out_there | SGA Fic: The Chart

Title: The Chart
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: Rodney misses John more than Cheetos and cappuccino muffins.
Disclaimer: Dude, even the chart wasn't my idea.
Notes: Inspired by

spaggel's drawing here but too long for a comment-drabble (just over the character count). Unbeta'd and flufftastic.

The Chart

Regardless of the circumstances, break-ups were difficult and painful. Sometimes they were caused by drunken flirting with a pretty girl, sometimes because the other person would not stop squeezing your toothpaste in the *middle* (even when they knew you hated that) and sometimes they were the logical result of knowing the relationship would lead to bad places.

John had received that flash of knowledge while watching some trigger-happy Genii hold a gun to Rodney's head. In that instant he'd *known* -- without any doubt -- that he wouldn't think clearly with Rodney in danger. That if it came to a choice between Rodney's life and the lives of thousands, he'd choose Rodney.

So he'd done the only sane, logical thing: break up.

He'd expected it to be difficult, yes, and painful, but he hadn't expected Rodney to fight so hard. To come back late to his quarters and find Rodney waiting, with actual meat (hunted from the mainland) and wine and candles. To send him carefully worded emails, comparing John to string theory and particle accelerators -- and John spent far too much time in the labs if those comparisons made him smile and grip his laptop tightly. To save an extra helping of fries that John would have missed by the time he got to the mess.

It was hard to tell Rodney to leave his room, that they were over. It was difficult to write a one-sentence email in reply, when John wanted to gush about flying so fast the G's would kill you and how that was nothing compared to kissing Rodney. Pushing that bowl of fries back to Rodney's plate was beyond painful.

He tried not to notice the shadows under Rodney's eyes, the defeated slouch or the way Rodney's gaze followed him in meetings, on missions, in the mess. He *tried* not to, but he did.

So when Rodney caught him loitering outside the labs and ushered him inside, wearing that same tired, hopeless expression, John followed. He told himself it was out of curiosity, out of professional courtesy, but he knew it was simpler. He knew it was because he missed Rodney. Missed the insults and the sarcasm, missed being there and seeing Rodney's face light up with the latest Ancient gizmo.

Rodney walked him through the main lab and into one of the smaller meeting rooms. There was a chart projected onto the whiteboard, three red bars stretching up. When John looked closely, it was titled: "Rodney's Misses Most Chart".

"I've decided to be logical about this," Rodney said, pulling out a pointer and standing beside the whiteboard. "I miss you. I keep thinking about you and wanting you. So for a week, I recorded every time I thought about you, every time I wished for something I didn't have."

Rodney pointed to the right-side bar, the lowest of the three. "This represents Cheetos. I love Cheetos."

Then he pointed to the middle bar. "This is cappuccino muffins. If we got a shipment of them, I'd steal them all because I'm not willing to share anything I love that much. The others wouldn't appreciate them."

John wanted to look away and ignore the painstakingly neat chart, the broken expression in Rodney's eyes. He'd done the right thing: he'd put his responsibilities ahead of his personal desires. He shouldn't have to face down *charts*.

"This," Rodney said, tapping the pointer against the left-side bar, the one that toppled over the others, "this is you. This is how much I miss you. Now come back to me."

John scrubbed his hands over his face. He wanted this -- God, did he want this -- but he was trying to do the right thing, the thing that would keep everyone safe. "And if I say no?"

"The next slide has a pie graph, showing how much time I'm wasting thinking about you and trying to get you back. I have a backlog of reports to wade through and at least three different scientists who are in way over their heads, and I don't have time to do my duties because I'm thinking about you. This is not an efficient way to run a science department."

When John looked up, Rodney had his arms folded, chin lifted in challenge. "It's my fault that you're behind on paperwork?"

"It's your fault that we'll all die in some horribly disfiguring explosion because I'll be too distracted to notice minor power fluctuations." Rodney stepped forward, like he knew he was winning, and poked John's chest with the pointer. "This useless emotional drama is sapping my IQ points. I'm not sleeping, I'm not thinking clearly, and I think it's your duty as military leader to ensure that the city is protected from threats inside and out."

"Like mooning scientists?" John asked, feeling himself start to smile. "That's in my job description?"

"It's your duty," Rodney said and kissed him. It was like a nuclear bomb, explosive and so bright John had to close his eyes. He opened them when Rodney pulled back, and saw Rodney's smug grin. "Besides, I deserve it. I made the chart."