John is pretty sure that the reason Rodney interacts so poorly with the physical world is that he’s not built for it. Rodney’s strength is cerebral; he experiences the world wholly inside his mind. The plodding drudgery of physical existence confuses one who works at speeds far faster than simple human timekeeping and he’s good enough at that thinking thing that his entire body rebels against the perfunctory acts of survival. Rodney’s body needs a keeper, and Rodney’s mind isn’t particularly interested in the job.

That’s ok, though, because John likes taking care of the upkeep of one Rodney McKay. He likes surreptitiously monitoring the man’s food intake so he doesn’t fall into a hypoglycemic fit or accidentally eat a lemon drop. John figures that if he gets really good at watching out for Rodney, the man will stop playing his oft-used recording of Things Rodney Can’t Have or Do. John also doesn’t mind one bit pointing out all the small scrapes and bumps Rodney ignores when he’s busy complaining about one big lump on his forehead. Rodney frequently doesn’t realize John does that, which amuses John to no end. Mostly, though, John loves reminding Rodney that living in the physical world is just as much fun, as entertaining and as fulfilling as the theoretical one that resides nowhere specifically but occasionally in Rodney’s own mind.

John’s gotten pretty good at reminding Rodney of such things. The initial step was banter—a challenge for John, who had pretty much given up chitchat when he’d been sent to Antarctica. When John first met Rodney, he was drawn in by the man’s incessant stream of insults, epithets and revelatory prattle. To John, Rodney was his own personal Ancient artifact, practically begging to be deciphered. Forget the musty, weirdly rust-free stuff sitting around Atlantis; Rodney was speaking the same words that John was but somehow saying completely different things. When he was making sense, so to speak, it was in the form of sharply honed diatribes against everything in particular. It was Rodney’s mind reaching out for a counterpart, a call waiting for a response. John was happy to oblige, since every new thing Rodney said helped John figure out what Rodney was.

So John started picking on Rodney. He baited the guy, sending him into paroxysms of laughter and ire, rage and hilarity. They got along insofar as they constantly argued. Rodney insisted that his world-behind-his-eyes was his home, and John likewise stated that while such a thing might be true, the world between Rodney’s eyes and John’s had much to offer.

The arguing continued until one fine day when John decided that maybe Rodney needed proof. After all, Rodney was a scientist, and scientists love proof—don’t they? John could argue with Rodney until he was blue in the face, but in the end, Rodney needed proof—evidence that John wasn’t wrong, that the physical world had something to offer him besides anaphylactic shock, not-fainting from low blood sugar and the usual array of Jerks Who Want to Kill Us.

That’s when John got serious. Rodney was a master of thinking, and wasn’t too bad at saying what he thought. John, too, was good at thinking even if not up to Rodney’s level, but his skill was in doing what he was thinking. That’s why one day when Rodney was railing against some unnamed futility, John touched.

It wasn’t much, just a steady hand pressing warmly and firmly against smooth, bare skin. The touch didn’t ask anything, didn’t demand or even suggest—it was just there, real in its presence and patient in its quiescence. Even so, that one touch made Rodney pause.

The interruption in whatever Rodney’s mind had been doing lasted long enough for John to get another touch in, this one in the form of lips gliding across Rodney’s jaw line. The hand that John had pressed up against Rodney’s neck brought them together. As far as kisses went, it wasn’t strictly speaking the best John had ever had, but it was by far the best first-kiss he’d ever experienced, which made him more than a bit happier than he’d been expecting. If this first clumsy attempt made his knees shocky and his throat tighten, what would the hundredth feel like?

John caught himself doing what Rodney always did--thinking when he should be acting--and that pause gave Rodney enough time to blink, pull back and start muttering. John was inordinately pleased that what was coming out of Rodney’s mouth was the kind of disjointed babble that would only make sense with a novel’s worth of background—the sort of thing John would be sure to remember because in a decade or so it would all fall into place. Words like twit, Sam, idiot and several obscure deities fluttered and fell around them and then John decided that he could hear more of that later, so he went back to kissing Rodney.

Rodney didn’t have much experience kissing, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t both appreciative and attentive. John felt the slightest twinge of concern that Rodney would soon overtake him in the expertise department. That concern wasn’t rooted in any outmoded macho fear of not being the superlative lover, but in the very real possibility that John himself wouldn’t survive if Rodney got really good at it. He’d seen what Rodney was capable of when he got enthusiastic—hell, the man could design nuclear bombs from paperclips and instant coffee.

Strangely enough, the idea of being utterly consumed by Rodney was even more thrilling for John than it was scary. He couldn’t think much more about it, though, because Rodney’s fingers were digging into his back and that solidly warm body was pressing him into a slightly chilly wall and John was having a hard time thinking anything other than more-please-now. Rodney didn’t seem to be thinking very much either, if the way he was taking control of John counted for anything. He was here, fully real and corporeal with his mind completely enmeshed in being, and that’s exactly what John wanted, so John was happy.

And maybe, if he was a very good boy and played this right, he could entice Rodney to come wade in the now of the physical world more often. Like every night, after the other scientists have gone to their quarters to wish they were home. Then John could sneak into Rodney’s room and they could do this again, get Rodney grounded in John and John sent spiraling into the netherworld of where-Rodney-lives.

John thinks maybe they’re both gonna like where they end up.