Growing Old Gracelessly
Mar. 27th, 2007 07:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnySheppard's hair goes silver it seems like overnight, and it leads to any amount of teasing (although at this point, what wouldn't?) but Rodney suspects it's less about discrete dye jobs and more like some kind of release. The admission that there aren't missions like there used to be, the acceptance of the fact that 'promotion' looks suspiciously like 'desk job', the recognition that you get to a certain age and joints start bitching loudly when you're trying to flee from the spear-wielding natives. With Rodney it's more gradual and less unexpected - the slow creeping retreat of his hairline, gentle expansion of his waist, a reduction of speed in the flailing hand movements ('though the tongue stays just as quick, just as sharp.)
He supposes that he's accepting it with equanimity, which makes it kind of a shock when Sheppard's birthday present stings, a little. He takes it with good grace, though, sarcastic comments tripping off his tongue easily enough as he places the fedora dead center on his head. Sheppard reaches over to tip it to a rakish angle, carefully suppressed laughter in his eyes as the tips of his fingers ruffle through what's left of Rodney's hair.
The next year, it's a floppy hat like the Doctor's, and he takes it better this time. It's kind of fun to lull the new recruits into a false sense of security, wandering around the lab in white coat and ridiculous head gear and looking like nothing so much as an absent-minded and benevolent professor - until they screw up. Then all hell breaks loose and he relishes the fear in their eyes, looking up sometimes to catch Sheppard watching him from the doorway with some strange mutation of his usual smirk on his lips.
The third year, the replica of Magneto's helmet (and god, Magneto), he finally gets it. Finally works out what it is that Sheppard's saying. About age, and acceptance, and about the fact that they've got to a point now where they can look as ridiculous as they damned well please without anyone saying the first thing about it.
(And when the door to his quarters hisses open that night age means nothing - he feels like a teenager again.)
Next time his birthday comes around he's comfortable enough with it all just to beat John around the head with the Homer Simpson mask until they're both laughing helplessly, gracelessly, thighs pressed against each other under the table.
***
I don't know what it is about this fandom, but I totally delight in the unromantic. More than usual, I mean. No idea what prompted this, actually, but it's kind of nice to write something again, no matter how small. :D
(I so need a McShep icon.)
He supposes that he's accepting it with equanimity, which makes it kind of a shock when Sheppard's birthday present stings, a little. He takes it with good grace, though, sarcastic comments tripping off his tongue easily enough as he places the fedora dead center on his head. Sheppard reaches over to tip it to a rakish angle, carefully suppressed laughter in his eyes as the tips of his fingers ruffle through what's left of Rodney's hair.
The next year, it's a floppy hat like the Doctor's, and he takes it better this time. It's kind of fun to lull the new recruits into a false sense of security, wandering around the lab in white coat and ridiculous head gear and looking like nothing so much as an absent-minded and benevolent professor - until they screw up. Then all hell breaks loose and he relishes the fear in their eyes, looking up sometimes to catch Sheppard watching him from the doorway with some strange mutation of his usual smirk on his lips.
The third year, the replica of Magneto's helmet (and god, Magneto), he finally gets it. Finally works out what it is that Sheppard's saying. About age, and acceptance, and about the fact that they've got to a point now where they can look as ridiculous as they damned well please without anyone saying the first thing about it.
(And when the door to his quarters hisses open that night age means nothing - he feels like a teenager again.)
Next time his birthday comes around he's comfortable enough with it all just to beat John around the head with the Homer Simpson mask until they're both laughing helplessly, gracelessly, thighs pressed against each other under the table.
***
I don't know what it is about this fandom, but I totally delight in the unromantic. More than usual, I mean. No idea what prompted this, actually, but it's kind of nice to write something again, no matter how small. :D
(I so need a McShep icon.)
