Falling
by lamardeuse

Rating:  NC-17

Spoilers through 3x11, "The Return, Part II"







Radek had always been a city dweller; the cobblestoned streets of his childhood lived in his memory still, years after he left them behind. As a boy, his only experiences of nature were half-wild parks and vacant lots overgrown with weeds and rats from the barges on the Vlatva. Perhaps as a result, perhaps not, he never enjoyed the disorder he found in growing things, preferring the precise and intricate web of streetcar wires that hung in the air above Prague's roadways, the measured design of its palaces and churches, the geometry of a great city.

He would sit in front of the Pražský orloj for hours on end, watching the Walk of the Apostles and studying the rings of the sun, the moon and the zodiac in minute detail. When he was eight he kept a book for a year, showing the position of the sun and the moon on the ecliptic at five o’clock every day. Later on, when others would climb the hill overlooking the city to kiss and fondle one another beyond the watchful eyes of their parents, Radek would sit on the concrete base where the statue of Stalin had once stood, legs crossed as he stared up at the stars and braved the terror inherent in the knowledge that the universe did not care if they made it home safely.

All right, so he had been a bit of an odd child. But if anyone’s youth had prepared him to live in constant peril inside a magical city at the heart of another galaxy, it was his.








Atlantis might never have spoken to him the way it did to Colonel Sheppard, but he loved it nevertheless, the way a fat and homely man worships the crumbling statue of a Greek goddess and calls it art appreciation. His devotion was manifested in more direct ways, in using his knowledge and skills and hands to restore her to a portion of her former glory. In return, she gave him the illusion of safety, even in times of greatest crisis. When he was forced to go offworld, he felt infinitely small and constantly afraid, but within the confines of the city, even through the worst of the Wraith threat, he had a strange certainty that nothing could harm him.

Still, he did not expect the sudden loss of her to be so wrenching, so much like a death. Once he had done all he could do to prepare their equipment for transport, he spent his last few hours in the city trying to gather up memories to pack in his suitcase, walking familiar corridors, unfamiliar balconies, watching the ocean from high atop the central tower, listening to the waves lap against the south pier. Along the way, he passed others like him, dazed and hollow-eyed; they did not speak or even acknowledge one another, as though they had all turned into ghosts, haunting the city they could not bear to leave.

He came across Major Lorne in a room they had discovered only recently, one that appeared to have functioned as a concert hall, if the excellent acoustics and unusually comfortable seating had been any indication. Radek paused inside the doors, startled by the sight of Lorne with his feet propped up on the seat in front of him, hands folded on his stomach, taking in a performance that wasn’t there.

Radek knew he should leave him alone, but the sight was so compelling, so perfectly encapsulating the maelstrom of emotion that was Atlantis on this night, that he found himself walking down the central aisle to the place where Lorne sat. Major Lorne – Radek was ashamed to admit he did not know his first name – was, to all appearances, an exemplary soldier. They had worked together on only a couple of occasions, but considering that one of them had been a pitched battle aboard the Aurora, Radek had been able to come to certain conclusions about Lorne’s inner strengths. He had acquitted himself well, with bravery and dignity, and that certainly had earned him Radek’s respect, as well as his trust.

Of the man himself, however, Radek knew virtually nothing. On the odd occasion in the mess hall or in the corridors, Radek would pick Lorne’s compact, solid frame out of the crowd or hear him laugh with his comrades. Lorne was not as isolated from the other military men and women as Colonel Sheppard, despite his status as Sheppard’s 2IC. He was quick to smile, gregarious, a male animal completely in and of the present. Seeing him like this, as caught up in could-have-beens as the rest of them were, was frankly surprising.

“Hey, Doc,” Lorne said when he was within ten feet, no indication in his voice that Radek’s appearance was unexpected or unwelcome, “how’s it goin’?”

Cautiously, Radek sat beside him. “Not very well,” he admitted, then: “I did not think leaving would be so difficult.”

“Yeah, me either,” Lorne said, gaze still fixed on the darkened stage. “I was due to rotate out in a couple of months, and I was thinking it would be nice to get back to an Earthside post for a while. But now, like this – ” He spread his hands.

“You do not like giving up the choice.”

That earned Radek a sidelong look. “Yeah, partly. But it’s more than that.” He sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands briefly. “Shit, I’m tired.” A quick duck of the head and a murmured apology followed this; Radek found it an odd habit of American military men to feel bashful at using profanity in front of others, as though it had been drilled into their heads that they were expected to represent their country in every waking moment.

“You should rest. There is much to do tomorrow.”

Lorne smirked at him. “Thanks, Mom.” Radek flushed at that, and Lorne’s grin widened, became solid and real before he sobered again. “I don’t want to sleep tonight. I want to be awake for every last moment I have here.”

Radek opened his mouth to say we will be back, but he couldn't force himself to form the words. It was more than superstition and less than honesty, but whatever the reason, he kept his own counsel. Instead, he asked, “Would you care for some company, Major?”

Lorne studied him, surprise evident on his face. He had reason to be, Radek supposed; he was fairly astonished himself. “If you would rather be alone, I understand completely,” he added.

Lorne shook his head. “No, no, Doc, that's great. I'd, uh, I'd like that.” They were both speaking barely above a whisper, but the acoustics of the place were such that the echoes of their words darted and swooped in the space around their heads like mischievous fairies. Lorne's blue gaze held his, and Radek felt an odd, barely familiar thrill go through him. To be fair, it had been some time since he'd experienced it, considering he'd been with only one person since coming to Atlantis, and both parties had agreed it had been a disaster that would never be spoken of again. However, it was madness to think that Lorne felt the same connection with him, and in the unlikely event that he did, he had chosen a career that made such fancies extremely inconvenient at best and dangerous at worst.

Then Lorne jerked his head sideways and rose to his feet, and the nonsense filling Radek's brain vanished like so much mist. “You been up to the top deck of the gateroom tower yet?” he asked.

“No,” Radek lied, getting up as well.

“Great,” Lorne said, grinning and holding out a hand. “And it's Evan, by the way.”

Radek smiled back and shook the square hand firmly. “Radek.”

Lorne – Evan – slapped him on the back companionably. “Okay, Radek. Let's say our goodbyes to the old girl.”








In the nearly three months Radek was on Earth, he first spent far too much time with his sister, whose children were even more annoying (if such a thing were possible) now that they were in their teens. Once he had parted from her, he then spent far too much time thinking about Evan Lorne. He was too old for infatuation, he told himself sternly, but it did no good. He chose to believe he was simply using the Major as a convenient focal point for his feelings of loss, but that did not make the ache any less.

Trying to ground himself in Earthbound memories, he visited Prague for a week, strolling around the Old Town until his feet felt ready to fall off, afraid to venture to newer parts of the city he did not recognize. The Dancing House bothered him most of all, he decided; it was a purposeful Tower of Pisa, leaning drunkenly out over the street, yearning to succumb to gravity and flatten unsuspecting passersby. And there were more tourists lining up to get into the McDonald's than there were to see the astronomical clock. The classic architecture and clean lines of his city, it seemed, had been replaced by the wholesale embrace of the Big Mac and the fleetingly ridiculous.

His last night in Prague, he climbed to the top of the hill where the metronome now sat, the constant swish-swish of the pendulum at his back bringing the frustration and anger flooding back, drowning him in contemplation of lost opportunities.

The couples were still there, a blanket of youth spread at his feet, caught in a brief and ultimately futile moment of lust. Radek wanted to scream at them like a fishwife, shout that this too would pass, that they would turn around and realize that the years in which they could truly say they had lived had come and gone without their knowledge, and now all that remained were the half-shadowed lands, stretching before them, flat and unbroken until death.

And is it so much better to know exactly when you were most alive? Radek asked himself, fists balled in his lap, breathing short and shallow.








When the word came that they were to return to Atlantis, Radek was far more stunned than overjoyed. It took him days to believe he had not dreamed the call from the SGC, and even afterward, the elation did not come. He packed his possessions – he had been living in a furnished flat and owned no more than he had when he stepped through the Gate from Atlantis – and boarded a plane, and twenty-two hours later (bad connections, God, the curse of Earth travel) he was lying in a queen-sized bed in the Colorado Springs Hilton, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why the hell he wasn't dancing on it.

The knock on his door brought him bounding to his feet. Squinting through the peephole, he was disconcerted to see Major Lorne's face peering back at him.

And then, annoyingly, he felt very much like dancing on the ceiling.

“Hey, Doc,” Lorne said when Radek answered the door, followed swiftly by a concerned frown. “Oh, rough flight, huh?”

At that, Radek fell to the floor with a resounding crash. “Flights, actually,” he said, trying not to snap. “Three of them.”

“That sucks,” Lorne said solicitously. “I'm kind of worn out myself – just got in from Philadelphia.”

Radek shook his head. “Forgive me,” he sighed, stepping aside and inviting Lorne in with a wave of a hand. “Please.”

Lorne hesitated for an instant, then accepted the offer. Now that Radek had a closer look at him, he noticed that the man did seem more rumpled than usual, though that might be an impression created by the civilian clothes. It was May on Earth, still cool in Colorado by Atlantis standards, but Lorne seemed comfortable in his short-sleeved burgundy polo shirt and jeans. They did not ride low on his hips the way Colonel Sheppard's did, but they nevertheless left very little to the imagination. Coloring, Radek forced his gaze upward to find Lorne finishing a similar perusal of him. Well, certainly not similar; Lorne was probably only checking for further signs of fatigue and advancing middle age.

“Do you – live in Philadelphia?” Radek asked, belatedly.

Lorne nodded. “My parents do. When I got the word, I decided to spend some time with them before the SGC shipped us back.”

Radek blinked at him. “You said that you were due to leave Atlantis.”

One corner of Lorne's mouth lifted. “Yeah, well, I uh, I signed on for another hitch.” He shrugged. “Way I figure it, it's about the most important job I could ever hope to do, right? Even if the rest of the world doesn't know about it, this is our WWII, you know?”

Radek cocked his head at him, confused, and Lorne took a step forward. “The generation that fought in the Second World War, they knew as it was happening that it was the defining event of their lives, that nothing they did afterward would ever beat what they did during that time. I figure that's what Atlantis is for us.”

When Radek stopped reeling from this, he managed, “And what will happen when it is over, and we spend the rest of our lives trying futilely to recapture those moments of glory?”

Lorne smiled again and nudged him with an elbow. “Then we'll sit in the old folks' home together and drive people nuts with our crazy stories of space aliens and floating cities.” Laughing at what was no doubt the idiotic look on Radek's face, Lorne nudged him again, this time prodding him in the direction of the door. “Look, you hungry? I hear the restaurant here is pretty good, and I haven't eaten anything all day but some really crappy airplane peanuts.”

Radek merely nodded dumbly and allowed himself to be herded out the door, his blood humming in his veins, his palms clammy, his heart beating triple time in his chest.

It was either a stroke or love. Right at the moment, it would have been difficult for Radek to say which was more inconvenient.








Of course, the triumphant return to Atlantis necessitated a celebration. First, there was a gala reception in the mess, with the relocated Athosians as honored guests. The next day, the festivities continued on the Athosians' new home world. The afternoon was devoted to a cultural exchange of sorts, with the Athosians demonstrating one of their traditional sports, followed by a soccer game that pitted Atlantis' scientists against her military personnel.

“Wait a minute,” Rodney protested, as Sheppard began picking some of the most well-developed Marines for his team, “that's not fair! Your guys are all – all – ” He waved a hand.

“All what, Rodney?” Sheppard drawled, almost sweetly, the smirk a sardonic twist under his sunglasses.

“I'm not going to say it,” Rodney sniffed. “I'm not giving you the satisfaction.”

“Oh, you're gonna get satisfaction, all right,” Sheppard assured him, waving over a couple more übermenschen.

“Rodney,” Radek hissed, “do not worry.”

“Do not worry?” Rodney whined, flinging out an arm. “Do you see those guys?”

Radek waved to Doctor Nkrume and Doctor Singh, then motioned to Rodriguez and Hasselblad. “Yes,” he said calmly.

“How can you be calm at a time like this?” Rodney spluttered.

Radek smiled at Nkrume, who had played soccer at Oxford while pursuing his doctorate; at Singh, who had played in a semi-professional league for twenty years, at Rodriguez, who had nearly abandoned archaeology when she was offered a place on Spain's women's team, and at Hasselblad, who could weave her way between lumbering Marines with the grace and speed of a gazelle. “Because we are going to win,” he said, grinning like the mad scientist he was.









Certainly, while any sporting contest required a certain degree of athleticism, the relative quantities of skill, speed and agility required for soccer far outweighed the advantage afforded by sheer muscular bulk. As a result, with five minutes left in the game, the scientists – most of whom were drawn from countries that took soccer as seriously as the Americans did baseball – were leading the military team by two goals.

Not surprisingly, Sheppard, team captain and one of the least imposing members of the military side, was one of their best, playing with a deceptive laziness that masked a practiced technique. Rodney hated running and liked being in control, so he was the captain of the scientists as well as their goal. Since the soldiers very rarely managed a clear shot, Rodney was primarily occupied with heckling Sheppard mercilessly, while the Colonel merely smiled and glided over the field, the taut line of his body the only indication that Rodney was going to pay dearly when this was over.

The Americans did have one 'ringer' on their team, and that – much to Radek's dismay – was Lorne. He was not dismayed because there was any serious hope the military team would steal victory from the jaws of a sound drubbing, but because Major Evan Lorne was a beautiful thing to watch in motion, surprisingly graceful for such a solidly built man. On the soccer field, he shed ten years, changing effortlessly from the mature and competent staff officer to a carefree, laughing youth. He had scored the only two goals for the military side, both of them with an assist from Sheppard. When Lorne was sailing down the length of the field, his feet barely seeming to touch earth, Radek's concentration tended to sail away with him, a fact that annoyed Radek no end.

Unfortunately, it was his determination not to pay attention to Lorne that led to disaster in the final minute of the game. He was running for the ball after it had been knocked loose by Singh, determined to take one final shot on the opposing goal. He reached it and reversed quickly –

– and collided spectacularly with Lorne, who unbenownst to him had been right behind him.

Stupidly, Radek tried to recover his balance as he fell; as a result, he still went down, but his ankle twisted sideways as he landed hard on the turf. There was a breathless split-second delay as everything went still and quiet, and then the pain walloped him full force, making him gasp.

“Oh man, oh man, I'm so sorry, Doc.” Lorne was crouching beside him, his expression stricken. “Did you – is it – ”

“I think my ankle may be sprained,” Radek said as conversationally as he could, between gritted teeth.

“Shit,” Lorne breathed. He placed one hand on Radek's shoulder, cupping it with something startlingly like reverence. “I – God, I'm so – ”

“You do not need to keep apologizing,” Radek assured him, managing a tight smile. “I think I will live.” Without allowing himself time to think about it, he placed his palm over Lorne's hand briefly, then said, “Can you help me up, please?”

Lorne smiled back at him, a small, fleeting thing, and nodded. “Sure, Doc,” he murmured, “whatever you want.”








It was indeed a sprain, and Carson insisted on performing a full range of x-rays and tests on him to ensure there was nothing broken. Once he had tortured Radek to his satisfaction, he bandaged him up and sent him away with a pair of crutches and overly cheerful instructions to watch where he was going from now on. Radek had never been more tempted to strangle someone in his life.

He nearly toppled off his crutches when he hopped out of the medlab and saw Lorne standing anxiously, obviously watching for him. “So what's the word?”

“You have not damaged me significantly, Major,” Radek said, more stiffly than he'd intended. Lorne's expression was a mixture of relief and anxiety, and Radek shook his head. “I will be fine. Really. Thank you for your concern.” He gave Lorne's arm a reassuring pat, then began hobbling down the hall toward his quarters, where he intended to spend the next twelve hours blissfully unconscious.

He wasn’t expecting Lorne to follow him. “Look, I know you don't want me – uh, I mean, I know you probably don’t need – but do you mind if I just walk along with you?”

Radek stopped. “Why?” he asked.

Lorne held up his hands. “It’s not guilt,” he said, then added with a smile, “well, okay, it’s partly guilt. But I’d – I’d just feel better knowing you made it to your quarters in one piece.”

Surprised and more than a little touched – he couldn’t remember if he had ever been on the receiving end of such chivalry – Radek nodded. “Very well. But only if you go back to calling me Radek.”

Lorne grinned at him, and the force of it stole Radek’s breath for a moment. “Okay. But I kind of like ‘Doc’.”

Radek smirked. “The problem with this nickname is that I will never know when you are wanting me and not the six other doctors in my immediate vicinity.”

Lorne waggled his eyebrows at him. “Oh, believe me, you’ll know,” he promised, and Radek felt his face heat. Snugging the crutches under his arms, he swung his traitorous body forward.








Within a week, it was becoming painfully clear that Evan (for he insisted Radek call him Evan in return) was determined to spend every free moment catering to Radek's every whim. Before his watch, he usually ate breakfast with Radek in the mess hall after insisting he be the one to stand in line for Radek’s toast and tea. If he was on Atlantis, he'd check in on Radek during his breaks to see if he might have some need that could only be met by a more ambulatory person; if he was on an away mission, Rodney or some other comedian would make a crack about how much he must be missing his 'pet Major’. Of course, they were as silent as monks when Lorne was there, but Radek could feel their secret smiles burning into the back of his skull. He could not believe that Evan could not feel them too, but the Major gave no indication that he was aware of the scrutiny.

The worst, however, came at the end of the day, for Evan would arrive at Radek's door and offer an evening's entertainment, habitually either a board game (he soon learned to avoid chess) or a DVD of some film. Radek did not entertain in his quarters, so with only one chair they ended up more often than not sitting together across the narrow bed, the laptop perched between them, and Radek would consign himself to an evening of sexual frustration the likes of which he had not experienced in two decades. Being with Lorne reminded him that he had grown unused to being touched; the constant playful elbows, supporting hands and press of shoulders while they sat side by side were distracting, maddening, and almost unbearably exciting.

Evan was always polite about it, never assuming that Radek would be free the following evening, but Radek never had the heart to turn him down when he asked. He could certainly have chosen to socialize with some of his other friends on occasion, but considering most of them were behaving like immature schoolchildren at the moment, he was not well disposed toward them. And the truth, not that he cared to admit it, was that he wanted to spend as much time as possible with Evan. He was not under any illusions that this odd friendship would continue after his ankle healed, and he wanted to enjoy it, or rather suffer through it, while it lasted.

Evan's life story, which surfaced in small, discrete parcels over a game of Risk or parcheesi, was also fascinating. He was the product of an Irish-American Catholic father and a Jewish mother, and his parents had not raised him in either tradition, instead encouraging him to find his own path to religious enlightenment. As of this moment, however, he had yet to find it. He had played soccer in high school because he had been too small for football. Bitterly disappointed at first, he had swiftly come to love it and eventually led his team to the state finals. He was thirty-five, had never been married but had been engaged (Radek had yet to hear the story of how it had ended), he had a scar on his right calf from a rattlesnake bite and his favorite movie was To Have and Have Not. Radek admitted he had never seen it.

“You're kidding me! You mean to tell me you've never seen To Have and Have Not? You never heard Lauren Bacall say, 'Put your lips together and blow?'” That became the next night's movie, and Radek did enjoy it, although he had serious concerns about his sanity when he dreamed that night of Evan sitting in his lap and teaching him how to whistle.

Three nights later, he learned that Evan had a degree in chemistry, of all things. “Why did you not pursue graduate work?” he asked, when the shock had worn off sufficiently.

“I was a straight 'C' student,” Lorne answered, chuckling. “Typical idiot nineteen-year-old, you know? Figured college was an excuse to party 'til you puked.”

Radek personally had never known such nineteen-year-olds, but he was fully aware that he had led a sheltered existence in this regard. Evan waved a hand. “Anyway, I graduated, but barely. Luckily, the Air Force really smartened me up, gave me some direction.”

“It is hard to imagine you lacking in dedication. You have always seemed to me to be...“ Radek trailed off just in time.

“Yeah?” Evan prompted softly. His face was very close to Radek's, and Radek could smell the crisp, clean scent of him. He'd been on a mission today, but he always showered before coming. This close, he could see Evan was also freshly shaved. He tried to decipher the significance of this, but his deductive power was rapidly deserting him.

Radek's mind scrambled for a suitable response. “Y-you have always seemed to be an – excellent officer,” he managed lamely. Dear God.

Evan's expression shifted subtly at that; his smile was still there, but it had retreated from his eyes. “Thanks, Doc,” he said. “That's good to hear.” He turned his attention back to the laptop, closing it as the credits rolled. “Sometimes I wonder what they've been finding here, though. I was always interested in biochemistry more than anything.”

“I could arrange to have Sigurdson send you some of her reports,” Radek blurted. “I believe she has been focusing on Lantean ocean chemistry these last months. I heard something about...plankton...and the way they…ah, interact with…” Radek's voice dropped to a whisper, because Evan had turned back to him and was staring at him in open admiration mixed with some other emotion Radek was at a loss to identify. It made absolutely no sense that Evan should –

“You, uh,” Evan cleared his throat before continuing, “that's really nice of you. I appreciate that.”

“It is least I can do considering – ” his articles were disappearing, never a good sign “ – you have been so kind to entertain me over – the last few weeks.”

Evan frowned slightly at that, as though he were weighing several strategies for attacking Asia in Risk. Finally, he drew back, the affable mask slipping back into place, and Radek felt an odd sense of loss. “No problem, Doc. Glad to do it.” Disconnecting the laptop, he gathered the cable and eased off the bed. “I, uh, I’ve been thinking – you’re probably gettin’ kind of sick of me. Thought I’d give you a night off tomorrow.”

Radek felt something inside him turn cold and huddle in on itself. “I – yes, whatever you think is best,” he stammered.

Lorne hesitated for a moment, then bid him good night. When he was gone, Radek hit the back of his head against the wall, slowly and repeatedly.








Evan turned up again three nights later with the familiar grin on his face and the parcheesi board, and Radek’s ridiculous adolescent heart began beating again.

The next night, Radek suggested the movie for a change: he’d always enjoyed Billy Wilder films, and had brought back a sizeable collection on a storage disk upon their return to Atlantis.

“You mean to tell me you have never seen Stalag 17?” Radek demanded, mock-indignant, and Evan laughed as they sat together on the bed.

They got about fifteen minutes in, and then Radek realized Evan was not watching the film, but was staring at the opposite wall, breathing shallowly through his nose. He clicked the stop button and the screen went black just as the camera zoomed in on the tarp-covered bodies of the dead prisoners.

“I’m sorry,” Radek said softly, not knowing what else to say.

Evan shook his head once, the motion almost violent. “It’s okay. I’m being stupid.”

“I cannot imagine such a thing.”

“I, uh, it’s just that it hit me before I came here tonight that it’s been a year.”

Hesitating only a moment, Radek powered down the computer and laid it aside, then placed a hand on Evan’s forearm. “A year since…”

Evan’s nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. “Uh, two of my men were killed. Jones and McTavish. It was the mission to that bug cave, you know, when Colonel Sheppard was…” he waved a hand, and Radek nodded. “One second they were running and the next they were just covered in ‘em. There were so many of those goddamned things on them, and I knew they were already dead. They just didn't have the sense yet to fall down.” Another breath. “I, uh, there was nothing I could do but stop the bugs from coming for the rest of the team. So I took a grenade and – I, uh…”

When it was clear that he was not going to complete the sentence, Radek squeezed his arm. “That must have been very difficult.”

Evan gestured at the laptop. “They always tell you, you bring your men home. No matter what, you bring them home. I wanted to go back later, take a coupla marines and some flamethrowers and just fry the fuckers, get in there and bring back something, anything of them, but Sheppard didn’t want anyone else to risk his life. He felt pretty bad about it, too, so I didn’t push it, but I…I’ve lost men, but I’ve always brought them home.”

Radek rose to his feet and looked at Evan. “Come with me, please,” he said. He’d been saving this for a special occasion, but it seemed that there could be no better time than this.

Evan’s gaze met and held his for a few breathless seconds, and then he nodded and followed Radek out the door. They walked through mostly deserted corridors to the transporter, then down a long hallway. When they drew near, Evan’s pace slowed. “You – ” he began.

“Almost there,” Radek said, walking to the door and holding it open for Evan. The floor lights came on obediently as Evan entered, guiding their way to the seats they’d occupied all those months ago.

“Now what?” Evan asked, staring at the stage, which still lay dormant and dark.

“Now I would like you to think the word 'Amato',” Radek answered.

Evan closed his eyes, and a moment later the stage erupted in music and light. Suddenly there was an elaborate and colorful street scene upon which over a dozen ghostly dancers twirled and spun.

Evan turned to Radek, astonishment plain on his face. “Holograms?”

Radek nodded. “I have been assisting Doctor Trebaniuk, our Ancient cultural expert, on this since we returned. We found a huge database of performances here – music, dance, theater – apparently by the greatest artists of their time. She is beside herself.” He smiled up at the stage. “We are planning a program. A different show every night, for anyone who wishes to come.” He took a deep breath. “I know it does not always seem so, but we are here for a reason. We are here to bring light from the darkness.”

Evan didn’t answer in words, but as he stared at the stage, enraptured by the display, he reached over and squeezed Radek’s hand. Radek blinked rapidly to dispel the clouds that had formed before his eyes.








Six weeks after the game, Radek was still limping, and Beckett was growing concerned. Radek knew he would have to stop soon, because Beckett's next step was to ship him through the gate for more tests. He had always been a terrible actor, but he did a convincing enough job of “recovering” over the next several days, a gradual process that had Carson declaring him fully healed within the week.

That night, he was surprised to see Evan at his door again, this time with a bottle of sparkling wine. “Couldn’t get real champagne,” he said morosely, “Des Lauriers really hoards her supply.”

Radek shook his head and told him it was more than adequate, really – he had not had champagne since – well, since his last night before leaving for Atlantis. Grodin had been with them then, and Gaul, and – well. It had been a happier time.

Evan uncorked the bottle – it was still a perfectly decent Napa Valley brand – and poured some for each of them into the plastic cups he’d brought along. “Prosit,” he murmured, touching the rim of his cup to Radek’s.

“To your continued good health, Evan,” Radek said, meaning every word.








Evan's good health, as it turned out, lasted exactly one week.

It had been a routine mission, which was why Radek had not hesitated to go. He had been attached to Major Lorne's team on an expedition to explore an Ancient structure on a deserted planet. An orbital probe had revealed an interesting power signature that might have been a ZPM, and there had been no reports of Wraith activity in the sector for over a year.

As they approached the structure, Radek's excitement grew. “My God,” he breathed, checking and rechecking his sensors. “If this is a ZPM, it appears to be fully charged. Or perhaps it is more than one ZPM, partially charged. Either way, we have hit the jackpot.”

Evan smiled at him over his shoulder. “The jackpot, huh?” he teased. Radek felt a strange urge to stick out his tongue, but before he could give in, the trees parted to reveal the building, which lay half in ruins, the massive stones either toppled or perched precariously atop crumbling pillars.

Odd, thought Radek; the Ancients usually built to last. Even after millennia, this should still be mostly intact.

They felt the first tremors just as they reached the doorway.

“The hell?” Their Marine escort, Atkins, was not amused. He immediately brought up his weapon, as though a P90 was adequate defence against earthquakes.

Hastily, Radek recalibrated his scanner. “This ground is extremely unstable,” he murmured. “Probably why the settlement we flew over was abandoned.”

Lorne nodded. “Okay, we're pulling back.”

Radek peered longingly inside the partly obstructed entrance of the structure. “But – ”

“No buts.” He tapped his comm. “Jenkins, get the jumper off the ground and hover just above treetop height until you hear from me.” He jerked a thumb. “Sorry, but I'm not going to – ”

And that was the moment at which everything went straight to hell.

The ground, never quite still, suddenly began shaking violently, and Radek was knocked off his feet. He heard a muffled expletive, and then he looked up to see that the ground was opening underneath him.

He had just enough time to think I truly hate away missions before his legs resumed their function and he scrambled to his feet, away from the spreading chasm.

“Radek, look out!” At Evan's shout, Radek looked up. Robbed of its support, one of the columns had cracked and was falling, slowly, inexorably –

–  right on top of Radek.

He hesitated for a split-second, watching its path long enough to determine the safest way to run, but before he could transform thought into action, he was being shoved out of the way. He stumbled and nearly fell again, but recovered just in time to turn and see Evan rolling out of the way of the falling column as it shattered against the ground. Some of the smaller pieces flew through the air; Radek watched, helpless, as a rock shard nearly a foot across struck Evan in the back. Before the dust had cleared, Radek was running toward him.

“Shit, that kind of hurt,” Lorne muttered, attempting to rise.

By silent agreement, Radek and Atkins took positions on either side of him and lifted him to his feet. “Relax, guys, I'm alive,” Evan muttered, but he accepted their help.

That is good, Radek thought, because when we get back to Atlantis, I am going to kill you.








The door to Lorne's quarters was barely open when Radek barrelled through it.

“I know that you studied chemistry, and so may not be aware of this,” he said before Evan could get a word out, “but I am a physicist, and thus I am able to say with confidence that the force required to pull an object is no greater than the force required to push it.”

Evan cocked an amused eyebrow at him. “Yeah, thanks, I think I know that. But if I'd pulled you, we both would have ended up under that thing.”

“I did not need your help!” Radek shouted, gesturing wildly. “I was about to leap out of the way.”

Evan scratched his chin, unperturbed by Radek's tirade. “You didn't look like you were ready to leap. To be honest, Doc, you looked a little stunned.”

“And so you decided to risk your life.”

Evan nodded, infuriatingly calm, a faint smile playing across his lips. “That's about it.”

Radek advanced on him, closing the distance between them and stabbing a finger at his chest. “Your life is not less valuable than mine!” he roared, emphasizing the point with another stab. Maddeningly, that only made Evan’s smile grow.

It was at that point that Radek realized he was poking a bare chest. He looked down to find that Evan was only wearing a towel, and a rather small one at that.

As Radek watched, Lorne spread his hands wide in a typical American gesture that he believed translated loosely to bring it on.

Radek's hand splayed across Evan's chest and pushed, none too gently. Evan's eyes grew wide, and he took a step back. “You illustrating the power of physics, Doc?” he demanded, his voice husky, his gaze riveted to Radek's mouth.

The still-simmering anger and the aftereffects of too much adrenaline making him bold, Radek's other hand strayed to the knot in Evan's towel. “Shall we start with gravity?” he asked, tugging at the material and letting it fall to the floor.

“Fuck,” Evan breathed, his own hands bracketing Radek’s face and holding him as he leaned forward for a harsh, bruising kiss. “I wasn’t sure, I wasn’t – ”

Radek pulled back, though it was difficult to speak when Evan’s mouth followed his. “You weren’t sure?” he demanded.

Evan had the good grace to look sheepish, which was an absurdly attractive look on a naked man. “I thought you were being – you know – European.”

Radek swore copiously under his breath, then hauled Evan into his arms. Evan groaned and hauled back, his tongue licking a hot stripe up Radek’s jugular, and oh, my, it had been a very long time since anyone had done that. Evan’s erection was a firm, living presence against Radek’s thigh, and it was only European courtesy, he felt, to insinuate a hand between their bodies and –

Evan threw his head back and hissed air between his teeth, and Radek decided to get in a few licks of his own.








“Anybody ever tell you you're kind of cute when you go all psycho?”

Radek opened one eye and regarded the man above him balefully. “Frequently,” he drawled.

Evan trailed an index finger over Radek’s cheekbone, then tapped his chin with it. “I thought so. You’re a caged tiger, huh?”

Radek lifted a hand to Evan’s cheek. “And you are utterly beautiful.”

Evan grinned and ducked his head. “Now you’re getting all European on me.”

“Yes, I can’t seem to help myself,” Radek said, smiling as he rolled Evan over onto his back and kissed him as the light of the setting sun fell over them both.






End



January 2007

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