Elijah Wood's book is inexplicably a romance novel. Laura caught it like plucking it out of the ether; the deal went through remarkably easily, not caught on any of the annoying clauses that plague other deals. Wood's agent didn't care about the high discount, or the foreign rights splits. All they wanted was to get the book published.

John could understand that feeling of urgency. What Wood wanted was in his grasp, so he would reach out and take it as fast as he could. John's never felt like that in his life. Well. John's never acted on that feeling in his life. Well. John's never told anyone when he has.

He's working on being more honest, though.

*

Ronon is the most excited out of any of them, because it's his first major acquisition as associate publisher. He and Laura take Wood and Wood's entourage -- a boy almost as skinny as Wood himself, and a girl thinner than both of them -- out for lunch more than once, more than twice, John loses count. (Twice at Novita, once at Tamarind, plus twice for drinks; once at Death + Company, once at the the Campbell Apartment; Ronon has been on a 1920s kick lately.)

There's no memory John has of being so excited about a book ever in his entire career. He can remember being excited about the money he was making for the companies he worked for. He can remember the exact feeling of wiping his palms on his pants when Jack finished going over John's first profit and loss statement, eighteen months after John's first books hit the shelves. The punch-in-the-stomach sickness when Jack grinned at him and said, "Good work, Johnny-boy!" and took him out for drinks.

John can't remember what his balance was ($30,000 spent; $340,000 in pure profit), and he can't remember where Jack took him for drinks (No Idea), and he can't remember the name of the book either. (Enemy at the Gate, a science fiction novel about interstellar war.)

*

(Okay, being more honest isn't going very well. John can admit that.)

*

Ronon comes to John's from this last round of drinks a little tipsy, a little red in the face, grinning, and waving sticks and yarn at John. John's got both cats on his lap -- they stayed with him the last time Ronon went to a convention alone, and never went home. John isn't even sure that Ronon went home.

John's in the giant overstuffed armchair Ronon bought him to replace the chair they destroyed by fucking on it; he doesn't have his feet up, though, so Ronon sprawls on the floor at John's feet to take off his boots. John's stomach does the same swoop that it did when Jack grinned at him twenty-something (no, really, he doesn't remember off the top of his head anymore) years ago.

Through the process of getting his boots off, Ronon talks to John about the drinks they had ("It was..." Ronon bites his lip. "Blue?"), and Elijah Wood's book ("I might even go so far as to call it decent," Ronon admits), and Elijah Wood's entourage (Ronon pants as he tugs his boots off, because the leather pants are getting a little tight as he drinks and eats his way through the industry; "They... are... weird. Ouch!").

"So what's with the knitting?" John finally asks, nodding over to the abandoned noxiously-colored yarn, and pencil-sized sticks.

"Hannah -- that's --"

"Elijah's sister," John fills in, to show he's been listening, even though he hasn't been. (He's been drinking in every word.) Ronon doesn't even acknowledge that John's been paying attention, just accepts it the way he always does.

"-- she's decided that I need to learn how to knit."

"It's literally knitting?" asks John, now craning his head to look at it. He'd been being a jerk.

"Yeah." Ronon looks like he's about to lie down right on the floor, but instead leans his back against John's legs and tilts his head against John's knees. Khet and Sen patty-paw at Ronon's dreds, but settle back down into John's lap pretty quickly, each with one paw on Ronon's head.

John wants to put a paw on Ronon's head, too, wants to twist Ronon's hair through his fingers, pull hard, soothe the abused skin with a scratch. His stomach swoops again.

*

Ronon brings the knitting into bed, so John keeps his glasses on and begins to reread Black Wine while Ronon curses at the pink and orange yarn, and pokes himself with the sticks.

"Maybe if you were sober?" John finally suggests, and Ronon laughs, big and booming, and, that's right, John's stomach swoops.

He's had years to get used to this feeling he gets about Ronon, and -- and he's glad, he's glad he's never gotten used to it. He's glad he stills feels it.

See? John can be honest when he wants to be. Maybe one day he'll even say it to Ronon's face.