Title: Siberia

Ratings: PG

Pairing: John/Rodney

AU: They never went to Atlantis Lj-Challenge

Disclaimer: Nothing mine all theirs, sadly.

Summary: It was the smallest of all steps from Afghanistan to Siberia, at least for him.

Warnings: Slash


It was the smallest of all steps from Afghanistan to Siberia, at least for him.

Thousands of miles from screwing up in blistering heat in one desert to freezing cold in
another one, and seen from his cliché loaded point of standing, the company wasn't the
slightest bit nicer than those who shot down his friends.

Of course the USA, or his beloved military for that matter, was friends with the Russian
military, (big friends, happy friends, best drinking buddies) but as with many other things
too, the military was a bit behind on certain facts, like the end of the cold war and such.

Or that was what his Russian 'buddies' here seemed to think.

Fine, yeah, he wasn't really supposed to be here, officially at least, and he had no real
clue how he was picked for this shit anyway but anything was better than prison, even
one or two friendly glares of big, big men with bad, bad Vodka breath.

Oh yeah, and there was of course the Vodka, and the fact that nobody cared if you got
totally wasted in the evenings – there wasn't much more to do. Really, NOTHING, in
fucking big letters, you couldn't tell a 'he' from a 'she' no matter how close you tried to
look, and it got only worse when all the layers of warm cloths were off.

He shivered at that particular female, blond memory who seemingly had abandoned a
fantastic future in the Olympic 'male' Wrestling team for the service in Siberia.

He still had to thank his father, it could be far worse than that.

Siberia wasn't that bad, really, and his order to be guinea pig for some exiled Canadian
scientist in the name of American-Russian friendship wasn't that bad either. At least not
as long as he just had to touch a gadget here or activate something there, (Perhaps he
had to thank his genes for that one particular lucky fact) fine, Dr. Rodney McKay cursed,
growled and complained in three languages simultaneously – so nobody around missed
out on the fun – was an egoist and asshole – at his best times – and was just hideously
funny when cooing at his fat and fuzzy cat, but by far the best buddy John ever had.

Their start as roommates had been a bit rough tough, although that was the fault of the
commanding officer and Perestroika, Rodney's cat (the political one perhaps was to
blame too).

Rodney was just great to get drunk with and gossip about all those big (wo)men - blond
horror wrestling team members in particular – mourn over all those fine things unknown
in the last corner of Siberia; like Canadian bier or good looking women.

They truly were friends, and perhaps, sometimes a bit more.

But that was okay, he knew Rodney, right down to the fact that he always would know
what to expect when he pealed Rodney out of all the layers of his cloths.

And wasn't that a good thing?