Chapter Text
Rodney doesn’t like the new guy.
Could be the sunglasses. Or the hair.
He looks like he belongs in a sports bar or a motorcycle convention—or wherever men like that go.
But he definitely does not belong at Rodney’s Mensa chess night.
"I’m John," the guy says, offering a hand.
Of course. A generic, second-class action hero name. Fitting.
"Doctor Rodney McKay," Rodney replies, begrudgingly shaking his hand. "Double PhD."
He usually just goes by Rodney here, but something about John makes him feel like he has to establish dominance early.
"Cool," John says. "What’d you do your PhDs in?"
"Why do you care?" Rodney shoots back. It’s not that it’s a secret, but he’s not in the mood to dumb down his research just to talk to someone who’ll probably shut down as soon as he hears the word astrophysics.
"I’m thinking about going back to school," John says with a shrug, seeming remarkably unfazed by the fact that Rodney is putting exactly zero effort into being pleasant.
Rodney frowns. "Aren’t you a bit old for that?"
"Maybe."
Apparently John refuses to be insulted, even by that. At best, he looks bored. Rodney feels vaguely annoyed—but also done with this conversation.
"Well, you’re new here, so I’ll tell you the rules. You can play tonight, but that’s just an exception we make for first-time visitors who didn’t bother reading our website. If you want to attend regularly, you need a Mensa membership, and for that, you have to take the official test."
"Took the test last month," John says.
Rodney huffs. "Okay. But you actually need to pass to become a member."
John just nods. "I did. Then I read the website. And that’s why I’m here."
"Oh." Rodney gives him a second, longer look—tries to reconcile the sunglasses with the idea that he might not be completely stupid—but it doesn’t work.
Of course, there could’ve been a mix-up with his test results, but Rodney won’t make any more assumptions.
"So do you want to talk more, or actually play?" he asks.
"Sure, let’s play," John says simply.
They set up on one of the tables and flip a coin for colors.
John gets white and plays an acceptable Vienna. It gets them out of theory fast, and Rodney can respect that.
They’re only a few moves past the opening when Elizabeth comes over to their table.
"I see you’ve met Rodney," she says, smiling at John. "I hope he’s given you a very warm welcome."
On another day, Rodney would’ve been annoyed—either by the fact that she’s clearly making fun of him, or by her flirting with the new guy—but really, if she wants to distract him, that’s only a tactical advantage.
"He’s been very nice," John says, and logically, there should be sarcasm, but Rodney can’t hear it.
Elizabeth can’t either, apparently, because she just says, "Oh, that’s good. If you want to play another game later, I’d be happy to."
"It’d be my pleasure," John replies, in a way that’s probably supposed to sound charming.
Rodney decides they’re both idiots.
The hypothesis is supported immediately by John taking way too long to figure out his next move—which is an obvious pawn exchange.
Rodney rolls his eyes while he waits.
At least it’s mildly entertaining to watch John stare at the board.
He looks like the kind of guy who did razor or deodorant commercials in his twenties. And now—late thirties, maybe—Rodney thinks he could still be in a car rental commercial. Or one of those home security system ads where the man is strangely calm while someone breaks into his house.
Rodney’s almost fully lost in that thought when John finally plays his move—recapturing with the wrong pawn and weakening his structure.
Rodney chuckles and punishes it immediately with an attack.
He sees the stupidly obvious tactic one second too late.
No amount of quiet cursing can save his bishop, and—infuriatingly—John actually seems capable of trading into a winning endgame from there.
Rodney doesn’t need the humiliation of playing it out.
"Fine. You got me," he says sharply, resigning with a handshake.
"Good game," John replies, polite as ever, but with an annoyingly self-satisfied smirk on his face.
Rodney scoffs. It wasn’t even a good game. John didn’t play well. Rodney just blundered—and that’s definitely Elizabeth’s fault.
"Maybe you’ll have better luck with white, next week," John adds then.
Luck?
Rodney’s speechless for one second.
That’s apparently enough for John to get up.
"Still curious about your PhDs, by the way," he says, and then he’s gone, walking over to Elizabeth, and all Rodney can do is stare at his back.
What a strange guy.
"He’s ex-military, you know?" Radek says, in the lab, later that week.
Rodney looks up from his screen. "Who?"
"John. From chess," Radek says, like that should have been obvious.
Rodney squints. "Aha. And why would I care?"
"I was just surprised," Radek says. "He played really well."
"Oh, of course you’d think that." Rodney huffs. "It was just cheap tactics."
Radek tilts his head. "But you still lost, no?"
Rodney glares at him. "I didn’t even really try. And how about you do your work instead of gossiping?"
That ends the conversation.
Rodney puts time into preparing his Ruy López for Wednesday. He won’t be caught off guard a second time.
Still… he is a bit nervous thinking about a rematch.
Something about John just makes him feel uneasy.
Maybe it’s the military thing. That tracks. He sure looked fit.
And apparently he’s at least somewhat smart.
Women probably really like him.
Even Elizabeth liked him—which is odd, since Rodney had been pretty sure she didn’t like men in general.
But none of that matters.
Rodney’s not giving up.
He won’t be intimidated by some good-looking jerk who’s probably not even that good at chess.
Rodney comes in on Wednesday with iron determination to destroy John—only for John to greet him with a smile.
"Hi, Rodney," he says, and he doesn’t even look threatening, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt like he’s just some regular guy.
Rodney can’t decide how he feels about that.
They set up for a rematch, and it becomes clear fast that John’s Ruy theory is actually weak. Rodney gets a sharper setup out of the opening, which lets him push pawns easily. It’s not a quick game, but eventually he manages to translate his structure advantage into a win.
John shakes hands with him, and Rodney is so relieved about the win that he feels charitable enough to tell John a bit about his research. He’s surprised to find out John actually took some undergraduate physics classes. Not that he can keep up with what Rodney’s saying—but at least his questions make sense.
Somehow, they end up talking for almost an hour after the board is cleared. Strangely enough, John even snorts at the mediocre Schrödinger’s cat joke Rodney makes.
In the end, he has to admit, John is almost… likeable.
Which definitely makes things worse.
So Rodney finally makes an excuse to get up and sit with Radek. Not even to play another game—just to get away.
Unfortunately, this leads him straight into a discussion about how pigeon flocking behavior is similar to the particle distributions they’re seeing in the latest experiment readouts in the lab.
At least it’s enough to occupy Rodney’s mind. He’s still stuck thinking about decentralized decision-making in pigeon groups when he leaves the pub at eleven.
And then John catches him at the door.
"Hey, wait," he says, stepping out into the cold night air behind Rodney.
"Yes?" Rodney turns, looking for a pen, or a coin, or something else he might’ve dropped. But there’s nothing, so he looks at John, questioning.
"I, uhm—" For a second John looks confused too, like he forgot what he wanted to say. "—Well. I thought maybe you’d wanna grab a coffee sometime next week?"
Rodney tries his best to make sense of that. "Do I want to grab a coffee? With you?"
John nods. "Right. That’s what I said."
Rodney has this question filed in the category of work context. And this is not a work context.
"Why would we do that?"
John makes a stupid expression with his strangely pretty face. "I don’t know. To talk?"
"About chess?" Rodney asks, because that’s the only logical explanation he can come up with.
"Sure," John says. "I’ll buy you a coffee, and you help me with my Ruy."
Rodney huffs. "That’s stupid. I can’t teach you the Ruy in an hour."
John looks at him a moment longer, then shakes his head. "Hey, just forget I said anything."
And suddenly, Rodney panics. It feels exactly like playing a very dumb chess move and noticing—one second too late—what you’ve done.
"Actually," he hears himself say before he can think, "Sunday works for me."
John looks surprised. Then he smiles, and Rodney’s stomach twists for absolutely no reason.
"Cool. The Starbucks at—"
"No," Rodney interrupts. "Chevron Seven. Near the university. It’s the only decent coffee in town. Eleven sharp?"
"Alright. I’ll bring a board," John says.
Then he’s gone.
Rodney tries not to think about it.
He arrives at the café on time, and John’s already there, leaning against the wall of the neighboring building—spiky hair and all.
"Hi," John says—and then this awkward thing happens where Rodney goes for a handshake and John goes for a fist bump, and their hands collide weirdly.
John laughs.
Rodney doesn’t.
They go inside, and there’s another strange moment when John actually pays for Rodney’s coffee. Something about that feels off—even though it’s what they agreed on. Just a simple transaction.
Rodney shakes the feeling off.
They set up at a quiet table in the back, but before they can even start going through lines, John somehow brings up Batman—mentioning he actually likes the Schumacher films—and that’s such a bad opinion, it derails them into a full hour-long argument.
When they finally make it back to talking through variations, Rodney’s surprised by how much John actually knows. It’s less teaching and more rehearsing together.
"Did you prepare for this?" Rodney asks when John correctly points out his turn order.
"A bit," John admits.
It doesn’t seem like a bit. It seems like he knows the Ruy better than Rodney does. And that’s not something you learn in a few days.
"Why didn’t you play this on Wednesday?" Rodney asks.
"I guess I forgot," John says, throwing him a look Rodney can’t classify at all. So his brain kicks into overdrive, trying to make sense of it—but he keeps reaching the same strange conclusions.
John must have been very distracted...
Or he must have lost on purpose.
And that makes absolutely no sense.
Unless—
A very unsettling thought creeps into Rodney’s mind.
"Wait a second." He stares at John. "Is this a date?"
John slowly tilts his head. "Do you want it to be?"
"No. Of course not," Rodney says without hesitation.
He refuses to take the blame for this misunderstanding.
"Oh. Okay." John looks a little startled. "Well, then it’s not."
The silence that follows is uncomfortable.
John starts fidgeting with a pawn, and Rodney needs another moment to fully process the interaction.
He just rejected John.
Who apparently thought this was a date.
Which means John must like men.
More specifically, John must like Rodney.
For a second, that makes Rodney feel very powerful. He’s never rejected a seriously attractive person before.
Then he just feels stupid. And confused.
Until another thought hits him.
"Aren’t you military?" he blurts.
"Well, not anymore," John says, looking up—there’s a little grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Dishonorably discharged."
"Oh," Rodney says. And then again, "Oh."
"But not because of that," John adds. "Well. Not exactly. Long story." The grin falters, like he hadn’t meant to bring that up.
More silence.
Rodney wonders, briefly, how he managed to end up in this conversation at all.
Then John says, "Anyway. So, how’s your test series coming along at work?"
Rodney grabs the lifeline immediately. "Well, it’s not what I expected, but I think Radek made a mistake in the experiment setup."
John asks a follow-up question… and just like that, everything feels fine again. They go back to a normal conversation, and Rodney feels himself relax.
For a moment, he’d been worried John might stop talking to him now.
And that would’ve been a shame.
Rodney’s never had a friend who likes talking about physics, Batman, and chess.
And whatever misunderstanding there was—it’s cleared up now.
Really, it would be stupid if they stopped talking after today.
So, as they leave the shop, Rodney says, "I wouldn’t mind doing some more opening prep together next week."
He almost expects John to smile again.
But the look he gets is different—somehow a little dull.
Still, John says, "Sure. Same time, same place?"
Rodney nods. "Alright."
On Wednesday, they don’t play—John’s still new to the club, and everyone wants to challenge him.
Rodney watches from a distance and decides to take back his early judgment.
John fits in just fine.
At chess, they’re all a bit weird in their own way—and John is too.
Just in a less obvious way. But that's okay.
The whole date situation still echoes around in Rodney’s head. Sometimes it still gives his ego a little kick.
As long as he keeps the thought at a safe distance.
If he examines it too closely, it makes his stomach feel weird.
And that’s unpleasant.
On Sunday, they play at the Chevron Seven. Rodney wins, but it’s close.
Then they talk about Rodney’s cat and work.
John doesn’t talk much about himself—but that’s not really a problem for Rodney.
One week later, they don’t play.
Instead, John brings records from his time at the Air Force Academy, and Rodney helps him scratch together something that could pass as a grad school application.
When John says "Thanks," with a big, honest smile, Rodney feels that strange nervous tension again—but this time, he attributes it to the second cup of coffee.
It’s the only explanation he has.
Because, generally speaking, drinking coffee and talking about shared hobbies is just normal friendship behavior.
So the funny feelings he has before seeing John can only be about the fact that he hasn’t had a good friendship in a while.
Anyway.
It’s nice.
The Sunday meetings quickly become a highlight of Rodney’s weekly schedule.
For a few peaceful weeks, he’s almost content.
Then Radek ruins it all, one Thursday over lunch, by saying, way too casually, "So you and John didn’t work out?"
Rodney blinks. "What?"
"I heard you were together, but it’s over now," Radek says, like this is the kind of conversation they’ve always had.
"What?" Rodney repeats, before coming up with a better question. "Who told you that?"
"Elizabeth."
Rodney rolls his eyes. "Great source."
"She’s besties with John, actually," Radek adds, completely serious. "So she’s a pretty good source."
Rodney tries to keep his voice under control. "Well, it’s wrong—and also none of your business."
But then Radek actually says, "It’s okay, Rodney. We all get rejected sometimes."
And Rodney nearly chokes on his coffee. "No, no, no. Okay, you’ve got this all wrong. I rejected John. Obviously."
"Oh, really?" Radek raises an eyebrow.
Rodney stares into his mug, instantly regretting he said anything.
"Well, then you’re probably happy he found someone else," Radek adds eventually.
"What?" Rodney says—for the third time today.
"Oh, haven’t you heard? John and David are a thing now. But it’s still very new."
Rodney scoffs. "David Parrish? You’re kidding, right?"
"I’m not."
Rodney can’t believe it. "Why would anyone date Parrish?"
"He’s nice," Radek says.
"He’s a biologist," Rodney almost spits.
"Botanist, actually," Radek corrects.
"His Elo is under 1600," Rodney tries.
Radek doesn’t seem to care. "I personally think they’d be really cute together."
Cute? The thought makes Rodney sick. Everything about this feels wrong.
But that’s probably because he’s sad for John.
John could really do so much better than Parrish.
Distantly, Rodney wonders when everyone in the damn chess club became gay… or if it’s always been like this and he just wasn’t aware of it.
Either way, his day is ruined.
And probably the rest of his month, too.
"By the way, I got accepted for the Master’s program," John says on Sunday, sipping his coffee like it’s just any normal day. Like nothing has changed. "Don’t know if I’ll take it, but thanks again for the help."
"Sure," Rodney says.
But for some reason, he finds it difficult to be happy for John. He hadn’t planned to bring it up—but now the words just come out, "Are you celebrating? With Parrish, maybe?"
John freezes mid-motion, blinking at Rodney.
"Actually, yeah. I will," he says eventually, putting down the bishop he’d been holding.
"Good for you," Rodney says, entirely failing to make it sound sincere.
John squints at him, like he’s trying to figure out what the hell is going on. "Do you have a problem with David?"
"No, I don’t have a problem," Rodney says. "He’s just… a really weird guy."
"Well, maybe that’s my type," John mutters into his coffee, not looking up. "Can we play now?"
"Elizabeth says your story is true," Radek announces on Monday, like he’s following up on a particularly juicy investigation. "That you actually broke up with John."
"We had one date," Rodney corrects. "It was nothing. We’re just friends."
"Elizabeth said he seriously needed cheering up." Radek pushes his glasses up and looks at Rodney with something that could almost be… respect?
"Well, that was like two months ago. He’s over it now, isn’t he?" Rodney says—entirely unprepared for how that simple sentence makes his throat feel tight. He coughs.
Radek nods.
Still, the whole thing feels surreal. Rodney’s not even sure what the story is here, but apparently Elizabeth and Radek are following it like a soap opera.
And somehow, they’ve decided to cast Rodney in the role of John’s ex-boyfriend.
He wouldn’t care—except he can tell it’s stirring something up inside him. Something uncomfortable.
He manages to shut the thoughts down… but only just.
And only until chess night.
Until he watches, from the corner of his eye, as John and David greet each other with a hug.
That’s when Rodney knows he’s in trouble.
Because there is absolutely no rational explanation for the sudden flash of anger that makes him want to knock over the chessboard.
He only gets through the evening by keeping his distance—and by absolutely crushing Miko, who started playing chess a month ago.
Then he goes home, sits on his couch, and stares blankly at the wall until the thoughts finally start to settle into shape:
Maybe he’s a tiny bit jealous of David Parrish.
And maybe—big maybe—he likes John in a way that’s not… one hundred percent platonic.
Yeah.
That realization should feel big.
But it doesn’t.
It just puts words to a mistake he’s been half-aware of for a while. It’s like replaying a game you lost in a stupid way—and only now spotting the mate-in-three you should’ve seen. You knew there was a blunder, but seeing it clearly makes it even more haunting.
Rodney tips his head back and stares at the ceiling.
Great.
Feelings.
He could really do without those.
…And he could also do without the sexual identity crisis that’s now looming somewhere on the horizon.
But that part, at least, he decides to postpone.
The urgent problem is not that he likes a man.
It’s that he likes John.
And John is dating Parrish.
The goddamn botanist.