SGA fic: "In The Game: No Points For Stupidity" - PG-13 [John, Ronon, Rodney, Teyla]

[tielan]

TITLE: In The Game: No Points For Stupidity
SUMMARY: John knows Teyla isn't going to like this, but it's not about her. Really.
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: crackerrific, high school AU, drama, action/adventure, angst.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, making no money, etc.
WORDCOUNT: 3127
NOTES: So, this is from the ages-old High School AU I wrote back in 2007-ish. I blame its resurgence on ninja007 for asking for 'John and Michael fighting over Teyla'. She actually wanted it from The Prodigal but that wasn't going to happen. So, it was back to the high school AU and one of the ending scenes...

No Points For Stupidity

"You do realise this isn't going to win you any points with Teyla?" Rodney asked from the front passenger seat as Ronon drove out to the place downtown where he'd arranged for space for the fight.

John scowled out the window at the passing trees and slouched lower in the back seat. "It's not about Teyla."

"Uh, she was dating Kenmore, then she dumps him. The Monday after you find out, the girl you were seeing dumps you, and the weekend after that, you're fighting him in a one-to-one match... Plus, Teyla keeps calling you an idiot - which you are, by the way, because Kenmore is going to cream you."

"Gee, Rodney, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"No charge. And I'm not going to be distracted. This is entirely about Teyla. I'm right, aren't I?" Rodney looked over at Ronon for confirmation.

"You sure about this?" Ronon at least had the tact not to answer Rodney's question, but his glance in the rearview mirror betrayed his concern.

John grimaced. "I got into it," he said. "I can't back out, now."

He found himself rubbing his cheek and dropped his hand into his lap. If he thought about it, he could still feel the jaw-jarring slap Teyla had given him last night after he'd pinned her against the wall and suggested that she give him a kiss in exchange for his car keys.

Assuming he made it through this fight, he had an apology to make. And perhaps a friendship to repair.

Because even if he liked Teyla, it was obvious she wasn't interested in him as boyfriend material, and while his pride was stung, he'd be damned if he'd behave like Kenmore after Teyla had split up with the Rait guy.

There was a time to mount an offence in the hope of scoring a touchdown, and there was a time for damage control.

Time for John to do damage control.

"Well, now's your last chance," said Rodney bluntly as they drove into a parking lot. "Speak now or forever hold your peace!"

John glared at the other boy and shoved open the car door, climbing out into the thin sunlight.

The place didn't look very inviting from the outside. Graffitied cement and old steel doors painted over - but with nice shiny locks on them. This definitely wasn't John's usual part of town.

"It's not the local dojo," said Ronon, slamming the door of the car so it rocked on its wheels. "They wouldn't let us in there."

"You mean, they wouldn't let us in there to have a brawl," Rodney said bluntly. "This place looks like it would see a brawl every weekend..."

"You didn't have to come."

"Please. Someone has to say 'I told you so' when we're scraping John off the floor."

John rolled his eyes. "You're not helping."

"I wasn't put on this planet to be helpful to you," was the retort. Still, the other guy trotted along behind John and Ronon, game in the face of the unknown. "You know, this place doesn't look like it's actually, you know, open? I figured you might like to know because, oh, I'm pretty sure John doesn't want to be fighting Kenmore in the middle of the parking lot."

"He's probably still in bed," Ronon said, pulling out his cellphone and calling a number on it as they headed for the doors. It took a few rings for the guy on the other end to pick up. "Get up, we're here. Yeah, down in the lot. Look out your window." He stepped back, tilted his head up into the morning sun and gave an upstairs window the finger. "Get the fuck down here and open the door."

He hung up and gave John a thin smile. "A friend. He owes me."

A minute later, the door opened and a guy poked his head out. At a guess, John would have put him in his early twenties and just woken up from the look of the bedhead. "Jesus, Ronon, after this we are so even. Who're your friends? No, wait, don't tell me. If you've gotten mixed up in more fucked-up shit again, after this, my door is closed. For real, buddy."

Ronon clapped him on the shoulder as he pushed past. "Not my shit this time."

John figured he'd better follow Ronon, whatever the friend's issues. But the older guy held up a hand. "I'm not getting involved, okay? So far as I know, this is the high school version of Fight Club without Tyler Durden. If I'm wrong, I don't want to know so I can claim I just loaned this place out to a friend, okay? And, yeah, Ronon's a buddy, but if anyone dies or is injured, there's gonna be hell to pay - because I'm not scared to call the cops! You got that?"

The bluster was impressive, even if parts of it rang a little hollow. John just responded with, "I got it."

Ronon had already turned off into a side corridor. When John caught up, he was pushing open a door to show a large room with the curtains pulled over the windows and a mat-covered floor. It was clearly meant for some kind of fighting, and there were boxing gloves and long staves stored against the wall in ordered array.

"Sparring floor," said Ronon unnecessarily, crossing over to the windows and pulling them open to let in the light. "Good enough?"

"It'll do."

John grimaced and began warming up. His body still ached from last night's game and the party at Slick's house. And the hangover wasn't helping either.

He'd bet Teyla didn't have a hangover this morning.

Ronon watched John for a few seconds, then started doing his own warm-up. John wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing - whether Ronon thought he should be ready just in case shit went down, or if he was just doing it as a show of solidarity. Rodney certainly wasn't warming up. He'd slouched down in a corner and was already tapping away at his phone - probably tweeting the news of the fight to all and sundry on his Twitter feed.

"So," Rodney said, tapping temporarily done, "You want to explain why don't you have your car today? Because you had it last night when you left the game."

John grimaced as he twisted his body right, then left. "I left it at Slick Harrison's."

"And you didn't go pick it up this morning?"

"Didn't have the time."

"Uhuh." Rodney made a noise of disbelief. "So that leaves out the part where PJ found you breathing hard on the porch after Teyla walked off with your keys."

Shit.

Ronon paused in his stretching, brows raised in silent question.

"Nothing happened," John defended. He didn't know why he was defending himself to Ronon, it wasn't like the other guy was either interested or available.

"But you were trying to make something happen, weren't you?" Rodney took one look at John's face and crowed. "I knew it!"

"You didn't know anything," John retorted. "You guessed."

"I'm still a good guesser!"

Ronon tilted his head. "She punched you?"

"It was a slap."

"You were lucky."

John opened his mouth to cut off whatever Rodney was about to say, but the sound of voices down the corridor caught his attention.

Rodney tilted his head back against the door to peer out into the corridor. "Looks like Kenmore's here."

Kenmore and three cohorts, as it turned out. It didn't escape John's notice that Kenmore had brought one more companion than agreed upon - two tall guys with the snobbish look of St. Rait's boys, and a guy who looked like he wasn't quite one of the gang - Middle Eastern, perhaps, with features that might have looked proud on a guy who wore them like he was a prince.

This guy wore them like there were several places he'd rather be - and 'anywhere but here' was top of the list.

"Sheppard."

"Kenmore."

Rodney scrambled to his feet and edged away from the door, then looked like he wanted to reconsider his position by the time the third guy had come in.

Kenmore barely gave Rodney a glance. "Ready to be beaten into a pulp?"

Ronon stepped forward. "Rules."

"Who needs rules?"

"Oh, that's a rich question coming from Mr. Elbow-in-the-gut on the field," Rodney scoffed. He went pale as Kenmore turned to stare at him with a disbelieving look but he didn't cringe.

"Okay," Kenmore said, dismissively before turning back to John. "So, is first blood acceptable to you and your little friends, Sheppard?"

John swallowed the burn of anger in his throat, mingled humiliation and revulsion for Kenmore's sneer. "Yeah," he said. "First blood's acceptable."

"Bodies only; no weapons. Balls are off-limits, so are eyes, otherwise anything goes." Ronon looked like he'd arbitrated these kinds of matches before, and under other circumstances, John might have taken a moment to ask about the other times. Right now, he just wanted a fight.

Kenmore didn't even bother to warm up, walking well into the middle mat and standing with an open challenge in his eyes.

John rolled his shoulders one more time and stepped up to the edge of the mat. As he contemplated the step before him, Ronon paused behind him, keeping off the mat.

"This isn't one of your games," the bigger guy muttered, low enough that even Kenmore wouldn't hear. "Don't play by the book; let your instincts do the walking."

John nodded and stepped in.

Kenmore moved like a striking snake. John saw the punch coming and deflected it along his ribs. It stung, but he blocked it, and felt himself settle with that brief bloom of pain. He was there on the mat, he knew his body and its strengths and weaknesses, and he knew at that moment than he could win.

After a season of directing the team, after the stresses of his life in the last couple of months, after getting caught on Mara's rules for being in a relationship and failing whatever internal standard Chaya had measured him against, John just wanted to let go. He didn't want to think anymore, to plan, to plot. He didn't want to be directing players or defending his choices. He didn't want to keep up with some girl's expectations or to have to keep explaining that he was just friends with Liz. He wanted to let go and not have to think about what he was doing.

And the fight was what he needed.

He lashed out with his fists, and blocked blows with his arms, turned his body to avoid the harder blows and ignored the bruising pain where Kenmore made contact. It didn't hurt as much as he'd expected. Adrenaline had him tight in its grasp and he wasn't feeling anything but relief right now - and the tight, determined focus that, here and now, he was going to show Kenmore that he couldn't stalk Teyla without consequences.

And he was.

Kenmore was breathing hard, limping a little where John had taken him in the leg as they prowled around the edges of the mat in a silent agreement that they'd fight on the padded surface, not off it.

The spectators weren't noisy, but there were jeers and catcalls from Kenmore's friends - two of them, anyway. The third wasn't making much noise - no more than Rodney, who was muttering under his breath - probably wincing and flinching every time John took a hit. Ronon was yelling suggestions - at least, John thought they were suggestions. The syllables weren't making any sense anymore, and he was too busy watching for the next att--

The Rait guy lunged for him - an unexpected move. He tackled John around the hips, bringing them both down, and landing firmly on his legs. Bruised muscles screamed, and John got a hand in and blocking the punch headed for his nose, but missed the follow-up that landed in his gut.

John shoved, kicking out and tried to roll Kenmore over, to get the upper hand. He almost did, fingers digging into slippery forearms as he struggled not to let the other guy turn the tables back. But Kenmore had a little more solidity to him, more raw weight, more raw muscle than John and although John twisted and kicked and bucked, he couldn't get the other guy off.

One blow, two, three, four...

The world was beginning to look fuzzy around the edges. And Kenmore's expression was a contortion of rage - as though John was everything that was wrong with his world and only by smashing his face in could things be made right...

Which might work for a while but it was John's face...

Dimly, Rodney's voice lifted in sudden protest. Ronon roared something as the nerd let out a grunt of pain. Someone shouted. A door slammed. And Kenmore's left hand pinned John's right hand, while his knee crushed John's left, and the other guy's lips peeled back in a rictus of hatred and triumph as his fist rose for the knockout--

He went flying.

Sideways.

John blinked, his vision still blurry. A small, slim figure was striding over to Kenmore's sprawled form, her expression stiff with an icy fury.

Oh shit, was John's first raw thought. Then, I'm glad she's not mad at me..

Kenmore tried to rise, and she kicked him down again. He crawled to his knees and she rolled him over with her toe. He grabbed her foot and twisted it, and she fell, but when he tried to climb to his feet yet again, she was already there at his shoulder, pulling his arm behind his back and pushing him down to the ground.

"That is enough," she said, her voice cut like glass. "You have had your fight, and done your thing, Michael. You will get nothing more out of him."

"Worried that I won't leave enough for you, Teyla?"

She snorted, and John winced - at the aching of his ribs, of course. "I have told you time and again, that John is nothing more than a friend."

"Teyla!"

Teyla turned at Ronon's shout as one of Kenmore's friends tried to take her from behind. She stomped on the guy's instep, then nailed him in the balls with her free elbow. And still held Kenmore's arm behind him so he couldn't get up. Even as he tried, she shoved him down again.

"And I choose my friends with greater care than do you," she said, coldly, ignoring the way the other guy had crumpled up on the ground in a whimpering ball. She certainly hadn't been gentle with that elbow.

John grimaced as he hauled himself to his feet. Her gaze drew to his, and he took a deep shuddering breath and revised his former estimation. Teyla was furious at him.

"So why don't you just break me?" Michael rasped against the mat surface. "Twist my shoulder a little further? Bruise my balls?"

Teyla let go of his arm and stepped back. "Because you are not worth the effort, Michael. And you will not trouble me or my friends again."

"Or else?"

She indicated the camera attached to the ceiling of the space. "Or I will have the recording of this fight put up on the internet to show how you were scorned by a girl you would not accept a 'no' from."

He lifted from the ground, bringing his arm around and massaging the shoulder, but stayed kneeling, looking up at her with blue eyes that burned bitterness.

"Yeah, that's going to show a lot - scorned by a slut," he snarled. "One who'd spread her legs for anything with a cock."

Across the room, Ronon growled and moved, she stuck out an arm to hold him back. Pink sprang up in her cheeks, but she smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "But you will remember that I would not spread them for you, won't you, Michael?"

It was gutsy.

It was cruel.

It was goddamn hot.

John's stomach lurched and he moved to her side, in case she needed help against Kenmore. But she was already turning her back on him, heading for Kenmore's darker colleague who stood off by the windows. Her fingers clenched in his jacket shoulders as she shoved him up against the wall with an audible thud.

"Do not even think of coming around to Charin's again, Kanaan," she hissed. "Because I will have Halling and Brian throw you out on your ear. And if they are not there to deal with you, then it will be Tricia, myself, and the carving knife."

"Teyla--"

He didn't get to finish the sentence. One hand lifted in warning. The guy's gaze dropped, as did his shoulders, and he closed his mouth about whatever protest he'd been about to make. He got an extra shove against the wall before she turned and stalked from the room, leaving John, Ronon, and Rodney to follow her out.

John got out on his own steam, all the way to the parking lot, although Rodney rolled his eyes as he staggered out into the bright afternoon sun. "Don't be so fucking stoic, Sheppard!"

The next moment there was a solid pair of shoulders under his arm, even if the other guy was grumbling fit to burst.

Teyla was waiting by John's car, her arms folded as she watched them walk across the lot towards her.

When the steel door banged open, John turned, thinking Kenmore was coming back for more in broad daylight, but it was only Ronon, striding out towards them. "You okay?"

"I can stand by myself."

"Oh sure," Rodney snapped, disentangling himself. "You say that now."

Teyla pulled out John's car keys with a jingle and tossed them over.

He caught them, then grimaced as his shoulders and chest protested the movement. Yeah, he wasn't going to be able to drive for a while. Tossing them back was like taking another hit from Michael, but he got them to her. "You're driving."

She rolled her eyes, moved around the car and opened it up. "I will meet you at John's place," she told Ronon. "Rodney, John, get in the car."

Rodney shot a pleading look at Ronon, who grinned, shrugged in a 'better you than me' way, and strode off to his car. John took the initiative and eased himself into the backseat, gaining an anguished look from Rodney, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere but the passenger seat playing metaphorical piggy-in-the-middle.

Teyla started the car, lifted an eyebrow to get Rodney buckled in, and roared out of the parking lot like a sixteen year girl old with a huge mad on.

John slouched down in the backseat and wrapped his arms around his aching body and sighed.

Yeah, he definitely hadn't won any points with Teyla today.

fin