Sunny, California by Mystic [Reviews - 40]
Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Category: Slash Pairings > McKay/Sheppard
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Genres: AU - Alternate Universe, First Time, Romance
Warnings: None
Series: None
Word count: 35685; Completed: Yes
Summary: Can a professional surfer and a veterinarian find anything in common other than a cat?
Authors Notes: The town of Sunny is a fictional place, created solely for my use of the story I wanted to create...it is an AU after all. Also, I know very little about animal doctoring and what I couldn't find on the web I made up, especially about treatments.
Warnings: Animal abuse; animal death. (not overly graphic)
Special Thanks to: Admiral Q. O. for an amazing job in tackling all the beginning headaches of this story. I really owe you one! Also, thank you to Whistlingpig and Canadagal for their help also in making this story readable as well.
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The town of Sunny, California had a lot to offer those who knew of its existence, could afford its paradise atmosphere, and desired a small town feel; though Sunny wasn't all that small, it just felt that way. John Sheppard thought that way, and so it was why he chose to stay here, using a great deal of his savings in order to purchase one of the few beach bungalows that lined Sunny's private beach, leaving him on a tight budget, but with plenty of peace, quiet, and choice waves.
Though John had only been in Sunny for six months, he had fallen in love with the place, even though it had its drawbacks...like old neighbors who inherited their bungalows from family, which was why it cost John so much to purchase one in the first place. Sunny's private beach was like a sub-culture, or like the old artist colony that began Big Sur many generations ago. The area was premium, the view spectacular, and the first residents had dug their heels in by making laws to keep the industrializing, money-grubbing builders out! Again, this meant older people for neighbors rather than the hoped for beach bunnies, but John was flexible enough to accept that. After all, many of the older neighbors invited friends and they passed for beach bunnies just fine, making for plenty of eye candy. And if it meant helping out one neighbor or another to maintain the peace he'd been seeking, then he wasn't against that either...he just didn't count on Marion Tallingwood, or to the art world, Madam T., as she signed her paintings.
John had heard of Madam T. though he was far from an art lover, but her expressive if almost pornographic art was all the rage, and John couldn't help wonder if folks would continue to think so if they really knew the woman that painted them was a fifty-six year old widow, who spent more time with her cat than John thought was healthy. But Marion, as she preferred to be known off canvas, respected John's desire for peace and when he chose it, solitude. Nor did she pry into why America's Top Pro-Surfing Champion, noted to set new world records with his talent and skill with a surfboard, had suddenly 'retired' to what could be referred to as a beach colony.
So John wasn't all that surprised to find that when he woke to the desperate banging on his door, to find Marion on his little porch with a cat carrier in one hand and a box of cat items in the other. "Marion?" John asked, wiping his eyes, as the bright sun was almost blinding, and John was thinking he probably shouldn't have drunk all that beer last night.
"John, I'm in a real pickle," the older woman said, barging right past John, totally uncaring he was standing there only in his ocean blue boxers with little waves on the legs. "My regular sitter for Taffy has a family emergency and had to catch a flight back home, wherever that is," she huffed as she placed the cat carrier down on the small futon sofa that doubled as John's bed, and then placed the box of items on the ground.
"Uh," John said, raising one hand to slow her down, but it didn't work as she kept on rolling like a freight train racing down the track at top speed.
"I know this is last minute and all, but I have to catch a flight to France this afternoon and I don't know anyone that Taffy likes and that I trust other than you..." Marion said, pulling out some papers from her baggy jeans, as she wasn't exactly dressed like someone going to France, in John's mind. "Here are some numbers you can reach me at and a list of things Taffy likes, oh, and of course I'll compensate you for your trouble," she said, patting John's unshaven cheek, just before dashing out the door. "Have fun, Baby," she called out to her cat, then she was gone, leaving a meowing large, orange tabby in John's care, and a John Sheppard very puzzled as to what had just happened here.
"Bye, Marion..." he finally said and closed his door. He turned to the meowing cat, then wandered to his bed, placed the carrier case on the floor and opened the door to it. "There. Now I'm going back to sleep, be a good girl and keep the racket down," John said then flopped back onto the bed, his hangover getting the best of him. He'd deal with the cat and reality...later, much later.
**************
When Rodney McKay had taken his high school exams at sixteen and aced them all, he'd known, as had everyone else that he had tons of doors open to him, and was going to be able to shape and mold his own future. Two weeks later, he had sat in his room, his folks out 'socializing' his kid sister at a sleepover, and pondered his future. He was drawn to two things in life, physics...and animals, specifically cats. Rodney had discovered early in life that, though he had absolutely NO affinity with people, he had PLENTY with cats and other animals; but cats were his favorite, and they seemed to think him their favorite human.
That same night his choice of careers had been taken from him when his very own Simon, a gift from his maternal grandmother, gone the last two years, had snuck outside and got himself hit by a car, and as the idiot schmuck of a vet had said, "didn't have the decency to die, and not bother him in the middle of the night." Simon had died in Rodney's arms, in a sterile room, where no one on the staff had seemed to give a damn that Simon was hurt and still awake as he laid dying. Rodney had vowed that night to make things right for other animals like Simon, and so the next day he had turned down the United States' MIT and his native Canada's equivalent, and enrolled in the best veterinary school possible, and the one farthest away from his parents, so of course it had been in the United States.
So Rodney had left home at sixteen to study, and had only been home four times in the twenty years that had passed since. Once to see his sister, Jeannie, graduate high school, once to bury his parents after they'd died in a drunk-driving accident...it being their fault, once to see Jeannie graduate college with her teaching degree, and the last time was to give her away at her wedding. Other than that, he had no reason to go back to Canada, for he knew he could make the most difference here in the United States and so here he'd made his home.
Rodney had chosen Sunny as the spot to move to, for two very good reasons. One, since he was the top of his field he could practice anywhere, and when Sunny came on the news as one of the most 'sought after locations to live' Rodney had known he belonged there. And second, because it was near the ocean and he could expand his skills from regular veterinarian medicine to marine as well...Rodney liked challenges, and he found he liked otters almost as much as cats.
The McKay Animal Hospital had been established in Sunny, California three years ago, and Rodney had never lacked for business or challenges. In fact, the only thing Rodney McKay could ever say he had lacked in was a love life. Not that he couldn't get women, he could get lots of women, after all, he was a very successful man, his bank account in the six-digit range. No, what he lacked, besides social manners, as he really didn't care for people, was sincerity in the partners he found.
It didn't matter if male or female, Rodney always knew from an early age he was bisexual, they always seemed to want something from him, other than...him. His last lover had wanted a Ferrari for her birthday, and when Rodney had given her a puppy, appropriately named Ferrari, as it had almost cost the same, she'd tossed the poor pup back at him and told him to either get her the car or get lost. Rodney had left, and had given Ferrari to First Lady Hayes, when she'd come to help sponsor the marine sanctuary Rodney was trying to get established off the shores of Sunny. Mrs. Hayes had been touched by the gift, and now Rodney had an open-ended invitation to the White House. Again, Rodney didn't lack for much, other than sincere companionship...and love.
Rodney had had enough of false lovers and demanding companions, and had decided to stick to what he did best, his work. That meant it wasn't that unusual for him to be found wandering the halls of his clinic at all hours, letting others do the paperwork, as his first love was taking care of the animals.
"Doctor McKay," Brenda said, as she entered one of the back treatment rooms to see Rodney laying a small blanket over the sedated dachshund that was in for overnight observation after falling from a two-story apartment window. "Doctor Trace needs your help..."
"I didn't hire him so I could do his work for him," Rodney snapped, knowing the dog was out cold and would sleep undisturbed.
"He's treating a domestic short hair tabby that was just brought in and the test results don't make any sense to him...the cat is in distress, sir," Brenda said, nudging some of her long, dark hair behind her ears, her hair by her temples had only a touch of gray in it, showing she was older than she appeared. She was also one of the few assistants that could handle Rodney and his many nasty moods, and thus well paid for it too.
"Fine, I'm coming," Rodney sighed, and followed her, knowing his staff would keep an eye on all the animals, for Rodney didn't tolerate neglect or cold 'inhuman' treatment of his patients...ever!
Rodney followed Brenda down the hall and entered the treatment room, to see a man slightly older than he, and two other assistants, tending a heavy-set orange tabby. "What do you have?" he asked, reaching for the chart he knew would be there any second, and it was, as his staff, if they wanted to remain so, were nothing but the best. "Hmm," Rodney said as he looked over the blood work and the poor animal's vitals. He then reached in his pocket for his pen and then scribbled down some instructions and handed the chart back to Doctor Trace. "Is the owner here?" he asked, his eyes blazing with fury.
"Are you sure about this?" Doctor Trace asked, and then didn't wait for an answer. "Of course you are, but what caused this?"
"Alcohol and sugar, which you'd very well know, if you bothered to look at the test results, instead of playing fortune-teller. This cat is suffering while you're playing guess work, when there are procedures in place to speed up gathering the facts so treatments can be rendered. ONE of them is talking with the owner." Rodney snapped at Trace. Then turning to Brenda, "Speaking of, I asked, is the..."
"The man who brought the cat in, is in the waiting room," Brenda said, opening the treatment door, having no intentions to get in the way of a McKay scolding and his victim, as she watched Rodney storm down the hall, while Doctor Trace began to administer the treatment that would hopefully save the poor thing's life.
*****************
This was definitely not how he wanted to spend his evening, sitting in some waiting room in an animal hospital, because of some stupid cat! No, he didn't want to see anything happen to Taffy, she was a sweet cat, and actually well behaved...for a cat. Plus, she didn't belong to him either, and he couldn't bear to inform Marion that HE had killed her cat, because...well, he wasn't sure why Taffy was sick. He put out the cat food as it said on the list and brought Taffy to the beach with him when he decided to surf, though he was sure Taffy didn't like the idea of a collar and leash, much less being tied to a pier poll, but there was shade, and it kept the cat safe...or so he thought.
Taffy had seemed fine when John had eaten his lunch down on the beach, and because of the heat, some ice cream for dessert. Taffy had even seemed fine when he'd had dinner, then the cat had started meowing and thrown-up and he hadn't needed to know much more than that Taffy was sick and he needed to get some help. Sadly, the only place open at this late hour was the McKay Animal Hospital, one of the finest, which of course meant, one of the most expensive...great! He was already on a tight budget; he didn't need this.
John looked up when he heard the double doors that lead to the treatment area fly open and saw a man, about his age, not quite heavy-set, and with thinning hair, storming out. His electric blue eyes scanning the almost empty waiting room until they settled on him, and for some reason having that intense glare turned on him did things to John he wasn't about to even BEGIN to try and analyze at this hour.
"You," the man said, his face full of anger, which also didn't set well with John. "Did you bring in the tabby?" he demanded, his thin lips pulled even thinner as if he was just barely managing to keep from losing control.
"How is Taffy?" John asked, daring to stand up and approach the man. "What's wrong with her?" he asked, for he was sure he had done everything that was on the care list.
"Where do you get off asking if she's alright after almost KILLING HER, by giving her high amounts of sugar and alcohol," Rodney snapped.
"Whoa," John said, holding his handed up before him. "What the hell are you talking about? I didn't give Taffy any alcohol...and what do you mean by sugar?" he asked, more than ready to defend himself in this matter.
"Well how do you explain...Taffy did you say?" Rodney asked, seeing the man nod yes continued, "Taffy, having such a high blood-alcohol level and as for sugar, don't you know that most human foods are BAD for animals?" he challenged the man.
"Ah...no," John said sincerely, as he'd never had a pet before. "It was hot and though she had water, she seemed to crave the ice cream I was eating...I...I didn't know."
"How can you have a full grown cat of THAT size and NOT know?" Rodney challenged again, not caring about the looks the others in the room were giving him.
"I DON'T own Taffy, I've never owned a pet, Marion just asked me this morning to watch her and then left," John protested.
"Oh," Rodney said, seeming a bit lost as if he'd gotten sidetracked from his lecture. "Well, didn't she leave you instructions?" he asked, wanting to know if he should be giving this lecture to whomever Marion was.
"Yes, and I THOUGHT I was following them, there was no list of don'ts..." John replied, feeling a bit vindicated with the truth. "You still haven't said, how's Taffy?"
"Ah...oh, yes, she's going to be a very sick kitty and the next few hours will tell, though you'll have to approve the treatment or...well, I don't think there should be an or, especially since she's not yours, then you'd have to call this Marion and ask her, but..." Rodney was rambling. He always did when he had to provide the option of putting any animal down, which he was dead set against, but the law said he had to provide ALL options of treatment or lack of to the owner.
"Look, Doc," John interrupted. "Bottom line it for me. If you can save Taffy, do it. I understand that somehow it was my fault, and I have NO intentions of calling Marion and telling her that Taffy is dead because I'm too damn cheap to cover her medical bills. So?" He gestured at Rodney to get on with it.
"Okay, good," Rodney said, thinking more of the man before him as he was willing to take responsibility for his ignorance. He waved toward the young woman behind the administration desk. "I'll have Emily here give you the papers, Mr....ah...?"
"Sheppard, John Sheppard," John replied and offered his hand, "Doctor...?"
"I knew it!" Emily gasped out with excitement and dashed around the desk. "I knew it was you," she gushed.
"Emily," Rodney said, his tone a false calm that he didn't actually feel. "Just what are you doing?" he asked, eyeing the younger woman as if she lost her mind.
"Doctor McKay, THIS is John Sheppard...THE John Sheppard, winner of three PSTA's and the PSTI last year," Emily spouted with enthusiasm. "That's Pro-Surfing Tour America and Pro-Surfing Tour International," she explained for Rodney, seeing the blank look in his eyes. Then before anyone said anything the twenty-something young woman dashed back to her desk and reached inside, pulling out a calendar, and rushed back, flipping pages, and then presented a picture of John, standing next to his board, dressed in his hot red surfing pants, and a gold chain with a tiny surfboard at the end, nestled in the dark hair of his chest, looking very happy standing there on the beach getting his picture taken. "See?" she said showing the picture to Rodney, and then beamed at John. "Can I have your autograph?"
Rodney didn't know why, but for some reason, seeing John Sheppard, who moments ago had shook his hand, causing a spark to zip through his body, turn on a smile to the young assistant, irked him to no end. "I don't pay you an obscene amount of money to stand around being a groupie...get the forms, so Doctor Trace can administer the treatment to Taffy...now!" he snapped, grabbing the calendar out of Emily's hand. He then looked at John. "Once you sign, you can go home if you like, just leave a phone number and someone will call you if there's a problem," Rodney informed John then turned and went back the way he'd come, unaware that he was still holding the calendar.
"Jerk," Emily griped, as she was preparing the forms.
"I heard that!" Rodney shouted back as the treatment doors were flopping back and forth.
John was left puzzled by the display he had just witnessed, so he decided to just take it in stride. "Don't you think you should be more careful?" he asked, looking at Emily. "You don't want to get fired, do you?"
Emily chuckled. "Please, if Doctor McKay fired everyone that called him a jerk, he'd have no staff. Plus, he's the first one to admit he is one," she laughed then handed John the permission for treatment and financial responsibility forms. "Just fill these out and sign below," she smiled, her dark green eyes twinkling with interest and invitation.
John turned on the smile, it was still automatic, even now, but if he was honest with himself, and he had been for the last few months of his self-proclaimed 'retirement', then any real interest lay with that man that stormed out of here moments ago. "Guess his wife must be a real saint," John joked, seeking out some recon on the good doctor.
Emily giggled. "Doctor McKay...married...as if." She laughed harder then lowered her voice. "Between you and me, there isn't a man or woman alive that much of a saint, when it comes to Doctor Rodney McKay," she snickered.
"Really...temper?" John asked, seeing Emily was willing to spill and he was suddenly feeing a bit cautious as he didn't have any interest in getting with anyone violent.
"You just paid witness to classic McKay," Emily smiled. "If you can tolerate his razor tongue, and not be crushed by his oversized ego, he's a real pussy cat, if you know what I mean," she laughed as she took the forms from John, gave him a wink, and headed to the back to inform the doctors that they could proceed with the treatment.
"No," John muttered to himself. "But I sure wouldn't mind finding out," he grinned then sighed, for he knew it was going to be a long night, as he recalled poor Taffy and why he was here in the first place.
************
Rodney knew he should just go home, or what passed for his home nowadays, but he could never help getting involved with his patients. Some said it was why he was so good at what he did, others said it was why he was alone, all he knew was he just he didn't like the idea of any sick animal being alone. He had a competent night staff, which mostly allowed him to follow up on any paperwork that absolutely had to be done, thankful that between his assistants, Brenda and Ramona, they took care of most of it, but there was always something he had to do or charts that needed signing off. This was HIS clinic and things needed to be to HIS standards, which meant lots of work.
Rodney finished signing off the last chart he intended to do for the night, and got up with going home to his chiropractic-approved mattress in mind. He gathered his briefcase, which held his date planner and his laptop, which allowed him to read charts if needed, when he was at home. He gathered his cell phone, hung up his medical coat, not even bothering with a regular jacket or ties for that matter, and headed out. He was going past the treatment room he knew Taffy was in, Winston the dachshund being farther down, and noticed someone in the room. A quick look around showed him it wasn't his evening staff, so he stopped to see who it was. Rodney was surprised to see John Sheppard, sitting with his back to the semi-closed door, lightly caressing the cat's head as it slept.
"I'm really sorry, Taffy," John whispered, feeling guilty in making the poor thing so ill. "It never occurred to me that you'd get into the spilled beer I had from last night or not to give you that ice cream...I..." John sighed. "Now you know why I don't have pets." John smiled a little, but knew Taffy couldn't hear him. "No worries though, word is that McKay fellow is one of the best, which means you're going to be just fine...and," John sighed again, "if it means selling a few things to pay the bill, well...no worries," he said, then leaned down and nuzzled Taffy's fur on top of her head.
Rodney was feeling bad at eavesdropping and cleared his throat, to let John know he was not alone. He saw John was embarrassed at being overheard and he wasn't sure what he could do to fix that situation, so decided not to try. "I'm sure Taffy will forgive you...cats and dogs are among the most forgiving species on the planet, so it's a good bet."
"Ah...thank you," John replied, not sure what to say, he hadn't expected anyone to be listening.
"You know, you could have gone home," Rodney said, knowing he had mentioned it earlier when they'd last spoken. "I pay my staff well to keep a close eye on those that need to stay overnight for treatment or observation..."
"Oh, I know, and I noticed how frequently they come check on Taffy, it's...well, I'd be up worrying one way or another, so figured I could pace just as well here than back home, so," John shrugged.
Rodney put his stuff down on a side table near the door and moved in and picked up a stethoscope and ran a set of vitals on Taffy, while reading the readouts from the monitoring equipment the feline was hooked up to. "She's responding well to the treatment," Rodney smiled, the first John had seen on the man since they met. "But she IS going to be sick for a while, and will need care. I don't mean to be prying into your business, but it could get expensive..."
John folded his arms around his chest, feeling a bit defensive. "I pay my bills, Doctor McKay."
"I didn't mean to infer otherwise, just...well...if you ask Brenda before you go, you and she can work out some payment plan, I'll authorize it," Rodney replied, feeling foolish for opening his big mouth. John Sheppard was a very good looking man, a good man from what he was seeing, and calling him a bum or referring to him as being one, was definitely not winning him any points. In fact, he realized it was rather stupid of him to even try, for his track record as of late was far from positive. "Well, I bid you goodnight," Rodney then stated while removing the stethoscope and grabbing up his things again. "Taffy will sleep until late morning and she's stable, so it's okay for you to go home," he added, and then turned to go when a huge ruckus broke out.
The sound of a dog barking and snarling, and various voices shouting, shattered the peace of the animal hospital, and drew not only Rodney toward it, but anyone in the vicinity, which included John Sheppard. At what looked like an emergency entrance, two animal control officers were holding control poles on a Doberman, who was seriously fighting his captivity, and it was taking all the strength of the two animal control officers to contain it. There was also one police officer, Doctor Trace and two assistants trying to help, but only making matters worse. Brenda was just arriving along with John and Rodney as the scene was unfolding.
"What the hell is going on here?" Rodney demanded as he automatically handed his things to John, as he was right next to him, and stormed forward.
"The dog is insane, Doc," one of the animal control officers shouted out over the snarling animal who was struggling to get free.
"Doc, we have a little girl in County who was badly bitten by this dog and they need to know if it has rabies or not," the officer stated, a hand resting on his gun, snap still closed, but ready if need be to take the dog down.
"Get the tranquilizer gun," Doctor Trace ordered one of the assistants.
"Hold on that," Rodney ordered, stunning everyone in the room, especially as he approached closer. "Everyone just shut up and stand still," he ordered, glaring at anyone that might protest. Then he squatted down, looking angry and stared at the dog, which was still struggling. "Knock it off," he snapped, and no one was sure whom he was talking to. "Heel," he snapped again, and to everyone's amazement, the dog calmed down, and was suddenly looking at Rodney, sizing him up.
Rodney got up slowly, maintaining eye contact and moved slowly forward. One of the animal control officers shifted, and the dog growled. "Aaht," Rodney said, glaring at the dog and it became quiet again, but still nervous. "Take those things off," he ordered.
"Doc, I don't think you get the picture here, this beast..." the other animal control officer tried to protest.
"I SAID, take those things off, now," Rodney growled, and the Doberman seemed to whimper as the two animal control officers shrugged and did as he said, leaving the dog where he was, and moved behind the cop to Rodney's right.
"You're insane, Doc," the cop stated, seeing Rodney getting closer and again squatting down before the dog.
Rodney observed the dog for a moment, and took in when the dog got edgy and when the dog was more relaxed. It seemed the dog was warier if Rodney removed his left hand from his pants pocket, and more relaxed with it hidden. Gently, saying barely audible, soothing words, Rodney reached out with his right hand and scratched the Doberman behind the ear. "That's it, boy, I'm not going to hurt you," he soothed, and then slowly pulled his left hand free, still placing soothing touches on the animal's head, and let the dog eye his hand and see it coming toward him, slowly and easy. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Rodney asked, as if expecting an answer, and smiled as the dog reacted like an overgrown puppy in his hands. He then gently prodded the dog's coat, touching lightly, but knowingly. He then stood up and took a step back, "Come on," he said, gently patting his right side, indicating the dog was to follow him, and again, everyone watched as the Doberman instantly obeyed.
Rodney took the dog to one of the treatment rooms and with a pat and a command the dog was on the table with Rodney gently petting him. "Brenda, get me one of the nighttime treats will you," he ordered, his voice calm, as he fussed over the beautiful black and tan Doberman.
Brenda moved off and returned quickly with a container marked 'Medicated Treats' and handed it to Rodney, who took out three and then handfed them to the dog. Within moments of eating them, the Doberman stretched out and went to sleep. Then, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the angry man that most associated with Rodney McKay was back as he turned furious eyes on the officers and the animal control people. "You can tell the hospital that the dog does NOT have rabies. He's been abused," Rodney stated, shifting the fur and exposing one of many welts hidden underneath. "And whoever did it, is left-handed...my guess is they used a belt as this is wider than any leash strap," he informed the officers.
"Doc, you know what the law states," the officer replied.
"You let ME deal with the law and the dog, YOU get the bastard that abused this dog and the REAL reason that girl was injured, for as you SAW it won't attack unless provoked. Now, get OUT of my hospital, ALL OF YOU," Rodney snarled, showing that if they had any sense, they'd be more afraid of him than the dog.
The two animal control officers took off to the front to get the paperwork signed, along with dropping off copies, knowing the drill, but the officer looked furious. "I need..." he began.
"I know what you need," Rodney replied, his tone meaning it was probably more than just the paperwork. "Emily can help you with that up front, now get out," Rodney snapped, and was glad to see the man leave.
John was left standing in the hall, amazed and stunned by what he'd witnessed, and realizing that Emily had it right, McKay really WAS a marshmallow inside, but a fiery one, with a deep passion for his work and compassion for his patients. Willing to stand up for those many would not. John couldn't help but find that sexy as hell. He also saw pain and anguish in those stunning blue eyes and couldn't help but wonder why. He took a step forward, but realized that by being silent; he might learn what he wanted to know.
"You know the law, Rodney," Brenda said softly as she placed a comforting hand on Rodney's shoulder. "He attacked a child, it doesn't matter that there are extenuating circumstances..."
"It should," Rodney snapped, anger and anguish filling his eyes as he spoke, one hand stroking the Doberman's fur gently.
"I agree with you," Brenda replied, "but..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Rodney said as he pulled away from Brenda, his fingers never leaving the Doberman's fur. "Get me the kit," he ordered over his shoulder.
"Doctor Trace can..." Brenda began.
"Get me the kit," Rodney ordered again, his voice firm, but softer this time.
Brenda nodded, even if Rodney can't see her and turned to leave, seeing John Sheppard standing there, still holding Rodney's things. "Here," she said, reaching out and taking Rodney's things and leading John down the hall.
"What's going on?" John asked, for he could sense something was wrong.
"The dog has to be put down and an autopsy done to be 'sure' there is no rabies, since it attacked someone, specifically a child...it's the law. Doesn't matter a damn that the dog had been abused or pushed to its limits, after all, it's 'just' a dog," Brenda replied, her tone angry, but John knew it was not at him.
"So the kit...it's to put the dog down, isn't it?" John asked, but he knew that already by the expression on Brenda's face and from what he saw in Rodney's moments ago.
"Brenda, the fax machine is jammed again," Emily called out from the front.
"Excuse me," Brenda told John, then went to the front to handle the next crisis of the evening.
John wasn't sure what to do, but inside he knew what he wanted to do, so he turned and went back to the treatment room where Rodney was now sitting on a stool, still petting the Doberman. "You're right, it's not fair," John said as he entered the room and like Rodney caressed the sleeping dog, feeling the welts beneath his fingertips. "At least he won't suffer anymore," John said, not sure what to say, but wanting to bring some comfort to the man before him.
"Wonder what the world would be like if we took that attitude toward people," Rodney growled. "I mean, the bastard who did this, IF he even gets charged, will get a fine and told to pay the bill...no jail time, no restriction from owning another dog and doing it all over again...no..."
"You should only fight the battles you can win," John interjected.
"What?" Rodney asked, as he looked up puzzled.
"Sorry, it's something my father said to me once. He told me life is like a battlefield, and that there are plenty of fights and war zones out there, and nobody can win them all. He said, only fight the ones you can win, meaning..."
"Don't beat myself up over things I can't control," Rodney finished for John, thinning his lips as he thought about what was being said. "Easier said than done."
"Aren't most things?" John replied, smiling, glad to see Rodney wasn't looking as glum as he had moments ago.
Rodney couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face; there was just something about John Sheppard that touched him inside. "Thanks...but shouldn't you be going home? If it gets any later, you'll probably be too tired to drive and the last thing I need is getting sued because you were too tired to pay attention to the road," Rodney replied, only his eyes showed the teasing behind his words.
John grinned. "Well, good thing I don't own a car then. I'll get someone to get me a cab back to Beachwood..."
"You live off Sand Dune Lane?" Rodney asked with interest.
"Yes, I was...lucky to have been able to find someone who wanted to sell their bungalow, so...one LARGE investment later, I own ocean front property and live on a tight budget," John chuckled, not sure why he explained that just now, but Rodney, when not snapping at the bit, was pretty easy to talk to.
"Well, then I'll be generous and give you a lift home as I happen to live in that direction," Rodney offered, not even thinking about it, it just seemed like the most natural thing to do, which in itself should have told Rodney things were anything but normal here. "You can go wait up front, I have to...ah..."
"You know, the other guy really could do that," John said, knowing this was upsetting to Rodney, just by looking in his eyes.
"No, no...I've got to...no," Rodney said shaking his head, not able to explain why he had to be the one to put the broken-hearted animal to sleep. He doubted anyone but he would understand, so he didn't bother. "I'll meet you out front..."
"I could just take a cab, I don't mean to impose," John replied, feeling that perhaps he was pushing his luck here.
"I'm being nice and offering you a ride, that doesn't happen often, so my advice is that you take it while it lasts," Rodney replied, feeling better at seeing the smile directed his way, and welcoming the company on the ride home.
"Okay, I'll wait for you out front," John nodded and departed, thinking on the man he'd just left, and came to believe he understood why Rodney was choosing to do the deed; the dog trusted him to take care of him, and Rodney wanted to see it through. It spoke volumes to John as to just what kind of person Rodney McKay was, and he had to admit to himself, he was moved and humbled.
***************
The drive home was mostly silent, John not wanting to intrude into Rodney's quiet, as he could see he was in deep thought, and the drive from the animal hospital was lovely; Sunny was a lovely place, even at night or early morning as the hour would have it.
"Again I don't mean to pry, but you mentioned money being tight, I was wondering what you're doing? I mean, are you going back to school...?" Rodney asked out of nowhere.
"No," John replied. "And I get by. I also do odd jobs around the beach colony, fix things..."
"You're good with your hands?" Rodney asked, an interest shining in his tired blue eyes.
"Yeah," John replied, his own hazel eyes twinkling with merriment, wondering if he was getting lucky and Rodney was flirting with him. "I've never gotten any complaints," John teased a little with some hope.
"Great, then I have a proposition for you," Rodney stated with excitement.
John narrowed his eyes, wondering if he was just about to be insulted, or if he was totally misreading the situation. "A...proposition?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes...I had this contractor working for me, but he was a TOTAL idiot, so I had to fire him. I mean, if you say a job is going to cost something, you don't come back a month into the job and try and double the price...I can't STAND people that pull that crap. I mean, that's what estimates are for and price quotes and contracts..."
John was relieved he had misread the situation, but only a little bit, for as he watched Rodney' mouth move, he felt the urge to discover how it would move against his own, but resisted. "The offer?" John said, realizing they would be at his place soon, and he could tell Rodney was exhausted and would still have to drive himself home.
"Oh, yeah, anyway, I fired him and now the place is a mess, as the crew just DUMPED everything everywhere. Well...you know, we're close, I could just show you want I want done, then I can drive you home," Rodney offered.
Again, John wasn't sure if it was a job offer or an opportunity, but either way he felt lucky so nodded. "Sure," he agreed.
Minutes later they were pulling into the private driveway of a two-story, yellow house that could be on the front page of Home and Gardens, high, neatly-trimmed hedges blocking out any view in or out of the yards to the side or back of the house, and a clean open pathway to the front door from the two-car garage, which when occupied only held the BMW Rodney was driving. "Come on, it's around back," Rodney told him as they got out of the car and headed to a gate that was also neatly tucked away on the side and was seriously padlocked.
"Nice place," John commented.
"Ah...thanks," Rodney replied and once he opened the gate, he stepped aside letting John in, then locked it up, using a remote from his briefcase, which automatically closed and locked the garage and set the car alarm. "This way," Rodney said and then led John to the back, where John got a whole new perspective of the 'perfect home'.
"My groundskeeper won't touch it," Rodney said as he gestured around to the nightmare of a back yard, over half of the back portion of the house draped in thick plastic as it was broken open and left bare. There were several large holes and from what John could see, as there were thankfully nightlights back here, large tank-like tubs to be placed in the ground, but like the house, left undone.
"What hit here, the reenactment of the London bombing?" John asked, not believing the huge mess he was seeing before him.
"No, incompetent contractors," Rodney snapped, but not directing his words at John. "I'm trying to set this up as an emergency marine shelter..."
"I'm sure there are a lot of organizations that would help you cover the cost," John replied, his mind racing at the kind of expense that would be needed to be poured out to create such a thing. "Though doesn't Monterey have one as part of their Aquarium?" John questioned, turning to Rodney, and thinking he looked rather appealing in the moonlight.
"Yes, yes, they do, but it's miles away from here and just last week, two sea otters died because they couldn't get the kind of treatment they needed, nor were they up to such a transport...so..." Rodney gestured to his backyard. "As for organizations, until the area is classified as a Marine Sanctuary like Monterey, funding and options are limited, AND then those that are willing to help want to dictate to me the terms of what I can treat and how long and blah, blah, blah, things like that. No, I'm footing this so I don't have to deal with their B.S.," Rodney explained. "See, over here I'm having a large tank that would allow the otters to be treated but kept secure and over there..." Rodney stopped, realizing that most people were not really interested in what he was planning. "Anyway, about the job?"
John saw the passion light up Rodney's eyes as he was speaking about his plans for his emergency marine life shelter, and felt warmed by it. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him so deeply, just by being themselves, and he was disappointed at seeing it shut down so suddenly. "Over there?" John asked, pointing in the direction Rodney had been referring too moments ago, smiling his best, as he really DID want to know more.
"Ah...well, our bay like Monterey gets seals of both varieties, and they need a much larger tank. Though it could double for the occasional dolphin that got beached," Rodney continued. "There of course are also the birds, but we don't get as many as we don't have the fishing industry or the same size seal populace, which of course coincides with the number of fish remains, which coincides with...."
"How many birds make their home here," John finished for Rodney. "So, other than the contractor being an idiot and you having to fire him, why haven't you hired someone else to finish the job?"
"Well, I don't know how much you know about this kind of stuff, but they messed quite a few things up and so far, anyone who's come here sizing up the job is wanting to charge me an arm and a leg to clean this up, as they won't just come in and take over, which is ridiculous. And don't get me started on those morons, I already have my lawyer dealing with them, but in the meantime..." he gestured to the huge gape in the back of his house. "Thankfully I already modified it: the top level is where I live, and down below will be for treatment rooms, storage, and care facilities for those animals that need to be kept inside." Rodney said and being caught up in his excitement, dragged John in through the back and took him to where a lone desk was stationed, the rest of the lower section of the house appearing empty.
John spotted the stairwell off the front door and the second thick door at the top marked PRIVATE. He then grinned as Rodney looked like an excited little boy, showing off his latest toy, as he rolled out the schematics of his dream and presented them to John, with full detail of what everything was supposed to look like.
After John listened to what Rodney's vision was and saw what was laid out before him on the schematics, John looked around, nodding. He had an eye for sizing things up, a good head for math and had even considered studying engineering, aeronautical to be specific. In fact he had almost joined the Air Force to fly before he'd realized he could make a living at his other passion, surfing. "I can see why the other contractors want to charge you extra, that first guy royally screwed things up. Half the boards up are too thin, though marginally so, and some of the other work is off too, which in the end would have cost you MORE to have it repaired when things broke down," John told him shaking his head. "I'm NO carpenter or craftsman, but I CAN help fix up some of this mess for you," John grinned. "I take it there's more out there?" he asked.
"Yeah," Rodney said, furious at hearing how those idiots had messed things up, and furious that the other contractors were not upfront with precisely why they were asking so much, not openly accusing a fellow contractor of screwing up, and happy that John said he'd help and that he seemed genuinely interested in his dream of the emergency marine shelter.
Rodney grabbed a flashlight out of the garage, for even with the lights there were still shadows, which was proven when Rodney almost tripped over some of the plywood still laying around, and would have fallen a good seven feet into the trench where the large tank was supposed to be laid, had John not caught him. It did however leave them standing very close, chest to chest, both panting hard, for it had been a close call, looking into each other's eyes, the moonlight breaking cloud cover and basking them both in a silver hue.
Rodney realized at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to kiss John Sheppard, and that fact scared him, for he hadn't wanted ANYONE in a long time. "I ah...ah...thank you," he stuttered.
"No problem," John drawled, giving his most charming smile, for he realized he REALLY wanted to get to know Rodney McKay, and not just for the night as his original thoughts had led him. "Perhaps we could..."
"Yes, of course," Rodney said, backing up carefully. "This way," he said, thinking that John meant continue the tour.
John had been thinking to go back into Rodney's house, but could see the other man was a bit gun-shy...but he also saw a bit of interest and he most definitely could work with that. "Lead on, McKay," he smirked then shook his head when Rodney didn't get the Shakespearean pun...oh well, perhaps it really wasn't that funny after all.
Rodney led him to the back area, where there was a large, wide gate which Rodney had the key for, and showed John the smooth ramp-like path he'd had put in that led to the beach. "This will make transport easier and being so close..."
"Cuts down on treatment time or shock of transport," John finished, really coming to understand what Rodney had been going on about. John walked out to the center of the beach and looked around and smiled, for it was part of his private beach area; he'd just never known what was behind those large stone walls and tall gate, now he did. "This is really something Rodney," he grinned, really pleased at having it shared with him. "I'd be glad to help you with it," John told Rodney honestly.
"Ah...great, then I figured for payment..." Rodney began, but John interjected.
"Hey, I can see my bungalow from here," John said, pointing way down the beach. "It's closer this way, what do you know," he said in genuine amazement at being so close. He then turned to face Rodney. "I'll walk if you don't mind and I'll see you in the morning?" He looked at his watch. "Er...make that late morning," he smiled.
Rodney nodded, for part of him didn't want John to go, he was enjoying himself so much, but John was right, it was late and they both were tired. "Here," Rodney said suddenly reaching into his pocket and pulling out his key ring and taking two keys off, and handing them to John. "They're for the back and front gates. Obviously you can enter the back of the house as you saw. You've got a cell?"
"Yeah, though I don't normally carry it...I'll start," John added quickly, for he didn't want to cut down on any future contact with Rodney. "I'll have to give you the number tomorrow..." John laughed. "I don't call myself that much, so I don't know the number off hand."
Rodney laughed and smiled. "No problem. I may not be here when you get here, but you have the number to the clinic, Ramona works the day shift, just ask for her and she'll patch you through to me. If you ask for me directly, you'll never get anything but a voice mailbox."
John chuckled, for he could believe that to be the case. Rodney McKay was the best at what he did, he knew that from what he'd seen and now shared with the man, for no one with that kind of passion could be anything less. "I'll do that...night...Rodney," he grinned, wanting to reach out and place a kiss on Rodney's cheek, but resisted the urge, and started down the beach, whistling a sweet tune.
Rodney watched the handsomest...hell, most beautiful man he'd ever met in his life leave, and Rodney knew he was attracted, hell, attracted didn't even begin to describe how he felt at the moment. He wanted to run after the man and beg him to come back to his room where he be allowed to worship the man's body, but Rodney resisted. That's kind of how he got in trouble with his last girlfriend, she was top model material, but she NEVER showed any interest in Rodney's dreams or work really...just until they were 'dating' and then she lost all interest, except in his bank account. "No," he told himself. "I won't make the same mistake twice," he said firmly to himself as he turned around and went back inside and up to his place. What was between him and Mr. Sheppard was nothing but business...nothing more, and that was just how it was best to remain he told himself as he got ready for bed. His dreams though...they had other ideas of what could be between him and John Sheppard.
End of Chapter 1
Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Category: Slash Pairings > McKay/Sheppard
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Genres: AU - Alternate Universe, First Time, Romance
Warnings: None
Series: None
Word count: 35685; Completed: Yes
Summary: Can a professional surfer and a veterinarian find anything in common other than a cat?
Authors Notes: The town of Sunny is a fictional place, created solely for my use of the story I wanted to create...it is an AU after all. Also, I know very little about animal doctoring and what I couldn't find on the web I made up, especially about treatments.
Warnings: Animal abuse; animal death. (not overly graphic)
Special Thanks to: Admiral Q. O. for an amazing job in tackling all the beginning headaches of this story. I really owe you one! Also, thank you to Whistlingpig and Canadagal for their help also in making this story readable as well.
---
The town of Sunny, California had a lot to offer those who knew of its existence, could afford its paradise atmosphere, and desired a small town feel; though Sunny wasn't all that small, it just felt that way. John Sheppard thought that way, and so it was why he chose to stay here, using a great deal of his savings in order to purchase one of the few beach bungalows that lined Sunny's private beach, leaving him on a tight budget, but with plenty of peace, quiet, and choice waves.
Though John had only been in Sunny for six months, he had fallen in love with the place, even though it had its drawbacks...like old neighbors who inherited their bungalows from family, which was why it cost John so much to purchase one in the first place. Sunny's private beach was like a sub-culture, or like the old artist colony that began Big Sur many generations ago. The area was premium, the view spectacular, and the first residents had dug their heels in by making laws to keep the industrializing, money-grubbing builders out! Again, this meant older people for neighbors rather than the hoped for beach bunnies, but John was flexible enough to accept that. After all, many of the older neighbors invited friends and they passed for beach bunnies just fine, making for plenty of eye candy. And if it meant helping out one neighbor or another to maintain the peace he'd been seeking, then he wasn't against that either...he just didn't count on Marion Tallingwood, or to the art world, Madam T., as she signed her paintings.
John had heard of Madam T. though he was far from an art lover, but her expressive if almost pornographic art was all the rage, and John couldn't help wonder if folks would continue to think so if they really knew the woman that painted them was a fifty-six year old widow, who spent more time with her cat than John thought was healthy. But Marion, as she preferred to be known off canvas, respected John's desire for peace and when he chose it, solitude. Nor did she pry into why America's Top Pro-Surfing Champion, noted to set new world records with his talent and skill with a surfboard, had suddenly 'retired' to what could be referred to as a beach colony.
So John wasn't all that surprised to find that when he woke to the desperate banging on his door, to find Marion on his little porch with a cat carrier in one hand and a box of cat items in the other. "Marion?" John asked, wiping his eyes, as the bright sun was almost blinding, and John was thinking he probably shouldn't have drunk all that beer last night.
"John, I'm in a real pickle," the older woman said, barging right past John, totally uncaring he was standing there only in his ocean blue boxers with little waves on the legs. "My regular sitter for Taffy has a family emergency and had to catch a flight back home, wherever that is," she huffed as she placed the cat carrier down on the small futon sofa that doubled as John's bed, and then placed the box of items on the ground.
"Uh," John said, raising one hand to slow her down, but it didn't work as she kept on rolling like a freight train racing down the track at top speed.
"I know this is last minute and all, but I have to catch a flight to France this afternoon and I don't know anyone that Taffy likes and that I trust other than you..." Marion said, pulling out some papers from her baggy jeans, as she wasn't exactly dressed like someone going to France, in John's mind. "Here are some numbers you can reach me at and a list of things Taffy likes, oh, and of course I'll compensate you for your trouble," she said, patting John's unshaven cheek, just before dashing out the door. "Have fun, Baby," she called out to her cat, then she was gone, leaving a meowing large, orange tabby in John's care, and a John Sheppard very puzzled as to what had just happened here.
"Bye, Marion..." he finally said and closed his door. He turned to the meowing cat, then wandered to his bed, placed the carrier case on the floor and opened the door to it. "There. Now I'm going back to sleep, be a good girl and keep the racket down," John said then flopped back onto the bed, his hangover getting the best of him. He'd deal with the cat and reality...later, much later.
**************
When Rodney McKay had taken his high school exams at sixteen and aced them all, he'd known, as had everyone else that he had tons of doors open to him, and was going to be able to shape and mold his own future. Two weeks later, he had sat in his room, his folks out 'socializing' his kid sister at a sleepover, and pondered his future. He was drawn to two things in life, physics...and animals, specifically cats. Rodney had discovered early in life that, though he had absolutely NO affinity with people, he had PLENTY with cats and other animals; but cats were his favorite, and they seemed to think him their favorite human.
That same night his choice of careers had been taken from him when his very own Simon, a gift from his maternal grandmother, gone the last two years, had snuck outside and got himself hit by a car, and as the idiot schmuck of a vet had said, "didn't have the decency to die, and not bother him in the middle of the night." Simon had died in Rodney's arms, in a sterile room, where no one on the staff had seemed to give a damn that Simon was hurt and still awake as he laid dying. Rodney had vowed that night to make things right for other animals like Simon, and so the next day he had turned down the United States' MIT and his native Canada's equivalent, and enrolled in the best veterinary school possible, and the one farthest away from his parents, so of course it had been in the United States.
So Rodney had left home at sixteen to study, and had only been home four times in the twenty years that had passed since. Once to see his sister, Jeannie, graduate high school, once to bury his parents after they'd died in a drunk-driving accident...it being their fault, once to see Jeannie graduate college with her teaching degree, and the last time was to give her away at her wedding. Other than that, he had no reason to go back to Canada, for he knew he could make the most difference here in the United States and so here he'd made his home.
Rodney had chosen Sunny as the spot to move to, for two very good reasons. One, since he was the top of his field he could practice anywhere, and when Sunny came on the news as one of the most 'sought after locations to live' Rodney had known he belonged there. And second, because it was near the ocean and he could expand his skills from regular veterinarian medicine to marine as well...Rodney liked challenges, and he found he liked otters almost as much as cats.
The McKay Animal Hospital had been established in Sunny, California three years ago, and Rodney had never lacked for business or challenges. In fact, the only thing Rodney McKay could ever say he had lacked in was a love life. Not that he couldn't get women, he could get lots of women, after all, he was a very successful man, his bank account in the six-digit range. No, what he lacked, besides social manners, as he really didn't care for people, was sincerity in the partners he found.
It didn't matter if male or female, Rodney always knew from an early age he was bisexual, they always seemed to want something from him, other than...him. His last lover had wanted a Ferrari for her birthday, and when Rodney had given her a puppy, appropriately named Ferrari, as it had almost cost the same, she'd tossed the poor pup back at him and told him to either get her the car or get lost. Rodney had left, and had given Ferrari to First Lady Hayes, when she'd come to help sponsor the marine sanctuary Rodney was trying to get established off the shores of Sunny. Mrs. Hayes had been touched by the gift, and now Rodney had an open-ended invitation to the White House. Again, Rodney didn't lack for much, other than sincere companionship...and love.
Rodney had had enough of false lovers and demanding companions, and had decided to stick to what he did best, his work. That meant it wasn't that unusual for him to be found wandering the halls of his clinic at all hours, letting others do the paperwork, as his first love was taking care of the animals.
"Doctor McKay," Brenda said, as she entered one of the back treatment rooms to see Rodney laying a small blanket over the sedated dachshund that was in for overnight observation after falling from a two-story apartment window. "Doctor Trace needs your help..."
"I didn't hire him so I could do his work for him," Rodney snapped, knowing the dog was out cold and would sleep undisturbed.
"He's treating a domestic short hair tabby that was just brought in and the test results don't make any sense to him...the cat is in distress, sir," Brenda said, nudging some of her long, dark hair behind her ears, her hair by her temples had only a touch of gray in it, showing she was older than she appeared. She was also one of the few assistants that could handle Rodney and his many nasty moods, and thus well paid for it too.
"Fine, I'm coming," Rodney sighed, and followed her, knowing his staff would keep an eye on all the animals, for Rodney didn't tolerate neglect or cold 'inhuman' treatment of his patients...ever!
Rodney followed Brenda down the hall and entered the treatment room, to see a man slightly older than he, and two other assistants, tending a heavy-set orange tabby. "What do you have?" he asked, reaching for the chart he knew would be there any second, and it was, as his staff, if they wanted to remain so, were nothing but the best. "Hmm," Rodney said as he looked over the blood work and the poor animal's vitals. He then reached in his pocket for his pen and then scribbled down some instructions and handed the chart back to Doctor Trace. "Is the owner here?" he asked, his eyes blazing with fury.
"Are you sure about this?" Doctor Trace asked, and then didn't wait for an answer. "Of course you are, but what caused this?"
"Alcohol and sugar, which you'd very well know, if you bothered to look at the test results, instead of playing fortune-teller. This cat is suffering while you're playing guess work, when there are procedures in place to speed up gathering the facts so treatments can be rendered. ONE of them is talking with the owner." Rodney snapped at Trace. Then turning to Brenda, "Speaking of, I asked, is the..."
"The man who brought the cat in, is in the waiting room," Brenda said, opening the treatment door, having no intentions to get in the way of a McKay scolding and his victim, as she watched Rodney storm down the hall, while Doctor Trace began to administer the treatment that would hopefully save the poor thing's life.
*****************
This was definitely not how he wanted to spend his evening, sitting in some waiting room in an animal hospital, because of some stupid cat! No, he didn't want to see anything happen to Taffy, she was a sweet cat, and actually well behaved...for a cat. Plus, she didn't belong to him either, and he couldn't bear to inform Marion that HE had killed her cat, because...well, he wasn't sure why Taffy was sick. He put out the cat food as it said on the list and brought Taffy to the beach with him when he decided to surf, though he was sure Taffy didn't like the idea of a collar and leash, much less being tied to a pier poll, but there was shade, and it kept the cat safe...or so he thought.
Taffy had seemed fine when John had eaten his lunch down on the beach, and because of the heat, some ice cream for dessert. Taffy had even seemed fine when he'd had dinner, then the cat had started meowing and thrown-up and he hadn't needed to know much more than that Taffy was sick and he needed to get some help. Sadly, the only place open at this late hour was the McKay Animal Hospital, one of the finest, which of course meant, one of the most expensive...great! He was already on a tight budget; he didn't need this.
John looked up when he heard the double doors that lead to the treatment area fly open and saw a man, about his age, not quite heavy-set, and with thinning hair, storming out. His electric blue eyes scanning the almost empty waiting room until they settled on him, and for some reason having that intense glare turned on him did things to John he wasn't about to even BEGIN to try and analyze at this hour.
"You," the man said, his face full of anger, which also didn't set well with John. "Did you bring in the tabby?" he demanded, his thin lips pulled even thinner as if he was just barely managing to keep from losing control.
"How is Taffy?" John asked, daring to stand up and approach the man. "What's wrong with her?" he asked, for he was sure he had done everything that was on the care list.
"Where do you get off asking if she's alright after almost KILLING HER, by giving her high amounts of sugar and alcohol," Rodney snapped.
"Whoa," John said, holding his handed up before him. "What the hell are you talking about? I didn't give Taffy any alcohol...and what do you mean by sugar?" he asked, more than ready to defend himself in this matter.
"Well how do you explain...Taffy did you say?" Rodney asked, seeing the man nod yes continued, "Taffy, having such a high blood-alcohol level and as for sugar, don't you know that most human foods are BAD for animals?" he challenged the man.
"Ah...no," John said sincerely, as he'd never had a pet before. "It was hot and though she had water, she seemed to crave the ice cream I was eating...I...I didn't know."
"How can you have a full grown cat of THAT size and NOT know?" Rodney challenged again, not caring about the looks the others in the room were giving him.
"I DON'T own Taffy, I've never owned a pet, Marion just asked me this morning to watch her and then left," John protested.
"Oh," Rodney said, seeming a bit lost as if he'd gotten sidetracked from his lecture. "Well, didn't she leave you instructions?" he asked, wanting to know if he should be giving this lecture to whomever Marion was.
"Yes, and I THOUGHT I was following them, there was no list of don'ts..." John replied, feeling a bit vindicated with the truth. "You still haven't said, how's Taffy?"
"Ah...oh, yes, she's going to be a very sick kitty and the next few hours will tell, though you'll have to approve the treatment or...well, I don't think there should be an or, especially since she's not yours, then you'd have to call this Marion and ask her, but..." Rodney was rambling. He always did when he had to provide the option of putting any animal down, which he was dead set against, but the law said he had to provide ALL options of treatment or lack of to the owner.
"Look, Doc," John interrupted. "Bottom line it for me. If you can save Taffy, do it. I understand that somehow it was my fault, and I have NO intentions of calling Marion and telling her that Taffy is dead because I'm too damn cheap to cover her medical bills. So?" He gestured at Rodney to get on with it.
"Okay, good," Rodney said, thinking more of the man before him as he was willing to take responsibility for his ignorance. He waved toward the young woman behind the administration desk. "I'll have Emily here give you the papers, Mr....ah...?"
"Sheppard, John Sheppard," John replied and offered his hand, "Doctor...?"
"I knew it!" Emily gasped out with excitement and dashed around the desk. "I knew it was you," she gushed.
"Emily," Rodney said, his tone a false calm that he didn't actually feel. "Just what are you doing?" he asked, eyeing the younger woman as if she lost her mind.
"Doctor McKay, THIS is John Sheppard...THE John Sheppard, winner of three PSTA's and the PSTI last year," Emily spouted with enthusiasm. "That's Pro-Surfing Tour America and Pro-Surfing Tour International," she explained for Rodney, seeing the blank look in his eyes. Then before anyone said anything the twenty-something young woman dashed back to her desk and reached inside, pulling out a calendar, and rushed back, flipping pages, and then presented a picture of John, standing next to his board, dressed in his hot red surfing pants, and a gold chain with a tiny surfboard at the end, nestled in the dark hair of his chest, looking very happy standing there on the beach getting his picture taken. "See?" she said showing the picture to Rodney, and then beamed at John. "Can I have your autograph?"
Rodney didn't know why, but for some reason, seeing John Sheppard, who moments ago had shook his hand, causing a spark to zip through his body, turn on a smile to the young assistant, irked him to no end. "I don't pay you an obscene amount of money to stand around being a groupie...get the forms, so Doctor Trace can administer the treatment to Taffy...now!" he snapped, grabbing the calendar out of Emily's hand. He then looked at John. "Once you sign, you can go home if you like, just leave a phone number and someone will call you if there's a problem," Rodney informed John then turned and went back the way he'd come, unaware that he was still holding the calendar.
"Jerk," Emily griped, as she was preparing the forms.
"I heard that!" Rodney shouted back as the treatment doors were flopping back and forth.
John was left puzzled by the display he had just witnessed, so he decided to just take it in stride. "Don't you think you should be more careful?" he asked, looking at Emily. "You don't want to get fired, do you?"
Emily chuckled. "Please, if Doctor McKay fired everyone that called him a jerk, he'd have no staff. Plus, he's the first one to admit he is one," she laughed then handed John the permission for treatment and financial responsibility forms. "Just fill these out and sign below," she smiled, her dark green eyes twinkling with interest and invitation.
John turned on the smile, it was still automatic, even now, but if he was honest with himself, and he had been for the last few months of his self-proclaimed 'retirement', then any real interest lay with that man that stormed out of here moments ago. "Guess his wife must be a real saint," John joked, seeking out some recon on the good doctor.
Emily giggled. "Doctor McKay...married...as if." She laughed harder then lowered her voice. "Between you and me, there isn't a man or woman alive that much of a saint, when it comes to Doctor Rodney McKay," she snickered.
"Really...temper?" John asked, seeing Emily was willing to spill and he was suddenly feeing a bit cautious as he didn't have any interest in getting with anyone violent.
"You just paid witness to classic McKay," Emily smiled. "If you can tolerate his razor tongue, and not be crushed by his oversized ego, he's a real pussy cat, if you know what I mean," she laughed as she took the forms from John, gave him a wink, and headed to the back to inform the doctors that they could proceed with the treatment.
"No," John muttered to himself. "But I sure wouldn't mind finding out," he grinned then sighed, for he knew it was going to be a long night, as he recalled poor Taffy and why he was here in the first place.
************
Rodney knew he should just go home, or what passed for his home nowadays, but he could never help getting involved with his patients. Some said it was why he was so good at what he did, others said it was why he was alone, all he knew was he just he didn't like the idea of any sick animal being alone. He had a competent night staff, which mostly allowed him to follow up on any paperwork that absolutely had to be done, thankful that between his assistants, Brenda and Ramona, they took care of most of it, but there was always something he had to do or charts that needed signing off. This was HIS clinic and things needed to be to HIS standards, which meant lots of work.
Rodney finished signing off the last chart he intended to do for the night, and got up with going home to his chiropractic-approved mattress in mind. He gathered his briefcase, which held his date planner and his laptop, which allowed him to read charts if needed, when he was at home. He gathered his cell phone, hung up his medical coat, not even bothering with a regular jacket or ties for that matter, and headed out. He was going past the treatment room he knew Taffy was in, Winston the dachshund being farther down, and noticed someone in the room. A quick look around showed him it wasn't his evening staff, so he stopped to see who it was. Rodney was surprised to see John Sheppard, sitting with his back to the semi-closed door, lightly caressing the cat's head as it slept.
"I'm really sorry, Taffy," John whispered, feeling guilty in making the poor thing so ill. "It never occurred to me that you'd get into the spilled beer I had from last night or not to give you that ice cream...I..." John sighed. "Now you know why I don't have pets." John smiled a little, but knew Taffy couldn't hear him. "No worries though, word is that McKay fellow is one of the best, which means you're going to be just fine...and," John sighed again, "if it means selling a few things to pay the bill, well...no worries," he said, then leaned down and nuzzled Taffy's fur on top of her head.
Rodney was feeling bad at eavesdropping and cleared his throat, to let John know he was not alone. He saw John was embarrassed at being overheard and he wasn't sure what he could do to fix that situation, so decided not to try. "I'm sure Taffy will forgive you...cats and dogs are among the most forgiving species on the planet, so it's a good bet."
"Ah...thank you," John replied, not sure what to say, he hadn't expected anyone to be listening.
"You know, you could have gone home," Rodney said, knowing he had mentioned it earlier when they'd last spoken. "I pay my staff well to keep a close eye on those that need to stay overnight for treatment or observation..."
"Oh, I know, and I noticed how frequently they come check on Taffy, it's...well, I'd be up worrying one way or another, so figured I could pace just as well here than back home, so," John shrugged.
Rodney put his stuff down on a side table near the door and moved in and picked up a stethoscope and ran a set of vitals on Taffy, while reading the readouts from the monitoring equipment the feline was hooked up to. "She's responding well to the treatment," Rodney smiled, the first John had seen on the man since they met. "But she IS going to be sick for a while, and will need care. I don't mean to be prying into your business, but it could get expensive..."
John folded his arms around his chest, feeling a bit defensive. "I pay my bills, Doctor McKay."
"I didn't mean to infer otherwise, just...well...if you ask Brenda before you go, you and she can work out some payment plan, I'll authorize it," Rodney replied, feeling foolish for opening his big mouth. John Sheppard was a very good looking man, a good man from what he was seeing, and calling him a bum or referring to him as being one, was definitely not winning him any points. In fact, he realized it was rather stupid of him to even try, for his track record as of late was far from positive. "Well, I bid you goodnight," Rodney then stated while removing the stethoscope and grabbing up his things again. "Taffy will sleep until late morning and she's stable, so it's okay for you to go home," he added, and then turned to go when a huge ruckus broke out.
The sound of a dog barking and snarling, and various voices shouting, shattered the peace of the animal hospital, and drew not only Rodney toward it, but anyone in the vicinity, which included John Sheppard. At what looked like an emergency entrance, two animal control officers were holding control poles on a Doberman, who was seriously fighting his captivity, and it was taking all the strength of the two animal control officers to contain it. There was also one police officer, Doctor Trace and two assistants trying to help, but only making matters worse. Brenda was just arriving along with John and Rodney as the scene was unfolding.
"What the hell is going on here?" Rodney demanded as he automatically handed his things to John, as he was right next to him, and stormed forward.
"The dog is insane, Doc," one of the animal control officers shouted out over the snarling animal who was struggling to get free.
"Doc, we have a little girl in County who was badly bitten by this dog and they need to know if it has rabies or not," the officer stated, a hand resting on his gun, snap still closed, but ready if need be to take the dog down.
"Get the tranquilizer gun," Doctor Trace ordered one of the assistants.
"Hold on that," Rodney ordered, stunning everyone in the room, especially as he approached closer. "Everyone just shut up and stand still," he ordered, glaring at anyone that might protest. Then he squatted down, looking angry and stared at the dog, which was still struggling. "Knock it off," he snapped, and no one was sure whom he was talking to. "Heel," he snapped again, and to everyone's amazement, the dog calmed down, and was suddenly looking at Rodney, sizing him up.
Rodney got up slowly, maintaining eye contact and moved slowly forward. One of the animal control officers shifted, and the dog growled. "Aaht," Rodney said, glaring at the dog and it became quiet again, but still nervous. "Take those things off," he ordered.
"Doc, I don't think you get the picture here, this beast..." the other animal control officer tried to protest.
"I SAID, take those things off, now," Rodney growled, and the Doberman seemed to whimper as the two animal control officers shrugged and did as he said, leaving the dog where he was, and moved behind the cop to Rodney's right.
"You're insane, Doc," the cop stated, seeing Rodney getting closer and again squatting down before the dog.
Rodney observed the dog for a moment, and took in when the dog got edgy and when the dog was more relaxed. It seemed the dog was warier if Rodney removed his left hand from his pants pocket, and more relaxed with it hidden. Gently, saying barely audible, soothing words, Rodney reached out with his right hand and scratched the Doberman behind the ear. "That's it, boy, I'm not going to hurt you," he soothed, and then slowly pulled his left hand free, still placing soothing touches on the animal's head, and let the dog eye his hand and see it coming toward him, slowly and easy. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Rodney asked, as if expecting an answer, and smiled as the dog reacted like an overgrown puppy in his hands. He then gently prodded the dog's coat, touching lightly, but knowingly. He then stood up and took a step back, "Come on," he said, gently patting his right side, indicating the dog was to follow him, and again, everyone watched as the Doberman instantly obeyed.
Rodney took the dog to one of the treatment rooms and with a pat and a command the dog was on the table with Rodney gently petting him. "Brenda, get me one of the nighttime treats will you," he ordered, his voice calm, as he fussed over the beautiful black and tan Doberman.
Brenda moved off and returned quickly with a container marked 'Medicated Treats' and handed it to Rodney, who took out three and then handfed them to the dog. Within moments of eating them, the Doberman stretched out and went to sleep. Then, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the angry man that most associated with Rodney McKay was back as he turned furious eyes on the officers and the animal control people. "You can tell the hospital that the dog does NOT have rabies. He's been abused," Rodney stated, shifting the fur and exposing one of many welts hidden underneath. "And whoever did it, is left-handed...my guess is they used a belt as this is wider than any leash strap," he informed the officers.
"Doc, you know what the law states," the officer replied.
"You let ME deal with the law and the dog, YOU get the bastard that abused this dog and the REAL reason that girl was injured, for as you SAW it won't attack unless provoked. Now, get OUT of my hospital, ALL OF YOU," Rodney snarled, showing that if they had any sense, they'd be more afraid of him than the dog.
The two animal control officers took off to the front to get the paperwork signed, along with dropping off copies, knowing the drill, but the officer looked furious. "I need..." he began.
"I know what you need," Rodney replied, his tone meaning it was probably more than just the paperwork. "Emily can help you with that up front, now get out," Rodney snapped, and was glad to see the man leave.
John was left standing in the hall, amazed and stunned by what he'd witnessed, and realizing that Emily had it right, McKay really WAS a marshmallow inside, but a fiery one, with a deep passion for his work and compassion for his patients. Willing to stand up for those many would not. John couldn't help but find that sexy as hell. He also saw pain and anguish in those stunning blue eyes and couldn't help but wonder why. He took a step forward, but realized that by being silent; he might learn what he wanted to know.
"You know the law, Rodney," Brenda said softly as she placed a comforting hand on Rodney's shoulder. "He attacked a child, it doesn't matter that there are extenuating circumstances..."
"It should," Rodney snapped, anger and anguish filling his eyes as he spoke, one hand stroking the Doberman's fur gently.
"I agree with you," Brenda replied, "but..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Rodney said as he pulled away from Brenda, his fingers never leaving the Doberman's fur. "Get me the kit," he ordered over his shoulder.
"Doctor Trace can..." Brenda began.
"Get me the kit," Rodney ordered again, his voice firm, but softer this time.
Brenda nodded, even if Rodney can't see her and turned to leave, seeing John Sheppard standing there, still holding Rodney's things. "Here," she said, reaching out and taking Rodney's things and leading John down the hall.
"What's going on?" John asked, for he could sense something was wrong.
"The dog has to be put down and an autopsy done to be 'sure' there is no rabies, since it attacked someone, specifically a child...it's the law. Doesn't matter a damn that the dog had been abused or pushed to its limits, after all, it's 'just' a dog," Brenda replied, her tone angry, but John knew it was not at him.
"So the kit...it's to put the dog down, isn't it?" John asked, but he knew that already by the expression on Brenda's face and from what he saw in Rodney's moments ago.
"Brenda, the fax machine is jammed again," Emily called out from the front.
"Excuse me," Brenda told John, then went to the front to handle the next crisis of the evening.
John wasn't sure what to do, but inside he knew what he wanted to do, so he turned and went back to the treatment room where Rodney was now sitting on a stool, still petting the Doberman. "You're right, it's not fair," John said as he entered the room and like Rodney caressed the sleeping dog, feeling the welts beneath his fingertips. "At least he won't suffer anymore," John said, not sure what to say, but wanting to bring some comfort to the man before him.
"Wonder what the world would be like if we took that attitude toward people," Rodney growled. "I mean, the bastard who did this, IF he even gets charged, will get a fine and told to pay the bill...no jail time, no restriction from owning another dog and doing it all over again...no..."
"You should only fight the battles you can win," John interjected.
"What?" Rodney asked, as he looked up puzzled.
"Sorry, it's something my father said to me once. He told me life is like a battlefield, and that there are plenty of fights and war zones out there, and nobody can win them all. He said, only fight the ones you can win, meaning..."
"Don't beat myself up over things I can't control," Rodney finished for John, thinning his lips as he thought about what was being said. "Easier said than done."
"Aren't most things?" John replied, smiling, glad to see Rodney wasn't looking as glum as he had moments ago.
Rodney couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face; there was just something about John Sheppard that touched him inside. "Thanks...but shouldn't you be going home? If it gets any later, you'll probably be too tired to drive and the last thing I need is getting sued because you were too tired to pay attention to the road," Rodney replied, only his eyes showed the teasing behind his words.
John grinned. "Well, good thing I don't own a car then. I'll get someone to get me a cab back to Beachwood..."
"You live off Sand Dune Lane?" Rodney asked with interest.
"Yes, I was...lucky to have been able to find someone who wanted to sell their bungalow, so...one LARGE investment later, I own ocean front property and live on a tight budget," John chuckled, not sure why he explained that just now, but Rodney, when not snapping at the bit, was pretty easy to talk to.
"Well, then I'll be generous and give you a lift home as I happen to live in that direction," Rodney offered, not even thinking about it, it just seemed like the most natural thing to do, which in itself should have told Rodney things were anything but normal here. "You can go wait up front, I have to...ah..."
"You know, the other guy really could do that," John said, knowing this was upsetting to Rodney, just by looking in his eyes.
"No, no...I've got to...no," Rodney said shaking his head, not able to explain why he had to be the one to put the broken-hearted animal to sleep. He doubted anyone but he would understand, so he didn't bother. "I'll meet you out front..."
"I could just take a cab, I don't mean to impose," John replied, feeling that perhaps he was pushing his luck here.
"I'm being nice and offering you a ride, that doesn't happen often, so my advice is that you take it while it lasts," Rodney replied, feeling better at seeing the smile directed his way, and welcoming the company on the ride home.
"Okay, I'll wait for you out front," John nodded and departed, thinking on the man he'd just left, and came to believe he understood why Rodney was choosing to do the deed; the dog trusted him to take care of him, and Rodney wanted to see it through. It spoke volumes to John as to just what kind of person Rodney McKay was, and he had to admit to himself, he was moved and humbled.
***************
The drive home was mostly silent, John not wanting to intrude into Rodney's quiet, as he could see he was in deep thought, and the drive from the animal hospital was lovely; Sunny was a lovely place, even at night or early morning as the hour would have it.
"Again I don't mean to pry, but you mentioned money being tight, I was wondering what you're doing? I mean, are you going back to school...?" Rodney asked out of nowhere.
"No," John replied. "And I get by. I also do odd jobs around the beach colony, fix things..."
"You're good with your hands?" Rodney asked, an interest shining in his tired blue eyes.
"Yeah," John replied, his own hazel eyes twinkling with merriment, wondering if he was getting lucky and Rodney was flirting with him. "I've never gotten any complaints," John teased a little with some hope.
"Great, then I have a proposition for you," Rodney stated with excitement.
John narrowed his eyes, wondering if he was just about to be insulted, or if he was totally misreading the situation. "A...proposition?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes...I had this contractor working for me, but he was a TOTAL idiot, so I had to fire him. I mean, if you say a job is going to cost something, you don't come back a month into the job and try and double the price...I can't STAND people that pull that crap. I mean, that's what estimates are for and price quotes and contracts..."
John was relieved he had misread the situation, but only a little bit, for as he watched Rodney' mouth move, he felt the urge to discover how it would move against his own, but resisted. "The offer?" John said, realizing they would be at his place soon, and he could tell Rodney was exhausted and would still have to drive himself home.
"Oh, yeah, anyway, I fired him and now the place is a mess, as the crew just DUMPED everything everywhere. Well...you know, we're close, I could just show you want I want done, then I can drive you home," Rodney offered.
Again, John wasn't sure if it was a job offer or an opportunity, but either way he felt lucky so nodded. "Sure," he agreed.
Minutes later they were pulling into the private driveway of a two-story, yellow house that could be on the front page of Home and Gardens, high, neatly-trimmed hedges blocking out any view in or out of the yards to the side or back of the house, and a clean open pathway to the front door from the two-car garage, which when occupied only held the BMW Rodney was driving. "Come on, it's around back," Rodney told him as they got out of the car and headed to a gate that was also neatly tucked away on the side and was seriously padlocked.
"Nice place," John commented.
"Ah...thanks," Rodney replied and once he opened the gate, he stepped aside letting John in, then locked it up, using a remote from his briefcase, which automatically closed and locked the garage and set the car alarm. "This way," Rodney said and then led John to the back, where John got a whole new perspective of the 'perfect home'.
"My groundskeeper won't touch it," Rodney said as he gestured around to the nightmare of a back yard, over half of the back portion of the house draped in thick plastic as it was broken open and left bare. There were several large holes and from what John could see, as there were thankfully nightlights back here, large tank-like tubs to be placed in the ground, but like the house, left undone.
"What hit here, the reenactment of the London bombing?" John asked, not believing the huge mess he was seeing before him.
"No, incompetent contractors," Rodney snapped, but not directing his words at John. "I'm trying to set this up as an emergency marine shelter..."
"I'm sure there are a lot of organizations that would help you cover the cost," John replied, his mind racing at the kind of expense that would be needed to be poured out to create such a thing. "Though doesn't Monterey have one as part of their Aquarium?" John questioned, turning to Rodney, and thinking he looked rather appealing in the moonlight.
"Yes, yes, they do, but it's miles away from here and just last week, two sea otters died because they couldn't get the kind of treatment they needed, nor were they up to such a transport...so..." Rodney gestured to his backyard. "As for organizations, until the area is classified as a Marine Sanctuary like Monterey, funding and options are limited, AND then those that are willing to help want to dictate to me the terms of what I can treat and how long and blah, blah, blah, things like that. No, I'm footing this so I don't have to deal with their B.S.," Rodney explained. "See, over here I'm having a large tank that would allow the otters to be treated but kept secure and over there..." Rodney stopped, realizing that most people were not really interested in what he was planning. "Anyway, about the job?"
John saw the passion light up Rodney's eyes as he was speaking about his plans for his emergency marine life shelter, and felt warmed by it. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him so deeply, just by being themselves, and he was disappointed at seeing it shut down so suddenly. "Over there?" John asked, pointing in the direction Rodney had been referring too moments ago, smiling his best, as he really DID want to know more.
"Ah...well, our bay like Monterey gets seals of both varieties, and they need a much larger tank. Though it could double for the occasional dolphin that got beached," Rodney continued. "There of course are also the birds, but we don't get as many as we don't have the fishing industry or the same size seal populace, which of course coincides with the number of fish remains, which coincides with...."
"How many birds make their home here," John finished for Rodney. "So, other than the contractor being an idiot and you having to fire him, why haven't you hired someone else to finish the job?"
"Well, I don't know how much you know about this kind of stuff, but they messed quite a few things up and so far, anyone who's come here sizing up the job is wanting to charge me an arm and a leg to clean this up, as they won't just come in and take over, which is ridiculous. And don't get me started on those morons, I already have my lawyer dealing with them, but in the meantime..." he gestured to the huge gape in the back of his house. "Thankfully I already modified it: the top level is where I live, and down below will be for treatment rooms, storage, and care facilities for those animals that need to be kept inside." Rodney said and being caught up in his excitement, dragged John in through the back and took him to where a lone desk was stationed, the rest of the lower section of the house appearing empty.
John spotted the stairwell off the front door and the second thick door at the top marked PRIVATE. He then grinned as Rodney looked like an excited little boy, showing off his latest toy, as he rolled out the schematics of his dream and presented them to John, with full detail of what everything was supposed to look like.
After John listened to what Rodney's vision was and saw what was laid out before him on the schematics, John looked around, nodding. He had an eye for sizing things up, a good head for math and had even considered studying engineering, aeronautical to be specific. In fact he had almost joined the Air Force to fly before he'd realized he could make a living at his other passion, surfing. "I can see why the other contractors want to charge you extra, that first guy royally screwed things up. Half the boards up are too thin, though marginally so, and some of the other work is off too, which in the end would have cost you MORE to have it repaired when things broke down," John told him shaking his head. "I'm NO carpenter or craftsman, but I CAN help fix up some of this mess for you," John grinned. "I take it there's more out there?" he asked.
"Yeah," Rodney said, furious at hearing how those idiots had messed things up, and furious that the other contractors were not upfront with precisely why they were asking so much, not openly accusing a fellow contractor of screwing up, and happy that John said he'd help and that he seemed genuinely interested in his dream of the emergency marine shelter.
Rodney grabbed a flashlight out of the garage, for even with the lights there were still shadows, which was proven when Rodney almost tripped over some of the plywood still laying around, and would have fallen a good seven feet into the trench where the large tank was supposed to be laid, had John not caught him. It did however leave them standing very close, chest to chest, both panting hard, for it had been a close call, looking into each other's eyes, the moonlight breaking cloud cover and basking them both in a silver hue.
Rodney realized at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to kiss John Sheppard, and that fact scared him, for he hadn't wanted ANYONE in a long time. "I ah...ah...thank you," he stuttered.
"No problem," John drawled, giving his most charming smile, for he realized he REALLY wanted to get to know Rodney McKay, and not just for the night as his original thoughts had led him. "Perhaps we could..."
"Yes, of course," Rodney said, backing up carefully. "This way," he said, thinking that John meant continue the tour.
John had been thinking to go back into Rodney's house, but could see the other man was a bit gun-shy...but he also saw a bit of interest and he most definitely could work with that. "Lead on, McKay," he smirked then shook his head when Rodney didn't get the Shakespearean pun...oh well, perhaps it really wasn't that funny after all.
Rodney led him to the back area, where there was a large, wide gate which Rodney had the key for, and showed John the smooth ramp-like path he'd had put in that led to the beach. "This will make transport easier and being so close..."
"Cuts down on treatment time or shock of transport," John finished, really coming to understand what Rodney had been going on about. John walked out to the center of the beach and looked around and smiled, for it was part of his private beach area; he'd just never known what was behind those large stone walls and tall gate, now he did. "This is really something Rodney," he grinned, really pleased at having it shared with him. "I'd be glad to help you with it," John told Rodney honestly.
"Ah...great, then I figured for payment..." Rodney began, but John interjected.
"Hey, I can see my bungalow from here," John said, pointing way down the beach. "It's closer this way, what do you know," he said in genuine amazement at being so close. He then turned to face Rodney. "I'll walk if you don't mind and I'll see you in the morning?" He looked at his watch. "Er...make that late morning," he smiled.
Rodney nodded, for part of him didn't want John to go, he was enjoying himself so much, but John was right, it was late and they both were tired. "Here," Rodney said suddenly reaching into his pocket and pulling out his key ring and taking two keys off, and handing them to John. "They're for the back and front gates. Obviously you can enter the back of the house as you saw. You've got a cell?"
"Yeah, though I don't normally carry it...I'll start," John added quickly, for he didn't want to cut down on any future contact with Rodney. "I'll have to give you the number tomorrow..." John laughed. "I don't call myself that much, so I don't know the number off hand."
Rodney laughed and smiled. "No problem. I may not be here when you get here, but you have the number to the clinic, Ramona works the day shift, just ask for her and she'll patch you through to me. If you ask for me directly, you'll never get anything but a voice mailbox."
John chuckled, for he could believe that to be the case. Rodney McKay was the best at what he did, he knew that from what he'd seen and now shared with the man, for no one with that kind of passion could be anything less. "I'll do that...night...Rodney," he grinned, wanting to reach out and place a kiss on Rodney's cheek, but resisted the urge, and started down the beach, whistling a sweet tune.
Rodney watched the handsomest...hell, most beautiful man he'd ever met in his life leave, and Rodney knew he was attracted, hell, attracted didn't even begin to describe how he felt at the moment. He wanted to run after the man and beg him to come back to his room where he be allowed to worship the man's body, but Rodney resisted. That's kind of how he got in trouble with his last girlfriend, she was top model material, but she NEVER showed any interest in Rodney's dreams or work really...just until they were 'dating' and then she lost all interest, except in his bank account. "No," he told himself. "I won't make the same mistake twice," he said firmly to himself as he turned around and went back inside and up to his place. What was between him and Mr. Sheppard was nothing but business...nothing more, and that was just how it was best to remain he told himself as he got ready for bed. His dreams though...they had other ideas of what could be between him and John Sheppard.
End of Chapter 1