Grace

Title: Grace

Word Count: 705

Summary: Rodney isn't very graceful. Or is he?

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: John/Rodney

No one who is acquainted with Rodney McKay would think of him as "graceful." He's more likely to be compared to a bull in a china shop than any sort of grace.

But John counts himself as more than an acquaintance of Rodney, and he's seen those moments when his hands fly over a keyboard, deftly typing faster than most people can talk. He's seen Rodney rewire a jumper on the fly, never making a mistake. He's seen him lay a soft hand on Elizabeth's shoulder when she needs a moment of comfort, and he knows.

He knows that Rodney wears his offensiveness and obliviousness like a shield. If no one can see through them, I can't be hurt is Rodney's silent mantra, and he wears it with long practice, if less comfort than he used to.

But with their long isolation, Rodney has been forced out of that comfort zone, and out into a place where he has to interact with people. He's clumsy, yes, but he's learning.

He's learning in the field, too, learning to stay silent when John warns him with his eyes. Learning to carry a gun, to shoot it when he has to, to not flinch when it's John doing the shooting.

Not even John would claim that Rodney moves with much grace, though he thinks that that's part of Rodney's camouflage. He's seen the moments of exception, and wonders privately if what he's seeing is the true measure of Rodney's strength - strength that Rodney's learned not to show for fear of something, something that's unspecified and dangerous.

Quietly, he reinforces those moments, giving Rodney praise in the shape of a power bar, or time in the lab. Gradually, some of the familiar hunching of Rodney's back falls away, and he seems to become more confident when it comes to physical challenges. John is careful, even when Rodney fails, not to criticize harshly, because he's seen Rodney withdraw when that happens and he's trying to pull him out, not push him back.

He's insanely proud the day that Rodney volunteers - volunteers - to be the first across the bridge that looks sturdy enough, but is lacking handholds or indeed anything other than the narrow footpath. He couches it in terms of being the most likely to need rescue, but his face is lacking the familiar pinch of fear, and John has no choice but to agree, to let him go.

Halfway across, Rodney stumbles, and John feels his heart catch in his throat, but Rodney drops to his hands and knees and stubbornly crawls forward without calling for help. Ronon is poised to go to him, but John shakes his head, watching carefully. Unless Rodney asks, he's not going to interfere.

And he makes it, with no complaint and little fanfare, pulling himself to his feet on the far side, and even from this distance, John can see the look on his face, one full of soft joy.

John wants to be next to him, right now, but he's the leader and in this case it means that he has their six, so he sends across Ronon and then Teyla and only then crosses himself. When he finally stands next to Rodney, he pulls out a chocolate bar and hands it over. "Nice job," is all he says, but Rodney's face tells him that he knows it's more than that.

That night, there's a whisper of sound at his door, and then it opens, showing a Rodney who's fidgety and anxious, and at first he's concerned for the city, and then he's worried for Rodney himself, but as Rodney takes a deep breath and leans forward, John thinks, oh. Oh...

Rodney's kiss is nothing like the man that most of Atlantis knows. It's skillful and slow and gentle. Quite possibly, the only person that wouldn't be surprised by it is the one at the receiving end. John knew that Rodney was capable of all of those things, and he opens his mouth compliantly and lets Rodney explore his mouth, still slow, still gentle.

Later, as he's kneeling in the bed, with Rodney moving over him, John thinks again to himself, grace.

Rodney's got more than enough of it.