We're gonna Need a Bigger boat

Title: Marrying the Marquis
Author: zoemathemata
Fandom/Genre: SGA/Harlequin
Pairing(s): John/Rodney
Rating: R
Word Count: ~46,000 [IDEK what happened.]
A/N: Written for undermistletoe Harlequin week. I repeat: HARLEQUIN. Plot contrivances! Compromising Positions! Virgin!Rodney! Fantastic first time sex! Characters that are sometimes a little OOC for plot purposes! If you don’t take it too seriously, you should enjoy it [I hope!].
And of course, my thanks to the Princess Bride, from which I stole the clergyman who married Buttercup and the Prince. Other references - the _____shire which I stole from Northanger Abby, blink and you miss it reference to the Hitchhiker's guide to the Galaxy. If you see something else you recognize, I probably liberated it.
Seriously, I signed up a month ago and cranked this out. If I'd had longer, I'd have resolved a few things I left hanging. My apologies to my readers for not being a better plotter! Unbeta'd. All mistakes mine. all bad plot mine.



John Sheppard raised his collar against the rain and nudged his horse forward through the mud. It was another hour to the Athos Inn and there would be no stopping until he got there.

The road was deserted and desolate, everyone else having had the sense to not journey out in the dreary and damp weather. Sheppard didn’t mind the rain. True, it was cold and wet, but it was better than the heat which always made him think of battle and blood.

And death.

So he was glad for the rain, the grey overcast sky and clouds hanging low and dark.

Though he felt bad for the horse.

After another hour of the horse mucking her way down the road, he finally found himself at the slightly worn Athos Inn’s small barn. Despite being soaked to the bone, he took the time to unmount his ginger steed and give her a solid brushing down for getting him to the place in one piece, despite the treacherous road.

He murmured nonsensical words and soft cooing noises as he dried her off and set her up in a stable of dry hay, waving away the stable hand who was confused and somewhat distressed at seeing a gentleman take care of his horse, instead of handing it off.

Finally done, he made his way to the entrance proper, squinting in the dark light of the interior as he stepped inside.

“Good heavens, is that you, Sheppard?”

His eyesight was good in the dark, but it took time to adjust and John didn’t have time to recognize who was approaching him before they were clapping a solid hand on his back and letting out a low chuckle.

“It is you. Well done my boy, what are you doing out in weather like this?”

Finally being able to put a face to the voice and the solid weight of a hand on his shoulder, John extended his hand for a firm shake. “Your Grace,” he said respectfully, tipping his head in greeting to the Duke of Carmichael.

“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you. When was it last?”

John saw the exact moment his Grace remembered the last time they had met and it wasn’t under pleasant circumstances. It had been after John’s return from battle.

After John’s return without his childhood friend and the Duke’s son, Mitch.

Though he tried, he couldn’t think of Mitch without thinking of the last time he saw him, broken and bloody on the battlefield, too long gone for anything to be done.

He saw the memory of their last meeting, at Mitch’s memorial flash over the Duke’s face and he schooled his own features into one of sympathy and understanding. He couldn’t let the Duke see his own grief over the loss; he could only be a sturdy shoulder for the old man to lean on.

“Well,” the Duke finally said. “Too long at any rate. You should come by the estate. Her Ladyship would be glad to see you. She still hardly believes you’ve grown out of your spindly limbs. Although I daresay, you never did grow out of your cowlicks.” He tipped his head and raised his eyes to John’s unruly hair and smiled.

John gave a ghost of a smile back remembering Mitch’s kind hearted mother, the Lady Marion. “If her ladyship would have me, I would be honored to visit sometime.”

“You can be sure of it. What brings you round these parts?”

“I’m off to visit the estate at ______shire, where my brother is presently situated.”

“Ah, young David. I heard he caught himself a lovely bride.”

John nodded once, immediately thinking of his new sister-in-law. “I daresay he did. She’s a fine woman.”

“The estate has been too long without a woman’s touch, your mother, God rest her soul, was sorely missed upon her passing. Broke the mold when they made her.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now,” said the duke, clapping him once on the shoulder again, “You will join us for dinner.”

“I am sorry, your Grace, but I’ve not brought appropriate attire with me. I’ve only traveling clothes in my satchel.”

“Traveling on horseback?” the Duke said incredulously and then laughed. “My dear boy you never cease to amaze me. A man of your stature should be in a carriage. Tell me you brought a stablehand or a valet with you at least.”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

“Oh, John. We shall have to get you used to society again. I see we’ve left you on your own for too long and you’ve got the way of a savage about you.” The Duke winked at him conspiratorially. “Her ladyship will have a good laugh at the thought of you traveling in the rain, and then she’ll want to send you off with several of her shawls to keep you warm. Now,” said the Duke clapping his hands together, “ I will tell the innkeeper to set us up in a private dinning room for dinner.”

“My Lord…” John began but the duke cut him off and wagged a finger at him.

“I shant take no for an answer, dear boy. Dinner I say and dinner it will be. Marion shall never forgive me if she finds out you were here and I didn’t have you for dinner,” he said congenially. “Although I doubt she’ll be too happy to add another male to the mix. She’s had enough of hunting and politics.”

“You are traveling with companions?” John inquired with an inward groan. He enjoyed the Duke’s company and that of his wife, but he wasn’t sure he was up to ‘entertaining.’

“Her ladyship’s nephew, Meredith McKay, and my second cousin, Baron Calvin Kavanaugh. Do you know either of them?”

“I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting either of their acquaintances.”

At the word ‘pleasure’, the duke blushed slightly and muttered something about ‘scientists’. “Yes. Well. It will be good for them to have some… outside company.”

John raised an eyebrow. “As you wish. What time is dinner served”

“Whenever I ring the bell,” the duke replied with a laugh and wink. “Take your time. Dry off and have a nip of brandy or two. Shall we say seven? I’ll have one of the servants direct you to the room.”

John dipped his head again in formal acknowledgement. “I look forward to it, my lord.”

***

“I assure you heartily, Meredith, you will find Sheppard quite the engaging conversationalist.”

Rodney frowned. “My Lord, if I may be permitted to speak of it again, I would much prefer to dine in my quarters tonight. I’m close to a breakthrough and…”

“Nonsense!” his aunt, the Lady Marion interrupted as she took her seat at the dining table. “Honestly, Mer, you would do well to get out and about in society. Sheppard is a Marquis and quite a handsome one at that!” she said with a gently wink.

“Yes. I’ve heard,” said Rodney meaningfully.

Everyone in the ton knew of Marquis Sheppard. His dashing good looks and heroic war history were exceedingly spoken of in all the higher circles. Handsome, brave and filthy rich. What wasn’t there to like?

His notorious status as a ladies man did nothing to dissuade the pushy mamas of the ton from thrusting their sons and daughters in front of him at every opportunity. Although he appeared to eschew more… naive company, with whom he was never allowed alone for appearances sake, he did appear to have had several tendre attachments. Most recently and notably he had not only been linked with the Widow Wier, but also with the Viscount Evan Lorne.

In a shocking and scandalous twist that still had society in a tizzy, it appeared that now the Widow Wier was engaged to be married to the Viscount Lorne.

None of the parties had ever been heard to publicly comment on it, but the gossip mill churned nonetheless.

“Well, then. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful evening with us tonight. And Baron Kavanaugh as well,” the Lady Marion said. Thankfully, her husband was still assisting her into her chair and she missed the fantastic roll of his eyes.

“Your Grace,” Rodney said with a sigh. “I must respectfully request to decline. As I said, I believe I’m very close to a breakthrough.”

“Meredith, your aunt wishes us all to have a lovely evening. And so we shall,” said the Duke.

Rodney frowned as he saw his uncle rub at his shoulder with a grimace.

“Are you well, my lord?”

Lady Marion’s eyes snapped up to her husband. “Victor? Are you ill?”

The duke waved both of them away with a hand. “Fine, fine. Touch of the arthritic pains. Nothing more.”

Rodney paused a moment longer and then took his seat after the duke was seated. “If you’re sure?”

“I am. Now, what is this breakthrough, Mer… sorry, Rodney.”

Rodney knew his uncle was trying hard to remember to refer to him by his middle name. His first name, bestowed on him by his father was no favorite of his and he was desperately trying to get his family to use his middle name instead. It was an uphill battle.

Rodney opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by the arrival of Baron Kavanaugh. “Oh, I’m sure Merry doesn’t want to bore you all with the details,” he said as he swept into the room, bowing quickly at the Lady Marion and the duke. “Astronomy is well and fine, but it’s hardly applicable in daily life. Now, alchemy, there’s a science! A true natural philosophy.”

Rodney turned sharply on Kavanaugh. “Are you mad by birth or do you have to work exceedingly hard at it!”

“Meredith!” his aunt exclaimed.

“Your ladyship,” Rodney tipped his head in slight apology. “But I cannot in good conscience sit here and listen to this drivel. Alchemy! A science! I’ve not heard anything more absurd since the Church refused to believe Galileo and imprisoned him.”

Kavanaugh smiled tightly and patted Rodney on the arm. “Merry, you are good for a chuckle.”

Rodney’s face went from its normal color to flashing purple in three seconds flat. He pointed his finger at Kavanaugh. “I’ll make you a deal, Kavanaugh. I’ll start being kind to you as soon as you manage to turn lead into gold.”

“So it shall be just in time for the honeymoon then?”

Rodney was just about to haul back and slap him when a cough was heard from the doorway. He looked up and there he was, the Marquess John Sheppard. Smirking lazily and slouching, (slouching in the presence of the duke no less!) against the door frame. His languid hazel eyes flicked over the small dinner party and Rodney could have sworn he could see each person register for an impossibly short time on Sheppard’s face. Fondness for the duchess, respect for the duke, dismissal for Kavanaugh and for Rodney…

Rodney wasn’t sure what it was he saw.

“I hope I’m not late for dinner,” John drawled, meeting Rodney’s gaze.

The duke got to his feet and John’s eyes shifted. “Right on time, my boy, right on time. Sheppard. You of course remember my wife, the Lady Marion.”

John took her hand and placed a careful and chaste kiss on top of her knuckles. “It’s wonderful to see you looking so fine as always, your ladyship.”

Marion waved her hand dismissively at him and grinned like a schoolgirl. “Oh, go off you!”

John gave her a wink before he straightened from his slight bow and faced the two men who had stood at his arrival.

“And this is the Baron Calvin Kavanaugh,” the duke continued and Kavanaugh stood and gave a stiff formal bow and a pained smile. John extended his hand over the table and Kavanaugh appeared to hesitate for a moment before taking it in a limp-fish grip.

“And my nephew, Meredith McKay.”

“I prefer to go by my middle name, Rodney,” said Rodney robustly, standing and reaching over the table and gripping Sheppard’s hand in a firm and warm shake.

John looked into Rodney’s crystal blue eyes and gripped his hand slightly tighter. “Then I must insist you call me John.”

Rodney shrugged carelessly. It didn’t matter to him one way or the other. “Fine.”

John didn’t let go of Rodney’s hand and Kavanaugh coughed loudly and awkwardly.

“As I was saying,” Kavanaugh said pointedly. “Great strides are being made in the Alchemic science and I’m sure before year’s end, we’ll see fantastic results.”

Rodney pulled his hand back abruptly from John and rolled his eyes at Kavanaugh.

“Honestly, where do you find this drivel?

John found his hand feeling slightly cold and lonely without Rodney’s grip any longer and he forced himself to take his seat opposite Rodney’s at the table. The Duke and duchess were seated at either end, with Rodney and Kavanaugh on one side and John on the other. John suddenly begrudged Kavanaugh’s proximity to Rodney. Kavanaugh put his hand on the back of Rodney’s chair as Rodney sat down and John didn’t miss Rodney’s scowl pointedly directed at Kavanaugh. However, when Kavanaugh didn’t remove his hand, Rodney very rudely looked from Kavanaugh to Kavanaugh’s hand on the back of his chair and then back up at Kavanaugh.

Kavanaugh finally pulled his arm back to his side but didn’t miss the opportunity to wink at Rodney. Rodney rolled his eyes and sighed. Loudly.

“Mark my words, Merry,” Kavanaugh continued. “Alchemy is the science of the future.”

“I cannot wait until you blow yourself up,” Rodney stated flatly.

Watching the dynamic it was clear to John that while Kavanaugh believed he and Rodney had some kind of flirtatious repartee going back and forth, Rodney was just annoyed.

The serving party, having been notified that all of the dinner guests were seated, started bringing in the appetizer course. As they served, Kavanaugh continued to speak.

“Alchemy is not just a science, it’s a spiritual discipline. It takes great concentration and a steady mind to comprehend the details involved.”

Seeing Rodney’s face turn a deeper shade of purple and watching him sputter as Kavanaugh leaned closer to him, Sheppard decided to have mercy on the man.

“Forgive me if my comments are ignorant, but I thought that alchemy was more of a kinship to numerology or astrology than to the more complex sciences.”

“Thank you!” exclaimed Rodney, turning a smug look to Kavanaugh.

“Oh, you men and your science,” the duchess said fondly, trying to steer the conversation. “I know more than I ever cared to about stars and turning gold into lead and the manufacturing of telescopes. Truly.”

“I take it this is a regular discussion then, your grace?” John asked

“Far too regular,” she replied with a smile. “Young Rodney spends more time ensconced is his chamber scribbling away at numbers and formulae when he should be accompanying his lordship and I out into society.” The last bit was said while directly looking at Rodney.

“I appreciate her ladyships intentions but I cannot afford to waste time dancing and smiling when I could be making further scientific discoveries.”

“Yes, but Rodney dear, you shall never be published if you don’t marry.”

At that statement from the duchess, Kavanaugh seemed to give off a smarmy, knowing vibration and John immediately understood the situation now. Rodney, having no title of his own, couldn’t publish his works under his own name. Kavanaugh hoped to woo Rodney into marriage and publish his work under the Kavanaugh name, thus gaining the other man’s knowledge.

Rodney bristled. “It’s a stupid law and it’s going to change. I’m going to change it and then I’ll publish my work under my own name.” He paused and added loudly. “And no one else’s.”

The duke and duchess regarded him with the fondness bestowed on children. “Oh, Mer,” said the duke. “You can’t change the laws of society simply because you will it so. You’re always saying how important your work is, how brilliant, surely it would be better to see it published, even if under a husband’s name, then not at all?”

“It would not,” replied Rodney firmly.

“Tell me, John,” the duchess said smoothly, her years of social gatherings and etiquette coming to bear, “will we see you and your family this season in Atlantis?”

“I believe my brother and his wife were planning on returning to Atlantis for the middle of the season.”

“A wise choice indeed,” answered the duchess. “It’s always best to let it get rolling and then join once things are more settled. I shall be sure to send them an invitation to dinner once they are in town.”

“I shall let them know when I see them.”

“And yourself?” she inquired, her eyes clearing indicating she hadn’t missed the fact that he left himself out of the statement.

John smiled bashfully at her grace’s knowing look. “I prefer to avoid Atlantis during the season. I shall retire to my country home and likely assist my brother by attending to his estate as well in his absence.”

“My boy, how do you ever expect to find yourself a spouse if you are hidden away in the country?” asked the Duke.

“Yes, surely you’d rather be prancing about at dismally boring balls and smoking cigars trading vulgar stories with the rest of the elite,” Rodney said sharply.

The duchess dropped her face in her palm at Rodney’s tone and the duke glared at him.

“What?” said Rodney, stuffing a roll in mouth. “With that hair, he should enjoy a good prance.”

The duchess let out a small groan of dismay.

John tried to hide his smile behind his hand but his eyes darted up to look at Rodney. “I take it you are not a fan of the season in Atlantis?” he asked

“Hardly,” responded Rodney.

“I think you’ll enjoy it more this year, Merry,” said Kavanaugh, not-so-subtly inching his chair closer to Rodney.

Rodney leaned away slightly. “I have no desire to watch the untitled masses fawn and fall all over the elite in the hopes of securing a good match. The fact that I was not born into a titled family is a matter of chance or hazard and certainly not anything to do with my personal being and certainly doesn’t impeded my very considerable brilliance. The fact that Sheppard here is a Marquis is not through any of his own doing, but simply because he happened to be born a Marquis. He deserves neither an award nor a better chance at a spouse than anyone else.”

“I believe you agreed to call me John,” replied John easily, soaking in the outrage Rodney exuded and turning it into mild amusement.

Rodney waved his hand as though it were unimportant. “Fine, John.” Rodney turned to Kavanaugh. “And your Baronacy is another fortune of birth and if you think for one moment that I would ever consider making a match -”

“Oh look, the next course,” the duchess said loudly, cutting Rodney off.

So far, it was the best dinner party John had been to in ages.

***

By the time dessert was ready to be served, John was more confident in his opinion that all dinner parties should be this engaging.

Kavanaugh continued his clunky and over the top methods to woo Rodney all night and all he succeeded in doing was outraging the man even more. When things got too hairy, the duchess would try to switch topics, her husband assisting when he could. The duke didn’t have social panache the duchess had for seeing discord approaching, but he knew well enough that backing his wife was always a good idea.

They had finally settled on discussing horse breeding half-way through the main dinner course and John and the duke quickly dominated the conversation. John had a special affinity for horses, inherited from his mother who used to take him riding when he was young. He had a business plan to begin breeding at the country estate. He’d run the numbers and had what he considered to be a very stable, yet profitable proposal.

“Well, you always were sharp as a nail, John,” the duke said with appreciation. “It sounds to me like you’ve got some solid ideas. Any chance you’re looking for an investor?”

John smiled at the kind offer. “Well, I’d certainly like some time to work out any troublesome spots. I hope you’re serious, though, I may approach you in a few years.” John said taking a long drink of his wine. “Do you ride, Rodney?” John asked, trying to draw the other man into conversation.

“Hmm, what?” Rodney asked, looking up from his napkin. John looked down and noticed that Rodney was using the gravy covered tine of his fork as a makeshift plume and was writing on the cloth napkin. Strange mathematical notes and symbols.

“Ride. Do you ride horses?” John managed to keep his voice neutral even though the sight of Rodney’s blue eyes and pristine complexion did have him thinking of slightly different kinds of riding.

“You mean other than to get where I’m going? No,” Rodney said flatly. “They don’t like me.”

“They can’t all not like you, Rodney,” replied John. “That would be statistically improbable. You haven’t met all horses and they haven’t met you.”

Rodney’s lips turned up in small smile. “Yes, I suppose it is unlikely. Well, the majority of horses I have met, don’t like me.”

“They sense his … anxiety,” the duke said helpfully.

“I could fall and hit my head and that could scramble everything in there. I’ll take a carriage any day of the week over a horse. But in the absence of a carriage, of course I can ride.”

“My carriage is available to you any time you need it, Merry.”

Rodney scowled at Kavanaugh. “As I said, I can ride.”

The dessert plates were set down in front of them and Rodney immediately stiffened and the duke turned to the serving man.

“I’m sorry, lad, I thought I instructed the kitchen for no citrus? My nephew is intolerant of it.”

The serving man started slightly and fumbled with one of the plates. “I’m sorry, your Grace, I didn’t know. Lemon custard is the dish tonight.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” said Kavanaugh with a wave.

“Yes, if I would like a heaping serving of death with my dinner,” shot Rodney hotly. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood, eager to be out of the same room as the lemon. The last reaction he had involved full body hives and an increasingly tight sensation in his chest. His doctor and close friend, Carson Beckett had warned him the reactions were likely to only be worse with each exposure.

“Mer, we’ll have it taken away,” said the duke.

“I appreciate it, your lordship, but I think I shall just retire for the evening if her grace will excuse me?”

The duchess nodded amicably and Rodney turned on his heel. He stopped stiffly by John, who had stood from his seat when rodney turned to leave.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Sheppard.” He extended his hand.

“John,” he repeated, clasping Rodney’s hand firmly and holding it perhaps a bit longer than he should.

“John,” Rodney said softly. With a slight shake, he pulled his hand free and bowed once more at the duke and duchess, clearly ignoring Kavanaugh as he exited.

***

Rodney fiddled with the lock on his door and finally gave up.

Yes, he was the most brilliant man on earth, but even he couldn’t fix a broken lock without the proper tools and hardware.

Well, it wasn’t as though he had anything precious or valuable to steal. The most valuable thing he had was his brain, and that was in no danger of being stolen.

So long as Kavanaugh kept his distance.

God, the man was insufferable. He made Rodney’s skin crawl and his very presence caused this strange twitch in Rodney’s left eyelid that was maddening. Rodney always felt a little greasy after dealing with Kavanaugh, like a country pig at a fair. He swore he could feel the dirty Baron’s gaze on his backside every time he was turned.

And the idiocy! The man was a raving idiot and seemed to have no clue. Ignorance must truly be bliss. As if Rodney would ever condescend to have his papers published under the likes of Kavanaugh.

Rodney had always sworn from a very young age that he would find a way to publish his papers under his own name. He fought about it for years with his sister Jeanette. Jeannie maintained that everyone would realize that of course Rodney had written them no matter whose name they were published under. Just as Rodney had always maintained that it wasn’t just about that. It was about changing the law that said Rodney couldn't do it. As if his intellect was somehow inferior because he didn’t hold a title.

Absolutely absurd.

He sat down at the small desk in his private room (and thank God his aunt and uncle had agreed to acquire separate quarters for him - he quite often worked late into the night and into the early morning) and set back to his equations. He had very nearly had a breakthrough at dinner and had pilfered the napkin he had managed to make some markings on.

Looking at the napkin brought back the memory of dinner and with it his meeting of the Marquis Sheppard. John. To be certain, he was a handsome devil but looks alone were not worth a whit in Rodney’s opinion. Although, it appeared that John may have some brains hidden underneath that ridiculous mop of hair. He certainly didn’t agree with the absolute foolishness that was alchemy and based on the his plans for horse breeding, he might have a head for numbers.

And he had very nice eyes. Clear and bright. Sharp.

Rodney shook his head. This line of thinking was ridiculous. Even if he were attracted to Sheppard, which he’d have to be blind not to be, it would amount to nothing. Sheppard was a known rake; moving from entanglement to entanglement amongst the elite members of the ton, who could afford any amount of scandalous rumor with their money and rank to back them up. Rodney had no such illusions of his status in society. A man like Sheppard would likely chew him up and spit him out.

Despite his brilliance, Rodney had led a rather sheltered life. After the death of his father at eight, when Jeannie was but two, his mother had been desperate and nearly destitute. Unable to contact her sister, the duchess, who was abroad on a Grand Tour, she had tried to gain employment but had no luck in securing a job that could support them. Rodney had tried as best as he could to look out for his sister while their mother tried her hand at the trades. Nearly ready to be turned out onto the streets, Charlotte McKay had done the only thing she could: she married.

Although able to be charming when necessary, Acastus Kolya had been a brute, through and through. He berated Charlotte and Rodney at every chance he had; name calling, sneered insults, emotional blackmail and belittlement. He strangely doted on Jeannie, though, who knew no other father but him, and seemed to leave her alone. After Charlotte’s death from influenza, he became particularly crueler to Rodney, as though he could somehow make up for the fact that he was saddled with two children that weren’t his own by being horrid to one of them.

He didn’t often use his fists, but when had it was swift and sharp. Never a full out beating - just a solid crack across the face, or a rib creaking blow. Not enough to draw unwarranted attention, but enough to ensure you knew your place and kept it. Rodney kept a special eye out to see if Kolya’s anger ever so much as slightly shifted toward Jeannie after their mother’s death, but it never did. A fact that Jeannie was all to aware of and felt a tremendous, burdening guilt over. She tried valiantly to bridge the gap between the two men, but Kolya would have none of it, and Rodney simply did not care enough about the man to even try.

Rodney was lucky that his aunt and uncle, the duchess and duke, had taken and interest in them both. The duchess was particularly grieved that she had not been around when her sister needed her most and tried especially hard to provide some kind of motherly influence for the McKays after Charlotte’s death. Rodney was not often permitted to leave the house but he did manage to gain permission to go on short tours of the country side with his aunt and uncle for which he was eternally grateful. Mostly because it left him to his work and out from underneath the fetid presence of Kolya.

Kolya had ruled the house with an iron fist and Rodney and Jeannie had only been allowed out to attend lessons or seminars. Kolya seemed to resent how brilliant Rodney was and despite the fact that Rodney had now taken a small apartment in the city, Kolya would often arrange time consuming and meaningless tasks for Rodney to do on their small country estate, insisting that it was his duty to the family, to Jeannie, in order to monopolize Rodney’s time. The time Rodney had available while traveling with his aunt and uncle was spectacular and he was sure he’d written at least two papers worthy of publishing, perhaps even a third. He would let Jeannie read them as soon as he returned - in secret of course, as Kolya was prone to ‘accidents’ involving fire, wine or the trash along with Rodney’s papers when he found them.

Growing up in the small house out in the country and having little opportunity to leave, coupled with his rather solitary life in the city, left Rodney somewhat ill-prepared to deal with a known rake like Sheppard. It was just as well that he would likely never run into the man again after tonight. And if the thought of him caused a strange stirring in Rodney’s stomach that he had never felt before, well, no one need ever know about it.

Shaking his head at his own foolish notions, he forced himself back to his work.

***

John pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to keep his head from bobbing over.

He’d agreed to have a drink with his Lordship in the inn’s den after dessert and thankfully that bumbling idiot Kavanaugh hadn’t joined them.

However, without the presence of other people, their conversation had inevitably turned to battle, war and things John longed to forget about but couldn’t.

The duke had lurched to bed quite some time ago and John had been left in the darkened study with a half decanter full of brandy and his maudlin, gruesome remembrances of friends lost to war on fields covered in dirt and blood.

Killing another man, even in battle, weighed heavily on a person. Knowing that you did it for King, for country was of little consequence when you closed your eyes at night and could only hear screaming. It wasn’t so much the memories of the actual battles that burdened John, so much as it was the memories of the long days and nights after the battle was over - whether won or lost.

In the aftermath, when the craze and fierceness of the battle was over, it was anything but calm and serene. The medics would come and try to round up the injured. Those who were mobile were expected to help out as much as possible. John, fortunate to never have been mortally wounded, travelled across many battlefields turning over the bodies of friends and acquaintances, checking for pulses, loading stretchers to take men back to the infirmary or bodies to the mass graves.

God help the poor souls that were greatly injured and suffered while being treated. John lost more soldiers and friends to infection and disease than he ever did in battle. At least in battle, he could fight, he could assist, he could do something. But in the aftermath, he could offer little-more assistance than that of a packhorse - carrying and moving bodies and supplies as required. He remembered finding his commanding officer, Sumner, his leg hacked to pieces, bleeding out on the field under the blistering sun. He knew the man would likely lose his leg once they got him back to the tents. Knew he’d probably be one of the soldiers that had to hold Sumner down while they sawed through the bone. Sumner had groaned when John leaned over him to place a flag for the stretcher bearers, a signal for a live body to move. Sumner’s hand had shot out, gripped John’s wrist powerfully, painfully. John had looked in the man’s eyes and saw that Sumner knew what would happen at the tent as well. They’d lost over two thirds of their surgery patients on the table after the last battle. The majority of those that didn’t die during surgery died from infection or post-surgery complications. Sumner glanced down at the revolver at John’s side and then back up at John. John nodded and then had taken his gun out and shot his commanding officer between the eyes.

No one had even glanced their way at the gunshot.

The decanter was now empty, but despite the best efforts of the brandy, John’s head was still frighteningly full. But sitting in the darkened den of the inn wasn’t going to solve anything.

As he stumbled up the creaking stairs of the inn, he tried to focus on something else, something more pleasant than the horrid memories that plagued his thoughts.

He suddenly thought of the clear, clean blue of Rodney McKay’s eyes. Though his evening was ending thus - with him staggering his drunken way through the night-dark inn, memories turned to the terrible - it had been a pleasant one to start. Rodney was entertaining to watch, even when being badly wooed by the insufferable Kavanaugh. John and the Duke had spoken about his nephew briefly and John understood the duke worried for Rodney. He was often so caught up in his work that he forgot anything else and had few connections outside family - the duke and his wife, and Rodney’s sister Jeannie. Rodney simply didn’t care to make many other attachments and the duke and duchess were afraid that once they passed and Jeannie married and had a family of her own, Rodney would slowly become ever more the hermit and reclusive scholar.

That would indeed be a shame, John thought, for the man did seem to have quite the spirit.

John entered his quarters and the light he’d left burning low must have gone out as the room was dark. He wearily discarded his cravat, coat and shirt, tossing them carelessly aside and divesting himself of his boots before falling face-down on the bed with his pants still on. The pillow smelled fantastic, he thought. Slightly spicy and soapy - which surprised him as usually inn linens had no such scent to speak of. He snuggled down a little into it, breathing in the deeply comforting scent.

He fell asleep dreaming of blue skies the same color as Rodney McKay’s eyes.

***

Rodney woke with a start, jackknifing up in his seat, papers stuck to his face and his ink bottle tipping over. He hissed in outrage and managed to get it upright before it spilled too much of its inky darkness over his papers. Thankfully, it only appeared to damage the unused sheets. He’d fallen asleep at his desk again but given that he was still able to move his neck, it was a good bet he hadn’t been out for long.

Although it was long enough for his lamp to go out.

He fumbled for his matches and lit the lamp quickly, trying to figure out what awoke him.

And then he heard it. A low, almost pained groan.

He froze, eyes darting back and forth in the darkness. Another groan and then the shuffle of bed clothes.

Bed clothes?

He got to shaky feet and stepped quietly back to his bed. The small pool of light from his lamp only gave off enough luminescence to showcase the immediate area in front of him and it took a few steps before he could see the bed.

Someone was in his room!

Someone was on his bed!

Someone…shirtless.

That realization made him stop and he paused a moment to take in the lean back, winged blades and sturdy shoulders stretched out gracelessly on his bed. An angry scar twisted its way across one of the shoulder blades, wrapping up and over the shoulder before disappearing from Rodney’s sight somewhere perhaps around the collarbone.

Another low sound of distress came from the figure on the bed and Rodney stilled like a rabbit caught in the woods.

Who on earth was in his bed? Surely it couldn’t be a burglar, for they tended to not undress and fall asleep in their victims beds. Rodney glanced around and could make out a few items of clothing tossed haphazardly on the floor. He inched closer to the bed, the circle of light moving up past the man’s shoulders and finally illuminating the head of this nightly intruder. The spiky, careless tufts of black were instantly recognizable even in the dark.

The Marquis John Sheppard was in his bed.

Half naked.

An unexpected thrill of… something shot its way down Rodney’s body.

The man, Sheppard let out a huff of air and then shifted restlessly. He sounded as though he was having a nightmare and Rodney was torn. He didn’t know what to do. Things like this didn’t happen to him. Did Sheppard mean to come into Rodney’s room? And if he did, why didn’t he wake Rodney up? If he meant to come in, he must have looked around and seen Rodney asleep at the desk. Or did Sheppard come to Rodney’s room by accident? He shook his head. That would be absurd. The chances of that happening were… well they were astronomical is what they were. So he must have meant to come to Rodney’s room. But for what purpose?

Sheppard flopped over onto his back and grumbled in his sleep breaking Rodney’s thought stream. Something about stretchers being needed and soldiers.

Oh. A nightmare of war. He knew nothing of Sheppard but Rodney had heard of many men coming back from the lines changed, scarred. Rodney took a careful step forward and leaned over the bed.

“Sheppard? My lord?” he whispered loudly. John mumbled in reply and jerked slightly, his face grimacing. “John!” Rodney said sharply and poked John in the chest with one finger.

John shot up almost painfully fast and had Rodney’s wrist in a bruising grip, his eyes wild. Rodney tried to pull away and John instinctively tightened his hold.

“You’re hurting me, you dumb brute!” Rodney said.

“Rodney?” John blinked. He let go of Rodney’s arm and Rodney set the lamp down the nightstand and went and lit some other candles in the room, bathing it in soft light.

“What are you doing in my room?” asked John carefully.

Rodney sighed. Oh. Of course. Well, just because it was improbable didn’t mean it was impossible, Rodney supposed.

“Actually, Sheppard, I should ask the question to you. What are you doing in my room?”

Sheppard blinked a few times and looked around slowly. “What am I doing in your room?” he asked.

Rodney rolled his eyes. Sheppard’s slightly drunken slur was the explanation he was looking for. He inched closer and took a sniff at the air around the man. “Okay,” he said sharply at the brandy laden fumes. “I should be careful with the matches then, you’re completely sotted.”

“Pardon?” said Sheppard, doing his odd befuddled blinking thing again.

“Drunk,” Rodney clarified. “Completely drunk.” he should have figured. It’s not like good-looking, dashing rakes just showed up half naked in his bed-chambers on a regular basis. With the countenance of a confused man, Sheppard looked down at his half-dressed state, saw the clothes on Rodney’s floor and then looked up at Rodney. Rodney could see the exact moment Sheppard’s brain snapped it all together.

“You must have wandered in here by accident,” said Rodney, suddenly very tired. He rubbed his forehead.

“Why weren’t you in the bed?” asked Sheppard, still slightly confused.

“I was working. I fell asleep at the desk. All right,” Rodney said, clapping his hands together. “Now that it’s all sorted, perhaps you should be heading back to your room? Hmm?”

When Sheppard didn’t make a move, Rodney stepped forward and started manhandling him, trying to get him up.

“Erf,” he grunted as he tried to heft Sheppard out of bed. “A little help here?”

Sheppard tipped his head down into Rodney’s hair and inhaled. “Oh, it’s you the pillows smell like.”

Rodney dropped him like he was hot and Sheppard bounced slightly on the bed. “What?”

“The pillows,” Sheppard said dreamily, lying back down. “They smell good. You smell good.”

“Er, thanks. No, no! No lying down! We’ve got to get you to your own room,” Rodney said rushing forward and trying to prop Sheppard up. “It’s… well frankly, it’s unseemly for you to be here this time of night. I mean, you’re titled you can do whatever you like and it’s not my place to tell the titled what to do. Despite the fact that I’m brilliant and know more than all of you put together. Still, societal rules and all. I’ll change them, but they are what they are now and right now, you’re in my room in the middle of the night and if you’re caught, there will be talk. Not that there isn’t already a lot of talk about you, but as I said, titled and you can handle it. However, there is no talk of me and I would like to keep it that way. When my name becomes known in all the households of the modern world it will be for my notable and uncanny genius and not because I was another notch on your considerably marked-up bedpost.”

Sheppard was all noodle-limpness in Rodney’s arms as Rodney tried to heft him up. It was like trying to herd cats.

“You talk a lot. I like it,” Sheppard said happily.

“I’m flattered beyond measure at pleasing you,” Rodney said dryly. He got Sheppard seated upright and managed to swing the man’s legs off the side of the bed so they planted on the floor. He threaded his arms under Sheppard’s and tried not to stare at Sheppard’s chest. Darkly haired and taut, Rodney had this strange urge to poke his tongue out and lick one of the nipples.

Which was not a thought he’d had about anyone. Ever.

“And you’re smart,” Sheppard added in his dreamy tone. “I like smart.”

“Yes, I’m brilliant. And now this brilliant, brilliant man is going to stand you up, so lock your knees, Sheppard.”

“S’posed to call me John. And I don’t wanna get up. M’tired.”

Rodney huffed. “You can sleep all you want when you get to your own bed. Doesn’t that sound like a absolutely fantastic idea? Your own bed? Hmm?”

“I like your bed. Smells like you.” Sheppard turned his head into Rodney’s neck, burying his nose into the hollow of Rodney’s collarbone, his tongue darting out and licking at the indentation.

“You taste good too.”

Rodney almost dropped him back against the headboard.

“Er, fascinating. Put your arms over my shoulders.”

Sheppard did as Rodney asked, resting his forearms on Rodney’s shoulders, tipping his head to Rodney’s neck again. “I’ve bad dreams.”

Rodney gritted his teeth. “I can imagine. Lock your knees.”

Rodney hefted him up and Sheppard immediately lost his balance. They swayed comically, one way, then the other. Sheppard lurched forward and without warning stepped on Rodney’s foot and Rodney couldn’t stop the pained yelp that he let out. It startled Sheppard who jerked backward. When his knees hit the back of the bed, he grabbed onto Rodney to steady himself. Rodney tried to step forward, managing to get one of his legs in between Sheppard’s but could go no further because of the bed. Sheppard overbalanced backward and with his grip, pulled Rodney down on top of him. Rodney yelped again and tried to roll off Sheppard. At the same time, Sheppard was drunkenly and doggedly trying to get back up. Rodney cracked his head on the headboard and for a moment saw stars.

Which is how they ended up tangled in the bedclothes with a half-naked John Sheppard on top of slightly concussed Rodney McKay when the inn keeper, the duke, the duchess, Kavanaugh and several additional members of the titled and non-titled who were staying at the inn that night came barreling through the still unlocked door to find out what all the ruckus was.

***

“I’m sure the duke and John will get everything sorted out,” the duchess said soothingly, patting Rodney on the hand.

“Hmm?” Rodney was back at work at his desk, the recent events causing him to have a fascinating new idea.

The moments after the door burst open were somewhat of a blur. There’d been some shouting (Kavanaugh), some gasping (the duchess), some stern words (the duke) and a host of hurried and frenzied whispers (everyone else). The duke had pulled Sheppard off Rodney and somehow managed to gather all of Sheppard’s clothing, including his boots and hustle him out the door. The duchess had promptly shut the door in everyone else’s face and taken a seat by the window next to the desk, looking expectantly at Rodney.

Rodney had suddenly realized that the motions of everyone just now had been a classic swarm-migrate pattern and had hurriedly gone to his desk to make notations about it.

“Don’t you worry, Rodney dear. John’s a good man and once he gets-” sobered up “-sorted out, he’ll do right by you.”

Rodney looked up. “What on earth are you talking about?”

The duchess patted his hand again. “It’s all right, Rodney. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

“Why would I be worried?” Rodney frowned.

The duchess looked at him frankly. “Rodney. Dear. You were caught in a… well, a compromising position in the middle of the night with someone who is not a member of your family.”

Rodney blinked. “Yes, well if that idiot hadn’t stumbled blind drunk into my room by accident this all could have been avoided.” He waved his hand absently and then went back to his notes. “At any rate, it was nothing. I was simply trying to get him back to his room.”

The duchess’ expression switched to one of fond disbelief. “Rodney. You’re the only nephew I have and now with Mitch….” she sighed sadly. “I wasn’t able to be there for your mother when she needed me most and I’m eternally regretful. But the fact is now I think of you as a son and you can be frank with me.”

Rodney looked back up at her. “All right,” he said slowly. “Frank about what?”

“I’m a woman of the world, Rodney. I know how young hearts can be. Wrapped up in immediacy and impetuousness and sometimes they make bad decisions.”

Rodney stared at her as though she’d gone mad. “My lady, I’ve no idea whatsoever what you are talking about.”

The duchess smiled. “Oh, I know you don’t want to discuss such things with your aunt. But I assure you, I understand. John is very handsome and might I add, I’ve always had a special place in my heart for him. I’m sure this isn’t how you planned things, but I think the two of you will do well together.”

Rodney sputtered. “What?”

“I’m sure by morning he’ll offer for your hand. Of course, we’ll have to have the wedding quickly before the gossip gets out of control, but once we do, we can all go back normal and in a few months we’ll have a good laugh about this.”

“Wedding?” Rodney exclaimed. “What wedding?”

“Your wedding. To John Sheppard.”

“What?!” A spray of spittle rained down on his papers and smudged the ink.

The duchess straightened. “Rodney,” she said firmly. “What did you think was going to happen?”

Rodney’s mouth opened and closed several times. “But… and I… and he… nothing happened!”

“My dear, I wasn’t born yesterday. When we came in… you and John… well…” the duchess blushed. “There’s hardly an explanation for the position you were found in.”

“There most certainly is an explanation and that is that the man was blind drunk, worse than a sailor, and he came in here by mistake. He thought it was his room! I was trying to get him out and we fell and I hit my head!”

The duchess patted his hand again. “Dear Rodney. You are a genius. Surely you could have come up with a better excuse than that flimsy story?”

Rodney managed another incoherent burst before finally stammering out. “But it’s true.”

The duchess sighed and decided to let the matter drop. “Well, it is neither here nor there. I’m sure that right at this moment, John is making an offer to your uncle. He will of course accept on your behalf and then you and I can start planning the wedding. We’ll send word to Jeannie, she would be heartbroken to miss it.”

“I’m not going to marry Sheppard!”

“Of course you are, Rodney. It’s what must be done.”

“No, I’m not. Don’t be absurd. Nothing happened. Nothing.”

“If you want to keep at that notion, I won’t argue with you any further, but at this point, it is irrelevant.”

“I’m not getting married. Not to Sheppard, not to anyone. My work…”

“Your work is brilliant and getting married will not change that,” the duchess soothed.

“It’s the principle!” Rodney said, gesturing madly with his hands. “I don’t need a husband to publish my work. I’ll publish on my own and it will be mine.”

“Even if you publish under John’s name, people will still know it’s yours, Rodney. People know you, they know your work.”

“Yes, here but my work will be published world wide. People won’t know me, they won’t know that it’s mine.”

The duchess pursed her lips in frustration. “Rodney, this is what needs to be done.”

“No, this is what society thinks needs to be done.”

“It is the same thing, is it not?”

Rodney dropped his head with a thunk on his desk. This was an absolute disaster.

On to the next part!