"Blah blah blah, I'm filthy rich, etc, etc."
Rodney's accountant stared at him, mouth falling open in either shock or disbelief. Rodney's come to realize that this is the kind of impression he makes on most of the people that he meets. "Mr. McKay, really we must…"
"Dr. McKay," Rodney snapped absently. "Look, I've already done this all myself. I really don't know why my advisors insist I keep you around. You're dismissed."
The man glared, pushed his glasses further back on his nose, and stood, his pony-tail swinging haughtily as he did. "Well, I never…" he said.
"Good day, Mr. Kavanaugh. It's been a pleasure, as always."
"This is my first day," Kavanaugh snapped.
Rodney paused, looking over at him with a frown. "Seriously? My god, you look just like the last one."
Kavanaugh stormed from the room and Rodney stared after him, disbelievingly, before hitting his intercom. "Elizabeth?"
"What was the name of my last accountant?"
"I can't remember," she said, wryly. "He was only here for half an hour."
Rodney leaned back, making a steeple with his hands. "Oh, right. Which reminds me, fire that Kavanaugh guy. His little pony-tail has a life of its own, and it was creeping me out."
Rodney heard angry shouting come from over the intercom.
"He's still here," Elizabeth said, "he can hear you."
"Oh," Rodney said, taken aback. Rodney recovered quickly, and took advantage of the circumstances to handle the situation himself. "Kavanaugh, you're fired." Then he turned the intercom off. "I'm surrounded by idiots," he muttered, leaning back even further in his chair and crossing his feet over his desk.
Sometimes he missed being in the thick of things, working in a lab instead of behind a desk, but ever since he'd hired Dr. Samantha Carter on as his Chief Scientific Advisor he really hadn't needed to hang around there as much. He had to admit, however, that he was starting to get bored.
"Dr. McKay?" Elizabeth's voice startled him, and he turned to glare at the intercom.
"Miss Brown just called with a message for you, sir," she said.
Rodney lit up, leaning forward. "What is it? More questions about whether there should be red flowers or white?"
"Actually, she…" Elizabeth trailed off, and Rodney frowned at the intercom, as though he blamed it for the pause.
He shook the intercom slightly. "Well?" he asked it.
"She told me to tell you she's calling off the engagement, and moving to Florida with her personal trainer." Elizabeth paused for a moment. "She did say that you could keep the flowers, though."
Rodney paled, and dropped the intercom. "She left a message?" he asked incredulously.
"Apparently her flight is leaving at five, and she didn't have time to tell you in person." Elizabeth's professional voice slipped right over him. "Is there anything else you need?"
"That's quite enough, thank you," Rodney snapped. He unplugged the intercom and glared at it, before grabbing his jacket and surging to his feet. "I need a drink."
"You're late, again."
John Sheppard glanced up as he walked through the door, sorting through a pile of mail. "I can't be late," he said. "I'm the boss. I make the schedules."
"Yes," Teyla said, leaning across the bar to glare at him. "And you said you would be here at four, it is four thirty."
He smirked. "Got a hot date, huh?"
Teyla narrowed her eyes at him. "As it so happens, I do."
John laughed and joined her behind the bar, dropping the mail on the back counter. He glanced around quickly, noticing there was only one couple present near the back. It usually didn't fill up until night. "It's that Ford kid that always comes in here, isn't it?"
Teyla sniffed haughtily. "He is not a kid, and he asked me to tell you that he would appreciate it if you stopped carding him every single time he'd like a drink."
John grinned wickedly. "Just being thorough. It's the law, you know." Teyla ignored him as she grabbed her purse and started to stalk towards the door. "You have fun now--don't stay out too late!"
Obviously still annoyed with him, Teyla only flashed him one quick grim smile that promised retribution before flying out the door, nearly knocking over the man trying to get inside.
"Hey, watch it!" the guy shouted after her.
John stifled a laugh as Teyla turned her gaze on him, and he promptly shut his mouth. John was glad to see he wasn't the only one scared of her. The man trudged over to the bar before sitting down with a sigh. "Give me the good stuff," he said.
John couldn't help it, he laughed. "The good stuff?" he asked, leaning across the bar next to him. "Everything's good here."
The man finally turned to look at him, giving him a quick once-over before sighing. "Whiskey then, I guess," he said dejectedly. "Or maybe you could just hit me over the head with the bottle, so I can skip right to the part where I pass out."
John smiled wryly. "Bad day, huh?"
"Your powers of observation are astounding," he snapped.
"Comes with the territory," John said, giving a wise little nod as he reached down to prepare the drink.
The man glared at him a little, before visibly slouching with desolation. "I did everything," he said, sounding horribly pathetic. "Everything, all of it, you know? I even said to her, red, for the love of god just get them in red, and you know what she does? She goes and leaves a dear John message with my secretary. Can't even say to my face, come up to me and say, 'Rodney, I'm leaving you for my personal trainer.'"
John raised his eyebrows. "She left you for her personal trainer?" he asked. "I'd better give you a double."
Rodney leaned across the bar, grabbing John's arm desperately. "You're a good man," he said.
John watched him suspiciously, tugging his arm away. "Are you sure you're not already drunk?"
"I may have had some champagne on the way here," Rodney confided in him, and John noticed for the first time that his voice was slurring. "Like a bottle or two."
John pursed his lips. "You were drinking and driving?"
"Oh no," Rodney said, giving him that look of outraged offense that can only be managed by the hopelessly drunk. "My limo's got a fridge."
"Just checking," John said, before glancing out the door. Sure enough there was a limo parked in front of his bar. He turned back to Rodney. "If you have a fridge in your limo, why are you here paying for drinks?"
"Atmosphere," Rodney slurred, "so I can sulk. And also, because I drank everything."
He reached out and snatched the whiskey away when he realized John was reluctant to give it to him, and then quickly drank it down. John sighed, glancing around for someone sane, but the couple in the back was making out now and he was left to deal with the crazy rich man on his own.
"Can I tell you a secret?" Rodney whispered, leaning across to him again.
John gave a long suffering sigh. "Everyone else does," he said.
Rodney grinned dopily. "I didn't even really like her," he whispered, and then promptly fell off his barstool.
"Wake up, Rodney."
His head was going to explode if he opened his eyes, he was sure of it. "Oh god, what the hell was I hit by?"
"From what Stackhouse told me, two bottles of champagne and a double shot of whiskey."
Rodney risked squinting one eye open to glare at his friend. "What are you doing here?"
Radek Zelenka smiled down at him. "Elizabeth told me what happened with Katie. When you didn't show at the office I came to make sure you were okay, and found you passed out."
Rodney sat up, looking around. "How did I get back here?"
"Stackhouse dragged you up here. You don't pay him enough," Zelenka said, dryly. "I'm sure when he signed up to be your driver you didn't tell him that included your drunk escapades."
"Drunk escapades?" Rodney snapped haughtily. "My life isn't interesting enough to include drunken escapades. This is the first time I've passed out since college." Rodney paused for a moment, wincing and running a hand through his bed-hair. "And god, this dream I had…"
Zelenka frowned. "What dream?"
Rodney thought about it. "It's kind of fuzzy, but I was in this bar, having sex with this amazingly hot guy." Rodney blinked a little, trying to wake up. "I think he was the bartender."
Zelenka raised his eyebrow. "That clears up my next question, I suppose."
Rodney glanced at him. "What's that?"
"Why Katie left you," Zelenka said, his lips twitching upwards.
Rodney waved a hand distractedly. "No, no, that's not it. She left me for her personal trainer," he said. "Apparently my charm, wit, and millions weren't enough for her. I knew I should have bought her that summer house she wanted."
Zelenka hid another grin. "Well, you could always find yourself a hot bartender."
Rodney sighed, falling back on his bed. "No one's really that perfect," he said.
"Rodney," Zelenka called, just before he was able to fall back into blissful sleep and call upon the sexy bartender again.
Rodney sat up again irritably, wincing as the lights seemed to flicker. "What?"
"You have to go to work," he said. "We have a meeting today with Wraith Enterprises."
"That's today?" Rodney said, blanching.
Zelenka laughed and started for the door. "Twenty minutes, or I'm leaving without you. Will tell them the CEO of McKay Tech is suffering a hangover, yes?"
"I hate you!" Rodney screamed after him, but he still stumbled to his feet and dragged himself to his shower. Twenty one minutes later he stumbled into the limo with a black suit blazer thrown hastily over an un-tucked white button-up shirt, and dark sunglasses hiding his blood-shot eyes.
Zelenka, of course, was still waiting for him, but he only smiled as Rodney hoarsely told Stackhouse to drive.
John looked up triumphantly as Teyla walked into the bar. "Ha!" he shouted. "You're late."
Teyla glanced at the clock. "By twenty seconds," she said, disbelievingly.
John pointed at her. "Yes, that's right, twenty whole seconds. You're slipping."
Teyla rolled her eyes and dropped her bag behind the bar. A magazine was sticking out of it, and John tilted his head, looking at it. "Hey," he said. "I know that guy."
"Who?" Teyla asked.
John grabbed the magazine from her bag and dropped it on the counter, pointing at the smiling man on the cover, under the heading 'McKay Tech.' "Him, Rodney," he said. "Came in here last night and fell off his stool."
Teyla looked at the magazine with wide-eyes. "He came in here? Really? That's Aiden's boss. Aiden works security at his building."
John laughed, crossing his arms. "So its Aiden now, is it?"
Teyla smiled softly, but John had a feeling the smile wasn't for him. "Perhaps," she said, "but that's something meeting him. He's some kind of self-made millionaire."
John shrugged. "I guess, although to tell you the truth, it wasn't the best of first impressions."
Teyla laughed, before heading over to get drinks for a couple that had just walked in. John leaned on the bar, glancing again at the magazine. He had a great smile, John decided idly. Nice eyes, too.
John grabbed the magazine up and dropped it back into Teyla's bag with a sigh. It wasn't like he was ever going to see him again, anyway.
Rodney loved sitting at the head of the long conference table. It made him feel powerful, in control, suave even--but not today. Today his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck but still too tight, and a tie had been out of the question entirely. He was still wearing his sunglasses, even though the windows were tinted, and even with them it was still far too bright.
Zelenka sat at his right, twitching nervously. There would be no help from him, Rodney decided. Samantha, on his left, was immaculate as always--her hands were clasped and set still on the table, and she was smiling serenely. Rodney decided he definitely hated her for her composure…just a little.
The double doors at the edge of the office swung open and Elizabeth led two men in, before turning back around and closing the doors behind her. Rodney glanced over at them blurrily.
One of the men gave a sickening car salesman type smile. "I'm Mr. Bob," he said, "and this is Mr. Steve, the CEO of Wraith Enterprises."
"Nice to meet you," Rodney said, rather unnecessarily loudly, he realized belatedly. Mr. Bob's smile congealed. Under the table, Zelenka kicked him warningly. "Please, have a seat."
The two men sat down, and Rodney decided he didn't like the way Mr. Steve was looking at him. He cleared his throat. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we, gentlemen?" he asked. "I think I know what this is about…"
Mr. Steve leaned forward on the table. "You stole the Atlantica Industries contract right out from under us."
Rodney adjusted his sunglasses, and tried to sit up straight. "Nothing had been finalized when I approached them, and they are producing a computer chip that happens to be vital--"
"To us, as well!" Mr. Steve shouted. "The future of our company depends upon…"
Rodney held up a hand, stalling him. "Look, I thought I said cut to the chase? You're not here to call upon my mercy, I know you aren't, because this is a cutthroat business and you have to know that if you did, I would laugh at you and then have you escorted from my building." He noticed Zelenka was still twitching beside him, but Sam's smile had turned rather feral. He changed his mind again, and decided he definitely liked her.
Mr. Steve inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Understood," he said. "And correct. We are not here to, as you say, call upon your mercy. We're here in good faith to offer a warning. There is still time, Dr. McKay, to break your contract with Atlantica. I suggest you do so, before you start something you might not be able to finish."
Rodney pushed his sunglasses up to rest on the top of his head and watched them incredulously. "I know you're not threatening me," he snapped.
Mr. Steve smiled darkly. "Of course not, Dr. McKay. We're threatening your company."
Mr. Steve and Mr. Bob got to their feet, their movements eerily concurrent. "We'll be waiting to hear from you," Mr. Bob said, and then they were gone.
Zelenka shivered. "Those guys give me the creeps."
"Corporate blood suckers," Sam said, nodding.
Rodney let the sunglasses slide back down and then slouched in his chair. "Well," he said. "I wanted my life to be more interesting."
John glanced back over at Teyla after he finished cleaning up the tables. "You need a ride home?" he asked.
It was midnight, and they had both had a long shift. A football game had been playing on the TV screens above the bar, and the crowds had been manic. John knew he should be grateful for the customers, but they tended to be mostly just annoying at the time.
Teyla bit her lip and glanced over at him. "Actually, I'm supposed to be meeting Aiden. He gets off at twelve-thirty, so we thought, why not just meet then?"
"As oppose to meeting for lunch or something," John said, smirking.
Teyla glared at him. "I can get a Taxi if it's out of your way…"
John shrugged. "It's not a problem," he said. "I'll drop you off there."
"Go home, Rodney," Zelenka told him. "You look like something out of the Living Dead."
"Do the living dead wear Armani?" he snapped haughtily. "I think not."
Zelenka rolled his eyes. "We have everything under control here. Mr. Steve was just trying to scare us, you've made this company all but untouchable."
"Yeah," Rodney grumbled. "And the Titanic can't sink."
Zelenka walked over to Rodney's desk and slammed his laptop shut, nearly catching his fingers. Rodney yelped and jumped back.
"Go home," Zelenka said.
"Jesus," John said, leaning over to look up at the building through the front window. "This place is huge; I don't remember it being this big." He looked out at the dark abandoned parking lot with a frown. "You think I should walk you in?"
Teyla gave him the look of the long-suffering. "Do you perhaps not recall the sparring classes we took together?" she asked.
John frowned. "You mean the ones where you kicked my ass?"
Teyla grinned brightly. "Yes, those would be the ones, but if you'd like to come in to say hi to Aiden, I'm sure he'd appreciate it. I think he idolizes you a bit, though for the life of me I can't figure out why."
John glanced at her sourly. "Maybe I ought to let you take your chances alone."
Teyla laughed and opened the door. "Come on," she said.
John grumbled but got out of the car, and caught pace beside her. Most of the building was dark, but a few lights were on in various windows and the lobby was still lit. They pushed their way through the clear front doors and John glanced around with vague interest. When he saw a large portrait of Rodney McKay at the end of lobby, over the reception desk, he snorted.
It didn't fit the down to Earth, though admittedly drunk, Rodney he had met at his bar, but then again, he didn't really know anything about him, did he?
There was a security guard sitting behind a desk with security cameras on the other side. He glanced up disinterestedly when they approached. "Bates," Teyla greeted. "Is Aiden off yet?"
Bates nodded to the hall behind him. "He's getting his stuff together. You can go back, if you want."
Teyla glanced at John. "I'll be right back," she said. "Don't go anywhere! Aiden would be devastated."
John nodded, his eyes inevitably straying back to the huge McKay portrait. "What's he like?" he asked Bates, nodding in its direction.
"He's charming, and one of the most generous men I've ever met," Bates told him, but his voice was strangely emotionless, and John thought it almost sound rehearsed.
John furrowed his brow and glanced at him. "Really?" he asked.
Bates' lips quirked up ever so slightly, though it didn't quite qualify as a smile. "No," he said, "that's just what he tells us to say."
John snorted again, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
Rodney dragged himself into the elevator and hit the lobby button. He leaned against the back, and wondered why the hell it was so dark. Then he caught sight of his reflection in the metal doors and noticed he was still wearing sunglasses. Frowning, he pushed them up again, and slumped a little further.
He needed sleep, he realized. Lots of it.
The doors slid open and there was his sexy bartender, standing there talking to his security guard. He frowned again, stumbling out of the elevator, wondering how he could be sleep deprived to the point of hallucinations already. Then the guy turned around and looked right at him with widened eyes, and Rodney felt himself freeze, because he was pretty sure the guy was real.
He walked over to him, fingers loosely gripping his briefcase, and then studied him carefully, wondering what he could possibly be doing here. "Do you work for me?" he asked.
Sexy bartender laughed at him. "No," he said, drawing the word out with a lazy kind of voice that sounded startlingly familiar.
"We've met before, though," Rodney said, because obviously they must have--you didn't just have sex dreams about really hot people and then have them magically appear on your doorstep.
"Are you drunk again?" the guy asked him, sounding vaguely concerned.
Then the memories hit Rodney like a freight train. He met him at the bar, there was actually a bar, though he was pretty sure there was no sex. "You really are a bartender!"
The guy grinned at him bemusedly and held out his hand. "John Sheppard," he said.
Rodney glanced at the hand, and carefully put his into it. He was grateful when it was solid. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "Are you here to sue me about the barstool, or something? Because I'm pretty sure I didn't break it."
John looked amused. "I'm not here to sue you," he said.
Before he could finish, another of his security guards and a woman appeared from around the corner. The security guard, Ford, he thinks, shouted, "John!"
He pulled to a stop when he caught sight of McKay, and his eyes widened. "Dr. McKay! Is everything alright?"
"What?" he asked. "Oh, yes, fine." He turned to Bates. "Where's Stackhouse?"
Bates had a little trouble meeting his gaze. "Zelenka sent him home when you stayed after nine again," he said, somewhat anxious.
Rodney's eyes widened. "What? How the hell am I supposed to get home?"
"I can call you a T--" Bates started, but the sheer horror that appeared on Rodney's face had him trailing off.
"I can give you a ride," John offered nonchalantly.
Rodney paused and glanced over at him. "Really?"
"It's no trouble," he said with a shrug.
Ford looked completely thunderstruck at this development. He leaned over to John. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" John asked, catching Rodney's attention.
"Yes, why wouldn't it be?" Rodney snapped.
Ford straightened immediately. "No reason. None at all. Teyla, we should be going." He grabbed her hand and started tugging her towards the door.
She glanced back at John. "Call me when you get home," she shouted and John nodded.
Rodney looked at John again, who smiled brilliantly. "Let's go, I guess," he said, and Rodney decided Zelenka definitely deserved a pay raise.
Rodney McKay was going to die, and Zelenka was definitely not going to get that raise. He should have seen it coming, he supposed. He was brilliant, devastatingly handsome, and insanely rich--of course he would have to die young. Some might even say it was fitting, but he was rather broken up about it himself.
"Hey, you okay?" John the sexy bartender shouted at him.
The wind was rushing by them both, slipping in and around John's small beaten down black Jeep. The cold air was hitting him like needles and he was sure sexy bartender was going at least 40 mph too fast. He forced a smile, though, and shouted back that he was fine.
John nodded, and Rodney could swear they started moving even faster. "Dear god," he whispered, huddling behind the windshield. He continued to scream out directions to John, feeling slightly sick. This Jeep was obviously a safety hazard, he decided, and his sexy bartender may very well be a menace.
When his three story beach house finally came into view, he breathed a sigh of relief. John slammed on the brakes, bringing the Jeep to a stop a perfect three inches from his security gate. "Punch in 720," he said.
John frowned, but did as he was told. "Do you always tell your security code to perfect strangers?"
"Well, you're perfect," Rodney said, "but I'd hardly call you a stranger."
John snorted and gunned the Jeep when the gate opened, knocking Rodney back into his seat. "Oh my god," he said. "Was that a line?"
Rodney gripped the door, holding on for his life. John swung around the circled driveway and pulled to another abrupt stop in front of his front steps. Rodney closed his eyes and thanked whatever forces had allowed him to make it home alive. "No," he said finally, turning to look at John, "but hey, you want to come up for some coffee? And just to clarify, that is a line."
John rolled his eyes, but he still shut off the engine.
Rodney stumbled out of the Jeep, looking at it a little distrustfully. John frowned when he caught the look. "What?" he asked. "Why are you staring at my Jeep like that?" He reached out and ran a hand over the hood, looking suspiciously like he was petting it.
"The car is a little…well, little, don't you think?"
John bristled, and went on the defensive. "It's in my budget," he said. "We're not all millionaires with perfect cherry red Ferraris."
Rodney cast him a bemused glance. "But I don't have a cherry red Ferrari," he said. "Or any Ferraris, for that matter."
John glanced over at him incredulously. "Why the hell not?"
Rodney shrugged. "Mostly I just have people drive me around in my limo. I don't really need a car."
John still looked disbelieving. "I love driving," he said. "I don't think I could stop if I wanted to."
"I did get that sense," Rodney said, before spinning and starting up his steps. "Coming?"
John followed him, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He told himself it was just because he wanted to see the inside of a millionaire's house, and had absolutely nothing to do with aforementioned millionaire's smile. That lasted right up until Rodney got the door open, and smiled at him so brilliantly that he almost tumbled back down the steps.
Rodney grabbed his wrist and tugged him inside before he could fall.
John was pretty sure he was supposed to be harder to get than this, but he had lost count of the number of glasses of wine, and he was feeling pretty damn easy. He had insisted, when Rodney brought wine out instead of coffee, that he could only have half a glass. It had miraculously remained full despite how much he drank, however, and he was starting to feel a bit tipsy.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" John asked.
"I'm only returning the favor," Rodney said guilelessly. "After all, you did get me drunk."
"Yes, but that's only because it was my bar and you asked for whiskey. As a general rule, I try not to turn down paying customers." John was still drinking anyway. Vaguely, he realized he really ought to stop.
Rodney leaned forward with interest. "I didn't realize you were the owner."
"Yep," John said, grinning. "I always wanted to help people when I was a kid, but when that didn't work out, I thought, hell, I'll just give them a place to get drunk."
"Charming," Rodney said with a nod. "More wine?"
John held out his glass and allowed Rodney to pour more. "So what is it you do?" he asked.
Rodney sighed. "We create new technologies. Talking toasters, interactive bathtubs, etc."
John's eyes widened. "Interactive bathtubs?"
Rodney's eyes lit up and he scooted closer. "Yes. Very cutting edge. Want to see mine?"
"What about your fiancé?" John asked, bemused. "Didn't she just leave you?"
Rodney frowned. "Yes, thanks for reminding me."
John pursed his lips. "How did you manage to forget?"
"We weren't that close," Rodney said, leaning in. "She's the daughter of the Atlantica Industries CEO. It was more like a business merger than a marriage, really. Honestly, I only seduced her to get the contract. I can hardly blame her running off."
"You seduced her?" John asked incredulously.
Rodney leaned back, affronted. "Is that so hard to believe? I thought I was doing pretty good seducing you."
John laughed, nearly dropping his wine glass, and Rodney took it from him and set it safely aside. He shot John a mild glare. "Okay, so she seduced me, because I was willing to pay more than the other guy, but that doesn't mean I'm not a notorious seducer."
"I'm sorry," John said, nodding. "Yes, you're doing great, really. This is a top rate seduction. All that's missing are the candles and the interactive bathtub."
"I can change that," Rodney whispered, but to his disgust, John laughed again. "What?" he snapped.
"You, you're just…" John trailed off laughing again.
Rodney crossed his arms. "Why are you laughing?"
"Well, I think I'm drunk, for one," John said. "For another, that 'seduction' voice of yours is really quite funny. You might not want to try so hard."
"What if I think you're worth the effort?" Rodney asked, blinking sweetly.
John pointed at him. "See, right there! You're not subtle."
"I'm not trying to be subtle," Rodney snapped. "Subtleties are a waste of time and an invitation for misunderstandings."
"Life is in the subtleties," John snapped, pointing at Rodney in drunken outrage.
Rodney frowned. "Maybe getting you drunk wasn't such a good idea," he said. "Can't you hold your liquor?"
"I don't usually drink," John confided, outrage forgotten. "Watching people fall off barstools tends to not make it seem so glamorous."
"Well that makes sense, I guess," Rodney said, world-weary. "I would take home the one bartender in New York that doesn't drink."
"I took you home," John corrected. "I was supposed to drop you off, but then you had to go and smile."
Brightening, Rodney leaned forward again. "I knew it!" he said. "No one can resist my smile."
"Well, I could," John said defensively, "I just didn't."
"Of course," Rodney said, nodding sympathetically. John reached for his wine again and Rodney slid it further away. "I don't think you're going to be able to drive home." He didn't sound terribly concerned about that, either.
John nodded. "This is the part where if I was at my bar, I'd be hiding keys," he agreed. "But I can sleep in my Jeep."
"Nonsense," Rodney said. "You can sleep with me." John's eyebrows raised and Rodney stuttered. "I mean here, in the house. A guest room, of course."
"I don't want to impose," John said. "I like my Jeep."
"No guest of mine is going to sleep in a Jeep," Rodney said. "Besides, it's open, and you'd freeze to death."
John frowned, having not thought about that. "Alright. Well, if you don't mind then. And you were the one that got me drunk."
Rodney sighed. "Yes, I'm terribly sorry about that. I really didn't think that one bottle of wine would do this to you."
John pointed at the coffee table, where two empty bottles sat on their sides. "Four," he said.
"Oops," Rodney said, before wincing. "At least there's only two."
"I see four," John said, counting them again.
"You must have been a mathematics teacher's worst nightmare," Rodney said, getting to his feet. "Let's get you up stairs before you pass out. I really don't want to have to go all Rhett Butler and carry you."
"My math teachers loved me," John protested.
Rodney pulled his arm over his shoulders and started tugging him to the two story winding staircase in his entryway. He looked up and winced. "Maybe the downstairs guest room would be a good idea?" he asked.
John nodded, and then fell against him and passed out.
The sun woke him up. He blearily opened his eyes, taking in the pristine white ceiling with a frown. His ceiling was off-white with a god awful teal trim. He then realized he was in the most comfortable bed he'd ever been in, and sat up. A huge down comforter surrounded him in the king size bed and when he glanced around, he realized the expertly decorated room was probably twice the size of his whole apartment.
That was when it clicked. He'd driven Rodney home, been seduced with wine, and then passed out. He looked down, glad to see he was still wearing his clothes, though his boots were missing and had apparently been thrown across the room. "God," he mumbled, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet.
He decided not to be embarrassed about the whole passing out thing since in his first meeting with Rodney McKay, he fell off his barstool and had to be peeled off the floor by his chauffeur. He wandered barefoot over to the door and peeked out. No one seemed to be around and he frowned, wandering back over to sit down on the floor and put his socks and boots back on.
He found his jacket thrown over a chaise lounge by the door and picked it up as he slipped out of the bedroom. This whole place was way too big, he decided. He felt like he was lost in a hotel. He was turning another corner, looking for exit signs, when he finally heard voices and followed them down.
He walked into a large banquet room, and Rodney, at the head of a long table, beamed over at him. "You're up!" he said, before whispering something to a young woman. She nodded and slipped out of the room.
"Yeah," John said warily. "Sorry about the whole passing out thing."
"No trouble, no trouble," Rodney said quickly.
John narrowed his eyes, looking at him more closely. He was wearing Hugh Hefner-esque robes with a scarf tied around his neck, and he had a pipe held loosely between his lips. He looked a little like he was posing for a magazine, and John had to resist the urge to shake his head clear. "Those things will kill you," he said, nodding to Rodney's pipe.
Momentarily confused, Rodney finally looked down at the pipe before removing it. "You don't like it?" he asked.
"No," John said, drawing the word out.
"I didn't light it anyway," Rodney said, tossing it aside. "It's mostly just decorative. I was going for a mood. Are you hungry?"
John looked down at his watch. It was twelve o'clock. "Actually, I'm running late. I have to be at work in an hour."
Visibly deflating, Rodney sprung to his feet. "Well, you can feel free to use the shower in the guest room if you need to freshen up before you go."
John bit his lip, considering it, before nodding. "Yeah, that would be great, actually. Thanks."
"I'll have a to-go breakfast prepared for your drive," Rodney said.
"You don't have to--" John started, but Rodney had already disappeared through the door. He sighed and turned back around, retracing his steps.
He found his guest room again, and slipped into the shower room, letting his clothes drop to the floor. He stepped inside the shower, and the glass door slid shut behind him--on its own. He stared at it for a moment, before looking around for any kind of controls, but all he could find was a shower head.
"Hey there, hot stuff, what kind of shower would you like today?"
John blinked, looking around for the source of the electronic voice. "Um…just a regular kind of shower, I guess," he said, and the water blasted from the shower head and nearly knocked him into the opposite wall.
"Lookin' good," the shower said.
Rodney changed out of his robe and put on a tailored suit, before combing his hair and winking at his reflection. So far the morning hadn't been proceeding exactly as planned. John didn't seem to be helpless to his charms yet, but he had faith. Everyone knew he was irresistible. He headed down the hall to John's guest quarters, wanting to check on him and not hoping to catch him unclothed at all, but John opened the door just as he reached it.
He was wearing his clothes again, but his hair was still wet, and water droplets were slipping down and collecting at his collar. Rodney froze, hypnotized by their progress.
"I think your shower was coming onto me," John told him, a little breathless.
Rodney blinked. "It has good taste."
John rolled his eyes, before pulling on his jacket and slipping out into the hall. "I'm very late," he said, before glancing in both directions. "How do you get out of here?"
"I, ah, actually wanted to talk to you, just for a minute, if that's okay?" Rodney asked.
John turned to face him and smiled wryly. "Yeah, okay. I'm kind of always late, anyway."
Rodney nodded, before glancing up at him again, almost shyly. "Well, see, I figure, our first date I passed out, and our second one you did, so what do you say the next time we get together we skip the alcohol?"
John frowned, looking thoughtful. "I don't think we've actually been on a date at all."
Rodney sighed impatiently. "I'm trying that whole subtlety thing. That was me asking you on one. See? What did I say, misunderstandings. I should have just asked if you want to date me."
John shrugged. "Okay."
"Okay?" Rodney asked, disbelievingly.
John narrowed his eyes playfully. "Is there some reason I should say no?"
Rodney quickly backtracked. "No, no of course not. I'm quite the catch. You'd be lucky to have me."
John grinned broadly. "Okay then, it's settled."
"Right, I'll pick you up, at the bar, then? What time?"
"Seven is good, I close early tonight," John said. "Not many people drink on Thursdays."
Rodney grinned and nodded. "Perfect! Well, come on, I don't want you to be late. I'll walk you out."
John smiled a little as Rodney took off, before jogging a bit to catch up with him. It took a good three minutes to finally make it back into the entrance hall, and as Rodney pushed the front doors open, John froze, staring disbelievingly outside.
"There's a cherry red Ferrari in your driveway," he said, and Rodney nodded. "I thought you said you didn't have one?"
"I don't," Rodney said, grinning brightly and tossing John a set of keys. "You do."
John looked at the keys in disbelief. "What?"
"I bought it for you," Rodney said, suddenly turning concerned. "Don't you like it?"
"You can't buy me a car!" John shouted. "We barely know each other…"
"You gave me a ride home," Rodney said. "I wanted to repay you."
John tossed the keys back. "I can't accept that, Rodney, I mean, it's a great thought but it's too much…"
Rodney frowned and gave him the keys back. "I want you to have it. It's a gift. You can't give back a gift."
"I can't accept this, it's wrong and I won't--"
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Just get in the damn car, would you--?"
John opened his mouth to protest again, when the cherry red Ferrari went up in flames in the most spectacular explosion he had ever seen. He and Rodney were both knocked backwards, simultaneously slamming against the doors before stumbling back to the ground. They watched, disbelievingly, as the car seemed to hover in the air for a moment before slamming back to the pavement.
Rodney stared at it for a full minute, before glancing over at John. "So, I'll pick you up at seven, right?"