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"Do you think this is citrus?" Rodney asks John, waving a spoon in front of his face.
John eyes the proffered vegetable, green and stringy and in no way a fruit.
"It's fine, Rodney," he says and turns his attention back to his own meal.
Rodney lowers his head and pokes at his food again, rolling bits of gravy-covered meat and veg from one side of the wooden bowl to the other without eating anything. Rodney's always been hesitant about food offworld, but he's been increasingly cautious since they came back from Earth. John considers offering him a powerbar—a celebratory evening meal in honour of a successful trade agreement isn't the time or place to address whatever's bugging him—but when he catches Minister Trinai watching them from across the large, round table, he changes his mind. Atlantis needs this deal more than many of the others they've been making since the Wraith were defeated. John doesn't want to go back to Woolsey with his tail between his legs. Especially when nothing in their meal has even the vaguest hint of lemon.
"Rodney, it's fine," John hisses. "Eat up."
Rodney looks at Teyla, then Ronon, then back at John. He nods solemnly and scoops up some meat. John relaxes. He hates the frown on Rodney's face, wishes he could fix it right now, but it can wait till they get home. Crisis averted, they can get back to—
"Doctor McKay?"
Rodney's head snaps up, his eyes wide, spoon in the air and mouth hanging open as Trinai addresses him.
"Is there a problem with your meal?"
"Uh," Rodney looks to his team again, then back at Trinai. "No problem, everything is fine, thank you for the food."
Trinai tilts her head and narrows her eyes. "You are not enjoying your meal. If you'd prefer, we could offer you something—"
"No, no, that won't be necessary," Rodney says quickly, but someone slips an arm between him and John and takes his bowl and spoon from his hands.
John looks to Teyla to see if she knows how to salvage the situation, but she looks as baffled as him.
"Minister Trinai—" Teyla starts, as John also opens his mouth to speak.
Trinai smiles warmly and stands. "I would appreciate it if the members of the visitors from Atlantis would follow me."
Oh crap.
John jumps to his feet and nudges Rodney to do the same. They walk single file behind Trinai out a side door and down a narrow stone staircase lit by candles. The heavy wooden door at the bottom leads to an open plan, stone kitchen that must have been thrumming with activity all day, but this late only has a couple of people sweeping the floor. They look up when Trinai enters, then turn their attentions back to what they were doing. Their relaxed demeanour makes John wonder how common an occurrence it is for guests to be brought to the cellar.
John swallows down his impulse to intervene when Trinai places a hand on Rodney's shoulder in a way that John has done a thousand times before. She guides him to a chair by a roaring fireplace. Rodney sits down, clearly tense but with enough sensibility not to open his mouth and make things worse. John takes a step towards him, but Teyla grabs his arm and shakes her head subtly. If Trinai notices, she doesn't say. Instead, she takes Rodney's meal from an attendant and places it down on the table next to the chair, spoon resting on the rim.
"Doctor McKay—"
"Minister Trinai," says John quickly. "If Rodney has done something to offend you or your people…as team leader, it falls on me—"
Trinai raises a hand.
"Doctor McKay has done nothing to offend, I assure you," she insists. "But I have noticed some…disharmony among your group."
Disharmony. That could mean anything. The last time it was literal, in that John couldn't stay in sync with his team in a barn dance—and who knew that Rodney had the kind of moves to attract the interest of half of the eligible suitors in a farming community? But there have been times it meant something more dangerous, something that's so deeply enraged their hosts they had to fight their way out.
"What kind of disharmony?" he asks, hoping for the former rather than the latter.
"Four teammates, six separate bonds, one out of balance." Trinai turns to Rodney. "Doctor McKay, am I correct in thinking you have stomach problems when you eat certain foods?"
Rodney's nervous energy dissipates with Trinai's gentle question, his whole being relaxing into the chair. He turns to her, more himself than he's been for the entire evening.
"I have allergies," he tells her emphatically. "I can get anything from a mild stomach ache to a full-blown anaphylactic reaction."
Trinai nods, agreeably. "And you trust your team to keep you safe from these…allergies?" she asks, her eyes darting between Ronon, Teyla and John.
"Allergens—" Rodney corrects automatically.
"Rodney!" hisses John.
"—uh, and yes, I do. Of course I do. Amongst other things, like bullets and bombs and Wraith drones."
John's warmed by Rodney's words, but Trinai doesn't seem entirely convinced.
"Are you sure?" she asks.
"About the Wraith?" asks Rodney, "Yes, I mean, Ronon's killed more drones than all the marines combined, though to be fair, he's been doing it a lot longer, and John's strapped himself to a nuke not once but twice, god knows how he's still alive, and Teyla—"
"I see," says Trinai. John gets the impression that she 'sees' something important that he's missing, and though his diplomacy skills are rusty, he's not surprised when she then says, "Would you all be willing to give a demonstration of that trust?"
He is surprised when Trinai asks them to feed Rodney, one at a time, instead of the many other ways they've been tested as a team. Once, memorably, they all had to strip naked and paint constellations on each other's skin. Another time, he had to lead his blindfolded team through the dark forest to a candlelit feast. Other times have been less than congenial, with John having to call it quits at a time when they were expected to choose who would be exchanged for one of the villagers.
Teyla's already moving close to Rodney as Trinai picks up Rodney's bowl, giving them instructions in a low voice that John can't hear over the thrum of his pulse drumming in his ears. He tells himself that Trinai's people have so far been the most congenial hosts, that nothing bad or unexpected is going to happen here, that they've not even been asked to disarm. He has to clench his hand to keep it off his gun, and swallow hard to keep his mouth from drying out. Trust. He has to trust Trinai. She has no reason to harm Rodney. No reason to harm anyone.
Teyla takes the bowl from Trinai. John can't see her face for her hair, but the only tension in her body is that of her movements as she swirls Rodney's food with the spoon and scrapes the underneath against the rim the same way she does for Torren.
"You will enjoy this, my friend," she says, and Rodney opens his mouth easily as she leans in and lets her feed him. Some of the gravy smudges onto the corner of his mouth, and they both laugh when Teyla wipes his face with her sleeve. They smile at each other for a moment, then Teyla turns and hands the bowl to Ronon, who takes it without fuss.
Ronon flips his food knife out of his belt and spears a chunk of vegetable. He offers it to Rodney, holding it steady in front of his mouth. Rodney looks up at Ronon uncertainly.
"Blade's clean, McKay," says Ronon, succinctly but definitively.
Rodney leans forward, taking the food from Ronon's knife with a scrape of his teeth on the metal blade, audible only because the dark kitchen is so quiet. John expects Ronon to retreat immediately, but they, too, have a moment of…something, devoid of their usual bickering. It ends when Ronon sheaths his knife, claps Rodney on the shoulder, and turns to John, who stares at the offered bowl, his entire body suddenly immobile like a deer in headlights. It takes him a breath to remember what they're doing here and why.
Rodney's suddenly unusually still, hands wrapped around the arms of the chair instead of waving expressively, feet flat on the floor instead of tapping or fidgeting. John longs for him to break the uncomfortable silence and say, "Get on with it, Sheppard", but he doesn't, and John has to kick himself into action and take the bowl from Ronon. He finds it hard to look Rodney in the eye when all other eyes are on them. He looks instead at the bowl, the chunks of tender meat and soft vegetables in a thick gravy, not so different from Earth food, truth be told.
Teyla has Rodney's spoon, and John doesn't clean his knives as religiously as Ronon. He could ask Trinai for something, but the tension in the room is palpable, and he doesn't want to make things more complicated than they already are. He usually takes his cues from Teyla, but she knew little about Trinai's world and people, and she doesn't seem to be picking up on John's unease.
Rodney coughs pointedly. It's strange for him to be so taciturn, trying for subtle instead of rolling right over the tension with either obliviousness or nervous babbling. With no other option available, John pinches the biggest piece of meat in the bowl between his thumb and forefinger and offers it to Rodney at arm's reach, feeling his face flush from the heat of the fire. Rodney stares up at him, as though waiting for something, then exhales slowly, lowering his eyes as he takes the meat from John's fingers as gently as he can with his mouth. His lip brushes softly along John's finger and thumb. It's too intimate, this unexpected touch, too much for John's senses, and then suddenly it's gone, and Rodney looks as uneasy as John feels.
John's just as conflicted about the loss of contact as he was about the unfamiliar feel of Rodney's lips on his skin—something he hasn't allowed himself to think about for longer than he'd care to admit. The rustling of fabric, so loud in the quiet kitchen, pulls John's attention from the heavy, lingering moment between them. Both he and Rodney look away from each other as John remembers what they're doing here and why.
John steps back and looks over at Trinai, who seems as unperturbed as she has the whole evening. She leads them back to the dining hall for the next course without comment, and when they are seated, she again talks about the importance of their trade agreement. John figures that they've passed whatever test they've been given.
He feels a heck of a lot differently when they're led to their quarters to find his gear has been moved into Rodney's room.
"Okay, I get it," John tells Trinai when the rest of his team has said their goodnights. "The problem is me, right? My leadership isn't up so scratch?"
"Your leadership is exemplary," replies Trinai.
"But me and Rodney, we're the ones out of sync. And if I don't do something about that, you're going to rethink our agreement?"
Trinai peers at John for a moment, then raises a single brow.
"Our agreement has never been at risk, Colonel Sheppard," she says carefully. "But we have lived so cautiously under the Wraith threat for many generations. It is time we all allowed ourselves to let go of millennia of caution and rebuild bonds that we've neglected for too long."
As far as life advice goes, it's both vague and pointed. If you'd asked John an hour ago, he'd have said that he and Rodney are as tight as they've always been, but under Trinai's measured gaze, he starts to wonder if there maybe are some things between them that are…well, not cracks exactly, but maybe strained.
"I would be interested to hear more of your tales from across the galaxy that have made you so suspicious," Trinai says when John fails to respond.
John rubs the back of his head. "You'd be surprised," he says, suddenly aware of how unfair it is that Trinai's people have been automatically viewed with suspicion, that each difficult encounter builds upon everyone's fears and leads to mistrust and misunderstandings.
"Have a good night, Colonel. Give my best to Doctor McKay."
Trinai turns and heads back down the hallway, the hem of her robes rippling on the stone ground.
Rodney's stuffing his BDUs into his bag when John steps into their room. He looks at John and says, "Everything ok?"
John wants to say yes, wants to say everything's fine, go to sleep. But he's been doing that a lot lately, and it's what's gotten them into this mess in the first place. Not with Trinai; she's not lying when she says their agreement is sound. Her meddling here is sincere, maybe even needed. A helpful nudge from an ally rather than some test of their intentions. John knows the team is fine as a whole. But him and Rodney? Yeah, something needs fixing there.
"When's the last time you ate something that made you sick?"
Rodney pauses his bag stuffing and looks at some arbitrary point over John's shoulder.
"Uh, when I was stationed at Area fifty-one," he says after a bit and resumes his packing. "Undisclosed lemon in the salad dressing."
He looks ridiculous standing there in his boxers and his faded 'I'm with genius' t-shirt, but John's overcome by a wave of fondness for his friend's ruffled hair and pointy nose. It's been so long since he simply looked at Rodney. Since they returned from Earth, it's been a non-stop assault on the wraith, followed by non-stop missions to help the people of Pegasus rebuild when they finally won. He can't remember when it was they last did something fun or frivolous together, but he does remember it was the time Rodney finally beat him at chess and crowed about it for days. It makes him smile.
"Okay, fine, Colonel," snaps Rodney. "I know you don't believe me about the lemon thing, but you don't have to be so obvious about it."
"No, that's not what I'm—"
"The reason I've not had an attack in the Pegasus galaxy is that I'm careful, and believe me, you don't want to see what happens when I—"
"Wait, Rodney." John holds a hand up. "Stop, okay? Just…stop."
Rodney's mouth is downturned, but he stops talking and looks at John like he expects to be disappointed by what he says next. It makes John feel rotten that his best friend could feel that way, that it's his fault Rodney feels that way. Years of them growing close and John pulling back whenever things got too comfortable weigh heavily on them both.
"I…" John licks his lips. Suddenly, his whole mouth feels dry. He crosses his arms and tucks his hands in to keep them from shaking. "Look, I know you think I don't take your allergies seriously—"
Rodney opens his mouth to argue, but John carries on.
"—and you're right, I haven't. It's not that I don't believe you, it's just that since we came to Pegasus, you've never reacted to anything. I guess I've been a bit complacent, and I'm…I'm sorry."
Rodney doesn't look any happier than he did before, but he doesn't argue. He finishes what he was doing and drops his bag on the floor. When he picks up a bowl from on top of the wooden dresser under the shuttered window—half full of a pudding that Ronon had leaned over John and told Rodney was safe—something finally connects in John's mind, and with the sudden clarity, his mistake is as clear as a neon billboard at the side of a dark highway.
Rodney knows logically that John takes his personal security seriously. He wouldn't step through the gate if he didn't. But not with this. He doesn't trust John with this one important thing, instead he turns to the rest of the team to alleviate his fears.
Rodney sits cross-legged on the bed, back against the wall, and stirs the pudding with the spoon. When John walks over and sits on the bed next to him, Rodney looks up expectantly. John takes a breath. He has to get this right.
"Can we try this again?" he asks.
Rodney stares at him wordlessly, then hands over the bowl. It's warm where his hands were, as is the spoon. John scoops up the dessert and tastes it, feeling Rodney's eyes on him the whole time. It's rich and creamy, almost a rice pudding but with a more fragrant, spiced milk. More importantly, he's absolutely positive there's nothing in here that Rodney can't eat. John nods at Rodney, and he smiles at him for the first time in forever.
"It's safe," John says, dipping the spoon back in the bowl. "Close your eyes."
Rodney closes his eyes and opens his mouth.