No, I'm not suddenly crazily prolific...read on for an explanation of the two fics in one day!

Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: PG
Length: 3007 words
Summary: Episode coda for Season Four's "Trio", and pretty much AU from there. Humor, silliness, all the usual warnings for my fic apply.

Classic Rodney: the guy is so thrilled whenever he has what most would consider a normal social interaction, he has to go around for days afterward flaunting the fact.

A/N: I actually rediscovered this today in my unfinished fic files, and realized it was nearly done. With a little hemming and typing and some hand-holding by the lovely Sparktastic, the thing is accomplished! I literally wrote the bulk of this in August 2008, so it's very much set pre-season five and, in fact, before the season 4 finale. So consider it an AU of sorts. I think I also posted some part of this in a WIP amnesty post a long while back, so if it seems familiar that is probably why.

"It's called 'Who'd You Rather'," says Rodney, avid and leaning across the table and eating his pudding cup instead of his bean salad.

John twists his mouth. Classic Rodney: the guy is so thrilled whenever he has what most would consider a normal social interaction, he has to go around for days afterward flaunting the fact. It’s Katie and her weird ethical paradoxes all over again.

"See, it's just -- you ask someone, who'd you rather, and you name two people, and then the other person has to say who they'd rather, of those two people -- who'd they'd rather fool around with, that is -- and then it's their turn and --"

"Rodney," says John, losing patience. "I'm familiar with the game."

"Oh?" says Rodney, a little deflated. His expression brightens again almost immediately. "Oh, good, so -- okay. Who'd you rather -- Brad Pitt or George Clooney?"

John had just taken a sip of coffee and he's now forced to spit it back out into his mug, a little ungracefully. "Who -- what?" he says, blinking.

"Brad Pitt or George Clooney?" Rodney reiterates, a little impatiently. "If you had to, you know, with one of them -- say, like, to save the galaxy -- maybe one of them has a piece of technology you need to steal in order to jury-rig an explosive or -- okay, that part doesn't matter, I guess. Which one would you -- you know?"

John tilts his head and regards Rodney with a worried expression. Then it hits him: McKay was trapped with two women in a hole in the ground for hours and hours. And, being McKay, Rodney hadn't used the chance to parlay his way into a life-affirming threesome afterwards, but instead had brushed up his knowledge of the male celebrity hotness hierarchy. "Rodney," begins John, "that's not how --"

"What, are you not secure enough in your masculinity to play a dumb game?" crows Rodney, and John will bet anything that Rodney’s quoting someone else verbatim. Probably Keller.

John opens his mouth, trying to figure out how best to explain to Rodney that 'Who'd You Rather' was more enjoyable for straight men if you posited two women to choose between.

"No, no, no," Rodney says, waving his spoon. "Pitt or Clooney, go!"

John, startled, blurts out, "Clooney!"

"Hmm," says Rodney, frowning. "I'd've figured you for a Pitt fan. I mean, you can't fault his taste in women these days."

John needs proper blackmail material now, for his own protection, so he says, "Okay, okay -- how about…how about Batman or Spider-man?"

"What? No, you can't do fictional characters!" Rodney protests.

"I can't hypothetically force you to pretend to choose between two imaginary people," John says, flatly.

"Oh, well," huffs Rodney, "fine. Okay, which Batman? Adam West or Michael Keaton or Christian Bale?"

"Comic book Batman," challenges John.

"Two-dimensional Batman?" Rodney squawks, flailing, and then folds his arms and sits back, blowing out a breath of frustration. "Fine. Batman over Spider-man."

"Spider-man's a big whiner," agrees John.

"Okay, okay -- uh. Brian Greene or Neil deGrasse Tyson?" asks Rodney.

"Tyson," says John, automatically. "What about -- Tiger Woods or Adam Scott?"

"What?" Rodney grouses, squinting. "I don't know. Um. Adam Scott, mostly because I categorically reject people named 'Tiger'." He drums his fingers against the tabletop, thinking, but before he can ask John something else, Katie Brown hurries by with her tray held close, and Rodney drifts off into an unhappy reverie, and John is forced to change the subject entirely to pull Rodney back into the present.


The great thing about being on a team with two Pegasus natives -- other than the undeniable greatness of the cool factor -- is that Ronon and Teyla think everything he and Rodney say or do is weird. So when 'Who'd You Rather: The Slightly Gay Version' becomes John and Rodney's new prime-not-prime of time-wasting games, they don't even look askance.

"Anakin Skywalker or Han Solo?"

"Solo," John says, offhanded, as they stroll across yet another field on M4T-232. It's a cake-walk, a trade mission with the Pegasus equivalent of the Get-Along Gang, so John feels okay about having Teyla trundling along with them, tac vest straining and her P-90 balanced on her belly.

"Really? I'd go for Skywalker. I mean, not that I'm a cougar or anything," Rodney hastens to explain, "just -- that edge of evil bad-ass, it's kind of hot."

John contemplates this for a minute, then allows it with a nod. "Lando Calrissian or Chewbacca?"

Rodney grins crookedly and shoots a glance over at their own Chewy, who's frowning towards the horizon where they can see a flock of birds circling and rising. "Hair issues aside," says Rodney, with a daring gesture in Ronon's direction, "Chewbacca all the way."

"Really?" says John, startled and feeling his ears heat up a little with surprise. "Huh." He surveys Ronon too, surreptitiously, and has to agree. "Yeah, me too."

"Chuck or -- um -- what's his name? Asian Chuck?" Rodney says, taking another turn because John's too slow on the uptake.

John smirks. "Phil."

"Really? Phil?" Rodney grunts, then says, "Well?"

"Uh." John hesitates. 'Who'd You Rather: The Slightly Gay Version' has unexpectedly morphed into 'Who'd You Rather: The Slightly Gay Co-Workers Version'. It's more than a little weird.

"I'd go for Chuck," says Rodney, helpfully. "Canadians are good at keeping people warm at night."

John's ears go even hotter, and he forces an eye roll. "Fine, then -- I'll take Phil."

"You don't know what you're missing," says Rodney smugly, and John is abruptly struck by the thought of crowding into a bedroll with McKay, the solid heat of him, the breadth of his shoulders and the shift of his knees. Rodney would probably be pretty good at keeping people warm, John thinks, unwillingly.

"Zelenka or Parrish," John asks, in self-defense.

"Ugh, Parrish, no contest. Zelenka's apparently got some weird hair fetish, though -- maybe you should pick him."


"Stackhouse or Bates?" says John sleepily in the light of the campfire, later on.

"Stackhouse," says Rodney. "He has nice arms."

John has never thought much about arms. He looks down at his own, crossed and limp with exhaustion. They're a little hairy. He cuts a glance to his left, checks out McKay's arms.

"Lorne or --" Rodney trails off. "Huh, actually -- I can't think of any other military people." He snaps his fingers. "Cadman."

"Cadman's a woman!" John protests warmly, even as he realizes that he’s missed his chance to steer Rodney down the road to heterosexuality.

"So -- Cadman, then?" pursues Rodney, unbothered.

"Of course Cadman," John says, as emphatically as possible.

Rodney shudders. "Not me, I'd definitely go with Lorne."

"Over Cadman," John says, clarifying.

"Yeah, Lorne over Cadman," Rodney affirms. "Lorne's got a nice body and he's much more pleasant."

John pats around for a stick and pokes at the fire for a while, disconcerted.


Rodney comes into John's quarters and lounges on his bed and fiddles with his magazines and finally, when he notices John's raised eyebrow, says, "Oh. I'm hiding. From Carter."

"Performance evaluations?" asks John, sympathetically.

Rodney makes a face and unzips his jacket, getting comfortable. They're quiet for a while, John tapping away at his latest AAR and Rodney fidgeting, bored.

"Okay, so," says Rodney, "Woolsey or Landry?"

John hesitates, then closes his laptop and turns on his chair to face Rodney. "McKay," he begins, then stops. He scrubs a hand through his hair. "Enough with the stupid game."

"I know," grimaces Rodney, "Hobson's choice, right? I mean, if the universe hung in the balance, maybe I could do Woolsey. In the dark. With a lot of ground rules. But I'd still probably rather kill myself first."

"No, listen," says John, sighing, "it's just getting a bit." He pauses, bites his lip. Maybe he can divert Rodney onto a new course. "Okay. Angelina Jolie or Scarlett Johansson?"

"Angelina," says Rodney easily, "but you didn't answer mine yet."

"Landry," sighs John. "Look, McKay -- it's a girls' game, okay?"

"What?" says Rodney. "I know that. Where do you think I learned it?"

"No, it's the girls' version of the game," explains John. "With guys, you don't name two men and choose one, you name two women."

"Well," says Rodney, impatient, "if you want to limit yourself like that, but it hardly seems to be in the spirit of the game."

"The game," John bites out, annoyed, "isn't about which guy disgusts you less, it's about which woman you find sexier. It's fantasy, McKay, not worst-case-scenario."

Rodney goes all slack-jawed as he grasps what most twelve-year-olds would intuitively understand. "Oh," he says, and flops back against the wall. "Oh." Then he blinks over at John. "So, uh. Carter or Keller?" Rodney's speaking too quickly, hurrying to get it right.

John lets his approving smile go a little dirty. "Do I have to choose just one?" he says, and Rodney beams back, just as dirty, and it's good and safe and fun again, and John stuffs his weird disappointment down as far as he can so they can get on with avoiding Carter and her stupid performance reviews.


It’s three days past Teyla’s due date and they’re all a little edgy about it. For weeks, it’s felt like this huge thing could happen at any second, like the sunny version of waiting for hive ships to attack Atlantis, but – nothing. John feels almost resentful, like Teyla has been lying to them all along: there’s no baby, there never will be a baby, it’s all a ploy for attention.

“Spicy food,” says Ronon, and pushes a bottle of hot sauce across the table at her.

“I have already tried it,” sighs Teyla. “It did not agree with me or the baby.”

“Long walk?” suggests Rodney, and it’s getting to him too, because no way would Rodney suggest a long walk under normal circumstances.

“I walked for two hours yesterday,” says Teyla, and shifts in her chair with a grimace. “My back is very sore and my feet hurt.”

John is thinking in cartoon physics by now. He picks up a ketchup bottle and overturns it, giving it a couple of healthy whacks on the base and watching a puddle of ketchup plop onto his plate. He looks up from the puddle with an arched eyebrow and Teyla rolls her eyes. He puts the bottle down, spreads his arms wide, and leans back in his chair. “Just putting it out there,” he says, and Rodney kicks him under the table.

They’re all quiet for a moment, Teyla stretching and wincing at the futility of trying to get comfortable, Ronon stealing one of John’s fries, Rodney clearly racking his brains for another solution like the fate of Atlantis is on the line.

“Sex!” exclaims Rodney, breaking the silence. “Sex, that’s supposed to – oh.”

“Good one,” mutters Ronon, as Teyla’s expression goes dark.

“Not that I was offering,” stumbles Rodney, and hastily adds, “not that I wouldn’t! I mean, you’re very – large – in a maternal glowing way! But I would definitely still – though I’m not, I’m not hitting on you, certainly not in your condition, but certainly someone – someone else, anyone with a pulse really – someone would, ah.”

John hefts the ketchup bottle again and waggles his eyebrows at Teyla.

“McKay,” says Ronon, “shut up.”

“Shutting up now,” says Rodney meekly. There’s an awkward pause.

“So,” says John, restless, addressing Teyla, “who’d you rather – Lorne or Chuck?”

Teyla understands the game by now, and knew that John’s trying to dispel the tension, not suggest potential partners. She smiles wearily and says, “Lorne.”

“Me too,” says Ronon, approvingly.

“Chuck,” says Rodney, eager to steer away from his faux pas.

“Okay,” says Ronon, “McKay or Sheppard?”

“That’s not –” squawks Rodney, but John elbows him and leans closer, interested.

Teyla looks more animated than she has in two days, a smile curving over her mouth. John gently nudges Teyla’s foot under the table to get her attention, then winks at her and bites his lower lip. No harm in trying to sway the vote.

Teyla looks vaguely scandalized, and John, startled, is about to reassure her that he was kidding, jesus, he’s not about to actually – and then he feels the drip-patter on the toe of his boot, and Teyla’s pushing her chair away from the table, and Rodney’s saying “What? What?” and Ronon’s got Teyla around the waist, helping her to the infirmary, and John’s left sitting at the table with a soggy warm foot resting in a puddle of amniotic fluid.

“Oh god,” says Rodney, paling as he realizes what has just transpired. “Oh my god, she totally did that to avoid answering the question.”

“Rodney,” says John, aggrieved.

“She was going to pick you anyway,” sighs Rodney. “Everyone picks you.”


John blames his distraction – Teyla giving rise to new life and all that stuff – for the fact that it’s hours and hours later before he catches what McKay said.

“Everyone picks me?” John whispers urgently, because – Rodney can’t have meant that – surely he hasn’t been, well, asking around.

“What?” says Rodney, eyes fixed down at Torren’s angry-looking wrinkly face.

“Everyone? Have you done a poll?” hisses John.

Rodney’s attention clicks up for a moment. “Hardly. Just – a few. Keller, Carter”—

John makes a choked noise because there are some things a guy isn’t supposed to know about his CO, for the love of christ –

“—Oh, and Ronon, and Chuck, and I think – yes. I’m pretty sure Lorne, definitely Cadman and that blonde, who’s that blond with the – the perfect little, what was it, smile? She picked you, big surprise. And Asian Chuck. And Radek.” Rodney’s looking at Torren again, his voice taking on the sing-song sugary tone that newborns bring out in the sanest of adults.

“Rodney,” grates John, “you can’t go around asking everyone if they’d like to sleep with me.”

“You make it sound like I’m pimping you out,” protests Rodney. “It’s just a harmless game, no one’s actually acting on anything.” He strokes Torren’s cheek. “Why is it cute when babies are fat?”

John is, literally, speechless. He’s trying to make words come out of his mouth but nothing’s working.

“Anyway, like I said, they all choose you, so I don’t see why you should be offended,” says Rodney. “Who’s a big boy? Who’s a handsome boy? Who’s – oh, crap – no, it’s okay, I’ve got him, I’ve got him! Uncle Rodney’s got you, his hand just slipped for a second there.”

Torren is wailing – the kid has a good survival instinct, John’s gotta hand it to him – and so Keller comes to take the baby back to Teyla.

John finds his voice, finally. “Just -- stop asking everyone that question, okay?”

“Oh, aye-aye, Colonel Party Pooper,” Rodney grumbles.


So Keller would choose John over Rodney, and so would Carter, and Ronon, and Chuck, and maybe Lorne, and definitely Cadman, and the blonde with the perfect smile, and Asian Chuck (whose name is Phil), and Zelenka. John doesn’t feel flattered, like Rodney seems to think he should. He just mostly feels surprised. Of course, not everyone is open to Rodney’s particular weird brand of, what, attractiveness? And even if they are, they’d have to get past Rodney’s personality, which is, okay, off-putting at the best of times.

“Sorry, not even if I duct-taped his mouth shut, and blindfolded myself,” says Keller. “Maybe he grows on you, though. I’m still pretty new around here.”

Ronon says, “Are you kidding me? McKay? Anyone but McKay.”

“Maybe I could force myself to choose Rod, from parallel universe,” says Zelenka, “but our Rodney is –” and Zelenka curls his lip, like he’s actually repulsed.

And John’s not asking Carter or Lorne or Phil, or anyone else in the military, no way, so John brings it up the next time he visits Teyla and Torren. “Seriously, you can’t imagine ever wanting to be with McKay over someone else?” he asks. “Like, say to save the galaxy?”

Teyla reaches across to tuck the trailing end of Torren’s blanket in, two days a mother and already so confident. “Perhaps it’s not important whether I would choose him,” she says. “Who would you choose?”

“Between me and him?” asks John, smirking. “Kind of a weird question.”

“Or between Rodney and Ronon,” suggests Teyla. “Or Rodney and Radek. Rodney and Carter?”

“Oh,” says John, because the answer is so obvious, he can’t believe he’s never thought it through before. Rodney or Ronon – Rodney. Rodney or Radek – Rodney. Rodney or Carter – Rodney. Rodney or Batman (two-dimensional or not) – Rodney. Rodney, every time. Rodney, in every case, if it meant the fate of the universe or maybe even if it didn’t.



“Who’d you rather,” asks John when he finds Rodney alone in his quarters. “Me or Radek?”

“You,” says Rodney, still typing, not looking up.

“Me or Lorne?”

“You,” Rodney answers, still not looking up.

“Me or Ronon?”

“Definitely you,” Rodney huffs, cracking a little smile at his screen.

“Me or Carter?” John asks, sensing this is probably an important point in the line of questioning.

Rodney stops typing, swivels in his chair to look over at John. John is seated on Rodney’s bed, trying not to look particularly interested in Rodney’s answer. “Huh,” says Rodney, and then his eyes go wide, and he doesn’t need to say it.

“Yeah, that one surprised me too,” says John, and reaches over, gets Rodney’s knee under his palm so he can tug Rodney’s rolling chair a little closer. “One more question -- when would you rather?”

“When?” asks Rodney, his voice wobbling a little.

“Yeah, when,” says John, and pulls his hand a little higher on Rodney’s thigh. “Like, would you rather wait until the galaxy is in peril, or would you just choose the first chance that presents itself?”

“Definitely,” says Rodney, swallowing hard, “definitely, I’d have to say...” And he leans in, crosses the space between them, and makes his choice.