allyndra | Fic: Dinner Party

I have SO MANY other things I should be working on. But I have no will power, so I couldn't stop myself. *shakes head sadly as own weakness*.

Title: Dinner Party

Author: Allyndra

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis

Pairing: John/Rodney

Warnings: Earth AU. It's my first SGA fic, and it's ridiculous. I would apologize, but I'm clearly not ashamed of myself, since I'm posting it.

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Does this *points to fic* look like quality SciFi Channel programming to you? I didn't think so.

Summary: "Oh my God! You're making me give a dinner party so you can cozy up to Dr.Weir?"

"Rodney!" Radek practically vibrated over Rodney's workspace, his cheeks flushed and his hair even more insane than usual. He said in a hurried, intense voice, "Listen closely. You are giving dinner party tonight."

Rodney stared at him incredulously. "Lower you voice," he snapped. "They'll revoke your security clearance if people find out you're insane."

Radek huffed at him in annoyance. "Is important, Rodney. I *need* you to have a dinner party tonight."

"No! God, are you on drugs?" Rodney eyed Radek suspiciously. "A dinner party requires inviting people. I don't even like people, Radek. People tend to return the sentiment. You can't expect me to just invite a bunch of people I hate to my house for dinner." Rodney turned back to his work, certain he'd put an end to his friend's foolishness.

Radek was undeterred, however. "There are people you do not hate. A few even do not hate you. You could invite ..." He trailed off, trying to think of anyone who fit that description.

"See?" Rodney said triumphantly, not looking up from the data he was analyzing. "Nobody." He smirked at his screen.

"Miko!" Radek exclaimed. "You have said, in my hearing, that Miko is not an idiot. From you, a great compliment. And also, Dr. Parrish and Dr. Brown. They have not been around you enough to learn to hate you."

Rodney tore his eyes away from his computer to glare at Radek, horrified. "They're *botanists*!" he protested. The disgust was clear in his voice.

"Yes, yes, and all sciences other than physics are soft and fit only for morons," Radek said, waving his hands dismissively. "But you do not hate them, and they do not hate you. And with them, we will have six people."

"Wait, wait. Six?" Rodney asked. "I count five."

Radek blushed. He actually blushed, the tips of his ears turning a hot red. "With Elizabeth, we will make six."

"Oh my God! You're making me give a dinner party so you can cozy up to Dr.Weir?" Rodney scanned his desk for anything he could use to hit Radek over the head, but the stapler would probably give him a concussion, and he didn't want to disarrange the piles of notebooks. "No!"

"Rodney," Radek said, nearly whining. "I may have, possibly, already invited her." His glasses magnified his pleading, puppy eyes in a totally unfair way.

"No," Rodney repeated.

"I will ... I will support all of your recommendations for the lab for a week," Radek promised.

"Two months," Rodney countered.

"One month. And I will bring in the good coffee." Radek bounced in excitement, playing his trump card.

"Deal," Rodney agreed.

Radek grinned at him. "You will not regret this!" he promised. "Seven thirty tonight. I will invite the others." He hurried away, probably to wander casually past Dr. Weir's door a few dozen times like a lovesick teenager. Rodney shook his head in disgust and buried himself in his work again.

It wasn't until twenty minutes later that he realized he would actually have to make dinner for six people.

***

Rodney left work early for the first time that year to buy and prepare the food for his dinner party. He muttered imprecations against manipulative Czechs while he gathered his papers and jacket, glaring at Radek's smug little head as he walked past his desk. Radek gave him a sunny smile in return, which only made Rodney's glare fiercer.

Traffic wasn't as bad this early in the day, but Rodney was disturbed by the number of cars in the parking lot for the grocery store. "What the hell?" he grumbled. "Don't these people work?"

He stomped through the parking lot and into the building, resenting the fact that the sliding glass doors gave him nothing to slam. He got a cart and shoved it to the produce section, trying to figure out what he could cook for six people that wouldn't make him want to cut his wrists along with the vegetables. He stared at the piles of peppers and leafy greens, considering his options. It would serve Radek right if he made cabbage. Nothing spoils budding flirtation like explosive flatulence.

A voice to his right asked, "How do you tell if these things are ripe?" Rodney turned to see if the speaker was talking to him. He saw sparkling green eyes and smiling lips and DEATH!

"Ahhh!" Rodney took a stumbling step backward and almost fell into his shopping cart.

The man held his arms out defensively. "Hey, sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he said.

Rodney flushed and straightened. "You didn't scare me," he insisted angrily. "It was that, that death fruit in your hand." He pointed to the vile, yellow lemon the man was still holding. "I'm extremely allergic. Just the oils can send me into anaphylactic shock."

The man's eyes went from Rodney to the lemon and back to Rodney. "Really?" he asked skeptically.

"No, I'm lying. I use the fake allergy to cover up an unreasoning fear of citrus brought on by a traumatic lemonade stand incident in my childhood." Rodney rolled his eyes. "Honestly, why is everyone I talk to today certifiably insane? Maybe it's the hair," he mused, contemplating his attacker, whom he was mentally labeling The Citrus Avenger with a subtitle of Supermarket Hottie. He had thick, dark hair that stood up in whorls and soft peaks. "Radek has ridiculous hair, too."

The Citrus Avenger smoothed a hand over his hair in a futile attempt to tame it. "Mr. I Scream Like a Girl in the Face of Fruit thinks *I'm* crazy. That's reasonable," he snarked.

"Whatever," Rodney said, in the lamest comeback of all time. He turned back to his perusal of the vegetables.

"If you're so allergic to citrus, why do you shop here? Aren't you afraid you'll die a horrible death amongst the produce?" the man asked.

Rodney sighed. "If you must know, I usually have my groceries delivered. But I've been volunteered to have a dinner party so that Radek can indulge in his schoolboy crush on the new public relations director, forcing me to brave the supermarket when I *should* be in the lab proving why Kavanaugh's latest pet theory is so very, very wrong." He glowered at a stack of parsnips. "What the hell do you serve at a dinner party, anyway?"

"Fish," the man answered decisively. "Always a fish entree in case you have vegetarians. A salad, a grain, at least one vegetable. Soup if you're feeling fancy. And dessert. If you want to help your friend out with his crush, make it something gooey and chocolate. No one can resist love and chocolate."

Rodney blinked. He hadn't seriously been expecting a helpful answer. "Thanks." he said. "I guess I'll get some ... does asparagus go with fish? I'm Rodney, by the way. I'd offer to shake your hand, but, you know, toxic lemon oils of doom." He tipped his head toward the hand that loosely held the lemon.

"Oh," the man looked at the fruit as though surprised it was still there. "Um, John." He smiled, and it made his eyes crinkle in a way that suggested Supermarket Hottie should be the name on the marquee, rather than just the subtitle. "Yeah, asparagus is good. You should get salad greens while you're over here."

Between the two of them, they got the menu planned out and selected all of the ingredients, ranging up and down the aisles after salmon, croutons, dressing, wine, rice, and the ingredients for a chocolate lava cake. Rodney was shocked and slightly appalled to find himself having fun at the grocery store of all places. John was funny, though, and far more intelligent than his hair would lead one to believe. He was an aeronautics engineer, and he matched every one of Rodney's 'I work with incompetents' stories with a tale of some stupid or aerodynamically impossible suggestion made by his bosses.

When they finally headed to the checkout, John was in front of Rodney, holding a small armload of groceries and a six pack of beer. "Good afternoon, sir," the checkout girl said, aiming a dimpled smile at John. "Do you have our Savings Club card?"

"I do," he said, patting his pockets, "but I don't have it with me. Can I just give you my phone number?" She nodded and he rattled off the digits. While he punched his PIN into the tiny keypad, John shot a sidelong smirk at Rodney. "Did you catch that, or do I need to write it down for you?"

Rodney hid the fact that his heart was pounding wildly with a scornful frown. "Please! I'm a genius; I'm fully capable of remembering ten little numbers." He grinned suddenly. "Besides, I'd fully intended to hack your company's files and find your number later, anyway."

John's smirk twisted into something almost shy and he ducked his head. "Well, okay then." He accepted his bags from the cashier. "Good luck with your dinner party." And the he was gone, out the sliding glass doors and into the sunshine.

Rodney had his cell phone out before he even made it out of the parking lot. "Hi," he said breathlessly into the phone. "Would you like to come to a dinner party tonight? I'll bribe you with gooey chocolate."

John's laugh was warm in his ear. "How can I resist?"

***

Author's Note: I've got the dinner party and its aftermath in progress. Let me know if you're interested in seeing them or if I should keep my insanity to myself.