McKay kissed you.
Sheppard read the note he'd written himself a second time. And a third. Then he sat back in his desk chair and checked the date according to his laptop.
No, it was not April 1st.
It was also not Tuesday.
It wasn't Wednesday, or Thursday, or Friday, either. He scratched his head.
Okay, he thought to himself. The last thing he remembered was Monday.
They'd come back from Bethwa and debriefed after the regular medical exam. All perfectly normal. McKay had complained about his sinuses, Teyla had looked serene, and Ronon had grunted something that made Elizabeth stutter. Sheppard was pretty sure Ronon was doing it deliberately and wasn't above admitting to himself that watching her flounder around the big Satedan was entertaining.
Hey, you had to have sense of humor to survive in Pegasus.
The gate had activated and Lorne's team had come through unharmed. There was babbling about natives and medicinal properties of some plant. McKay, Ronon and Teyla had headed for the mess. He'd lingered long enough to be certain Lorne and his men were all there, hale and whole, then hurried after his own team. It was chocolate pudding night. Teyla would make sure McKay and Ronon left him some, but it would be all for naught if he didn't get there before Lorne's skinny botanist.
Sheppard was pretty sure that Parrish was part hummingbird, with the whole eating his weight in food every day thing. He thanked God and the Asgard daily for the Daedalus' monthly supply runs.
He'd snagged the very last pudding with a feeling of great glee, nodded through McKay's rant about ... something, and headed for his office to sign off requisition forms, or at least read them. No way was he authorizing Sherman's request for a mini-fridge. He'd also read Col. Caldwell's latest list of 'recommendations' and filed them appropriately (delete, delete, laugh, delete, shudder because the man obviously had no idea of what the scientists, even botanists, could and would do, delete, delete, delete, and hunh, that one there wasn't a bad idea), before heading back to his room, taking a hot shower and falling into bed gratefully. The idea when he joined the Air Force was that he wouldn't have to hump a pack for miles through the boonies and get up close and personal with hostile natives. So much for that. Sometimes he wondered where his life had turned sideways. Then he went to sleep.
That was Monday.
He'd woken up with a piece of paper stuck to his chest that said:
It isn't Tuesday. Check the laptop.
Sheppard might have suspected McKay of pulling a particularly complex prank, if the writing hadn't been his own spiky, sloppy scrawl.
So he checked his laptop. Which informed him that he'd lost four days between going to sleep and the present.
According to the notes he'd left around his rooms for himself and the email on his laptop, everyone on Atlantis had been infected with something that blocked the transfer of short term memory to long term storage. Some people got reset every sixteen hours, some had almost twenty. Off world missions were all on hold.
Beckett was working on a cure. Until he found it, every day was Tuesday.
None of that explained the note that had been tucked under his laptop.
McKay kissed you. He read the note one more time, just in case it had changed, and tried to picture it. McKay kissed him? Why? How? How had he reacted? Nothing.
McKay had kissed him? Sheppard shook his head, feeling a little dizzy. What the hell had possessed McKay? And what had possessed Sheppard to write it down like an infatuated teenage girl?
He spent the day thinking about it, wondering about it, trying to imagine what had prompted the kiss, what it had been like.
No, no, he wasn't thinking about that. Really the only way he would have ever imagined McKay kissing him would have been if he had a chocolate bar between his teeth, a bag of coffee in one hand and a fully charged ZPM in the other.
But.
McKay kissed you.
Had it been one of those air kisses the Air Force wives did with each other? Or one of those close mouthed kisses people gave their kids, maybe to his forehead -- though, honestly, Sheppard couldn't quite imagine a scenario in which McKay did that either. Or had it been a real kiss, with lips and tongue and maybe a little teeth, hot and wet and messy ...?
Jesus.
He just kept wondering, when he had never once wondered before. Was McKay a good kisser? Had he liked it?
Sheppard dropped his head into his hands, threading his fingers through his hair, resisting the sudden urge to pound his head against the desk. Why the hell had he written that note? He wouldn't be driving himself crazy like this if he'd just not left that note for himself.
Of course, he could tear up the note and tomorrow he would be blissfully free of all memories of McKay kissing him or wondering what it had been like when McKay kissed him.
It was like a get out of jail free card.
Sheppard sat up.
Exactly.
Maybe that was why McKay kissed him. Because the next day neither of them would even remember it.
No consequences.
Sheppard began to grin. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. If he really wanted to know what it had been like to kiss McKay, there was nothing stopping him from finding out.
~~~~~
Sheppard rolled out of bed and went to his desk. He found a piece of paper and wrote himself a note, then brought it back to the bed with him.
McKay rolled over and wrapped an arm around his waist, asking sleepily. "What are you doing?"
"Leaving myself a note."
Sheppard twisted around and sighed.
McKay began kissing his throat.
"Something important you don't want to forget?"
"Very ... important."
McKay looked up. "And? What? What's so important?"
"Just this," Sheppard murmured as he found McKay's lips with his. "Kiss McKay."
Sheppard read the note he'd written himself a second time. And a third. Then he sat back in his desk chair and checked the date according to his laptop.
No, it was not April 1st.
It was also not Tuesday.
It wasn't Wednesday, or Thursday, or Friday, either. He scratched his head.
Okay, he thought to himself. The last thing he remembered was Monday.
They'd come back from Bethwa and debriefed after the regular medical exam. All perfectly normal. McKay had complained about his sinuses, Teyla had looked serene, and Ronon had grunted something that made Elizabeth stutter. Sheppard was pretty sure Ronon was doing it deliberately and wasn't above admitting to himself that watching her flounder around the big Satedan was entertaining.
Hey, you had to have sense of humor to survive in Pegasus.
The gate had activated and Lorne's team had come through unharmed. There was babbling about natives and medicinal properties of some plant. McKay, Ronon and Teyla had headed for the mess. He'd lingered long enough to be certain Lorne and his men were all there, hale and whole, then hurried after his own team. It was chocolate pudding night. Teyla would make sure McKay and Ronon left him some, but it would be all for naught if he didn't get there before Lorne's skinny botanist.
Sheppard was pretty sure that Parrish was part hummingbird, with the whole eating his weight in food every day thing. He thanked God and the Asgard daily for the Daedalus' monthly supply runs.
He'd snagged the very last pudding with a feeling of great glee, nodded through McKay's rant about ... something, and headed for his office to sign off requisition forms, or at least read them. No way was he authorizing Sherman's request for a mini-fridge. He'd also read Col. Caldwell's latest list of 'recommendations' and filed them appropriately (delete, delete, laugh, delete, shudder because the man obviously had no idea of what the scientists, even botanists, could and would do, delete, delete, delete, and hunh, that one there wasn't a bad idea), before heading back to his room, taking a hot shower and falling into bed gratefully. The idea when he joined the Air Force was that he wouldn't have to hump a pack for miles through the boonies and get up close and personal with hostile natives. So much for that. Sometimes he wondered where his life had turned sideways. Then he went to sleep.
That was Monday.
He'd woken up with a piece of paper stuck to his chest that said:
It isn't Tuesday. Check the laptop.
Sheppard might have suspected McKay of pulling a particularly complex prank, if the writing hadn't been his own spiky, sloppy scrawl.
So he checked his laptop. Which informed him that he'd lost four days between going to sleep and the present.
According to the notes he'd left around his rooms for himself and the email on his laptop, everyone on Atlantis had been infected with something that blocked the transfer of short term memory to long term storage. Some people got reset every sixteen hours, some had almost twenty. Off world missions were all on hold.
Beckett was working on a cure. Until he found it, every day was Tuesday.
None of that explained the note that had been tucked under his laptop.
McKay kissed you. He read the note one more time, just in case it had changed, and tried to picture it. McKay kissed him? Why? How? How had he reacted? Nothing.
McKay had kissed him? Sheppard shook his head, feeling a little dizzy. What the hell had possessed McKay? And what had possessed Sheppard to write it down like an infatuated teenage girl?
He spent the day thinking about it, wondering about it, trying to imagine what had prompted the kiss, what it had been like.
No, no, he wasn't thinking about that. Really the only way he would have ever imagined McKay kissing him would have been if he had a chocolate bar between his teeth, a bag of coffee in one hand and a fully charged ZPM in the other.
But.
McKay kissed you.
Had it been one of those air kisses the Air Force wives did with each other? Or one of those close mouthed kisses people gave their kids, maybe to his forehead -- though, honestly, Sheppard couldn't quite imagine a scenario in which McKay did that either. Or had it been a real kiss, with lips and tongue and maybe a little teeth, hot and wet and messy ...?
Jesus.
He just kept wondering, when he had never once wondered before. Was McKay a good kisser? Had he liked it?
Sheppard dropped his head into his hands, threading his fingers through his hair, resisting the sudden urge to pound his head against the desk. Why the hell had he written that note? He wouldn't be driving himself crazy like this if he'd just not left that note for himself.
Of course, he could tear up the note and tomorrow he would be blissfully free of all memories of McKay kissing him or wondering what it had been like when McKay kissed him.
It was like a get out of jail free card.
Sheppard sat up.
Exactly.
Maybe that was why McKay kissed him. Because the next day neither of them would even remember it.
No consequences.
Sheppard began to grin. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. If he really wanted to know what it had been like to kiss McKay, there was nothing stopping him from finding out.
Sheppard rolled out of bed and went to his desk. He found a piece of paper and wrote himself a note, then brought it back to the bed with him.
McKay rolled over and wrapped an arm around his waist, asking sleepily. "What are you doing?"
"Leaving myself a note."
Sheppard twisted around and sighed.
McKay began kissing his throat.
"Something important you don't want to forget?"
"Very ... important."
McKay looked up. "And? What? What's so important?"
"Just this," Sheppard murmured as he found McKay's lips with his. "Kiss McKay."
-fin
- Summary: Every day is Tuesday, but that's okay.
- Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
- Rating: Mature
- Warnings: none
- Author Notes:
- Date: 10.5.05
- Length: 1022 words
- Genre: m/m
- Category: Humor, Amnesia
- Cast: John Sheppard
- Betas: none
- Disclaimer: Not for profit. Transformative work written for private entertainment.