sga_saturday | Week #22: Shake: Beginnings (John/Rodney, PG)

esteefee posting in

Title: Beginnings
Author:

esteefee
Pairing: John/Rodney
Categories: Series, Established Relationship, AU
Rating: PG (lang)
Words: 4,000
Series: Fair Trade
Summary: How John acquired Fair Trade. And other beginnings. :)
A/N: Lori and I brainstormed FT's beginnings over coffee, so this is for her!
Also available as podfic read by

wihluta, or various formats on AO3.

Beginnings

by esteefee

Zeke was home with baby Dylan and Ahs was out with the flu, so John was ringing up a customer, letting Rodney handle the Delorean because he had some big surprise cooking with Keith's new delivery of Guatemalan Asobagri Huehuetenango and he said he didn't want John "messing with it," as if John were a newbie at roasting coffee or something. John had tried hard to be offended but Rodney's earnest, imploring look was kind of cute, actually, even if it was a little insulting, so John had just rolled his eyes and gone back up front to take the register.

He'd just finished handing Mrs. Kaul her double espresso when he heard a shout and a clatter from the roasting room that had him limping his way back there—his hip still stiffened up painfully when he stood for long periods, though Gina said that would hopefully improve over time—and found Rodney facing off with old Dino Cricenti, of all people. Rodney had the fire-hardened testing spoon in his hand and was waving it threateningly at Dino, which, considering old Dino was five foot seven and maybe a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, was a pretty hilarious sight to behold.

"Hey, hey, now, buddy. Put the spoon down so nobody gets hurt," John said, then turned to Dino. "Hiya, zio. Long time no see."

"You know this man?" Rodney said incredulously. "I found him messing with the roasting controls—"

"Yes, and you were just about to hit the crack, boyo. You have to anticipate!"

"Anticipate!" John said with Dino on repeat, and they both cracked up.

"Oh, it's good to hear your laugh, sonny," Dino said, and John couldn't help himself, he put his hand on the old man's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, feeling the bones, bird-light under thin skin. Dino looked just the same, maybe a little more wrinkled, but still the same man who used to whack him with the wooden spoon whenever he thought John wasn't paying close enough attention.

Just then the first of the beans started popping like popcorn, and John chuckled again. "Right on schedule. You haven't lost your touch, old man."

"Who're you calling old?" Dino said. "Mama says I still have some broth in these bones."

John grinned.

"Uh, John—you want to introduce me to your friend?"

"Oh, yeah. Rodney, this is Dino. Dino Cricenti, I want you to meet Dr. Rodney McKay, genius around these parts. He only works the roasters for fun." John pulled Rodney over, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. John's heart quailed a little bit meeting Dino's eyes, because Dino was Old Country Italian, and it would hurt pretty badly at this point to have that warmth freeze up, to see all that fond affection Dino had always shown him dry up and blow away just because of who John loved. But it would hurt worse to hurt Rodney. "He's my guy," John added unnecessarily, because Dino's eyes were narrowing and he was already sizing Rodney up in that way he had.

John felt Rodney start to bristle under that gaze, his chest puffing up, but before he could say anything the crackle from the roaster died off into silence, and all three of them looked over at the Delorean.

"You going for a City Roast?" Dino said shrewdly, and Rodney crossed his arms and nodded, though it was news to John. He should have suspected, though—Rodney was always testing the boundaries.

Dino looked at Rodney for another moment, then waved his hand toward the Delorean. Rodney headed over and checked the temperature then did a pull, carefully examined the beans, brushing them with the spoon, and then shut down the gas. Dino wandered over and looked into the cup where Rodney had dumped the testers, then nodded quietly and turned to John, a smile playing on his lips.

"He's all right," Dino said.

John couldn't believe how relieved he was by three little words, but he smirked back, saying, "You don't need to tell me that."

Rodney, of course, was oblivious to the undertones, saying, "Of course I'm 'all right'. This is child's play next to particle physics!" Which made John drop his head and groan.

Dino just laughed and patted Rodney on the arm. "So, I'm guessing you're the smart-alecky who changed up these vents?" Which led Rodney to begin his usual rant about how his reconfiguration had knocked 33.48% off of John's gas bill, etc., and John heard the bell at the front counter and headed up there, still a little weak with relief.

He was preoccupied as he rang up Mr. Kreutchfeld for the usual, and let himself sink into memories as he wiped down the steamer and the empty tables. The café marked the half-way point between the vet rehab center and John's apartment, and in the early days he'd had to make a good long pit stop, all sweaty and dizzy and just a little bit high from pain endorphins and sometimes hanging on the edge of a flashback from pushing himself too hard. Reality had crowded too close, but the quiet atmosphere of the coffee shop, the smell of coffee roasting and sandwiches being grilled, the sounds of Dino chatting with the other customers in his Italian accent, husky and wise, telling stories and then laughing at his own jokes, calmed John down, brought him back to the here and now.

Until the one time it hadn't, and John had sat shaking in the corner seat, fingers clenched tightly around something he could swear were the controls of his chopper, and the hiss of the steamer was instead an incoming SAM and all John could do was freeze and wait, gone tharn, John thought, just like that character in The Stand.

An idiot might have shook his shoulder, or yelled at him or something, but Dino wasn't a stupid man, John was to learn later.

Instead, something penetrated his frozen mind—the most amazing smell, toasted apples and sugar, as far from burning oil and rubber as it could get, and John blinked and his eyes focused on a plate being held patiently in front of him with a crisp apple turnover lying on top.

The guy holding it nudged a napkin and fork at him and said, "Eat up, kiddo."

John took the fork in a daze, and it rattled against the plate, ticking and chattering against it until the man—"I'm Dino," he said—supported his grip with gentle, calloused fingers.

That was how their friendship began. John was never sure why Dino took him under his wing, or why, as the weeks passed and John was drawn into coming back, Dino kept one corner open, and seemed interested in John's life and progress with P.T.

He slowly introduced John to his checkers circle, first as a ringer, to wipe his friends out one by one and cackle gleefully at their morose faces when they had to pay up in candy bars or bingo tickets, and then later to participate in their grand tournaments.

And every so often, over coffee and pastries or one of the turkey paninis his wife, Cecilia, was always pushing, Dino would say things like, "You got nowhere else to be, sonny?" or, "So, you ever think about what you'll do when the V.A. cuts you loose?"

And John would just shrug helplessly, because without flying, without the Air Force, well—he'd never thought about it. He didn't have a lot of marketable skills. His master's was fifteen years out of date, and he'd never had much patience in the classroom to begin with—all his focus had been on flying. Everything else was a yawn. His compensation was a hundred percent right now, but it wouldn't be forever. Sooner or later he'd have to find a job, but doing what? Couldn't be manual labor, and office work would make him stir crazy.

In the meantime, in between P.T. and other doctor's appointments, he spent a lot of time riding his bike, getting to know the city as much as he could—the flat parts, at least. The friends he made were all at the café, though, so he found himself spending more and more time there. When Dino asked him to drop off the day-olds at the shelter since it was on his way home, John added a set of wire panniers to his bike. Then it became a natural thing to start picking up some of the morning pastries as well—that was when John learned that Dino's brother Mario was the one who baked the awesome apple turnovers.

From there it was other errands, all in disguise of helping John get his exercise in, build up his bad leg and hip. Helping Dino or Zeke unload the roasters or bagging the beans. Minding the roasters while Dino or Cecilia handled the customers. Trips to the bank for change or to the drop box. Getting papers to and from the tax attorney or checks to the vendors. All just favors, "Hey, Giovanni, you got a minute?"

And then Dino found out John was good with numbers, and it was all over but for the shouting.

"You want me to what?"

"It's only a matter of time, you see? I'm not getting any younger, and my mind lately gets to wandering, and Cecilia says the nipoti want to spend more time with their old grandpops. You understand, Gio."

"But-but, Dino, I don't know the first thing about—"

"You been doing the books for months now!"

"The books, yeah. The numbers. Number are easy. Jesus, Dino—"

"That's a good boy." Dino patted his hand like it was a done deal. "You'll pick it right up."

"Dino! I can't!"

"Sure you can. You're a natural with the customers, with the books. You have the money to invest the Air Force gave to you, yeah? Zeke will teach you the ins-and-outs. I would sell to Zeke, but he has a wife and wants a bambino and has no capital, poor boy, and he needs this job. Also..." Dino leaned in and whispered, "He doesn't like people so much. He prefers machines." Dino shrugged. "What can you do?"

"Who says I like people?"

"Ah!" Dino wagged his finger. "You pretend, but you don't fool ol' Dino. You like having them around, no lie. And people need a good place to go, a nice place to be. No, this is right. Trust in Dino."

And so, John had trusted in the old man.

John looked around now at the too clean counter he'd been polishing mindlessly, at the precise stacks of cups and saucers and glasses, at the shiny espresso machine and Mr. Kreutchfeld at his usual table, the corner with its padded benches, and the sun drenched air being stirred lazily by the big fan, and smiled to himself. He'd done all right, he thought. Dino shouldn't be disappointed.

"It's too soon," he heard Dino say. "You are too impatient."

"Yes, yes, one of my many flaws." Rodney came up behind John and nudged him with a sweet-smelling sack filled with chocolate-colored beans. "Well? It's the Asobagri."

"Hell, yes," John answered, and took the bag. Dino was right—the beans were still a little too warm, but even the best mill warmed the grind a little, and John didn't want to wait either. They so rarely had beans worthy of a City Roast.

He loaded up the mill and set it for drip grind. "We're going with a five grind, all right?"

Dino nodded briskly.

"Yes, please." Rodney's hands were making grabbing motions John was almost certain were unconscious.

Grinning, John wet down the filter and dumped the warm grounds in the big brewer, conscious the entire time of Dino's eagle eye on him. But even though it had been a while since John's last M.T.I., he'd been drilled by the best and worst, and he held steady under Dino's stare until the first three cups were poured and set in front of them.

“Well, here’s to it,” John said, raising his mug.

Rodney lifted his own, actually looking nervous—probably since it was his roast—and didn't say anything at all.

But Dino tilted his cup against theirs and said, "Chi trova un amico, trova un tesoro." He nodded between them. "He who finds a friend, finds a treasure."

John had to blink down at his coffee before bringing it to his mouth and taking a swallow.

The roast was perfect—light enough to expose the flavor of the beans—slightly fruity, with the sweet undertone he loved so much in bourbon and caturra coffees. John saw Dino's smile, and Rodney's rapturous eye flutter, and had to grin himself as he took another sip, this time letting it hit the back of his throat to pick up the slightly carmelized taste.

"Oh, yeah," John said.

"Mmm," Rodney agreed.

Dino nodded approvingly and put down his cup. His chair creaked a little as he leaned back and looked around. "The place looks good, Giovanni."

John heard Rodney choke a little and gave him a quelling look.

"I haven't changed it much. Some new tables and chairs. Moved things around a little."

Dino craned his head for a look, then turned back to give John a similar once over. "Notice you walk better now. Not so gimpy."

This time Rodney coughed outright. John chuckled a little.

"Yeah. I had surgery, so I'm not as gimpy anymore."

"That's good, Gio. Very good." He sipped at his coffee, his brown eyes bright over the rim of his cup. "You see? I tell you to trust in Dino, and it work out all right for you."

"So you did. It had nothing at all to do with you wanting more time to play hooky with that pretty Cecilia of yours—"

Dino laughed soundlessly, his eyes crinkling almost shut.

"—while you still had 'juice in your bones.'"

Rodney was choking on his own spit at this point, and John tapped him on the back a couple of times, which earned him a glare.

"Thanks a lot," Rodney said hoarsely, and picked up his coffee to gulp it down.

Dino tsked. "It is to savor! To savor, caro."

John hid his surprise at the endearment, but he felt it warm him better than the coffee, knowing Dino liked Rodney that much. Of course, Rodney only grumbled and didn't slow down at all, but he did offer to refill all their cups, and while he was there ended up helping a customer.

Dino leaned in toward John, his eyes intent. Apprehensive, John flicked a glance toward Rodney, but he was working the steamer and wouldn't be able to hear them.

"This man, Rodney, he has a mouth on him, Gio," Dino said.

John couldn't help the smirk. "Yeah. That's kinda what I like about him, Dino."

"Ah." Dino nodded, his eyes crinkling. "Cecilia is the same. It is never quiet, but a man can have too much quiet." He sat back. "And he is good to you?"

"The best," John said simply.

Dino held his palms out. "Analisa says to me, 'Dino, something is wrong. John sends someone to come for the turnovers.' And so I start to worry, but it seems I worry for nothing."

"Oh, that was Sandi. I had the surgery, and then P.T. again, but I'm better now, yeah. Everything's fine. Better than fine."

"Better than fine, good. Good!" Dino clapped his hands, and Rodney looked over at them, startled, making Dino laugh his dry, old man chuckle.

"It's good to see you, Dino," John said, meaning it, and reached out. Dino caught his hand; John remembered this, the thick, waxy callouses of Dino's fingers as they enfolded his when he was showing John how to work the old roasters or the industrial espresso machine.

Dino'd had a plan all along, and John had no idea.

John gripped his hand now, careful not to squeeze too hard, conscious of Dino's arthritis that pained him on his bad days, and Dino squeezed back before releasing him, a smile creasing his weathered face.

"You and Rodney come to dinner sometime. Bring Zeke and his wife and the bambino in that picture on the roaster. Ceci still makes the best cioppino in San Francisco."

"Oh, man. That's that seafood soup, right? I loved that. Count us all in."

"Okay. All right." Dino patted his hand and then levered himself up from the table. John got up too, and caught Rodney's eye as they headed into the back.

"Oh, you're leaving? Wait—" Rodney did something behind the counter, and came around holding an unmarked bag of coffee beans. "The Asobagri Huehuetenango. First time we've roasted it here, so...you should have the first pound." He held it toward Dino uncertainly, as if he were afraid he'd be rejected. "Or, at least, what's left of the first pound."

"Grazie." Dino took the bag and grasped Rodney's wrist with his other hand. "You're a good boy. You take good care."

Rodney blushed bright red.

Dino laughed a little, an evil chuckle that made John bite his lip. "You keep Gio on his toes, caro. He gets bored easy."

"Oh, I will," Rodney said, almost squeaking the words.

Dino smirked at John and started whistling a little tune as he pulled open the back door and walked out.

"That wily old bastard," Rodney said. "He knew exactly—"

"Now, buddy." John pulled close and rested his forehead against Rodney's. "He's the reason we met, you know."

"But—"

"I mean, think about it—if I didn't have a roastery, you probably wouldn't have given me the time of day."

"Hmmm." Rodney considered this. "You're—hey, that's not true!"

"No? You mean you'd have jumped me anyway?"

"Well, of course, but that's irrelevant." Rodney poked him the sternum. "This goes back to how you always answer incorrectly when people ask how we met."

John rolled his eyes.

"And no, the answer is not 'in the corner of my café' as you keep inaccurately telling everyone. We met online in the MathPuzzlers group—"

"That's bull. That's not—"

"Just because you don't recognize non-corporeal meetings, or don't want to be outed as a total geek—"

"That's not why!"

Rodney took a step back and started to lean against the Delorean, a seriously unwise idea since the Loring was probably still hot enough to burn skin. John jumped forward and snagged Rodney's arm, biting back a curse when it put too much weight on his bad leg, and they ended up leaning on each other and staring into each other's faces.

"It's still hot," John said in explanation, and Rodney nodded and gulped, then walked John over to the chairs next to the store room.

"So then why?" Rodney said, waiting until John had taken the lounger before sitting next to him in the fold-up. It made John feel uncomfortable being looked down on, but his hip really needed the break.

He took a second to think back, but all he knew was it felt wrong. "I didn't know you then."

Rodney gestured impatiently. "Hence the very definition of 'meeting', Giovanni."

"Oh, don't even—"

"No, I'm serious. I had no idea about any of this—how you found Fair Trade, sorry, Dino's Coffee Shop and Roastery, how you ended up owning the place. I had a very nice talk with Mr. Cricenti about it while we were waiting for the beans to cool-down—"

"Right, no—I get it. But that's not what I meant. Back then, on the list—that was all messed up. You were different—you weren't important to me." That was it exactly, John realized. DoubleDoc back then was a different guy. "I was different, too. God, I was such an asshole back then. I was so pissed about losing everything, and you were-were—" Christ, John didn't want to say it, but Rodney was staring at him expectantly, his blue-gray eyes bright and interested. "Sorry, man, but DoubleDoc—what a bitter, bitter guy. He used to get so fucking pissed off if someone pointed out he was wrong about the tiniest little thing, like, a grammar mistake in a posting, even. He censored everybody. He'd start moderating the list on a whim, and wouldn't respond if someone emailed him privately. We all called him the Iron Fist behind his back."

John thought Rodney would be upset, but he actually had a small grin starting. John smiled back briefly.

"And me? I was pretty fucking screwed up when I first came out here. It wasn't until—yeah, it was Dino, and Cecilia fattening me up with her paninis, saying 'eat, Gio, eat,' and Zeke showing me how to roast, but mostly Dino talking me down. Jesus, I had a full-on flashback once sitting right there in the corner of the café and he didn't even bat an eye." John rubbed his forehead. "I guess what I'm saying is, I'd rather count the real beginning from when things were better."

Rodney was grinning outright now, a little sadly, but his eyes were shining. "You mean from when I told you I'd take you to the Better Business Bureau?"

"Yeah." John chuckled a little. "Good times." He reached out and all of a sudden Rodney was there putting one knee between his legs so he could bend over John and kiss him, soft lips moving against John's and bristly chin nudging against John's cheek, and John wrapped his fingers in Rodney's belt and hung on, just hung on.

He barely heard it when the lock in the back door clicked open, but then Sandi's voice piped up with, "Hey, boss, you back here?" and John reluctantly let go. Rodney pulled away and went over to the Delorean, a flush starting on the side of his neck.

"Hey, Sandi. Could you get the front? It's been pretty quiet today."

"Sure thing," she said, winking at him.

"Oh, and Dino stopped by earlier."

"No way! Really? Aw, man, I can't believe I missed him." She stomped a little in her heavy, glittery-blue combat boots as she headed up to the front, and John shook his head a little in bemusement before getting up and walking over to Rodney, who'd started weighing and bagging the City Roast.

"I'm taking all of this home," Rodney said, clutching one of the bags to his chest possessively. "Consider it payment for putting up with this crazy place." His neck was still a little pink, and John couldn't resist bending over and planting a kiss right on his nape, where the hair grew soft and fine.

Rodney froze and then dipped his head further, letting John kiss him a little more.

"You really think you can drink ten pounds of coffee before it goes stale?"

"Nine."

"Nine, then. C'mon, leave some for the nice people."

"Oh, fine. I'll leave four pounds."

"Stingy."

"Four is plenty! One for Zeke, one for Ahs, one for Sandi, and one for the customers."

John laughed, grateful beyond belief for his greedy, coffee-grubbing guy, this loud-mouthed, pushy bastard who'd turned his life over and around and every day made it more interesting. If Dino had brought John peace of mind, Rodney had given him back the best kind of chaos.

Maybe John had been too stupid to realize how important Rodney should be in his life before, but he sure as hell knew it now.

"Four is plenty," John agreed. "You get the rest. It's yours, babe. All yours."

"Mine," Rodney said, but he wasn't looking at the coffee, and he leaned in, crushing the bag between them as he kissed John, pushy as always, demanding as ever, just as in the beginning, making John shake right down to his knees.

"All yours," John repeated, and he hoped Rodney would always be this greedy.

End.

A/N: Mario's last name changed to protect the innocent. I don't know if he has a brother. But they still make the best damned apple turnovers you'll ever eat in your life.