John Sheppard was a live-and-let-live kind of guy. Laissez-faire, they called it, when they felt like being fancy. He had nothing against taking action, per se. He could wield a firm hand when the situation demanded. Just last month Lance Corporal Acosta had been patient zero in an Atlantis-wide outbreak of space clap, and John had had to trot out the Colonel Sheppard voice and glare, not easy to maintain when the most obvious symptom was hilarious blue freckles. And no one who'd lived through the Genii invasion or the Wraith siege could ever doubt John was a man who could Get Things Done.
Still, if he had his druthers, John preferred just to let life happen. It had worked for him pretty well so far. Most of the good things in his life, Atlantis and Rodney included, had come to him through this hands-off approach. Some people (Rodney) might say he led a charmed life.
All Rodney's life has run on a sector clock.
He was born before the system was invented, obviously; but if someone hadn't beaten him to it, he would have had to invent it himself. Using it has always been as natural as breathing to him, because the system works like he thinks- precise, cross-referenced, tagged to the minute, in and prioritized and out again at lightning speed. He doesn't know another way to be; he doesn't have room for things that don't fit into his already well-established schemes of self-organization.
He likes it that way.
"Are you sure this is such a good idea?" Rodney said again. "What if the neighbours see us?"
"Rodney."
"What if there's some guy out there with a telephoto lens?"
"McKay."
It was no secret that people weren't Rodney's strong suit. This was probably the reason why he hadn't caught on before. The proverbial clue bus had rolled by four times before realization finally hit him like an expertly delivered kick to the head.
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