Oil - Prologue

Title: Oil

Chapter Title: Prologue

Posted: Monday, March 24th, 2014 Author: GlassesG33k

Chapter Rating: G

Overall Rating: R – For mentions of Marijuana, drug use, explicit sex scenes with men on men action, illness, chronic illness, Hurt/Comforting and all kinds of just a BLAST totally FUN (and some not so fun) adult stuff, Mmkay.

Word Count: 312

Spoilers: None, if you've watched all the episodes and by this time I figure everyone has, or you wouldn't be reading this Fandom anyway. ;-D

Overall Summary: Rodney is a Liberal Conservative, John is a Conservative Liberal; can these two get along. *Dun Dun DUUNN... ;-D!*

Special Thanks: I almost forgot! A BIG THANKS goes out to TactlessTruth for BETA'ing this for me on the spur of the moment. She's going through some really tough times right now and it was because of her struggles that I came up with this story. I hope this helps and is my little gift to you Tactless :-) And if anyone is so inclined she could really use some prayer right now, thanks. :-)

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Oil

Prologue

*SKKKIIICCCK!!!*

…

*SSSSKKKKKKRRRRRRRrrr...ICK!*

…

…

*SKIRRRICK-ICK-K. K. k. Tip!*

Rodney McKay, M.S., Ph.D. sat blind in darkness everything gone. The noise of packaging tape skittered across his whole being setting off nerves as if he were in physical pain. He knew better then to think that something such as sound could create pain. Unknown to his own ears he whimpered, right then and there he'd gladly rip his own nerves out and shove them into any medical quack who so much as suggested that what he was going through wasn't truly pain beyond comprehension, just so they could experience for themselves that pain might be what he was going through at that moment, and not some kind of “psychotic break”. Unknown to even himself he cradled his head and rocked back and forth as if protecting himself; at this point Rodney didn't care which it was. His world passed out before him all sense gone.

The person in the other room was oblivious, happily encasing the whole of their creation in that damned roll of plastic and glue.

McKay shuddered, it was like the whole of his body was chewing on tinfoil.

For a minute the tape caught then tore bumping across the damned card board, Rodney could just see the person cutting off the prodigal end. The hand grabbing the tail and pulling …

*SKIIIRRRRR...*

The simple machine was placed back onto the box and rolled along, the cartridge that it was in catching at the end and ripping it off with a snick.

*SKIRR-*

“WILL YOU STOP!” McKay rocketed out of his chair and into the other room. “It's like dancing across my nerves! Do you know the PAIN-” McKay froze.

The old lady started her eyes wide as saucers, they stood there in silence each staring at the other.

…

It was then that McKay gave in.

Oil - Chapter I - One

Chapter Summary: How Rodney's life began and general grypings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Posted: Monday March 24th 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Chapter Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,883
Cross-posted: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/ http://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesG33k/works
Special Thanks: To the best BETA in the world, Tactless Truth! *fanfare* :-D BIG thanks to her for BETA'ing this while ill, love you lots Tactless. :-)She's going through some really tough times right now and it was because of her struggles that I came up with this story. I hope this helps and is my little gift to you Tactless :-) And if anyone is so inclined she could really use some prayer right now, thanks. :-)

Additional A/N: Since Tactless is very ill right now it looks like she will be unable to BETA the rest of this for me I'm open to anyone willing to BETA the rest of this for me, otherwise you'll have to put up with my editing of it past oh, say chapter 4.
P.S.: I just want to address any concerns, despite the Terminal Category that this is listed under there shall be no death here! says me ;-D, so don't worry no one dies.
Just read and you'll discover WHY. :-)

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Chapter I



ONE

To say Rodney McKay's life had not gone the way he had hoped it would would be an understatement.

Before the age of one he found that everyone and thing around him was rather dull, by three he had been taught that if you're smart that just means you're blamed for whatever goes wrong, and there's no way to argue yourself out of it.

By five he learned that if you're poor then you don't get a good education and are forced to sit in class with your brain rotting away no matter how much you insist you already know everything.

By six Rodney's family had moved down into the lower Southern U.S. where he quickly learned what “Corporal Punishment” was and that it was enforced in school. That year Rodney learned that he was a “damned yank” and that since he was a “damned yank” it was his fault for every little thing, even concocted items or problems that had no basis in reality. Later on he'd realize that it was prejudice he was being beaten with verbally, socially and otherwise plain and simple; no matter how much everyone around him denied it and instead pointed to all of his “flaws” and all the ways he was “evil” such as being born in Canada, being a “Democrat” though that was never true, and being, “for the damn niggers”. Since everyone around him wanted him to “go home! Just GO HOME!” (which never made sense) and he couldn't they were going to eliminate him as quickly as possible in whatever way possible. This meant that before he was say six months into his school year he was spanked, extremely hard with a compressed baseball bat the school called a “paddle” by his teachers first then the principle and then yelled at hard by his parents at home for “acting out in class”. Thankfully his parents had the wherewithal to get the heck out of the U.S. and went back home to Canada.

The next year he figured out that even though it was shit Canada was better then America when it came to … well, everything.

Life continued on after that, in one miserable way or another.

His parents fighting over him and his sister until his Mom died the very next year, at the age of eight. … and then his Dad remarried.

This time though he got the joy of far to many half sisters (three in all) in name only as far as he was concerned. As time went on and his damned parents kept on it like rabbits he got way to many more siblings, till there were at least seven of them.

To many for Rodney to keep track of as far as he was concerned. The only one he ever really cared about was his whole sister or “real” sister as far as he was concerned. Somewhere along the way though she grew up, decided he sucked, and turned her back on him like all the rest.

…

It didn't matter anyway.

What did matter though was math and being able to apply it and through this medium prove that he was right and had been right since the beginning. Because of this Rodney pursued Mathematics and applied physics getting a double degree. Once he was finally out of school he had been expected to be the first to get a Nobel prize an he'd sworn to work towards this goal. He had many theories and through the pure perfect logic of mathematics he was able to finally start piecing together the origins of the universe and the meaning of life itself, as far as he saw it. Heck if he worked hard enough he'd be able to get a Nobel Peace Prize within a decade. Upon his graduation Rodney was sure of all this.

There was just one monumental flaw in it all though, money.

After his degree Rodney had no idea that he wouldn't be able to get a job, or at least one that paid well enough to keep his head above water. So in the end he spent his next remaining years which ended up amounting to the whole of his adult working life breaking his back to keep his many and various jobs, most of which didn't pay him enough to make ends meet and ended before he could even collect say a fourth paycheck. No one understood him and tolerance for his type of caustic and point blank truthful personality was rare to say the least.

He'd had goals and dreams when he had gone into this field and he quickly found that unless you had money coming out your ass then you were screwed from the get go. No matter who you knew or how many connections you made you were not going to be able to peruse your goals mush less have your dreams become reality.

Though after receiving his Ph.D. he was finally able to snag a job that paid him better then the others.

Unfortunately the big bucks and fame didn't come with it, instead of say even eighty-thousand American Dollars a year in salary he was forced to accept a position where he was virtually working three jobs in three different departments at once and making a mere fifty-thousand a year, at best; most years he only cleared forty-five thousand. And that was before taxes and other personal and academic expenses. The school had never told him he was going to have to spend his own paycheck to merely buy supplies for the various departments and students. Or say pay to have something fixed even though it was the fault of the school for not replacing something when it was too old to be used without breaking. So in the end he was lucky to walk away with say twenty-thousand in his pocket which barely covered rent and toiletries. Rodney just wished that the school would at least do him the courtesy of providing food; another “luxury” that had to come out of his pocket.

It wasn't long, maybe five years into his new “career” that he finally had to stop and face it all, coming to terms with the truth. He wasn't going to get his dreams much less be able to reach his goal of a Nobel Prize.

At all ever.

This caused him to review his life and try to figure out what was the good in sticking around if he wasn't going to be able to get his Nobel's, or even answer his many questions about the universe.

His mind went blank as if going dead already from the mere suggestion.

...

He shook his head, if he was this bad off then how much worse off were people working in say the retail industry, or even his own students. … Maybe that was why most of them smelled and looked like they were living in their cars, it was because they were. And here the sciences, back when he was young, had been a sure bet to being able to provide for yourself at least, family too if you were so inclined and lucky.

Rodney sat back and thought about that wishing he'd been able to be accepted, that people and therefore society were different.

That there had been a chance for him from the get go.

But friendship and more so romance was something for the rich and he wasn't one of them, it was clear now he'd never be that lucky. Heck he never had and never would have the time to pick up a phone and call his sister to see how she was doing, and no one wanted him around anyway that was blatantly clear. … Being a thorn in everyone's side was; well it made life downright impossible to live especially when everyone kept insisting that they were right and he was wrong, Wrong, WRONG. It didn't seem to matter how many times he pointed out the facts and the blatantly obvious everything was run according to some skewed social code and hierarchy that he still hadn't been able to crack.

Rodney deflated and looked at the many and various student papers tossed on the table before himself. No he'd never be able to get what he wanted and life was truly about making it to the end, which meant the ripe old age of say eighty and then die alone, for everyone died alone anyway didn't they.

Rodney rubbed his brow and looked away from the mess before himself, so the real question in the end was why keep going.

…

It took the better part of a week but he finally realized that the only thing keeping him around was having enough money to support himself and not being homeless (though it was a close thing most of the time) like his own students were.

Having enough money to get him by and be even slightly better off then someone else, such as the people who served him at the many and various drive-throughs and take out restaurants he frequented was about the only reward he'd be getting in this life time. From the looks of others around him some days it seemed to be a pretty big reward, at least he wasn't living out of a car with three kids, totally alone and trying to get a degree while working three jobs. Most importantly though, knowing far more then anyone else around him was what got him to stick around, for the time being at least, or that's what he told himself. Really though it was not being homeless and being too busy and worn out at the end of each day to do anything else but sleep, in his office as per usual, that stopped him from finally say, taking a long walk off a short pier.

Time slipped by Rodney doing his damnedest to ignore it and speed it up as mush as he could. Then after he hit his late twenties something curious happened, time started to speed up. At first he actually calculated whether or not it had sped up since it clearly had in some odd way, he even blamed it on technology thinking clocks were timing things faster, giving less split seconds in every minute since business was wanting more work done faster. It made sense especially since everything ran on digital now instead of old fashioned mechanics, something that was harder or more obvious if you tried to tamper with it.

Then his thirties hit and time suddenly started disappearing with out his knowledge of it. Before he knew it it was New Years, and then New years again, and it left him wondering when he'd missed his birthday and what year-or how old he was now.

He'd never known the world or life to go so fast and in the far back of his mind he started to believe that it was truly some kind of wormhole, time dilation field or some other sci. fi. oddity. He soon began calculating wormhole physics in scribbles on scraps of paper in his free time.

Despite all of this what came next he just wasn't ready for and it turned his world on it's head.

Oil - Chapter II - Two

Posted: Monday, March 24th 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Chapter Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,161
Cross-posted: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/ http://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesG33k/works
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)

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Chapter II



Two

In an upscale strip mall not far from the local college campus was a shop like all the rest; posh, high middle class, slightly snooty and offering the finest goods around. Half the shops were closed up for the night the others sporting “Open Late!” signs. The ones that were closed had a few lights on in front, their bars drawn down all in an attempt to keep away any and all possible burglars or petty thieves.

In the back of one shop stood a skinny 6 foot two inch tall man. He was leaned up against a beautifully crafted butcher block counter hopping around a bit as he lifted wiry yet well shaped arms. His tan nearly matched the well oiled wood as he brought the large metal bowl in his arms a bit higher. “Take the Money and Run” was playing in the background and the man was whistling along to it, singing the chorus of Woo-Hoo's. Despite the dark hollow eyes and the near skeletal appearance you'd never be able to tell that this man was haunted, his past a constant and at times literal ghost laying heavy on him. He'd struggled with suicidal depression and was still in the throws of PTSD, for good reason, but you'd never be able to tell it from his current actions.

No, right now he was free, as free as his family had allowed him to be after he'd been dishonorably discharged and nearly court-martialed.

John Sheppard had been born to a poor couple his father leaving “like literally the minute after I'd been born” to hear it from the ex-solider. Soon afterwords his mother ended up meeting then marrying a rich aristocrat. He was the owner of one of America's biggest and most renown beer companies, Anheuser-Busch.

Now you'd think that from this point on John's life would be set, with a silver spoon in his mouth there would be no worries, no cause for weeping or strife, sadly this was far from the truth. Not long after marrying his mother had her second child, by this time John was around six years old. His new dad wasn't so new in age and it wasn't long before he bought a large plot of land “for the kids” and took early retirement. John's mother had several more children by his adopted father and with each one John was seen as more of a “bad egg”.

Having been born of a man who was irresponsible enough to leave his own child John's parents made sure that he would not go astray, repeating what his biological father had done. Everyday at the early crack of o'dark thirty in the morning his new step dad would get him up to work in the fields alongside the immigrant workers they hired to help them run their “small” farmland. As the family grew John's new siblings were taught that John was lesser than them and that he was not to be trusted or even listened too. When it came time to blame someone for anything at all, even something as small as the coffee pot going dry John was the culprit. John's mother was happy, well cared for, and more then glad she had managed to procure a good life for John, John saw it a bit differently.

Being seen as the “black sheep” of the family his adopted father made sure to keep his hands busy working him hard every minute he spent at home. As John's dad always said, “Jose'! Physical labor is a way to purge the soul of evil and make an honest man out of anyone; even you.” he'd wink then and John never understood what the heck the guy was saying with that, as if it were some magic trick the guy was trying to pull off making him into some perfect … who knows what.

Time passed and John was soon sent off to boarding and finishing schools, all the while spending every waking second working his fingers to the bone when he was home for any length of time.

When he asked why his brothers and sisters weren't made to work as hard or at what he was having to he was brushed off.

Because of his life John had always loved looking at the stars and the sky, needing to ride the wings of the air and be a part of the total and complete freedom that he saw up there. When the chance to become an air-force pilot was offered he signed up. This enraged his father, his son was not going to become “cannon fodder” as it was called in upright circles; in other words the rich and old money circles which his father and now the rest of his family were a part of.

His father had intervened as best he could and nearly got John recalled from his service. Thankfully it hadn't worked out and the old coot had died before he'd accomplished his goal.

To say the armed services didn't go the way he wanted or even expected is kind of an understatement. A bad trip to Afghanistan, a downed chopper and he was back in the states being “dishonorably discharged”, but not for what you would think. As it turned out nearly a year earlier John's true self had shown through and Don't Ask Don't Tell had come up to bite him, literally.

It had been found out by someone (John still wasn't sure who and to this day was sure that it was his father in some odd way) that he might be gay. He'd been more then celibate and had not even thought about sex since he hadn't dared put the ability to fly in danger. The literally two to three rare times he'd even allowed himself as much as a beer with a fellow understanding man was on leave, so to think that he'd so much as had sex while serving was such a fallacy that well, there's just no comparison. Despite this a case was being built against him, with witnesses being collected and evidence being corroborated. John was sure that it was his fathers last desperate attempt to get him back home and under his thumb. It was during this whole case that he'd been assigned to do a black ops mission and gone down behind enemy lines. He'd been lost, a Prisoner Of War (POW) and had barely lasted six months before he was finally dragged out of there, not by his military but by another army. He'd made it back to the states on his own and quickly found out he'd been written off as dying in combat.

It was not long after this that, as John saw it, the Ghost of his Dad popped up and had his last laugh.

After-wards thinking it over John managed to piece together what had really happened, or close enough to what had really gone down. Whatever the original mission had been it hadn't been planned out well; if at all. When it went FUBAR (Fucked Up Beyond All Belief/Reason) John had been sent in to get specific items and all of the people out. He'd been required to blow the entire crash site to kingdom come or be blown to kingdom come himself if he didn't make it out in time. That right there should have been the obvious sign that this was not a mission to be going on. Unfortunately he'd been a bit to trusting, innocent and willing to get out of doge with the whole DADT investigation about to be underway. The fact that they let him go should have been the other sign, usually he'd be in a prison cell or worse off, instead he was allowed to get out for one last, as he thought, “career, name and reputation saving mission”.

Wow had he been wrong.

When John finally got back to the states and to some form of military base it had been one heck of a sight to see men's eyes go from wide and shocked to narrow eyed boiling animosity in the span of a few seconds. It looked as if John and the whole crew who'd “died” with him were rather famous, at least in the more upper circles.

The first place he was sent was a prison holding cell, and the rest of the time he was forced to spend re-living over and over again the explosions, the dying of some of his closest friends and then the “most shameful” part of it all; how he'd been gay; and through some of his own “magic” weaseled out of being court-martialed and gone on a wild goose chase for downed men; against orders to do otherwise.

That last part had been truly new and John looking back wondered if it had been thought up after he'd come back or before, it almost seemed spur of the moment, some creation of lawyers trying to make sure all asses were covered.

Overall it became instantly clear to John Sheppard, he was being blamed for the U.S. Military's screw up, his name used to cover their internationally shamed asses.

In the end it was somehow found out that he never should have gone on the mission anyway since he had, upon his departure flight to Afghanistan, been at that moment dishonorably discharged for being gay.

…

Thankfully because of that odd screw up (and more then likely some kind of somewhat benevolent and loving person higher up) instead of wasting away in a military prison for the rest of his life John Sheppard was let go, walking free after merely eight months of mental (and emotional) torture.

Since he was not technically “part of the military” when the whole debacle happened the military was able to say that it had never happened in the first place. In the end the U.S. and it's armed services were able to cover their asses that much better.

Or that's what John figured after sorting it all out.

Either way it meant that John was allowed to “slip through the cracks” if you will and go free, since he was not with the military and had not “gone on the flight in the first place” when it all went down. Anyone else, as John testified, that had been involved with the mission was dead.

Either way it didn't stop the never ending sleepless nights, night terrors or flashbacks that plagued him. He wandered around for about one to two years, which he never knew; homeless and starving then broke and went literally crawling to his family mansion.

He sat outside for far to long, wasting away more then he already had been.

He wasn't recognized and no one believed him at first but thankfully by another twist of fate they finally relented and allowed him through the front gates.

His brother had met him on the front step of the house, given him his inheritance, some bags and told him to get out.

It was at that point that John broke, literally weeping out his whole life right there. At least as far as he could recall.

By the time he woke up he was being coddled by some strange woman on his father's couch and his brother was no where in sight.

Thankfully he was cared for and his brother had informed him that he'd be more then welcomed back in if he was willing to tow the line.

John couldn't take being jailed again, even if it was gilded; and with the air growing thick and the walls closing in he said no and fled for the open outdoors.

In the end John's brother rented him a tiny run down apartment, paying for it John found out, with part of his inheritance.

After about another year or so John had finally calmed down enough to decide that he wanted to open a shop and drew up the business idea. He presented it to his brother, his brother telling him the money to do such was always his and John could do with it as he wanted.

His jaw dropped and he took the money and ran, turning his back on it all.

As a last middle finger to his old man and his ill treatment of him and how he'd raised John's siblings to see him as some lower filth, either to be stepped on or pitied, John opened a “joint shop” as he called it.

Coming back to the here and now John blinked and lifted the bowl in his arms to the highest point letting the last of the chocolate drizzle out of it.

Currently the way he felt was that yes, he was as free as the free fall he was still currently in, but he felt and hoped that it was starting to slow, maybe if he could just get it to stop entirely now.

Oil - Chapter III - Three

Chapter Summary: How Rodney's life began and general grypings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Posted: Monday, March 24th 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Chapter Rating: PG
Word Count:2,026
Cross-posted: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/ http://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesG33k/works
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)
A/N: I just want to address any concerns, I know that in my previous series there was a character death, there shall be no death here! says me ;-D, so don't worry no one dies.
And just to let everyone know the title is the whole reason for the character living … well, that's giving too much away I guess, *BLUSH!* =-)
Just read and you'll discover WHY. :-)

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Chapter III
Three

Rodney had graduated young, very young with his first Ph.D. and had started working right after. In a true early definition of hell itself life dragged on in a never ending torturous boredom that would just not cease. Being thrust into the adult working world when you still couldn't drive was not fun to say the least. Having to live at home while you were making enough to say buy whatever you wanted sucked. What was worse was when Rodney went to buy what he wanted and found that he had no control over his own bank account, all his paychecks being printed in his parents names. This meant that when he wanted to say, buy a Spiderman Action figure, or a few comic books, or even the coveted Dungeon Master Manual he couldn't.
Initially he'd thrown a fit and been grounded for it and then had thought of calling the cops. In the end nothing had happened and his parents had pacified him with some candy and not having to have dinner. (He hated lima beans and brussle sprouts.)
It was fine till he woke up sick in the middle of the night his stomach not happy with the fact that he'd had candy for dinner.
When Rodney had grown up enough to truly need that money he found that his parents hadn't even done him the courtesy of saving half of it, or even trying to help him by say investing and subsequently losing it all.
No instead he got to discover that his parents had taken the money he'd made and spent it, every last dime, on themselves and their darn kids; not leaving a penny for him. Terribly Rodney didn't get to find this one out till it was far past the point of too late. Yes, there may have been bills to pay and mouths to feed but they could have at least allowed him to live on his own and unburden them, then take his hard earned money away from him.
Somewhere in there he'd done his best to get a second Ph.D. but it had never worked out. He'd, as he called it, flunked out at a Masters Degree, too busy and poor to go further. He swore to himself he'd finish, some day getting a full doctorate but as the years passed he soon had to face the truth, he was never going to get that second degree no matter how much he wanted it. Oddly enough when he'd been sitting down looking over his life (and planning out his future at the ripe old age of 19) and discovered this he'd wondered if when he finally passed he'd be one of those unable to rest ghosts, floating around the college campus he'd always wanted to go to, scaring young kinds and having to read over people's shoulders as they disgustingly made out.
Rodney shivered and went back to what he was dong at the time, never realizing how prophetic that silly and worthless passing thought would be.

Before he knew it twenty years had passed … or maybe it was only fifteen, which he could never tell,
and he was scraping the bottom dregs of 34 and had had enough. That was the year Rodney had decided he'd quit his job, the one he'd managed to hang on to for a good ten years by then and pursue his own ambitions. He'd get his last pay check and one way or another do his damnedest to figure out wormhole theory, aiming to get his so rightfully deserved Nobel Prize.

Terribly that was the same year he found out he had cancer.

This of course put all his plans on hold and for a good two years or so he went through life shell shocked and staring, not sure what hit him or what to do about it, much less what to think. Most days it didn't matter because he was too ill to get out of bed, even though he had to since sick days were not allowed in the “American Working Diet” any longer, as Rodney liked to call it.
It was all Rodney could do to drag himself in and either teach, tutor or just get through one measly day. He'd nearly been fired several times over and he soon came to discover that as long as no one asked he wasn't going to tell. Thankfully everyone in the work place was far to self absorbed to notice even a middle aged man bent over the trash can in the teachers lounge, or the sound of retching echoing off the walls every time they walked into a nearby men's room. He also found that unless he missed work for any reason or wasn't on time to some, god knows what, he was safe.

For the whole of his working life he had the joy of watching one person after another get fired for missing as little as three days in one year, or say being late only twice. Hell he'd even witnessed time and time again people of all ages being laid off, or their performance being under-graded simply because their kids had gotten sick, or their time was being monopolized because they had an elderly parent at home. Basically if you couldn't spend and extra one to three hours off the clock getting much needed work done then you weren't worth keeping around. And this wasn't just in the area of the desk jokey crowd, the few places he'd tried to work retail had been the same. If you didn't work off the clock then you were let go and no place would hire you again, whether you put your last employer down or withheld it. Rodney had worked away watching through the years as unnumbered people were let go for obvious reasons. There were some memorable ones though, he could count on both hands people who were fired simply because they had a disabled child. One poor woman had an insane adult child that truly needed to be institutionalized, that poor lady was laid off right when she finally got her kid admitted and was in need of the pay check.
And then there were the elderly. The sheer number of old people he'd seen and even had the utter joy of being forced to do the firing himself when he was far to young ... yeah that had been horrible. Even back then he knew that most of them were ill, at least half of them had something terminal like cancer; so he knew better now then to let any of his cards (or in this case balding actually) show.
Thankfully he'd always been a “right bitch” as his one friend had called him and he'd already been going bald, the process seeming to speed up as the years went by, so there was really no way for anyone to suspect anything.
And the few times anyone noticed his weight loss they always complemented him saying how good he looked now, and young; some even going so far as to pull him aside and comment on how proud they were of him.
(He must have really been getting fat, honestly he'd never cared and had never thought it was that bad.)
At first he was upset, babbling half formed words because he wasn't sure what to say to enraged, insulted and scared that they'd figured out his secret and would get him to be let go. Then it hit him he needed to use this to his advantage since it was the perfect way to hide. So when people came up to him he agreed even going so far as to give tips and telling people his “secrets”. He looked up worthless willpower sayings for the more emotional large women who'd come up and try to start talking to him. (In the span of one Christmas week he'd had at least three crying on his shoulder and he wasn't about to let that happen again.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Still getting cancer was not fun to say the least the only upswing was that he lost weight, and a lot; fast. Going from rocking in at a good 350 American pounds to a mere 150 kind of took a toll on his mind and in a fit he stomped into his bosses office one day and quit. Granted by this time the disease was in remission and he had been given a six month tentative bill of health. After his next check up if he was clean then he'd be in the clear but the whole ordeal had left him needing to get some real personal work done.
To his shock his boss begged him to stay and even let him, “go home; take the rest of the day off, and think it over first … okay?”
Rodney just sat back and blinked, he'd never been refused firing before. In all the jobs, internships and whatnot he'd had over his lifetime he'd always been kicked out or “allowed to resign” far before he even wanted to leave. The fact that he lasted longer on this job then he had on owning a cat so far was downright amazing.
So instead of quitting he came back the next day with a list of demands, most of which consisted of literally breaking the job down into at least two if not three departments which should have been done in the first place. Now instead of having to do it all himself, others would be running things and he would merely be there for show. And instead of having to babysit everyone and thing anymore he'd get a lab of his own and be able to finally start doing what he was promised in the first place, experimenting and calculating. Not relying on underlings (who screw up) to do it, but actually being able to do the mathematics himself.
Now instead of working say eighteen hour days and being on call even after he went home he'd only be working a mere eight to ten hours a day and not have to worry if say some student blew something up once he left the office.
He also made sure to put in for vacation and plenty of “professional days” since sick leave was frowned upon.
His boss nearly said no and despite all his pleading the day before said he had to think about it.
It took nearly two weeks and constant checking in but Rodney got his deal with a few adjustments.
He was glad and even relieved but by this time he really didn't care anymore and nearly quit anyway.
Initially it looked like the cancer had gone into remission and that he was out of the woods, no more rupturing his esophagus in vomiting, no more aching and terrible pain, no more food having no taste and no appetite to eat anyway. Yes, until that day Rodney was free and clear again and about to start in on his new life, one of freedom and the health to actually do what he wanted to do in the first place. Until that day he still had … well, life itself.
Then the call came in; he'd just gotten off the phone with his new oncologist and well; his caner had come back or really it had never left. As it turned out he had a small unnoticed tumor that his doctor and surgeon had missed and since it had gone unnoticed it managed to go into his blood stream hence the call from a suddenly new and nervous sounding medical department. To say the call was telling was an understatement, how nice the receptionist was to how odd everyone was talking said it all;
he didn't have long to live.

Rodney hung up and stared at the claustrophobic pit of an office … He felt like he should call someone, ready them for his death. Get things prepared for his funeral or … or what have you. But …
…
But there was no one to call.
No one at all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oil - Chapter IV - Four

Chapter Summary: Introduction of Teyla, Ford and some Interesting Truths.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Posted: Monday, March 24th 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Chapter Rating: PG
Word Count:2,545
Cross-posted: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/ http://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesG33k/works
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)
A/N: I should probably say that I did very little research into the state of Colorado itself, Colorado's new Pot Laws, and the whole political debate over it. And I my knowledge of Cancer … I couldn't use what I know, so I just made that up for my own sanity's sake. Sorry for this.
Opps ;-D! *Smirk!*
Don't worry, if I continue I'll probably have to do some kind of research along the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter IV
Four

In a dark evening lit studio shaded in colors of rouge and navy blue a man in the nicest khakis and blouse walked on stage the lights coming up from black spotlighting him.
“I'm Dan Saucey and thank you for tuning in to the late night edition of channel four news. We're hoping to make this a new part of our coverage and bring up topics of interest in the local community.” The blonde haired anchor turned toward the camera and gave it a big toothy grin. “During this hour we hope to present topics that will enlighten, make you think and even encourage you to talk to your family,” he paused waving his hand, “your neighbors,” the broad man walked over to a high posh leather and chrome bar stool, “and maybe even your local representatives.” He eased onto the seat in front of a large backdrop, his pasture looking over relaxed and a bit hokey. “We're hoping to encourage new ideas and solutions, and maybe even solve problems that have been plaguing our streets for years now.”
The screen behind him lit up with images of the first topic for that night. “But overall we hope to open conversations, bring people together and find answers that will fit everyone. ”
The camera angle changed and he turned with it, “and to start our first episode,” Dan folded his hands on his leg and smiled tilting his head down in a coy manner, “the story we'd like to present to you is one we've spent quite a bit of time researching lately. It begins with a young man...”
~~
“Hey I'm on!” Ford jumped up onto the counter in the front guest area of Farmacy. Ever since he'd been contacted by the local news station he'd been telling everyone he was going to be a star. Initially he'd gone to California for stardom but had quickly gotten involved in the 420 items and debates then gone entirely political fighting to change local laws and make things better.
“And for our first story ...”
One thing led to another and he soon moved out to Colorado seeing that his acting career was going no where and that he was far more politically minded than he had realized. He had a knack for being a politician and he was currently in law school working full time and going to school full time hoping to become a lawyer. He was nearing his bachelors currently and more then proud of it, he'd be the first in his immediate family to earn a degree of any kind.
If Ford could help it he'd get his family and friends rights and even educate them, putting his own family members through school in the process. He wasn't as young and naive as he used to be but he still had big dreams, HUGE if you knew him.
“Hey come on it's on!” he called over his shoulder swinging his legs. The large plate glass windows that made up the front wall of the Farmacy were covered in paintings and pieces of cardboard that advertised items to sell. In every way the Farmacy looked like any other drug store, hawking magazines, candy, toiletries, make-up, cheap clothing and the latest “as shown on T.V.” items. The place was sterile with everything having a place and everything in it's place. The only difference that could be seen were the counters. There were at least two long wide counters their bottoms made out of glass displaying all manner of items just like a bakery would. On top, splitting both counters in half were counter top display cases showing off the latest creations, holding cookies, brownies, muffins and other ”homemade” goods. Behind the counters were long finely crafted shelves, each and everyone holding medical merchandise in pills and other such forms.
Overall you wouldn't really be able to tell this drug store from any other, yes it was a bit more homey and cozy and staked to the rafters with merchandise but it still was like any other store.
The only difference was that most of the items being sold were “Freindly's” or made with pot, hemp or other such natural items in one way or another. Still the inside was sterile and perfectly set up, being like a true Pharmacy.
“I am here.” Teyla the diminutive Ph.D. who was the overall manager of the place came out front taking her glasses off. She'd had a hard and long day dealing with inspecting their latest product. There were local quality control and inspection companies she could go to but she always needed to make sure that what they said was correct. Thankfully so far there had been no need to worry, everything had been clean of all debris, fungus, mold and pesticides as usual. She settled down and watched the interview pondering on growing their own and how much easier, faster and safer it would make things.
Teyla got lost in her musing when Ford nudged her, “lookit.”
“Pot is not about getting high, not at all,” Milessia Ethridge said laughing.
“Wow...” Ford said watching the large T.V. in the corner. The T.V. had come with the shop and had been one of the main selling points when the strip mall had been put up. Teyla had gone in with the co-owner deciding that the place as perfect, it was big enough to expand if they needed to do so, but still small enough so that their current situation wouldn't appear lacking. Usually the T.V. was quietly playing in the background, the Weather Channel informing the patrons of the local weather, tonight though it was being used to inform the current employees of recent political events.
Teyla looked over at the young man, his mouth was wide open in shock.
“When you take chemo-therapy it literally wipes all your-the dividing cells out of your body. This is why your hair falls out, your nails fall out, and it won't grow back until the end of your treatment.” Mrs. Ethridge spoke to the interviewer just off camera.
“Pot, pot gives you your appetite back and takes away the pain and swelling. The treatment takes the taste out of your tastebuds-so everything, I mean everything tastes BAD.” She made a waving wiping kind of motion, “so nothing tastes good. And then on top of that your horribly nauseous when your not vomiting so you don't want to eat, so overall the treatment is very very harsh on your body-these chemicals make you very very ill,” She shook her head. “It takes away your appetite and makes it so you don't want to eat. But pot, pot took away the pain all over my being” she waved her hand over her body, “it took away all my pain and it made me hungry-I got hungry for the first time in my treatment. I was hungry and wanted to eat. So to anyone about to go through this very harsh treatment, or going through it, I strongly suggest despite their moral obligations try it. Just try it when your on this treatment and see if it helps because it can, it really really can.”
The announcer said a few more things and it went to commercial, Ford muting the large flat panel in the corner.
“I had no idea!” Ford turned to Teyla.
“Me either,” Teyla sat up adjusting her back, being bent over a microscope most of the day then the front counter now was not doing wonders for her. “I did not know she had become ill-infact until this moment I was not sure who or what she was, other then a country singer.”
“Yeah I think she is, but I usually listen to somethin' else.” Ford turned back to the T.V. waiting for his chance in the spot light again. He'd already been shown once but of course he was hoping that wasn't the end of it.
“Mm..” Teyla said.
The two sat in companionable silence each lost in their own thoughts …
“Hey,” Ford said.
“Yes,” Teyla looked up at him.
“Do you think I should go back into acting.”
Teyla leaned back feeling her brows arch, she looked the young man up and down he was now getting on in years no longer as young as he used to be but in Teyla's eyes he'd always be a young boy.
“Well I do not know...” She tapped the counter, “I do not know much about the acting business, would it mean you would stop being my courier?”
“No not unless I get a part,” Ford shrugged at her, “I mean, I might be gone for like two three days at most and then back again. Unless I get a cameo in somethin' like a weekly T.V. show, then I might be gone for a week or at most, two weeks but I'd be back.”
Teyla nodded, “well, is there anyone you could recommend to take your place if-”
“I'm back on!”
They both stared as Ford's “big moment” was once again being broad cast.
~
Ford sat in his car, a stylish economic hybrid vehicle. The image jiggled as he turned corners and weaved slowly around then in and out of the traffic. His ever present phone in one hand and blue tooth ear piece on.
“Hey yeah-sorry customer,” Ford mumbled to the reporter, “yeah I-nice to hear from you too-you want your regular?”
The interview went on and soon Ford turned the sound up, “Oh! This is-watch!”
“I donno” Ford looked both ways before turning out, “I donno man I never really thought of it.” He was quiet, contemplative for a few seconds then, “couriers-we're the middle man-couriers-we don't ever really get caught,” he waved at himself and the car indicating, “we never get pulled over or anything, we carry so little around the cops just don't bother, we can't get arrested on such small amounts so...” he shrugged arching his neck to check traffic then turning so he could parallel park.
The scene cut to him walking up to someone's house, “but yeah, we can't get caught on it. The cops, the cops, they never bother you cause we don't carry enough to get arrested on. They never have to worry or have trouble-I mean we're just the middle man,” Ford shrugged, “you know?”
The scene cut back to him driving his car again, “ahh, really most of our clients are part of the older generation.” He looked both ways then pulled out, “yeah, yeah,” he looked over his shoulder then changed lanes, “their older-the older clients. They don't want to go into the shops and be caught, a lot of them will be in a head shop and will end up like standing next to their like kids Kindergarden teacher or Daycare worker or something,” Ford looked sidelong at the interviewer and gave a big mischievous smile, “kinda awkward-embarrassing,” he gave a slight chuckle of embarrassment himself, “ so yeah, they'd rather call and get it delivered.”
The announcer went on and they showed a man in his early 40's who had had cancer. Ford did a delivery and brought him his order along with offering him the option to also buy a brownie much to the man's delight.
“Yeah, yeah, what's that,” the man took the clear box from Ford, holding the item up, “who's shop?” He started reading the ingredients and labels on it.
“Oh it's-” the program bleeped it.
“Oah crap man! I told Shep. that he'd get free publicity!” Ford waved at the T.V.
“Yes well, if you haven't noticed,” Teyla nodded at him, “they have not allowed any names or even specific places to be revealed on here.”
“Yeah but they allowed the guy I delivered too, his name and his house to be filmed.”
Teyla nodded, “I worry about that.”
Ford looked at her, “you think he'll get arrested?”
“I do not know, but after tonight I worry that he will be bothered, even fired, his house raided-even crooks-”
“I don't think so man,” Ford said.
“Well we'll see,” Teyla said.
“So if he doesn't call then...”
Teyla nodded.
~~
Ford and Teyla watched the show till its end, “well whadidyeah think?” he beamed at her proud as ever.
“I think you did great,” she beamed right back just as proud and reached up and gave him a hug.
“You did good Ford you really did good,” she mumbled into his shoulder and then let go leaning back.
It was moments like these that motherly want and need to care for him overcame for a moment, but she shoved it away shaking herself. It wasn't like her to feel that way, to want those things, for her it was very out of the ordinary and very very strange. It was merely age and that darn biological clock she reassured, herself.
She looked him up and down then inhaled long and loud and patted him on the back, “well! I believe it is time to close up, we have an early day ahead of us tomorrow-”
“Yeah I know,” Ford moaned and slid down off the cashiering counter.
“We open at five a.m.”
“Oh God I know!” Ford stretched and then went about shutting the blinds and locking up. It was well past eleven already and they were both more then worn out.
Ford was going to have to be up and at the store before five the next morning if even one of their clients needed healing herbs before work began.
“Do you have an early delivery tomorrow,” Teyla said.
“Nah, thankfully old Mr. Nether is all stocked up and won't need another till next week.”
“Ah that is good,” Teyla smiled at the young man and went back to her business. Ford wouldn't have to be in till six, still that was early enough. For herself she would have to be here early at four thirty just to open up and get started on the day before customers came in. As of late they had begun holding new hours and had had to hire on many new workers.
They were a Farmacy and a Quality Assurance company all in one. The Quality Assurance part had just been added with in the last month and it had caused an overload of work for the poor manager. Teyla wondered at times what her life would have been like if she had not initially gone into politics and then chemistry. If she hadn't been so bent on changing the world she might have made the time to try dating a bit more and longer, and by now she might be married with a child of her own.
“Hey?”
Teyla was taken out of her reverie, “yes.”
“I'm done, I'll see you tomorrow okay,” Ford said.
“Yes, be well Ford I'll see you tomorrow,” She nodded at him then waved as he slipped out the back of the store.
Ten minutes later she had the place locked up and was heading home herself.
~~~~

Oil - Chapter V - Five

Title: Oil Chapter Title: Chapter V- FIVE
Posted: Monday March 24th, 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis Pairing: John/Rodney
Chapter Rating: PG Chapter Category: Gen
Word Count: 2,734
Chapter Summary: John's adult past life and general grypings.
Cross-posted: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/ http://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesG33k/works
Disclaimer: Refer back to the top of the page on the Prologue or First Chapter, here: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all your help. :-)
A/N: Yeah, this one doesn't have that great of an ending, I didn't know how else to finish the chapter and it was so natural I decided to just leave it. *shrug!*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter V
Five

John Sheppard's arms shook as he tried to keep the bowl of rich refined chocolate above the invisible line only he knew of. If he lifted it any higher or let it stray to a lower point then the chemicals wouldn't do what he wanted them to and the dark decadence wouldn't come out as delicious.
After deciding to open a food shop John managed to enroll and graduate from a local cooking college. It was a four year degree but still he as proud of it, especially since he still had memory problems even after all this time.
Studying had been nearly impossible, every time he holed himself up in some place still and quiet the terrors would rear their ugly heads. At first it was all he could do to actually see the words on the page and not his past lovers face screaming in blood up at him.
He'd find the very lines of letters swirling into the horrors he'd experienced, taking on a swimming 3D form then snort awake to find he'd dozed off once again.
It'd been one hellish fight but he'd managed to learn and get through school. After this he took a few chemistry classes, and one Nutrition class. Oddly enough the chemistry classes had been easier and he had even been able to get lost in it a bit; maybe it was because it was so math heavy and for whatever reason math always made him felt better. When he was at his most uptight or over burdened he'd sit down and start doing high end calculations, it as the only thing that saved him at times, at least it had been, before he'd become homeless.
It wasn't until he tried out chemistry that he'd even been near calculations again. Initially he'd feared it thinking it'd cause flash backs, since flying demanded so much math and demanded that you be able to calculate in your head.
He was shocked and wary but greatly relieved that the math required to be done for chemistry didn't cause any kind of; harm. Still John wasn't about to push it, he knew that if he did something as foolish as sitting down and pressing the matter, forcing himself to say do high end physics in his head again, like he had when he'd been locked up … well, he just wasn't that stupid.
He wanted to live in this world, the here and now, not be ripped back to his past against his will, even if it meant “curing” him, like that one damn shrink said.
His brother had dragged him into a psychiatrists office, thankfully only one time and the shrink had suggested that John be forced to relive and retell what had occurred, a type of immersion therapy or what have you.
John knew right then and there that Shrinkdom was nothing but shit and he as not about to return; ever. He'd gone entirely holistic after that and was proud of the fact that he hadn't seen nor been to one single doctor so far. ( But really he didn't have the money for it anyway.)

John was brought back into the here and now by the fact that his bowl was empty and it was time to scrape it clean. He reached over hopping and with a wince snagged the wide and short bendable rubber spatula. He scrapped the bowl out as best he could his arms starting to vibrate with the effort. Patiently he waited, allowing the fine chocolate to pour onto the cooled mixing marble directly in front of him. This was the most critical part of the whole process, folding the delicate confectionery. If done too slow or allowed to set it would be ruined, if done to fast it would make air bubbles and stress the chemicals that made up the chocolate itself.
Terribly when John finally started in on learning how to cook he found that for him at least, it was more like an art form then a science. Every day he had to delve into himself and do deep inner examinations just to produce a product. What did he like in flavors currently, what did he like when he was young, what did his mother like, for she had some interesting yet widely enjoyed tastes. Then he had to try and recall items that he liked in his childhood, and when he was finally done with the preliminary research he had to make up a sample batch and pass the creations around, finding out what others liked or disliked, then go back and do the whole thing over again if it needed correcting or to be scrapped and tried a new all over again. John hated every second of it, the whole thing a torture since each and every every minute, of every day, caused him to relive his terrible past in some way. At the oddest times and in the strangest ways something involved in cooking would cause his mind to recall a long lost incident. Maybe a smell or a taste would ignite some fleeting memory, it was never too bad and he was able to shake his head, wiping away the wisps, like the tendrils of ghosts surrounding him. As long as he felt the cool metal of his mixing bowls in his hands, or the marble counters touching his legs, the music playing and the most important; the caustic smell of cleaning products mingling with the refined foods surrounding him (something that never existed in Afghanistan) he was fine.
All John had wanted when he moved here was to get away from it all, instead he ended up delving head first into it.
That was one of the reasons he still struggled to this day.
On an upswing along the way John had found that he really enjoyed the free and easy form of creating salads, sandwiches and soups. He had hopes initially of opening a sandwich shop but was told this would never work, that you can't just sell sandwiches and that “there's already a Subway, so it's worthless, don't try it.”
Not wanting to waste his money and taking the advice to heart he searched around for what else he could do. The pot debate was getting underway and everywhere John looked stores were popping up and proclaiming to make a good bit of money, he decided then that it was a good business venture and that he'd start up his own. In a nice way it was a massive middle finger to his old man and his “oh so caring family” while still being “respectable”.
So he opened a “Friendly” shop, a place where he sold “gourmet munches”, he had his creations; confections, soups, salads and sandwiches, but what really drew his crowds in was the pot laced items.
If someone wouldn't go near a health food store they'd go into his place simply because he offered items that most health food stores didn't offer.
And when the shoppers became hungry they could try out one of his new inventions. Nearly everyone became a fan of his food and it was a fantastic way to offer new items to people, get recurring customers and even loyal patrons.

Placing the bowl aside John picked up his instruments, two harder large hand sized flat spatulas of sorts and started in. Folding the chocolate on marble was meant to cool it slowly and evenly making sure that the molecules bonded correctly.
The whole trick was to make sure it was done at just the right pace, some liked listening to music as a jeweler would when cutting diamonds and on any other day John Sheppard would be doing just that, one of his regular tunes on in the background setting the tempo and therefore the consistency of the delicacy he was creating, but today was a bit different. As of late there had been great debate over his very living and he needed to know the outcome. Currently at 10:00 p.m. the local channel was showing an hour long info-taiment kind of story in precursor to the main news broadcast. It was the local evening news that John didn't want to miss one bit of so he left it on the channel though the story currently showing was pretty darn good. He had what all the other shops in this strip mall had, a large flat screen T.V. out front for the customers to watch. It had come with the store and was one of the main selling points when it was being offered. John had thought about it for all of two hours then snatched it up making sure to negotiate for a few much needed “perks”. Thankfully the sellers were more then willing to cater to him and he got what he'd asked for and more. In the end John had gotten the right to augment the place as he saw fit, something he still hadn't done.
The place came decorated with dark marble counter tops, deep honey wainscoting and hunter green paint on the walls and to John's eye it looked good so he saw no reason to change it.
He did shell out for nice glass topped tables and some butcher block wood for certain mixing items, and three T.V.'s, one as large as the 52 inch flat panel out front. When it was all said and done his shop was a bit nicer having one large screen T.V. out front and one in back for the workers, they also had two other flat panels but those were behind the main ordering counters for food so customers could see if their orders were up.
Yes John had shelled out for the three T.V.'s, the main one that came with the store currently showing the local channel, it had been worth it and he didn't regret it one bit, infact he was glad he had spent so much it made life quite a bit easier.
Currently the radio was playing with the two T.V. screens mumbling along, the noises making a cacophony of talking and singing which allowed John the ability to tune one out when he wanted. He didn't like being alone like this, it always set him off now. Before he had needed solitude but after trying to study in the quiet library of the local school he found that having some kind of life around him helped a lot more then his mind being allowed to go wild, creating enemies and shadows that were trying to creep up on him.
Overall at night now John found that if he played the radio or at least one of the T.V.'s then he didn't feel so alone and vulnerable. (Maybe it was all the times he'd been beaten by individuals and groups while on the street that was now causing his near freak outs when things were silent. When he'd been in the armed forces and even after, he'd needed silence and couldn't get enough of it. Being homeless corrected that fast.) Whatever the cause he didn't need day-mares or day-terrors as he called them, and if he was awake he made sure to have anything and everything surrounding him that would ease his mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So according to the federal government Marijuana is more lethal and dangerous then Heroine, Meth and Cocaine combined.”
The television droned on in the background as John carefully folded the slowly cooling dark chocolate before him.
*tack tck tck tack tack takc...*
John looked up, his bi-weekly masterpiece nearly done, someone was rattling away on the front doors, tapping the glass. He ignored it his flow thrown off and tried to get back into his creation but the noise became worse. Soon he couldn't ignore it anymore and from the shouts it sounded like several people, maybe a small crowd was trying to gain entrance. Whatever was going on it sounded very dangerous in one way or another.
John reached for his gun and instead got his cell phone glad he'd had the presence of mind what felt like so many years ago now to place the damn thing right where he was always reaching. He took it out and made a call, just to be safe.
Pausing for one more moment to debate letting go of his nearly done creation he sighed. There was nothing he could do, maybe he could pass it off as some thing else, but for the life of him he couldn't come up with anything at the moment. And it really didn't matter anyway, the wanna-be intruder or burglar was getting very agitated and John had the terrible feeling that it might be the cops or some other kind of law enforcement. Thinking of that he wondered if he should call his lawyer. Instead he called Ford, his delivery boy. Ford was a good guy and worked for him and a few other mutual businesses. John decided that he was the lest to attract attention and be more understanding if he needed help. Ford was also a friend and if something happened then he wanted someone to know. Back when he was in the armed forces and then homeless he hadn't cared what happened to him after he passed away, John had figured he'd be dead so what would he care. But as of late, with age and ailments creeping up on him he'd started to really give a crap, wanting a funeral and all, just some modicum of respect, you know? He had no idea what changed but whatever it was John wanted someone to find him and then carefully and with great care take care of what was left of him and put his body to rest.
“Damn,” Ford's phone was off so he had to leave a message.
“Hey yeah it's John, I've got some trouble at my place and I just thought I'd let you know ...” John leaned to the side peeking out from the kitchen and preparation area of the shop. Despite all the ruckus there didn't seem to be a crowd. The idea of a whole town being out, just like in Afghanistan with more or less pitchforks and fire torches trying to break into his shop and take it down shot through his mind. John glanced up at the still playing news, it would have been from the main topic tonight that would send the town out for blood, that's for sure.
“Yeah, I don't know what's going to go down here, I just need you to come by and check up first thing as soon as possible tomorrow morning,” John grimaced, “If I don't end up on the news first,” he chuckled giving a smirk. He doubted that something that bad would happen but couldn't help saying it.
The place had been locked up for the night at 10:00 p.m. and all John's regular customers would know that.
“Hey! Hheeeyyy!” the doors were now being pounded on, “I can hear you in there!” someone's muffled voice called through the thankfully rather thick glass. It was one of the reasons John had chosen this place, it made him feel safe, or it had until tonight.
Tonight though was showing him that no matter where he was he was still far to vulnerable, especially in this business.
He lifted his cell making one last call before he confronted whatever was out there.
“Damn it,” John hung up, he'd had to leave a message instead of being able to talk to his legal help directly. He could have really used any and all possible info right then.
“Come on! I know you're in there I can hear you from here! I can see you for god sakes!”
The attitude and inflection were that of a teenager but the voice was that of a rather aged adult.
John finally inhaled and in hopes that he wouldn't be arrested for being burglarized marched to the front door empty handed. He knew enough by now that if someone like him in this kind of a shop were to even attempt to defend himself the poor shop owner would just be jailed for “beating the robber”, or “going to far” or “far to harsh self defense” as had just happened in a case not a month ago.

Oil - Chapter VI - Six

Title: Oil Chapter Title: Chapter VI- SIX
Posted: Monday 24th, March 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis Pairing: John/Rodney
Chapter Rating: PG Chapter Category: Gen
Word Count: 1,242
Chapter Summary: Rodney's current pains and situation.
Cross-posted:  http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/new  and  http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/3782.html
Disclaimer: Refer back to the top of the page on the Prologue or First Chapter, here: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)
A/N: Since I'm not going to be able to post this Wednesday I decided to go ahead and post Chapter 6 today. Enjoy =-).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter VI
Six

It had started the night before.
Another night spent too hot or too cold, bits and pieces of him were shivering ice while others were burning hot. All the while the bed was uncomfortable and his mind was blank with worn tiredness. This was the second night in a row where he couldn't sleep.
The second night in a row where his nerves were firing off, his whole body caught in a shower of sharp painful pinpricks. Except these weren't pin pricks as in pins and needles when a leg falls asleep no, this was more like trillions of itchy, irritating to the point of raw pin point knives stabbing with the force of a train into each and every one of Rodney's pores.
The now rather thin professor rolled onto his side and tried his damnedest to actually get back to sleep. For whatever reason he'd gotten tired very early on and had been able to lay down and snooze for about two hours while in his office at school, but now that it was the middle of the night sleep was eluding him. Rodney sat up and sighed, there was no reason for this, no reason at all. Giving up he put the light on and tried for some light reading, picking up War and Peace he went to work. So far he'd found that after a good two, maybe four pages on his more stubborn nights, he'd be out like a light. The author truly had a talent for putting people to sleep, it was unrivaled from all the other items Rodney had read, even his old college textbooks which initially had been real snoozers. He hadn't gotten very far in War and Peace and was barley an 8th of the way into the book. In all honesty he wondered if anyone in history had been able to suffer through reading the whole of this piece and why in the world it had been deemed a classic, maybe it was because the guy had friends in high places which definitely seemed to be the case from what was written. That is, if this authors book was anything to go by when it came to his personal life.
Sadly it took a bit longer than Rodney had expected, several times over he had been nodding off the book drooping in his hand and he'd shut the light off, slip down into the covers, relax and; his eyes and whole body would wake wide up. It wasn't until 7 a.m. that he finally managed to doze off only being ripped from sleep when the 10 a.m. alarm went off. Granted he didn't have to go in till 10:30 a.m. but still not being able to sleep, or even call in sick was just too much.
Granted by this time he was able to set his own hours and had ample privacy which he was more than relieved for, so at least there was an upswing that no one else would have in his position. It still didn't get him the much needed sleep though or the ability to lay back down and at least doze during the day, even though it'd turn his hours all around and make him feel even worse then he already was.
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When he woke up there was the tell tale sharp ache like a massive knife flaying him from his spine outward. The whole of his body was pain and when he got up he was blind from it.
He went through his regular routine gingerly doing everything, cranky as all get out. Even getting dressed was beyond agony, the clothing itself a weight that rubbed and prickled his skin, rough and pure red to the point of raw, chafing.
He'd gone into work not able to think of anything, the pain overriding everything, and had ended up staying late again, or what was late for him now, thankfully.
By eight o'clock he was on his knees begging a god he'd never even given the merit of existing to just let his agony end.
He pleaded and made deals, all of which he knew from psychology was what most people who were faced with death went through. Then it hit him that he might be dying and just not know it … it sure as hell felt like it.
His mind and memory had been shot all day, concentration was zero and being able to even take in information was not gonna happen, even through he'd waited all day for the torture to subside. Usually at some point it did but his original ongoing back problems coupled with his new nerve problems set him on edge.
By the time Mrs. North directly across the hall was ever so kindly wrapping that damn box with as much packaging tape and love as she could manage Rodney had had enough.
He'd been doubled over elbows on knees, rocking back and forth, hands over his ears the very sound like tin foil fingernails scraping against the chalkboard of his nerves.
He'd had no sight and no idea he'd been doubled over in the first place till it suddenly dawned on him, after the initial shock of his realization, that he was standing in Mrs. North's office and had nearly outed himself.
It was the need for his job and control again that had forced him to turn on his heel and literally run out of there. He'd grabbed his keys and driven down to the one place he'd been sticking his nose up at every time he'd had to pass it.
He'd even changed the route he took to work just to avoid this area after it had become legal to use the stuff for recreation. He'd voted against allowing Marijuana to be sold for medication and had even written a few letters to several publications about the evil dangers of allowing the drug to be sold as open and frivolously as liquor.
Now he stood, despite himself and what had been left of his better judgment, outside the one place that seemed to be open.
He looked at the sign again, it said that the place was open till 10p.m.,10:30 on some nights and it was barely nine o'clock, what could be keeping them he had no idea. When he'd arrived the whole place was empty and looked like it had been closed up for the night. He tried the door again hoping he'd pulled on the wrong one, then tried pushing thinking it was like that Far Side cartoon with the “smart” kid, but both doors were locked. He cupped both hands around his eyes and peered in, the lights were still on and the whole of the place was rather warm and welcoming looking. It was just empty, very empty. He craned his neck and saw that the large flat screen up in the corner had on some wanna be “news cast” like 60 Minutes or something. One of those “info-tainment” episodes displaying images and talking about some obviously dumb subject with a skewed perspective.
Rodney glared at the whole of the place wishing that the damn pot heads would quit getting high for one damn second and actually serve a possible customer when he started knocking; loudly.
After a few seconds he found himself yelling at the top of his lungs pouring out the whole of his pain, worry and life.
~~~