and Rodney figured he could read it tonight, catch up on some of the stuff that Cowen wasn't telling him.

Folding it up so the picture no longer showed, Rodney stuffed the newspaper under his arm. "Back in a second, professor."

"Oh, yes, all right." John glanced back over his shoulder at Rodney, intent on the diagram he was making on the dry erase board.

Not two feet from the dining room door, Radek snagged his arm. "You must come," he said, glancing over to the library doors. "He is going to kill himself."

"Who is?"

"Parrish. He is trying that thing that you showed us last night, and--"

"Oh my God." Rodney rolled his eyes. "Just stall him. I'll be back in a moment, but don't let him...impale himself on his own shoes or anything."

Rodney took the steps upstairs two at a time, grabbed his suitcase out from under the bed, threw the newspaper into it, closed it and shoved it under the bed again before he headed to the library stairs. He could hear the soft thud of feet and the faint sounds of Sam's CD player valiantly attempting a disco retrospective.

When he opened the door and looked over the railing, Rodney thought he might bust a gut laughing. Parrish looked like Carmen Miranda, decked out in a prom dress and formal white gloves, obviously attempting to learn to dance. Someone--probably Radek--had helpfully drawn shoeprints on the floor, and Teyla was valiantly attempting to lead him around, while the rest of the group were alternately laughing and trying to help. Lorne looked utterly gobsmacked, as if he couldn't believe anyone could stoop to such insanity. But Parrish seemed to be all enthusiasm and little sense.

"One-two-three," Teyla said, following the footsteps on the carpet, then thrusting her hip out with a "bump." She stepped back and nodded at Parrish. "Now you try it."

Immediately, Parrish started, putting out his left foot, crossing over his right, which left him at an impossible angle for the 'bump.'

"That doesn't look right," said Carson.

"I think there were two bumps," Lorne said from where he leaned against one of the desks. "With a kind of shimmy." He tried to demonstrate, and Teyla stared at him.

"There was no shimmy, Dr. Lorne. And there was only one bump."

"No," Parrish said, straightening upright and adjusting the tiara in his hair. "It is impossible."

"The steps do not seem to go to this music," Teyla said, tilting her head slightly.

"That's because you have disco playing, and I was teaching you standard line dancing. You have anything else with you?"

"Here." Sam held up a pack of CDs. "It's all I brought with me, and no one's bought any new."

"Well, we'll have to fix that later," Rodney yelled out, swinging out onto the staircase and plucking the collection out of Sam's hands. "Maybe tonight, if this is all you have." He sorted though the set quickly. "No, no, no--maybe--no. Ah, put this on. And you," he said, turning to Parrish. "Don't be an idiot. It's step-together, step-together, bump--"

With a grateful look his way, Teyla bowed out, and headed over to where Sam was trying to coax more volume out of the disc player. "This thing is nine years old," she muttered. "We lucky that the discs haven't changed format."

"I am certain you can get it to work."

Sam snorted. "Maybe. Hand me one of those wires, would ya?"

A couple of clicks, and suddenly, there it was. This bass line reverberated through the room, and Rodney grinned. He pointed his finger like a gun and clicked his tongue. "Now we are talking! Come on boys and girls, let me show you how to dance."

***
To Part Two