Title: At the Company Picnic
Summary: Set sometime after the non-Stargate AU A Hundred Happy Things (if you've not read it, the Need-to-Know is that John is MtF). Jeannie finds herself standing with Kavanagh at the company picnic buffet. . . .
Warning: Apologies to any fans of Kavanagh, I don't write him as a nice person.
"Oh, my God," Kavanagh said, not only cutting off Jeannie's remarks on the latest ZPM tests, but half-turning away from her (as if she were insignificant) to stare in the direction of the institute's car park. Jeannie bit her lip and willed her blood pressure down. Kavanagh wasn't working under her anymore; Zelenka was sending him to Siberia or someplace. Good riddance, she thought, and nearly smiled when her mental voice sounded almost identical to her brother's. "Who invited the Amazon?" Kavanagh demanded, jabbing a drink umbrella at a woman crossing the lawn towards the tent where the buffet for the annual picnic was set up.
Jeannie looked despite herself. She felt the reflexive urge to warn anyone female to stay far away from Kavanagh.
"Oh," she said, relaxing and letting the corners of her mouth curl up in a V — for victorious, or vindictive, or even slightly vicious. "That's Rodney's girlfriend."
"You're kidding me," Kavanagh said, staring from the woman to Jeannie and back again. "He said he had bagged a waitress or a stewardess or a hostess or something, but I thought — well. You know." Kavanagh shrugged contempt. "He's the kind of person who'd have to lie about his sex life, isn't he?"
Jeannie didn't even know where to start on that, so she took three steps back and reached over the nearest table to poke Rodney in the shoulder. He looked up from his contemplation of finger food and blinked at Jeannie as if coming out of a trance. Jeannie was glad he hadn't heard. She didn't like Rodney to be hurt.
"Jona's here," Jeannie said, and gave Rodney a complicated mixture of eyeroll and eyebrow-bridging and grimace to indicate that Kavanagh was being a nightmare.
"Oh," Rodney said, dropping his plate down carelessly next to the fruit bowl and staring. Jona had slowed, scanning the crowd. She'd dressed up, in a red tunic with a low neckline over black trousers. The outfit would have made Jeannie look pregnant and pudgy and pale, not sexy in the least. It sucked having a more-or-less sister-in-law who could pull off the Amazon thing. "Do I look okay?"
Jeannie leaned forward and wiped a bit of sauce off his chin with her thumb. "There."
Rodney gave her a grin and took off. He had an actual bounce in his step, and Jeannie could see his shoulders go back with pleasure when Jona spotted him and headed his way.
Jona said something, and Rodney made a wide gesture in reply that made her laugh. Rodney moved right in close to her and slid a hand around the back of her neck to pull her down for a kiss.
It wasn't the sort of embarrassingly lewd kiss that Jeannie imagined Kavanagh would inflict if he could ever get a date. Rodney wasn't being possessive or showing-off; he was just effervescent with happiness and apparently unable to stop himself. Jeannie realised that she was watching — watching Jona's hand slide under Rodney's suit jacket to rest on his side, watching Rodney try not to mess up her hair, watching how comfortably they fit together — and looked away, annoyed with herself.
"Good God," Kavanagh said, and now Jeannie found his outraged offensiveness so petty it was almost funny. "How the hell did McKay manage that?"
Jeannie leaned in conspiratorially. "Because he's not a complete dick," she said, sweetly. She turned on her heel and left him standing there, alone.