Chapter Text
Rodney hated crowds. He especially hated crowds at parties. As this particular party was filled to capacity with military morons, Rodney wanted nothing more than to escape. He looked frantically around for Elizabeth as he stuffed the last of the tiny little egg rolls he'd gotten from the buffet table into his mouth. He wouldn't normally take the chance, but since Elizabeth had organized the party he was sure she would've insisted on citrus free appetizers.
“Well, if it isn't Dr. McKay."
Rodney grimaced. “Kavanagh."
“That's Doctor Kavanagh," he said, making Rodney smirk. “And this is Melanie." Kavanagh smiled his greasy, patently insincere smile.
Rodney had to admit that she was hot. Blond, curvy, and obviously an idiot if she was dating Kavanaugh. He nodded a greeting at her.
“So. Where's your date, Dr. McKay?"
Rodney tried to think up a suitable lie, but decided against it at the last minute. He was crap at lying and he knew it. “I came alone." What was wrong with that, anyway? Plenty of people probably came without dates. This was a mostly business function anyway.
“Of course, you did." Kavanagh's voice dripped with condescension.
Rodney decided he'd had enough. “If you'll excuse me," he said, not waiting for a reply before brushing past them. Elizabeth was still no where to be seen, but Rodney wasn't in the mood to wade through the crowd for her. This was her party and she was the diplomat. Besides, she probably had a better chance of getting the grants and the authorization she needed without him there.
He pushed his way toward the front door, snapping his fingers impatiently until the valet noticed and took his ticket.
“I'm sorry, it looks like your cars blocked in."
“Blocked in? Blocked in? What kind of valet are you? Don't you know how to park cars? Is it that hard to comprehend that some people might want to leave earlier than others?" Rodney was fuming. His day was going from mildly annoying to ridiculously crappy. His mind was already working triple time to find a way out of this godforsaken hell. “Where's Dr. Weir's car?"
“Dr. Weir's?"
“Yes." Rodney rolled his eyes. “You know, the woman who's house this is? The woman who's paying your obviously undeserved paychecks?"
“Uh." The valet, who looked no more than fifteen years old, blushed. “It's right there."
Rodney sighed in relief when he spotted Elizabeth's car, safely tucked far away from the visitors' cars. “Give me the keys."
“Excuse me?"
“The keys!" Rodney snapped. “Give me Elizabeth's keys."
“Sir, we can't do that."
“You can and you will. Believe me, Elizabeth would prefer that to my killing you." Rodney tried to cow the kid with his death glare, but unlike his usual minions, the teenager remained unfazed. Sighing the sigh of someone extremely put upon, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Elizabeth. She answered on the first ring. “Tell this juvenile delinquent to give me your keys."
“What?"
“Your. Keys," he enunciated very slowly. “I'm getting out of here before I kill somebody with my brain."
“Rodney," she said, her voice incredibly placating. “It's not that bad."
“Oh, please. Elizabeth, you're the diplomat. You don't need me here. They already know what their money's going to. You don't need me to explain that. In fact, if I stay here any longer I think you might regret ever inviting me at all!"
“All right, Rodney. But what's wrong with your car?"
“These morons buried it. It'll take hours to get it out. And I don't have hours to waste away! I'm hypoglycemic, you know! I'll probably pass out before the valet even gets to the car behind the car behind the car that's behind mine."
“Rodney." Rodney could practically hear Elizabeth rolling her eyes..
He made himself take a deep breath. “I promise to take good care of it."
“Simon will kill me if you put so much as a scratch on that car."
“Yes, yes. I'll treat it like the model of engineering perfection it is."
Elizabeth sighed, and Rodney knew he'd won. He handed the phone to the valet. Rodney didn't relax until the engine was humming beneath the hood and he shifted into first.
He wasn't all that fond of driving, but he had to admit that the vehicle was extremely well built. He made his way down the winding road Elizabeth's house was built on, trying to find his way back to the hotel. Forty-five minutes later and Rodney was loudly cursing every San Francisco city engineer that ever lived. He was also hopelessly lost.
And he was about to run out of gas.
Great.
He pulled over and opened the glove compartment checking for a map or something useful. He found a Powerbar, hummed happily, and ripped open the package. Before he could take the first bite someone was knocking on the passenger side window.
“Yes, what do you want?" Rodney asked impatiently after rolling down the window.
“Hi."
Rodney squinted into the darkness. The man's slow drawl brought him up short. He wasn't sure why.
“Is there something you wanted?"
“Just checking to see if there was something you wanted." The stranger bent forward, sticking his head partially in the window. His eyes were a strange mix of green and brown, and his hair was attractively mussed. He smiled at Rodney, a sort of half-smile that made Rodney's own lips curve upward without conscious thought.
“Something I wanted?"
The stranger rolled his eyes. Rodney felt vaguely offended.
“Yes, you know... “ he let the words trail off, but when Rodney didn't fill the blank he went on. “Like a date?"
Rodney's whole face flushed. “No! Oh my god! What kind of guy do you think I am?"
“Oh," The stranger blinked. To Rodney's annoyance, it made him look utterly adorable. “Sorry. If you keep going you might find someone more your taste a few blocks down."
“What?" Rodney sputtered. “No! I mean, you're perfectly to my taste." He flushed again, wishing he could just close his eyes and bang his head against the steering wheel. “What I mean is that I'm not the kind of guy who pays for dates!"
“Oh, well. You should probably be more careful about where you park your car, then." The stranger gestured at the rest of the street, clearly occupied by a string of loose limbed, young men.
Rodney exhaled a frustrated breath. “Look, I'm lost. I was just stopping to see if I could find a map in the glove box or something."
“Need directions?"
“Do you honestly expect me to believe you know where the W hotel is?" Rodney wasn't a snob but he doubted this gigolo had ever stayed at a hotel that didn't charge per hour.
“Actually, yeah. I live in this city, remember? I pretty much know where all the tourist spots are and the W is smack dab in the middle."
“Oh. Right. Well, then, how do I get there?"
“I'll show you if you let me drive." The stranger reached in and caressed the dash, and Rodney tried not to let the sight affect him. “This is an amazingly sweet ride. Rental?"
“A friend's."
“Must be some friend. This is the fastest car in existence, did you know that? It can go upwards of 250 mph." Those hazel eyes were dilating, and Rodney imagined it was close to the look the stranger might get while, uh, performing his duties.
“I don't even know your name." Rodney couldn't seriously entertain the idea of letting a complete stranger drive Elizabeth's car.
“What do you want it to be?"
The smile the gigolo gave him made Rodney's pulse kick up a notch.
Not liking his reaction, Rodney gave him his death glare and then felt something in his stomach flutter when the stranger chuckled.
“John. It's John."
“Yeah, right. Could you get anymore generic? If you don't want to tell me, then don't," Rodney said, pushing open his door and stepping out. “And I guess I don't really have a choice, do I? If I ever want to see my hotel again, it's either let you drive or ask some other gigolo for directions."
John, if that was even his name, threw back his head and laughed.
~~
“This is an amazing piece of machinery." John couldn't believe he was behind the wheel of a Bugatti Veyron. Whoever this guy was, he and his friends must make the big bucks. “Do you mind if... “ John knew it was probably useless to ask, but when would he get another chance like this? Driving a car like this was almost like flying. If you did it right, anyway. “Mind if we take a spin first? I mean, before I take you to the hotel? I'd love to open her up, see what she can really do." John patted the dash.
“Are you kidding me? You want my permission to try to kill me?" The guy was clinging to the seatbelt strap that rested against his chest.
“I won't kill you. I'm a very safe driver."
“Right, I'm sure all hookers go through a driver's ed safety course together," the guy snapped and the grin faded from John's lips.
Oh, yeah. What the hell was he thinking? He wasn't Major John Sheppard anymore. He hadn't been for years. He didn't inspire confidence or trust. Why the hell did he think a perfect stranger would let him drive this amazing car anywhere but the few blocks it'd take to get him back to his hotel?
“Forget it. Sorry." John shifted into gear and pulled out into traffic. San Francisco streets weren't exactly designed for fast cars, so John chugged along at about thirty miles an hour behind a slew of other people trying to get home or to Fisherman's Wharf or Ghiradelli Square. “So, you never told me your name."
The guy sort of puffed up beside him, and John had to fight back another grin. “Doctor Rodney McKay."
“Doctor, huh? You a surgeon or something?" John figured he had to be more than just a general practitioner to be that arrogant.
“Oh for the love of... Not that kind of doctor! I'm an astrophysicist."
“Wow." John was impressed. They drove in silence for a block or two, Rodney fidgeting restlessly beside him.
“So, uhm, how long, uh, how long have you lived in San Francisco?" Rodney asked.
John shrugged. “A little over two years."
Rodney nodded. “I'm only here for a week."
“A week, huh? Lots of stuff to see in a week." John was good at making small talk, even if it had been awhile since anyone had required it of him. “Are you in town on business or pleasure?"
Rodney snorted. “Business."
“A convention or something?"
“Or something." Rodney sighed, finally relaxing a little as he began to talk about himself. “My boss is trying to raise funds for an expedition. Not just funds, but government approval. Which I'm not sure if you know, but isn't easy to get in this godforsaken country of yours."
The corner of John's lip quirked in amusement. “No, I get you."
“I mean, it's ridiculous how long it takes you people to even make a decision!" Rodney huffed, and John felt the quirk turn into a full blown smile as they pulled up to the front of the W hotel.
“Well, here we are," John said, nodding a greeting at the valet opening his door. “I guess I'll see you later then." he called as he headed back down the sidewalk away from the hotel.
“Wait!" Rodney caught up to him, breathing heavily. “How are you going to get back?"
“I figured I'd just walk. It's only about 3 miles down the road." John wasn't going to waste any time thinking about how smooth a ride the Veyron had been or how good it had felt behind the wheel.
“Three miles? What are you crazy?" Rodney made it sound as if John had proposed a marathon run through the Sahara.
He cocked an eyebrow at Rodney and waited.
“Uh, maybe I can give you some cab fare? You know, for getting me back to the hotel. Or... uh." Rodney hesitated, looking around before leaning in close. “How much do you charge for, you know, the night?" Rodney stage whispered.
John grinned. It was hard not to like this guy. “For the whole night?"
Rodney nodded, his cheeks rosy.
“$1,500."
“What?! That's highway robbery!" Rodney shouted, then immediately ducked his head and looked around. “I'll give you $750."
John glanced up and down at the ornate building that housed the W hotel. He knew full well Rodney could afford a thousand and more. “$1,000."
“Done."
John was smiling as he followed Rodney through the lobby.