No. 23

Prompt: Any SciFi, Any/Any,
Believing the strangest things
Loving the alien - SGA post series
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699969.html?thread=92356417#t92356417

John stared at the sign in horror. Behind him, Lorne, Teyla, Ronon, and Rodney were struggling out of the cab with all their worldly possessions in a single backpack each.

"This has got to be a joke," John said.

"O'Neill has a sick sense of humor," Rodney said, "but what makes you say that?"

And he stared at the sign.

Lorne stared at the sign.

"I don't get it," Ronon said. "What's wrong with nails? You use them for building stuff, right?"

"Not those kinds of nails," John said.

"Atlantis Nails." Teyla said wistfully.

The T on the sign flickered and sparked and then exploded in a shower of glass tubing.

"O'Neill expects us to run this place till he sends for us." Rodney stared at the dingy store front grimly.

Lorne sighed. "Orders are orders."

So, in they went.

It was a good cover. An Atlantis reference for a tiny bit of comfort from home. But something so far outside of any of their comfort zones that the IOA wouldn't even glance in their direction. In a small town, but not so small that their arrival would make a lot of waves.

They got the shop up and running in two weeks, between a lot of elbow grease and surprising know-how on Lorne's part. John re-established the supply relations the previous business-owners had had. Rodney made them all watch hours upon hours of instructional videos on YouTube. Teyla went around town handing out fliers for the grand opening.

Hardly anyone showed up, despite the specials they were offering. Some of the old ladies who'd once been regulars came by, but as soon as they saw that the majority of the staff was white men, they backed out quickly, and the place remained empty.

Until the day there was a heat wave and the AC broke and all of them were reduced to taking off their shirts (except Teyla, who wore a tank top and shorts), and one woman came in. She asked for a manicure, and while she was waiting for Rodney to set up a station, she tapped away at her phone.

And then four of her friend showed up.

And the place went from empty to incredibly busy, and if Ronon was shirtless the entire time, oh well. John and Lorne occasionally took advantage of their military physiques as well, but Rodney could only be badgered into a tank top at best, which was a shame, because he was solidly muscular and broad across the shoulders.

They had a system. John and Rodney did prep work (scrubbing, sanding, clipping), Ronon did the massages and the base coats of paint, and Lorne did the fine art (and also henna tattoos on the side). Teyla handled all the appointments, John did the books, all of them cleaned. And the business limped along just enough to keep them alive.

On Sundays they closed the shop and did chores around the cramped apartment they all shared upstairs, and they waited for word.

And they waited.

Life running Atlantis Nails wasn't horrible. They became fond of their regular customers, got to know them and their families and their lives. Lorne was good at providing a listening ear. Rodney was good at commiserating with a good rant when the situation called for it. John would offer practical solutions.

But the ladies loved Ronon the most.

"Of course they love the alien," Rodney muttered.

"It's because he has such strong hands," Lorne said diplomatically. "Gives great massages."

Rodney slewed Ronon a look. "You never give me massages."

"Lorne gives me tattoos."

Lorne experimented on Ronon an awful lot with his henna tattoos. Every experiment succeeded.

The door swung open, and John said, "We're closed. Sorry – we forgot to turn the sign over."

There was silence. Then laughter. Familiar laughter, if about half an octave too high.

A teenage boy stood in the doorway, doubled over with laughter.

"Are you all right?" Teyla asked. She was reaching for the gun she kept under the counter.

"Hoo boy," the kid said, straightening up and wiping his eyes. "The old man certainly has a sense of humor." But then he grinned, and something about his grin was uncannily familiar. "Hey, kids, I'm here with word. It's time to go."

Lorne pulled on his shirt and said, "Finally."