Without Love
by lamardeuse

Rated:  NC-17

Written for the reel_sga community on LiveJournal.

 

Original character…played by            (original cast member)

Pat Jamieson…Dr. Rodney McKay              (Spencer Tracy)

Jamie Rowan…Maj. John Sheppard            (Katharine Hepburn)

Kitty Trimble…Lt. Laura Cadman             (Lucille Ball)

Quentin Ladd…Dr. Carson Beckett             (Keenan Wynn)

Paul Carrell…Maj. David Lorne             (Carl Esmond)

Edwina Collins…offscreen                    (Patricia Morison)

Prof. Grinza…Dr. Radek Zelenka             (Felix Bressart)

Lila Vine…Col. Samantha Carter             (offscreen)

Dizzy the dog…Rodney’s cat                

From the play by Philip Barry; screenplay by Donald Ogden Stewart

Some of the lines used have been taken directly or modified from the film (indicated by blue text in the annotated version).  In addition, one line is lifted directly from Neil Simon’s The Odd Couple, just because I felt like it.

As for the plot lines and scenes, there are some scenes that are lifted fairly directly from the film, others that have some similarities, and some that bear no resemblance to the movie at all.  However, since only about three people reading this will actually have seen this movie (I’m looking at you, Femme), I don’t think a lack of strict adherence to the text will dampen the average reader’s (hopeful) enjoyment of the story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Will you please stop slobbering on me,” Rodney huffed for the sixth time, shoving Dr. Beckett back over to his side of the Civic’s cockpit. 

 

“Shorry,” Beckett slurred, blinking stupidly through the haze of alcohol.  “I seem t’be getting’ a little shleepy.”

 

“Oh, no,” Rodney protested, “no, no, no.  You have to tell me how the hell to get to this place.”  Nervously, Rodney eyed the scene in front of him, which was basically two headlights surrounded by an infinite ocean of black.  Beckett had promised him the drive back to his place was short, and they were now an hour from Colorado Springs and they were so far out in the sticks that even the cows chewed tobacco.  This was the last time he was playing the good Samaritan to a drunken Scotsman, especially a casual acquaintance from the SGC.  He was, he reminded himself, sick to death of the SGC, which was why he was desperately searching for an isolated, quiet, and secure place in which to work. 

 

“Home is where the heart is, and a man’s best friend is his mother,” Beckett opined, apropos of nothing.  “Turn left here.”

 

Rodney peered into the night.  “Left where?”

 

Beckett gestured violently as they passed right by a dirt lane.  “Here, here, here!”

 

Cursing, Rodney brought the car to a screeching halt on the deserted road, then turned it around and crawled along until he found the road.

 

“Here – ”

 

“Yes, thank you, I see it now,” Rodney snapped, turning onto the rutted road that was hardly wide enough for a car.  “Are you sure this is the right place?”

 

“Shertainly.  I live here.  Well.  Until next Tuesday.” Beckett hiccupped for emphasis.  This did not reassure Rodney. 

 

“Oh Christ,” Beckett said, as they bounced their way up the driveway, “m’not gonna make it.”

 

“Are you going to puke?” Rodney demanded.  “Because if you’re going to puke, I’m stopping.  I do not want you puking in this car.  It’s leased.”

 

Beckett leaned his head back against the seat wearily.  “I’m not going to vomit, McKay.  I’m just – I’m not usually a drinking man, but if anything could do it, this job would.”  He made a face.  “I’m still not sure what those cell samples are, but I know they’re the most bloody frightening things I’ve ever seen.”  

 

Rodney paused, not sure how much to say, because he wasn’t sure what kind of clearance he’d been given.  Beckett hadn’t been on the original expedition; he’d been tapped later on, when they brought back the unidentified organic samples and needed a leading geneticist.  In retrospect, the whole idea of bringing back biological material seemed vastly dangerous, but considering no one had died screaming and bleeding from the nose and ears yet, Rodney figured they were safe.

 

Of course, once Beckett had a good look at what he’d been asked to study, he’d become a little shellshocked.  Rodney could understand that.  “How do you mean frightening?” he asked.

 

“They’re completely alien – and they seem to live forever.  They’re as bad as viruses that way, but they have a complete eukaryotic structure, like animal cells.”  He took a deep breath, let it out.  “In fact, they’re as much human as animal.”

 

“Hm,” Rodney grunted.  “Let’s hope they’re on our side.”

 

Beckett shuddered visibly as the other possibility hit him – or perhaps it was just the vibration of the car as it navigated ruts and potholes.  The road seemed endless, and the lion’s share of Rodney’s attention was focused on keeping the car from bouncing into a ditch, so when the tall grasses finally yielded to a manicured front lawn, it took him a few seconds to register that they were approaching a building.

 

Make that buildings, Rodney thought as the headlights briefly illuminated a huge barn and a long, low structure that looked like a stable, not that he was exactly an expert on the things.  The driveway forked at that point, and Rodney swung to the right, toward the house and away from the outbuildings.

 

The house was large but not overly so, a solid old two and a half storey that seemed well-kept.  Pulling up, he shut off the car engine and listened. 

 

Apart from the chirp of the crickets, it was completely quiet.  It was certainly isolated.  And it probably wouldn’t take much to make it secure.

 

Inside Rodney’s head, the constantly whirring wheels picked up speed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Who did you say owns this place?” Rodney asked.

 

“My cousin,” Beckett said, weaving his way toward a couch and collapsing on it.  “From the American side of the family.”  Once inside, it was clear that the house had been in the family for generations; the mostly antique furniture had that haphazardly mixed look that no overpriced interior designer could achieve.  It was lived in but clean, although Rodney noted absently that all the knickknacks you’d usually see in a place like this – family photographs, kids’ drawings, a souvenir ashtray from the trip to Aruba – were missing.  In fact, the only evidence that the place had been lived in at all were a stack of medical journals on the coffee table and a shelf full of old sci-fi paperbacks over by the fireplace. 

 

Slowly, he made his way over to the bookshelf and tilted his head to study the spines.  Sturgeon, Asimov, Dick, Bradbury, Leiber, Niven.  Interesting.  “Are these yours?”

 

Beckett blinked at the shelf.  “No.  I imagine they must be John’s.”

 

“Your cousin live here?”

 

“Not really.  He’s only been here once or twice since – well, since he inherited it.”  He scrubbed a hand over his face.  “He’s an odd sort of fellow.  Been living as a bit of a nomad the last couple of months, driving around the country on a motorcycle.  He rides alone, eats alone, lives alone.”

 

Rodney made a hmphing sound.  “You don’t suppose he’d be interested in renting this place?”

 

Beckett frowned.  “He’s looking to sell it – especially since I’m about to move into that apartment in town – but I don’t know about renting.”  He closed his eyes and groaned softly.  “Oh God, I was supposed to call Edwina tonight.  I completely bloody forgot.”

 

“Edwina?”

 

“My fiancée.  Well, not exactly my fiancée, I suppose.  We’ve known one another since we were that high – ” he indicated the height with his hand, but since the couch was low to the ground, his hand slapped the floor “ – and it was always rather – expected of us.  Edwina’s mother and my mother were the best of friends, our uncles were the best of friends, our aunts – ”

 

“Yes, I think I get the picture,” Rodney huffed. 

 

“She’s a performance artist,” Beckett added.  “Tends to paint herself in various shades of green and scream a great deal.”

 

Rodney stared at him.

 

Beckett shrugged.  “I’ve never had the heart to tell her I don’t have the faintest idea what she’s doing.  But she keeps getting cultural grants.”  He blinked, turning wistful.  “Now you take love – ”

 

“You take love.” 

 

Beckett’s expression turned puzzled.  “Why, what’s the matter?”

 

Rodney walked over and plucked one of Beckett’s journals off the coffee table.  “You see this magazine?  It’s clear, it’s logical, it’s honest.  It doesn’t tell you one thing today and another thing tomorrow.  It doesn’t double cross you.  It’s beautiful.  I’d rather have it than any woman who ever lived.” 

 

Beckett stared at him.  “You know something?  I’m sober and you are terribly drunk.”  He yawned expansively and shut his eyes, and three seconds later he was snoring softly. 

 

Rodney sighed.  Well, at least he could get a good look at the place he wasn’t going to be able to use.  What the hell; he and masochism were getting to be best buddies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Harley bounced and jiggled its rider, punishment in exchange for taking it on an uneven dirt road instead of the straight blacktop it had been used to for the past two months.  John gripped the handlebars with everything he had, thinking it would be the supreme irony if he were thrown into a ditch and killed right this moment.

 

What the hell; he and irony were getting to be best buddies.

 

He noticed the car parked beside the house about halfway up the driveway and debated with himself for a moment.  The caretaker he’d hired had quit Saturday morning, and since Carson knew as much about horses as he did (jack and shit), he had had to cut his latest trip short and make his way back to the ranch.  Just because he hated the property and everything that had happened on it didn’t mean that he could let the horses starve.  First thing Monday, he’d call that employment agency and get them to send another hand.  Until then, he’d have to take care of the feeding and watering of the damned things himself. 

 

He was about halfway up the driveway when he spotted the silver Civic parked around the side of the house.  Carson, he knew, drove a blue Toyota.  He immediately braked the motorcycle, shut it off and set it on the stand, then approached the house cautiously on foot.  He took a deep breath as it loomed larger, then let it out slowly.  It had been two months since he’d been here last, and the hatred of the place had diminished slightly, but not enough to make the prospect of living here anything less than sickening.

 

He found Carson snoring on a couch in the living room, covered by a wool blanket.  John wondered why he hadn’t simply gone up to bed, but at least he could rest easy about the car.  He’d thought it might have belonged to one of Mitch’s crazy relatives looking to raid the silverware. 

 

Leaving Carson, he headed down the hall to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, then leaned back against the counter and passed a hand over his eyes.  He remembered standing in this kitchen, hands shaking as he dialed 911, even though he knew it wasn’t going to do any good, that it was too late –

 

A loud metallic bang came from the basement, and John jumped; the water in the glass sloshed all over his arm.  Cursing softly, he set the glass down and crept toward the basement steps, then doubled back and grabbed a meat cleaver from the knife block.

 

As he started down the stairs, there was another bang, then a softer clunk.  Carefully, John peeked out from behind the wall as he reached the bottom of the steps –

 

And found himself face to face with a man he’d never seen in his life.

 

“Jesus!” the man exclaimed, recoiling as though John had punched him.  “You scared me half to death!”

 

John’s gaze sized up the other man swiftly.  About five ten or so, mid-thirties, stocky, thinning brown hair, blue eyes rounded by shock, a smudge of dirt on his nose, a measuring tape clenched in his fist.  Probably not a psycho, John decided on the spur of the moment, though he wasn’t sure why he thought so.

 

“Is – is that a meat cleaver?” the other man asked, a slight tremor in his voice.  “Oh my God, you’re a psycho.  You carved up Beckett and now you’re going to kill me, too.”

 

John sighed and placed the cleaver down on a step.  He held up his hands.  “Better?”

 

“Marginally,” the other man said warily.  “Who are you?”

 

“Oh, nobody,” John replied dryly, folding his arms.  “I’m just the guy who owns this place.  Who the hell are you?”

 

The stranger blinked; John noticed his eyelashes were really long for a guy.  “You’re Beckett’s cousin?”

 

“Yeah.” John raised his eyebrows expectantly.

 

“Oh.  Oh.”  The man took a tentative step forward, extending his hand.  “Doctor Rodney McKay.”

 

John took the proffered hand and shook it.  “You’re a colleague of Carson’s?”

 

McKay waved his free hand.  “Ah, acquaintance.  We work at the same…place.  I’m actually an astrophysicist.  Among, uh, other things.”  As soon as John released his other hand, he started waving that too.  “He asked me to give him a lift home last night, and I, uh, I did.”

 

John took a second to digest this.  In his experience, guys didn’t tend to drive other guys home and then stay the night unless there was some exchange of bodily fluids going on, but Carson was one hundred percent straight, and he was sacked out on the couch fully dressed.

 

As if reading his mind, McKay said hastily, “I wasn’t sure – well, this is going to sound stupid, but to be honest I didn’t know how to get back to Colorado Springs from here, so I – anyway, that’s not important.  What is important is that I need a space in which to carry out my work, and this property is perfect for my needs – it’s isolated and quiet – ”

 

John stared at him.  “Do you actually need to breathe?”

 

“ – and I was wondering if there were any way you could be persuaded to rent it to me.  I’d be willing – that is, my employers would be willing – to pay whatever you think is reasonable.”

 

John shook his head.  “I’m sorry.  I was planning to sell this place as soon as possible.”  That wasn’t quite the truth, though John didn’t see the need to tell McKay that.  The truth was, this place was his last connection to Mitch, and even though he kept talking about selling it, he still couldn’t bring himself to call a realtor.

 

McKay squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.  “Would it help if I told you you’d be doing your country a great service?”

 

John raised one eyebrow at him this time, and McKay’s shoulders slumped.  “Okay, fine, it was a long shot, but I’ve heard the appeal to patriotism sometimes works with you people.”  At John’s confused expression, he added, “Americans.”

 

“And you’re – ”

 

“Canadian.”

 

“Oh.”  McKay looked so crestfallen that John found himself asking, “How long would you need it for?”

 

McKay shot him a guardedly hopeful look.  “Three to six months, though we’d be willing to pay you for the full term – ”

 

“Don’t worry about it.”  John took a deep breath.  He couldn’t believe he was considering this.  “Do you know anything about horses?”

 

McKay pursed his lips.  “No, I don’t.  But if I get you someone who does, do we have a deal?”

 

And that, finally, was too tempting to resist.  John found himself nodding, because hey, big surprise, the chance to put off making a decision about this place for another half a year appealed to him.  “Yeah,” he said, as McKay broke into a grin so wide it nearly split his face in half, “yeah, I think we do.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rodney didn’t waste any time getting himself settled in; after copying down directions back to town from a hung over Carson, he drove to the shoebox of an apartment he’d been renting, shoved everything he thought he’d need into a couple of garbage bags and threw them in the back of the Civic, then loaded Dizzy into his cat carrier (over his yowls of protest) and took off for the SGC, where he delivered instructions to Major Lorne about the delivery of his equipment.

 

“Oh yes, and I’ll be needing someone who can take care of horses,” Rodney told him.

 

Lorne frowned.  “Excuse me?  Did you say horses?”

 

“That’s what I said.  I’ll expect them to be assigned to the house for the duration, because I’m not taking care of the things.  Preferably someone who’s not a total idiot who can clean up after himself and do the dishes.”  At Lorne’s blank look, Rodney waved a hand.  “There didn’t seem to be a dishwasher installed.”

 

“Okay,” Lorne said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“By tomorrow morning.  They’ll probably stage a mutiny if they’re not fed by the crack of dawn.  And an equine mutiny is not conducive to my work.”

 

Lorne nodded curtly, then spun on his heel and walked off, muttering something along the lines of, “Man still thinks we have a damned cavalry.”  Rodney chose to ignore him.  The man was efficient, if not particularly respectful of Rodney’s position.

 

On his way out, he passed Colonel Carter’s office door.  He was pleased that he was able to walk right past it without slowing down.

 

Well.  Much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rodney was, of course, unconscious, so he didn’t notice he was doing it until Diz decided to wake him up by sinking his claws into Rodney’s calf.

 

“Ow!  Jesus!”  Rodney hobbled around for a bit before he realized he was outside of the bedroom he’d picked out for himself, not inside it.  He looked down at Diz, who was peering up at him expectantly. 

 

Rodney sighed.  “I haven’t done that for a while, have I?”  The cat tilted his head in acknowledgment and padded off down the stairs, as if sharing his restlessness.  Rodney descended the stairs and padded – he’d evidently put on his slippers while sleepwalking – into the living room.

 

There was a small television set in one corner and an upright piano in the other; he gravitated toward the latter, seating himself at the bench and raising the cover.  Without conscious thought, he flexed his fingers and started into Clair de Lune, his fingers moving confidently over the keys as though he’d last played it yesterday instead of a quarter of a century ago. 

 

He wasn’t sure how long he was lost in the music before he belatedly realized that it was barely dawn, and both Beckett and his cousin were trying to sleep upstairs.  He stopped abruptly and placed his head in his hands.  What the hell was the matter with him?

 

“Is that all you’re going to play?” 

 

Rodney started at the soft voice.  Head snapping up, he saw Sheppard standing in the doorway, one shoulder pressed against the frame.  He was quite the – leaner, Rodney mused.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – ”  Rodney faltered.  “I just started playing.”

 

Sheppard nodded at the piano.  “You’re pretty good.”

 

Rodney snorted.  “Actually, I stink.  You need to listen to more classical music.”

 

Sheppard raised his eyebrows.  “And you need to learn how to take a compliment.”

 

Rodney felt his cheeks redden.  “Yes.  Well.  Thank you.”

 

“Better.”  Sheppard was wearing faded denim shorts and a worn black t-shirt that hugged his body intimately.  By contrast, Rodney was wearing a pair of ratty track pants and his oversized feed the genius t-shirt.  If there had been a worst dressed competition, he would have come in third.  Sheppard made crappy clothes look cool.

 

“Any particular reason why you’re up so early?” Sheppard asked, arranging himself into a boneless sprawl on the couch.

 

Rodney shrugged.  “First night in a new house, I guess.”  Sheppard nodded; Rodney stood and joined him in the padded Mission rocking chair across the coffee table.  “Thinking about…things.”

 

“Your work?”

 

Rodney rubbed the back of his neck.  “I suppose so.”

 

Sheppard seemed to know not to prod too deeply about the exact nature of Rodney’s job.  “Do you work alone usually?”

 

Rodney shook his head, clamping down on the wave of bitterness that threatened to engulf him.  “No.  But I’ve garnered a…reputation of sorts.”

 

“Reputation?”

 

Rodney frowned.  “People claim I can be…difficult to work with.”

 

Sheppard’s eyes widened.  “Nooo.”

 

Rodney’s frown turned to a scowl.  “You don’t know me that well.”

 

Sheppard smirked and held up a hand.  “Sorry.”  He rested his head against the back of the couch.  “Believe me, there are certain advantages to being on your own.”

 

Rodney sighed, thinking of the closed office door.  “Don’t I know it.”

Sheppard tilted his head up again, something that Rodney read as curiosity in his eyes, and the next thing Rodney knew he was telling this virtual stranger everything.  About Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter – beautiful, brilliant, the love of his life, who turned out to be only using him as a stand-in for the love of her life.  And when he’d come back, Rodney had been dumped so quickly he hadn’t even felt his ass hit the floor.

 

Sheppard listened attentively, his green gaze on Rodney’s face the whole time, but when Rodney was finished his tale of heartbreak and loss he only shrugged.  “At least you realized she wasn’t the one,” he said simply.

 

Rodney gaped at him.  “What are you talking about?” he spluttered.  “I just spent the past five minutes explaining to you how she was the one!  Weren’t you listening?”

 

Sheppard nodded slowly.  “I was listening, McKay.  And you didn’t fight for her.  That says it all.”

 

“Oh, come on!” Rodney squawked.  “How was I supposed to compete with a general?  Not to mention an interplan – I mean, an international hero!”

 

Sheppard only shrugged again, increasing Rodney’s irritation tenfold.  “Cheer up.  One of these days, someone will make you forget all about her, and you’ll be crazy in love before you know it.”

 

“Oh, no,” Rodney said, holding up a hand.  “I don’t want any more of that sickness.”

 

“Don’t call it that.”  Rodney’s head snapped up at the flat, dangerous tone of Sheppard’s voice, and was met by a gaze that chilled him more thoroughly than Antarctica ever had. 

 

Rodney’s voice trembled a little as he asked, “W-why not?”

 

“Because…”  Rodney was surprised to watch the anger suddenly drain out of Sheppard, replaced by a deep weariness.  Leaning back and rubbing at his forehead, he murmured, “Look, sorry, forget it.  Who the hell am I to be giving you advice, anyway?”

 

Rodney frowned, suddenly curious himself.  “I don’t know,” he said, letting the curiosity show.  “Who the hell are you?”

 

Sheppard stared at him for several seconds before nodding.  “Okay.  But for this I need a drink.”  He rose and walked over to a small cabinet, from which he drew two glasses and a bottle of scotch. 

 

As Sheppard handed him a healthy dose, it occurred to him that drinking at dawn was not a great way to start the day, but it further occurred to him that pointing this out would be an even worse way to start it.  He took a small sip of what turned out to be very nice single malt as Sheppard knocked back his first drink and poured another. 

 

“Mitch and I met in Afghanistan.  He was a cocky, crazy bastard, and the best pilot I’ve ever seen.”  Sheppard stared at his glass but didn’t drink.  “For two years it was – ”  He paused, sucking in a sharp breath “ – more than I ever knew to hope for.”

 

Rodney didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been this.  When Sheppard plunged into silence, he leaned forward and murmured, “Only two years?”

 

Sheppard nodded, gaze still on his whiskey.  “Only two years.”

 

And suddenly Rodney knew why Sheppard was speaking about Mitch in the past tense.  “Did he – um, over there?” he asked, feeling foolish and a little sick.

 

Sheppard shook his head.  “We made it through our tours without a scratch, and we came back here between postings, to the ranch his grandfather had left him.  He loved this place almost as much as he loved flying, and I guess that’s the only reason I haven’t burned the fucking thing down yet.”  Sheppard downed his second drink and poured another.  “Two years in Afghanistan flying a hundred feet off the deck dodging RPGs and small arms fire and he comes home for a lousy vacation and breaks his stupid goddamned neck falling off a horse.”  Sheppard’s dry chuckle was a mirthless sound.  “Irony is a bitch, isn’t it?” 

 

Rodney couldn’t remember how to breathe for a minute, and when he did he wished he hadn’t.  “It’s – God, I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.”  He clamped his mouth shut around the verbal diarrhea – Christ, this was why he hated funerals – but Sheppard only nodded.

 

“You know, it’s okay.  The funny thing is, I’m starting to get philosophical about it,” Sheppard said, and Rodney did not ask if drinking scotch at dawn was a part of his philosophy.  “I might even be ready to get rid of the place when you’re done with it.”

 

“I take it you didn’t know Mitch had left it to you.”

 

John snorted.  “Nope.  And neither did his family.  They were pretty pissed off, let me tell you.  Mitch had been keeping it up, letting his spoiled brat niece ride the horsies whenever she wanted while he was away.”  He finished off the rest of his drink, then recorked the bottle and set it aside.  “The one time I met that little bitch she called me ‘Mitch’s girlfriend.’  It gave me great satisfaction to tell her she would never see any of her precious horsies again.”  He grinned evilly.  “Maybe I’ll tell her I sold her favorite one for dog food.”

 

Rodney must have looked kind of horrified, because Sheppard added, “I didn’t say I’d do it.” 

 

“You know something?” Rodney said, eyeing him.  “I think you might still have a few issues to work through.”

 

Sheppard looked at him steadily, and Rodney was caught, pinned by that gaze, helpless to do anything but submit.  “I wasn’t even allowed to go to the damned funeral,” Sheppard rasped.  “After that, there were two weeks in Mexico – maybe three, who knows?  Luckily, my CO covered for me, but by that time I didn’t care about much of anything anymore, and I quit.  Fifteen years and I just up and quit.  I haven’t flown in six months, and I wish I – ”  he passed a hand over his face  “ – fuck.  I don’t know why I – I gotta go.”  He was standing before Rodney knew what was happening and heading for the door.  “So long, McKay.” 

 

“You’re – leaving?  Now?” Rodney demanded, scrambling to his feet.  “But we haven’t ironed out any of the details of the – ”

 

“Write Beckett some checks for what you think is fair,” Sheppard called over his shoulder.  “He can hang onto them for me until I get back.”  He was on the stairs now.

 

“When will that be?”

 

Sheppard shrugged.  “Couple of months.  Maybe more.”

 

“Wait!”  Rodney called, and Sheppard finally turned and looked at him.  Those haunted eyes robbed him of whatever he’d been about to say.  After a few painfully silent seconds, he said, “Are you going to be…”

 

Sheppard studied him carefully for an endless stretch of time before murmuring, “I’ll try.  Keep the house in apple-pie order while I’m gone.”  One eyebrow rose.  “They have apple pie in Canada?”

 

Rodney nodded.  “With ice cream.”

 

“I like mine with Cool Whip,” Sheppard said.

 

“Me, too,” Rodney murmured, but Sheppard was already gone. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John wasn’t really sure how it happened, but barely six weeks later he and his bike were back on the same dusty road.  He’d done a quick tour of Texas and Louisiana, but he’d gotten restless around Baton Rouge, and no amount of traveling could fix it. 

 

Time to go home, he’d thought that night while lying sprawled on the ratty orange hotel bedcover, and the realization had struck him: that damned place was the only home he had.  And so he’d put on his jeans, hopped on his motorcycle and started driving, and hadn’t stopped until he’d ended up here.

 

For a few seconds he contemplated turning around, but then he flashed on the memory of understanding blue eyes and big, square hands caressing piano keys, and he found himself nudging the bike forward.

 

He was surprised to find the horses out in the pasture adjoining the stables; he shut off the bike and approached the paddock slowly.  As he came around the side of the building, he heard a woman’s voice speaking softly.

 

“You want it, huh?  I just bet you do.  Well, you’re just gonna have to come get it.  Come on, darlin’.  Come and get it, baby.”

 

Her back was turned to him, but he could tell she was petite, blonde and well-formed.  She was also wearing a khaki t-shirt and a pair of Marine camouflage pants.  As John watched, she held out an apple in her flattened palm, trying to entice a skittish black horse whose shoulder topped her head by a good half a foot.

 

Jesus Christ, John thought as a chill pierced him clean through.  That was the horse Mitch had been riding when he’d fallen.  John had never been sure if it had actually thrown him, which was why he’d never taken his Beretta and put a slug through its pea-sized brain.  But if it ever harmed another person, he’d never forgive himself.

 

He propelled himself forward, protective instincts kicking into gear.  “Get away from that horse!” he shouted, breaking into a run.  As the woman whirled around to face him, startled, John watched as the horse whinnied fearfully and tossed its head.

 

“I don’t know who you are, mister,” the woman said lowly, “but I really wish you’d shut your trap and stand still.  Right.  Now.” 

 

John recognized the tone of command in that voice, and stopped dead in his tracks.  He was close enough that he could probably leap and pull her to safety if the horse reared up, at least.  Slowly, the woman turned back to the skittish animal, though she kept her eyes downcast and her movements small and unthreatening.  After many tense seconds, the horse finally whickered nervously, then broke and cantered back into the stable.

 

“Okay,” the woman sighed after the animal had disappeared, “that was not how I’d been hoping that would go.”

 

“Sorry,” John offered lamely.  “I, uh – I thought he might be dangerous.”

 

“Any animal is dangerous when it’s frightened,” the woman answered shortly, looking John up and down.  “The trick is knowing when it’s too frightened.”

 

John fought down the distinct urge to break and run himself.  Instead, he took a stiff step forward and extended his hand.  “John Sheppard.”

 

“Laura Cadman,” the woman answered, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.  Yeah, thought John.  Definitely a Marine.  “You, uh, you mind if I ask you what you’re doing here, John?” she asked, with deceptive sweetness.  John’s gaze flickered over her briefly, checking for weapons bulges.  He found one, low on her left ankle.

 

Holy shit, John thought.  She wasn’t just a stable hand, she was the hired muscle.  Just what kind of work was McKay doing?

 

In lieu of an answer, John pasted on his best charming expression and nodded at Cadman’s pants.  “You always wear your cammies when you’re training horses?”

 

Cadman’s eyes widened slightly.  “You a Marine?”

 

John shook his head.  “Major in the Air Force.”  When Cadman stiffened instinctively, Sheppard held up a hand.  “Relax, Cadman.  I – uh, I took early retirement.”

 

Cadman smartly snapped to an at-ease position.  John couldn’t help releasing a genuine smile at that. 

 

“So what’s a Marine – uh – ”

 

“Lieutenant,” supplied Cadman.

 

“ – Lieutenant – doing playing the Horse Whisperer?”

 

Cadman winked at him.  “State secret, sir.  If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

 

John pursed his lips and nodded.  “Fair enough.  McKay up at the house?”

 

Cadman blew out a breath.  “Little Lord Fauntleroy?  Yeah, he’s there.  But keep your head down.”  At John’s no doubt confused look, Cadman added, “I live in the bunkhouse behind the stables.  That way I don’t get roped into washing his socks and doing his damned dishes.  I think they’re overflowing onto the back porch by now.”

 

John raised an eyebrow.  “He promised me he’d keep the house in apple-pie order.”

 

“Well, I think you’re gonna find there’s a little dust on your apple pie.”

 

As she turned around, John smirked.  “There’s a little dust on your apple pie, too,” he told her, earning him a stony glare.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Goddammit!”  Rodney knew that slamming down a valuable piece of Ancient technology on a hard wooden table was probably a bad idea, but he’d tried everything else, for the last six goddamned weeks he’d tried everything else, and he was not going to give those morons at the SGC the satisfaction of giving them the proof they needed to pull the plug on his research.  He had a naquadah generator, three doctorates and a lab devoid of unnecessary distractions such as other people.  Why in hell couldn’t he solve this?

 

He picked up the small device and turned it over in his hand before laying it back on the table.  “I will not go back there with my tail between my legs,” he growled at it.  “Do you hear me?”

 

“McKay!” The shout came from directly above him and scared him right off his chair.  Wobbling on his feet, he spun around to see John Sheppard coming down the basement steps with a murderous gleam in his eye. 

 

“McKay,” Sheppard said again, almost silkily as he advanced on Rodney, “there is a stack of dishes upstairs that rivals the Matterhorn.  I saw milk standing in the fridge that wasn’t even in a container.”  He took another step forward, backing Rodney up against his worktable.

 

“It’s not my fault!” Rodney protested, trying to resist the urge to crawl up on the table.  “My – employers didn’t see fit to send me proper help!”

 

Sheppard jabbed a finger skyward.  “You think that after a Marine lieutenant has spent the whole damned day taking care of four horses, she should be washing your dishes and dirty underwear?”

 

Rodney grimaced.  “So I take it you’ve met Cadman.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve met her.”  Much to Rodney’s relief, Sheppard took a step back and ran a hand through his perpetually unruly hair.  “And I can’t help but wonder what the hell you do for a living that you need an armed guard.”

 

Deciding that honesty would be the most implausible option, Rodney lifted his chin.  “I might be doing secret government work.  Who knows?”

 

Sheppard raised an eyebrow.  “You might be.  Of course, if I were doing secret government work and I wanted to throw me off the trail, I’d say I was doing secret government work.”

 

Rodney stared at him for a moment, then stammered, “Yes.  Well – ”

 

“Hey,” Sheppard said, cocking his head at something behind McKay, “what’s that?”  He stepped forward again, and before Rodney knew what was going on, Sheppard had plucked the little device from the table.

”Don’t – ” Rodney began, reaching out to snatch the device from Sheppard’s hand.

 

And then the tiny thing began to glow with a bright green light, and Sheppard’s expression changed from sour to serene.

 

“Wow.  This is cool,” he breathed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The exhaustion was finally starting to hit him, fourteen solid hours of driving catching up with him and giving him hallucinations.  That was the only possible explanation, because there was no way John could have heard McKay right.

 

“You want me to what?”

 

McKay sighed.  “I want you to work on this project with me,” he said slowly, as though he were explaining something to a young and backward child.  “You can operate this technology better than anyone I’ve seen.  Better even than Lorne, but of course they won’t let me have him.  I thought I could find a way to bypass the – ” he cut himself off “ – um.   That’s kind of classified, I suppose.”

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose.  “You’re not making any sense.  You realize that, right?”

 

McKay huffed out a breath.  “Look, I can explain all of this to you as soon as I get you a security clearance, which shouldn’t be that difficult since you were in the military – ”

 

John snorted at that.  “I didn’t exactly leave the service under the best of circumstances.  Okay, I didn’t tell them why I was leaving, but as soon as they find out Mitch willed me this place, it shouldn’t be that hard for them to put two and two together.”  At McKay’s confused look, he added, “Queer officers don’t make good security risks.”

 

McKay waved an impatient hand, as if that were completely irrelevant.  “This isn’t your father’s Air Force, Major.  I’m sure I can – ”

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

McKay’s eyes widened, and John realized he was on his feet with his fists clenched.  “I quit the military for a reason.  I’m not going to go back.”

 

To his surprise, McKay’s fearful look faded, to be replaced with stubborn determination.  “All right,” he said softly, “then my deepest respects to the retired Mister Sheppard in his biker fantasy retreat.” 

 

John took a step toward him, but this time McKay only lifted his chin and stood his ground.  “Are you trying to be an asshole?” John growled.

 

“Believe me, it’s no effort,” McKay shot back. 

 

John rolled his eyes.  “That I can believe.”

 

“It’s just such a waste.  Don’t you know what you could be doing in the world?”  McKay shook his head, then answered his own question.  “No, I guess you don’t.  I wish I could tell you right now, but they’ll pull the plug on me for sure if I – ” 

 

“McKay…” John warned.

 

McKay held up a hand, then took a step toward John, palm outstretched as if to calm a wild animal.  His blue eyes turned soft and imploring, and John was suddenly frozen to the spot.  “Look,” McKay murmured.  “I don’t say this to many people, but I’ll say it to you.  I need you.  You don’t know how important this is, I understand that.  All I’m asking is that you wait a little while until I can tell you everything.  You can’t make an informed decision about this until you have all the facts.”

 

That steady, open gaze continued to hold him captive, and for the first time in six months John could feel his defenses start to crack.

 

It scared the shit out of him.

 

Shaking his head to clear it, he took a stumbling step backward.  “No.  I can’t.  I’m sorry,” he added at McKay’s obvious disappointment – Christ, he had to get out of here now.  He was up the stairs and out the door to the kitchen before he knew it, his legs wobbly with the rush of adrenaline and panic. 

 

He didn’t want anyone needing him again.  That never helped anything, in the end.

 

He was halfway to his bike when he heard the weird thrumming.  His head rose, searching for the source of the sound, and found it when a green cylindrical shape the size of a Chinook materialized out of thin air fifty feet above his head, then drifted to the left and settled gently to the ground.

 

He didn’t even notice when McKay came up to stand beside him.  “Yes,” he said in answer to John’s unspoken question.  “That would be a spaceship.”  He paused.  “Want to fly it?”

 

John’s skin prickled and his palms itched and his bones ached and for about three seconds he hated McKay more than he’d ever hated anyone.

 

“Okay,” he breathed.  “You win.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It took about three weeks for Rodney to realize he was enjoying working with someone else, perhaps because it was a completely alien concept. 

 

“Um, could you pass me that – ”

 

The data disk was in his hand before he even completed the sentence.  Rodney peered at it for a moment, then shook himself and popped it into the computer.

 

“You think we can try another test on that shield tomorrow?”

 

“Mmm,” Rodney said, absorbed in the latest figures from the simulator.  Well, maybe absorbed wasn’t the right word; he’d been working nonstop since around seven a.m., only pausing here and there to shove something in his face and chew.  It was probably getting late, but he needed to work this out.  If only the damned numbers would stop changing places…

 

“Was that a ‘yes’ mmm or a ‘no’ mmm?” Sheppard drawled.

 

Rodney sighed and looked up from the screen.  “It was a ‘maybe’ mmm,” he said tartly.  “Now, can I finish studying these results?”

 

Sheppard’s hand pushed down the laptop, shutting it off.  “No.”

 

“Hey!  I was just – ”

 

“You were just nothing,” Sheppard told him firmly.  “Come on, Rodney,” he wheedled when Rodney opened his mouth to protest, “you’ve been at this all day.”

 

Rodney closed his mouth, flabbergasted; he wasn’t used to anyone giving a damn how hard he worked himself, usually because he was forcing everyone around him to work equally as hard.  “You’re the one who wants to quit,” he said warily.

 

Sheppard chuckled and threw one arm over the back of his chair.  “Rodney, I flew combat missions over Afghanistan for two years.  A few weeks of playing with cool gadgets and being your gofer isn’t exactly what I’d call strenuous work.”

 

“Oh,” Rodney said, feeling foolish. 

 

“And they call you a genius,” Sheppard said softly. 

 

Rodney looked up and was caught by Sheppard’s somewhat astonishing green eyes, which seemed to be regarding him with something akin to fondness.  “All right,” he said scratchily, because yes, when the hallucinations started it was definitely time to call it a day, “well, I suppose I’ll be fresher in the morning.”

 

Sheppard’s smile was small, but it was genuinely pleased, and Rodney felt the warmth from it seep into his bones, giving him the energy he needed to climb the stairs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They were working their way through a second frozen pizza when John heard himself finally say it.  “Rodney, I’ve been thinking.”

 

Rodney tore his gaze away from the closing credits of Batman Begins, a dollop of sauce adorning the corner of his mouth.  John was annoyed to discover he found that cute.  He was more annoyed when he felt the urge to lick it away.

 

He’d been having far too many of those urges over the last couple of weeks.  That was why what he was about to say actually made some kind of sense.

 

Or maybe he was just going nuts.

 

Grabbing the remote, John shut off the movie.  “Uh, here’s the thing.  I – ” hell, this was turning out to be harder than he thought “ – I wanted to make you an offer.”

 

Rodney frowned.  Christ, now John sounded like the Godfather.  “Okay, look.  I’ve been thinking about you and me, and how we’re a lot alike, at least in some ways.  How you never want love in your life because you’ve had all the worst, and I never want it in mine because I’ve had…anyway.  And it occurred to me that this could work out really well, you know, because this way we won’t be tempted to make the same mistakes again, looking for it somewhere else.  I mean, the other problem is that it gets kind of hard to explain to people, unless you’re looking for a lot of casual hookups, which I’m not…”

 

“Um,” Rodney said, holding up a finger.  “I don’t mean to interrupt, but…what in the world are you talking about?”

 

John drew a deep breath.  “I’m talking about sex.”

 

Rodney stared at him blankly for what seemed like an hour before his eyes widened so much John was afraid they’d pop out of his head.  “You – you’re talking about – you and me?”  John nodded.  “And sex?” Rodney squeaked.

 

“That’s right, Rodney,” John said patiently, “I’m talking about you and me and sex.”

 

Rodney leapt off the couch, his plate and his half-eaten slice of pizza falling to the floor.  “But – but I’m – ”

 

John sighed.  He might have known he’d send the guy into full-blown hetero panic mode.  “I’m not talking about hard-core gay porn here,” he said, keeping his voice as even as possible, “just – you know, two guys helping each other out.”  At the last moment, he refrained from making the accompanying hand gesture, because really, this conversation was enough of a disaster.

 

Rodney opened his mouth.

 

“Don’t tell me you don’t miss it,” John interjected.

 

Rodney shut his mouth.  “That’s not the point,” he said after a moment.

 

“Then what is the point?”

 

Rodney waved his hands.  “It’s – it’s not something I can just decide to do because it’s logical!” he spluttered.  “I’m not – built that way.  Well, all right, yes, I appreciate logic, certainly, but not where, um, where that’s concerned.”

 

“Okay,” John said, shrugging away the unexpected jab of disappointment.  “Look, it’s fine.  No big deal.  I just thought you might be interested.”

 

Rodney’s cheeks pinkened.  “Don’t take it personally.  I mean, you’re – if I was, I mean, if I could, you’d be very – ”

 

“You don’t have to stroke my ego, Rodney,” John murmured.  “I’ll survive.”

 

“Yes, well, um – ”

 

John smiled in a way he knew was forced.  “No problem, really.  If you change your mind, let me know.”

 

Rodney nodded jerkily. “You’ll be the first.”  Turning beet red, Rodney spun on his heel and fled the room.

 

John whacked the back of his head against the couch a few times before leaning down and picking up the remains of Rodney’s supper.

 

“You’re one smooth operator, you know that?” he muttered to himself. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Radek Zelenka wasn’t sure what he’d find when he stepped off the gateship, but the sight of a renowned geneticist mucking out a horse stall wasn’t anything like what he’d been expecting.

 

“Hello, Carson.”

 

Carson spun around, the pitchfork in his hands nearly stabbing Zelenka in the knees.  Radek jumped back just in time.

 

“Oh, bloody hell, I’m sorry, Radek,” he said wearily.  “I’m still getting the hang of this.”

 

Radek smiled.  “You are trying out a new profession, perhaps?”

 

Carson stared at him blankly for a moment before seeming to remember he was holding a manure-encrusted pitchfork in his hands.  “Oh.  Oh, well, no.  This is my day off, and I thought I might have left some of my things at the house, you see, so I hopped in my car and – well, I ran into – ”

 

“He was shanghaied.”  Radek turned to see the very beautiful Lieutenant Cadman walking toward them, a smile curling her full lips and a mischievous twinkle in her eye.  When he turned back, he was not surprised to find that Carson was grinning back at her with an expression that could kindly be termed moronic.

 

Doctor Beckett was a brilliant man, but like any man he was also a fool.  Acceptance of this essential truth, Radek had always found, was the first step. 

 

“You have pressed him into service?” Radek asked her, smiling himself, because it was life, after all.  “I did not know the United States Marines still used this form of recruitment.”

 

“Well, I haven’t gotten my hands on him yet,” she admitted, strolling closer, hips swaying a good deal more than they did when she was at the SGC, “but I have hopes.”

 

Carson produced a sound that was midway between a cough and a squeak.  It was not worthy of him.  Nevertheless, Zelenka could sympathize.  He cleared his throat.

 

“Is Rodney inside?”

 

Cadman shook her head.  “They’re in the barn.”

 

Radek frowned.  Rodney was constantly ranting in his e-mails about his hatred for the horses and how the country air gave him hives; it didn’t seem likely that he would suddenly develop a taste for stacking hay.  “Why would they be in the barn?”

 

Cadman shrugged.  “Said they needed the space for an experiment.”

 

Radek’s frown deepened as he thanked her and headed across the paddock to the barn, carefully sidestepping the manure the esteemed doctor had missed. 

 

As he reached the half-open barn door, he heard McKay’s voice laced with nervous tension.  This did not immediately alarm Radek, as that tended to be McKay’s default setting.  “Are you sure you want me to do this?  I mean, um, it’s just that I’ve never done this before, and, well – ”

 

“You’re gonna do fine,” said another man, the cadence of his voice slow and Western; that must be Rodney’s new assistant.  “Aim it right and you won’t have any problems.”

 

“Shouldn’t we try something a little less – well, hazardous first?  I’m worried I might hurt you…”

 

“Rodney.”

 

“…and I couldn’t stand it if I – ”

 

“Rodney.  Just do it.”

 

“Okay, okay already, you don’t have to –  I’m going to do it, okay?”

 

“I’ll believe that when I see – ”

 

And then Radek was startled half out of his skin when he heard a sharp crack rend the air.  Without thinking about it, he burst into the barn to find Rodney and the other man standing facing one another, Rodney with a gun in his hand.

 

“Rodney, stop!” he shouted, not knowing what else to say.  “Please, put it down!”

 

Rodney whipped his head around, startled by the sound of Radek’s voice.  Unfortunately, the arm holding the gun swung in the same direction.

 

“Rodney,” the other man warned, “remember those safety rules I drilled into your head?”

 

Rodney blinked, then lowered the gun.  “Oh, yes, sorry.  I wasn’t expecting you so soon, Radek,” he added accusingly.

 

“Pardon me,” Radek returned icily.  “Had I known you would be shooting your assistant this afternoon, I would have given you more time.”

 

To Radek’s surprise, Rodney grinned and turned back to Sheppard.  “I shot you, didn’t I?” he asked.

 

The other man nodded and grinned back.  “Sure did.”

 

“Did you feel anything?”

 

“Just a tap, like someone poked me with a finger.  It didn’t hurt.”

 

Rodney nodded at Radek.  “I shot him.”  The horror must have shown on Radek’s face, because Rodney shrugged at him.  “In the leg.” 

 

The other man took a step forward and took the gun gingerly from Rodney.  “Your friend’s looking kind of shellshocked.  Why don’t we suspend the experiment for a little while, huh?”

 

“Oh, yes, of course.”  Rodney gestured at the other man.  “Doctor Radek Zelenka, this is John Sheppard, the assistant I told you about.  He’s very useful to me.  Used to work with Perry a little at Columbia.”

 

Sheppard smiled and, to Radek’s surprise, nudged Rodney with his shoulder.  “Aw, Doctor McKay, you say the sweetest things.” 

 

Radek had the very great pleasure of seeing Rodney’s cheeks redden.  Sheppard clapped his hands together.  “Okay, now that I think of it, I do want to try one more thing.  You boys talk amongst yourselves.”

 

He walked off, and Rodney and Radek stared at one another for a moment.  Best to get it over with quickly, Radek thought.  But before he could tell Rodney of his news, Rodney launched into accounts of some of the recent discoveries he’d made with Sheppard, his hands waving and his face animated.  Radek had noticed the changed tone of his e-mails over the past few weeks, but it was another thing to see his renewed enthusiasm in person.  He knew no one back at the SGC would believe him, but he missed Rodney – missed his nova-bright energy and his uncanny ability to see the solution to almost any problem.  It was heartening to see Rodney embracing new discoveries once again; for too long after the end of his relationship with Colonel Carter, Radek feared that Rodney had lost that spark.  Now, it seemed as though he had it back again.

 

It was that realization that gave Radek the courage to open his mouth and say the first time Rodney paused for breath, “It would seem that we are close to making a breakthrough.”

 

Derailed by Radek’s words, Rodney’s mouth worked soundlessly for a second or two before his face resolved itself into a scowl.  “What – you never said anything in your e-mails,” he blurted.

 

Radek shook his head.  “It happened rather suddenly.  Colonel – ah, Colonel Carter found a reference in the Ancient database to the city’s propulsion mechanism, and we took it from there.”

 

Rodney glanced at him.  “Have you run any simulations?”

 

“Not yet.  We are planning one for first thing tomorrow morning.”  He took a deep breath.  “We want you to be there.”

 

Rodney stared at him, then chuckled.  Radek winced at the mirthless sound.  “And who is ‘we’, exactly?”

 

Radek sighed.  “Rodney, you irritate everybody, yes.  You are arrogant and annoying, yes.  But you are also brilliant, and at risk of inflating your ego even more, you can see things no one else can see.  We need you.”

 

Rodney looked away, the old pain evident on his features.  Obviously Radek had overestimated the extent of Rodney’s recovery.  Without thinking, he reached out and touched Rodney’s arm.  “It is not selfish – well, that is not entirely true.  But Rodney, I know you.  I know that you cannot be happy here – ”

 

Rodney crossed his arms and lifted his chin.  “I’m perfectly happy here.  I’m doing important work – ”

 

“You are testing gadgets,” Radek huffed. “We are trying to find a way to raise Atlantis from the bottom of the ocean.”

 

“We’re working on the same thing,” Rodney gritted.  “You know I believe one of these devices might be the key to – ”

 

“I know that you think you cannot bear to work alongside Samantha Carter,” Radek interrupted.  “But as painful as it may be to you, you must lay your personal feelings aside for now and – ”

 

“Hey!”  Both Radek and Rodney spun around to see Sheppard standing in the open loft of the barn, twenty feet above their heads.  As they watched, he tumbled off the edge, falling like a stone.

 

Radek swore expressively in Czech even as he was running to the place where Sheppard lay sprawled on the floor.  And then, with a flourish, the dead man sprang to life, pushing himself to his feet and grinning like a fool.

 

Sheppard spread his arms.  “I’m untouchable!” he crowed.

 

“Invulnerable,” Rodney corrected.

 

Sheppard shrugged.  “Whatever.”  His grin did not abate, however, and after a few moments Rodney’s face split into a matching grin.

 

Radek stepped back and watched them, unaware of the smile that had settled on his own lips.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Is that true, what Zelenka said?”

 

Rodney jerked awake.  “Oh, ow,” he grunted, rubbing at his neck, which had been cricked at an odd angle when he’d fallen asleep slumped against the arm of the couch. 

 

“You okay?”  Rodney blinked and opened his eyes to see that he’d somehow ended up with his legs draped over Sheppard’s lap.  As he watched, one of John’s hands came up to rest on Rodney’s calf.  “Hey.”

 

“I – I’m sorry,” Rodney breathed, “what did you say?”  He could feel the heat of John’s hand on his leg and it was strangely intimate and unsettling and he was only half-awake and oh, Christ, what was he doing here?  He shoved himself to a sitting position, then swung his legs off John’s thighs, severing the contact.

 

“Could you be doing more important work somewhere else?” 

 

Rodney leaned his elbows on his knees and scrubbed at his face.  “If you’d been eavesdropping properly, you’d have heard the answer to that question.”

 

“I heard the answer you gave Zelenka,” John murmured, “and now I’d like to hear the truth.”

 

“What gives you the right to hear the truth?” Rodney bit out, glaring at John.  “Really, why do you rate a ticket into my innermost secrets?”

 

John stared back at him for a moment before appearing to snap out of his stupor.  “I don’t,” he murmured.  “Good night.”  He rose to his feet and was gone before Rodney could think of something to say.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Restless and inexplicably angry, John ended up taking a walk around the ranch compound before turning in.  He was hoping it would tire him out, but he returned to the house as keyed up as he’d been before he left.  There was no sign of Rodney downstairs, so John guessed he’d already turned in.

 

After a hot shower, he padded into his darkened room naked, toweling his hair as he went.  He was not going to think about earlier, about the moment when he’d realized Rodney had fallen asleep halfway through Battlestar Galactica, his cheek squashed against the arm rest and his mouth open.  John had touched him lightly on the knee, and Rodney had snorted and stirred, his eyes opening to sleepy slits.

 

“Hngh?”

 

“You’re missing Starbuck.  Hot blonde, remember?”

 

“Hngh,” Rodney had said decisively, shifting until his legs were stretched out on the couch, which of course meant they were half-draped over John’s lap.  John had stared at him for a few more moments before cupping his palm over the arch of Rodney’s sock-clad foot.  By the time he remembered he’d been watching the show, it was nearly over.

 

John sighed as he sat down on the edge of his bed.  He was headed down a road he definitely didn’t want to take, and the hell of it was that he knew this and yet he was still gassing up the bike and checking the tires as though everything were normal. 

 

He climbed under the sheets reluctantly, knowing there wasn’t much chance of getting any sleep tonight.  Stretching, he flung out an arm –

 

– and felt it connect with a solid object.  A solid object which emitted an affronted groan and flailed back at him.

 

John slid right off the bed onto the floor, his legs in the air.  Slowly he gathered himself, turned on the bedside light and peered over the edge of the mattress.

 

The unidentified solid object turned out to be Rodney.  Rodney was asleep in his bed.  The logical conclusion was that – well, that Rodney had finally decided to be logical.

 

Too bad his timing really sucked.

 

John told himself to get to his feet, put on some clothes and send Rodney packing.  Too bad John really, really sucked at following orders, especially when they were orders that would probably be good for him.  He’d never been keen on eating his broccoli when he was a kid, either.

 

Sliding under the sheets again, he lay back down and stroked his fingers over the side of Rodney’s face until those blue eyes opened.  John watched his expression change from uncomprehending to shocked to annoyed. 

 

“Wh-what are you doing in my bed?” he demanded, the stammer undercutting the bluster. 

 

“You’re in my bed, Rodney,” John drawled.

 

Rodney glared at him for another moment, then glanced around the room.  “Oh, God,” he breathed.  “I’m sorry – you see, Diz usually wakes me before I get too far.”  He pushed himself up on an elbow. 

 

John must have looked confused, because Rodney scowled and added, “It’s not a crime, you know.  If you do it, you do it.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Somnambulism.  That’s sleep-”

 

“Yeah, I know what somnambulism is, Rodney,” John muttered.  “Thanks.”

 

“Oh.  Oh.  You thought I – ” he gestured between them with a finger “ – that I’d come here to – ”  His cheeks flamed.

 

“Kind of got that impression, uh-huh,” John acknowledged, but Rodney’s gaze had already dipped, and his eyes were bulging even more now.

 

“Y-you’re – uh, you’re naked under that sheet, aren’t you?”  One graceful hand traced the shape of John’s body in the air above it, and John thought it was cosmically unfair to be more excited by a guy not touching him than he had been during some recent blowjobs. 

 

“It’s the way I usually go to bed in the summer.  When it’s a hot night, and I’m alone,” he added pointedly.

 

“Well, I’m sorry!” Rodney snapped.  “I’m sure it’s no concern of mine when you take your clothes off, and for who.”

 

“Whom,” John corrected. 

 

Rodney glared.  “Well,” he huffed, shifting, “I’ll let you get back – ”

 

John cupped Rodney’s shoulder with his free hand and pressed down, and he really had no idea what he was doing; his brain felt muzzy and jumbled and vulnerable.  “Wait.”  Rodney’s eyes widened, but he stayed put, and John found himself stammering.  “I, uh, I just wanted to thank you for the last few weeks.  I’m feeling – useful, I guess, for the first time in a long time.”

 

Rodney eyed him warily.  “Well, it’s been, uh, good for me, too.  You really have helped me a great deal, and…I’m sorry, I find it difficult to have a normal conversation when I’m in bed with a naked man.”

 

And that was just such a blatant freebie that John couldn’t resist leaning a little closer and saying, “Well, there are better things to do when you’re in bed with a naked man.”

 

He expected Rodney to beat a hasty retreat at that, but instead there was an odd, breathless moment where he remained frozen, mouth trembling slightly.

 

And then Rodney moved, but it wasn’t in the direction John had been expecting.  Rodney’s hand shot out to grip the back of John’s neck and haul him into a kiss that was more of a smashing together of lips than anything else.  It was messy and completely fourth grade and it turned John on like crazy.

 

Rodney released him as abruptly as he’d grabbed onto him, eyes glinting with pride, as though he’d just figured out how to achieve cold fusion using a ball peen hammer and a pound of butter.  “I, uh, I’ve been thinking about that,” he admitted shyly – shyly, Jesus – and that revved John’s motor to the red line. 

 

“And I’ve been thinking about this,” John murmured, threading his fingers into the hair at the back of Rodney’s head and drawing him down into a kiss that was slow, and gentle, and thank God McKay was a genius because he caught on right away, shifting gears and tugging softly at John’s lips with his own.  John might have whimpered a little when Rodney’s teeth got involved in the process, but that was okay; McKay was making some pretty undignified sounds of his own.

 

Hands blindly groping, John shoved the sheets down and away, baring them both to the warm summer air.  Rodney immediately broke away, gasping, and raised himself up to look down the length of John’s body. 

 

“Okay,” he murmured, licking his lips.  “Wow.”

 

John might have preened a bit under McKay’s heated gaze.  However, when it became clear that Rodney couldn’t seem to stop staring at his dick, John’s ardor swiftly took a nosedive.  “You act like you’ve never seen one before,” he complained.

 

Rodney shot him a look.  “Well, excuse me, but it’s a little different when it’s not yours.”  One hand hovered over John’s belly, fingers twitching.

 

“Hey, listen, you don’t have to – ”

 

“Shut up,” Rodney told him.  “I want to do this.”  His nervous fingers lowered, fluttering against John’s skin, making John even harder.

 

“That tickles,” John complained, voice breathy.

 

Rodney glanced at him and smiled knowingly.  “Yeah?” he asked, and there was just no way John could let him get away with that.  He deftly undid the buttons of Rodney’s pajama top and shoved it over his shoulders, then pressed his thumbs to Rodney’s nipples.

 

“Oh,” Rodney sighed, closing his eyes.  His hand curled against John’s stomach, nails unconsciously raking the skin.  John grinned and started up a circling motion that soon had Rodney gasping and shaking.

 

“I – oh, God, that feels good – ”

 

“Lie down,” John commanded, and Rodney shivered and obeyed, flopping back onto the bed bonelessly.  John had him stripped in about thirty seconds, which was a good thing because the pattern on Rodney’s pajamas was seriously killing his libido.  Yecch – like fish eyes swimming in mucilage.

 

Rodney’s body was flushed and sparsely furred save for the patch at the top of his chest and the dark thatch at his groin, and his cock was hard and red and leaking a little and John’s mouth was watering as he ran his palms up the tops of Rodney’s thighs.

 

“Oh, oh, wait, don’t,” Rodney said, sitting up and closing one hand over John’s shoulder to stop him, “if you do that I’ll – ”  his expression turned defensive “ – well, it’s been so long, and I – ”

 

John’s fingers climbed up Rodney’s sides, and Rodney groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.  “Okay, then,” John husked, “you got any suggestions?”

 

“Um,” Rodney said, eyes still closed, “do you think we could – more kissing, perhaps?”

 

And John knew he was fucked when Rodney’s polite Canadian perhaps turned him inside out, but there was nothing he could do about it now, not when Rodney was this far gone and needed him so badly.  Throwing caution out the window, he took Rodney’s wrists in his hands and pinned them at his sides, then lowered himself to stretch out over Rodney’s body and bent to kiss his right nipple.

 

“Jesus,” Rodney breathed, jerking beneath him, his cock beginning to thrust rhythmically against John’s belly as John’s kisses grew deeper.  John had noticed those nipples from day one, and he’d imagined they’d be sensitive, but he had no idea that providing them with the right kind of attention would magically transform Rodney into a panting, cursing animal.  Rodney’s hands clenched into fists and his arms strained against John’s hold and he rutted against John’s body and John had a sudden, sharp vision of McKay under him while John rode him, his knees digging into the solid flesh of Rodney’s sides –

 

Rodney cried out and stiffened, and John could feel the pulses of his orgasm, the slippery warmth spreading between them.  He held him down until Rodney went limp in his grasp, then rose up over him and jerked himself to a quick, shattering completion.  Afterward, he held himself with one hand, then snatched a couple of tissues from his nightstand and wiped away the evidence.

 

“Oh my God,” Rodney gasped, still shuddering faintly from the aftershocks.  “I’ve never come just from having someone do – ” he waved feebly at his chest “ –  that.”  He looked up at John with something akin to wonder, and John felt something inside his own chest loosen and rattle around.

 

“Like you said, it’d been a while,” he murmured, looking away so he wouldn’t see the change in Rodney’s expression.  All the same, it wasn’t hard to tell he’d accomplished his goal when Rodney slid off the bed and stood. 

 

“Well, ah – thank you,” he said softly, voice uncharacteristically flat as he gathered his pajamas from the floor.  “I’m glad you suggested this; it’s a very practical – solution.”

 

“No sweat,” John said breezily, gut churning as he forced himself to glance at McKay.  “Glad I could be – helpful.”

 

He turned out the light before Rodney reached the door, but just as he suspected, he didn’t get any sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re wrong, wrong, wrong!”

 

Radek sighed, Kusanagi cringed, and Simpson glowered, and Rodney turned his back on all of them and jabbed a finger at the screen.  “Listen to me, all of you, because I’m only going to say this once.  You haven’t been paying attention to your power signatures.  The propulsion systems run on a different energy from the rest of the systems – it’s like you’ve been trying to plug a refrigerator into a campfire.  If you try it this way when we get back to Atlantis, we will all drown.”

 

At their confused looks, he shook his head and said, “All right, let me put this in terms we can all understand:  the stardrive and the mechanism for raising the city are on a separate grid.  They can’t be run by conventional energy – or rather, they can if they have the right catalyst.”  More blank looks.  “Oh, for Christ’s sake.  Someone has to be steering the thing, or big fancy city goes kaboom.”

 

“Is that our favorite ray of sunshine?”  Rodney spun around to see – oh, perfect – General O’Neill smirking at him from the doorway of the lab.  At his side stood Lieutenant Colonel Carter, her own expression carefully neutral.

 

“Hello, Rodney,” she said pleasantly (Pleasantly!  The nerve of her!)  “Glad you could make it for the test.”

 

Rodney folded his arms, shielding himself against her damnable equanimity.  “Well, I’m not.  This is a complete waste of time; your simulation is going to fail.”

 

Sam crossed her arms in front of her, making her breasts stand out even more.  Wonderful.  “Why don’t we actually try the simulation before we draw our conclusions, hmm?” she said, some of that pleasant exterior slipping away, revealing the steel underneath.  Fighting conflicting feelings of fury and arousal, Rodney silently cursed himself for getting in the car this morning.  He could have woken up in a leisurely fashion, enjoyed a couple of cups of coffee, and applied his formidable intellect to the problem of insinuating himself back into John’s bed.  Despite the way it had ended, he was fairly sure his first foray into the world of gay sex was on the far side of spectacular, and he was equally certain he could reproduce the results given a little – direction.  Of course, there was no way in hell he was going to mention any of this to Sam; that would be the final feather in her cap, wouldn’t it, to know that she’d turned him off women permanently –

 

“Rodney!”

 

Rodney shook himself back to reality.  “Yes, what?”

 

Sam sighed and turned to Radek.  “All right.  Let’s get this started before we lose him for good.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John spent a good part of the morning in bed, trapped between restlessness and exhaustion.  Whenever he was close to finally dropping off, he’d remember yet another highlight from last night and suddenly he’d be wide awake, heart pounding and palms itching for impossibly soft skin.  He finally gave up around nine thirty, stumbling down the stairs and plowing through an entire pot of coffee before he felt partway human again.

 

On his last cup, he realized there was no sign of Rodney in the house; after getting dressed and going outside, he went in search of Cadman, who was taking the big black horse through its paces in the paddock. 

 

“You seen Rodney anywhere?”

 

Cadman shook her head.  “Nope.  When I woke up this morning, I noticed his car was gone.”

 

John frowned.  “And that was - ?”

 

“Six.”

 

John raised his eyebrows.  To say that Rodney was not a morning person was the understatement of the century; what the hell was he doing driving off at the crack of dawn?

 

Maybe trying to get away from you, you dope, John’s inner voice told him.  “All right, then,” he murmured.  “Thanks.”

 

“Hey, you guys have a fight?”

 

John shook his head.  “Not exactly.”

 

Cadman smiled.  “That’s a relief.  Rodney’s been almost bearable with you around.”  This, of course, made John feel even more like a heel, but he wasn’t going to start sharing his bedroom secrets with a Marine lieutenant.  Instead, he smiled back.

 

“Nah, I don’t think it’s me,” he returned.  “I think it’s those little blue pills I keep slipping in his food.”

 

He left Cadman laughing, sure she never would have guessed how close he was to smashing something.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Dammit!” Carter’s frustration couldn’t be more plain as the simulation red-lined yet again.  It took Rodney all the teeth he had to bite down on the gloating smirk trying to form.  It wasn’t so much that he wanted to spare Sam’s feelings as he wanted to avoid being killed in some messy way.  An Air Force colonel had to be aware of some pretty nasty methods.

 

Still, he couldn’t help rubbing it in a little.  “You see now?” he said, pointing at the screen.  “There’s no control, no way of converting the energy as it passes into the propulsion system.  No matter which way you slice it, you’re overloading the drive every time.”

 

“Then what?” she asked, leaning back in her chair, wiping a tired hand over her eyes.  “What are we missing?”

 

“Some kind of – well, resistor, for want of a better word.  Something to step down the energy and change its nature at the same time.”

 

“We don’t have anything like that,” Sam muttered.  “Not even close.”

 

“Well, of course we don’t,” Rodney snapped, “because it hasn’t been invented yet.”  He flopped a hand.  “Or rather, it was invented long ago, and we – whatever.  The point is, it’s going to be a piece of Ancient technology that does it.”

 

“But which piece?” Radek interjected.  “You’ve worked with most of the smaller devices we brought back from the expedition.  Did you find anything there?”

 

Rodney sighed.  “The short answer?  Is no.  I’m making breakthroughs, but I haven’t found any way to apply the findings to the propulsion drive.  Yet.”

 

They all subsided into silence for a few charged moments, until Rodney slapped his hand on the table, making everyone jump.  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!” he yelled.

 

“What?” Sam demanded.  “What?”

 

He turned toward her, grinning.  “The chair.  The chair in Antarctica.  There was probably one on Atlantis, only we didn’t have time to find it.”

 

Simpson blinked at him.  “You’re suggesting we try to simulate the effect of the chair?”

 

“I’m suggesting we plug the chair into the simulation.  The actual chair.”

 

“Rodney,” Sam said slowly, “the chair is a part of the outpost.  We can’t just pick it up and have it flown to Colorado.”

 

Rodney glared at her.  “Why on earth not?”

 

Sam glared back at him for a few moments before her gaze shifted focus, turning inward.  God, Rodney had to admit he’d missed watching that big brain of hers at work.  “No reason,” she said finally, a small smile crossing her features as she turned back to him, and Rodney felt his traitorous heart literally skip a beat.  “No reason at all.”  She rose to her feet.  “Excuse me, won’t you?  I have to make a couple of calls to the South Pole.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By eleven, John was actually waiting by the phone like a teenage girl, hoping Rodney would call and tell him what the hell was going on, so it was a godsend when Lorne showed up unexpectedly to give him another flying lesson.

 

It was pretty clear that Rodney wasn’t telling him all there was to know about these gadgets they’d been testing; John may not have been party to any of the military’s more classified technological innovations, but any idiot could guess there was no way this thing had come out of the Skunkworks.  Still, he wasn’t inclined to ask too many questions when he was being given a chance to fly something that could take him into orbit.

 

As for Lorne, he was nice enough, if a little too attentive whenever they were alone.  The guy stopped short of hitting on him, but there were times when he would come up behind John to correct his course – when John really didn’t feel it needed correcting – and make a half-assed comment about stickhandling, and really, okay, if John hadn’t taken him up on the blowjob by now, that should have given it away.  He was good looking enough to make it cute rather than creepy, though, so John mostly ignored it. 

 

Today, though, Lorne was unusually distracted, and John asked him about it as they flew high above the atmosphere.  He watched the Earth roll serenely beneath the ship and felt some of his earlier tension melt away, and the relief was making him generous.

 

“It’s not a big deal,” Lorne told him, waving a hand.  “Just the same old bullshit.  You hook up with a guy once or twice, let him blow you, and he figures you’re going steady or something.  It’s – I mean, what are we in, middle school?”

 

John didn’t know what the hell to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut.  “Hey, sorry,” Lorne said after the silence went past awkward, “I kind of thought you were – uh.  Never mind.”

 

“You thought right,” John said quietly, never taking his eyes off the view in front of them.  “I just was always more of the going steady type, I guess.”

 

Lorne chuckled.  “Yeah, I figured.  None of my classic moves seemed to work on you.”

 

“I gotta tell you, if those are your classic moves, it’s a wonder you ever get laid,” John said, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.  Lorne stared at him for a couple of moments, then burst out laughing.  To his surprise, John found himself joining in.

 

“Okay, okay, you got me, I suck,” Lorne said.  “I’m not used to being so – blatant about it.  You know how it is – it’s like fucking semaphore, trying to fly under the radar and hope you were reading the other guy right.”

 

John nodded, because yeah, he knew exactly how it was.  Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was kind of a joke in some ways, but you approached the wrong guy and you still risked getting your skull bashed in.  Mitch had been as straight looking and acting as they came.  But that wasn’t the reason John had been terrified the first time he’d kissed him.  Suddenly it made him a little sad to think Lorne might not ever know what that was like.

 

“So who’s the guy who wants you to wear his ring?”

 

Lorne shook his head.  “He’s not military – I guess that’s the problem.  He’s one of the scientists who was on the expedition to Atlantis, and he’s kind of – well, he’s a nerd.  Botanist, for God’s sake, but he’s tall and pretty and he’s got zero gag reflex, and I thought, try something different, expand your horizons, right?”

 

John was trying not to react, but he was torn between thinking the guy was a complete pig and wondering what the hell he meant by expedition to Atlantis.  “Right,” he affirmed.

 

Lorne snorted.  “Yeah, well, it didn’t work out that way.  He showed up at my apartment last night, expecting to take me out.  Take me out, is he nuts?  I explained to him in words of one syllable that he was never going to take me out, because a) I was not a girl, and b) I like my job, thanks.”  Lorne’s voice faltered, and when John looked over at him, he saw that Lorne’s hands were knotted in his lap, twisted together.  “I, uh, he got this look on his face then, like he’d been punched, and I thought – ” he took a deep breath “ – I don’t know what I thought.”

 

John looked at him, and Lorne’s jaw clenched.  “Yes I do,” he continued, voice rough.  “I thought:  Get used to it, Nick.  ‘Cause this is what it’s going to be like for the rest of your life.”

 

Without realizing he was doing it, John reached across the cockpit and squeezed Lorne’s shoulder briefly.  “Don’t believe it,” he murmured, and Lorne’s head snapped up, gaze searching.  “There are ways to make it work.  If you want to.”

 

Lorne looked at him with something like gratitude, and John realized that was about the most hopeful thing he’d said or thought since Mitch died, and feeling those words leave him was exactly like flying so high that you could see the curve of the Earth below you.

 

“So tell me,” John said casually, nudging the stick to take them higher, “what’s Atlantis like?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Rodney squeaked into the phone. 

 

“I mean he’s gone,” Cadman drawled back, her voice totally devoid of sympathy.  “Lorne took him up in the gateship about an hour ago.  I think they were going to try a few orbits.”

 

“Oh, that’s just wonderful,” Rodney snapped, while at the same time he tried to calm his racing heart with the mantra he didn’t leave he didn’t leave he didn’t leave.  “I’m working my tail off and he’s gallivanting around the planet.  Lovely.”

 

“He moped around all morning wondering where you were,” Cadman snarled back, the vehemence of her tone surprising him.  “Obviously you failed to leave him a note.  What was he supposed to do, pine away awaiting your return?”

 

“Hold on there, G.I. Jane.”  Rodney could hear her breathing heavily over the line at that one; score one for him.  “Let’s not forget you’ve been hired to take care of the horsies, not berate me for being – ”  Rodney trailed off abruptly as he realized he’d been about to say a bad boyfriend.  Dear God.  “ – For being a…” he began again.

 

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘prick,’” Cadman said sweetly.

 

“Oh, you are so getting reassigned for that bit of insubordination!”

 

Cadman only chuckled at him.  “Not likely, McKay.”

 

Rodney deflated, all the excitement of the day finally catching up with him.  “Will you at least give him a message?”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell him you love him and miss him.”  He could hear her grin, and Rodney felt his cheeks grow hot.  “Anything else?”

 

“Yes!  No!  I mean – shut up!” he said, slamming down the phone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John decided to drive into town after his flight training, giving the dry summer wind its chance to knock him off the bike.  He bought a few necessities, including oranges and a cantaloupe (his) and Twinkies (Rodney’s), and stopped by the one gay shop he knew about in Colorado Springs and bought a couple of skin magazines and a movie called Lord of the Cock Rings.  When he got it home, he found out it stank – the Hobbits were midgets in tights and ratty green Robin Hood costumes, and not one of them was as pretty as Elijah Wood.  And the guys in the magazines just looked pumped up and plastic; they did absolutely nothing for him.  His whole plan to blow off a little steam before Rodney got home failed completely, and he traipsed up to bed frustrated and pissed off around nine.

 

He slept for an hour or so until he was wakened by the sound of feet stomping up the bare wooden stairs.  He was still debating with himself about getting up and saying hello when the door swung open, revealing Rodney silhouetted against the light pouring in from the hall.

 

“Oh, thank God,” Rodney murmured under his breath, and John’s heart might have done something annoying at that, like flip over and change places with his liver.

 

John made a great show of stretching and yawning, then blinked muzzily and turned on the bedside light.  “Oh, hi,” he mumbled.  “You just get back?”

 

“Yes,” Rodney said, taking a couple of halting steps forward, as though he were being pulled.  “I, uh, I’m sorry I didn’t leave a note.  I didn’t know I’d be going until I was actually in the car.” 

 

John yawned again.  “No big deal.  I managed to keep myself amused.  Besides, it wasn’t like I didn’t know you were coming back.  You wouldn’t leave your Doctor Who t-shirt behind.”

 

Rodney didn’t react to the attempt at levity; his mouth was still taut and unhappy.  “Nevertheless, I’m sorry.”

 

John shrugged.  “Okay, then.  Apology accepted.”

 

Rodney took another step forward, and then he was sitting on the bed, and whoa, this wasn’t – “Rodney, it’s been kind of a long day – ”

 

“I don’t – I just wanted to – let me – ” Rodney whispered, and John groaned into Rodney’s mouth as it slanted across his own, hot and wet and urgent.  Fuck, he’d sworn he wouldn’t do this again, but he hadn’t counted on Rodney wanting to take him up on the offer, especially after what he’d said last night, the stupid way he’d ended things.

 

But Rodney wasn’t kissing him like he was interested in John’s lame-assed offer; he was kissing him like he was scared, or more precisely like he’d been scared and was now relieved beyond measure.  At least John didn’t feel up to measuring it, not when McKay’s relief was pouring over him like this, seeping into his pores and warming him in places that had been cold for so long he’d forgotten they’d been a part of him. 

 

Before he could shove McKay away, he did it himself, pulling back and looking John in the eye.  “I, um – was that a porn DVD I saw downstairs?”

 

John sighed.  “Only if you get off on midgets in tights.”

 

Rodney’s eyes widened.  “What?”

 

John opened his mouth to say something else, but what actually came out was, “Do you want a blow job or not?” 

 

They blinked at one another as the words hung there in the air between them, and McKay’s mouth worked for a few seconds.  “Is that a trick question?” he asked finally.

 

John’s answer was to pull Rodney onto the bed and reach for his belt.

 

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Rodney said, but there was a breathless quality to it that told John he’d won, and soon Rodney was helping him, fumbling with his shirt buttons, wiggling helpfully when John tugged his pants down and off.  John tried to go for him as soon as possible, but Rodney grabbed him and shoved up John’s t-shirt, and John might have shivered as he felt the scrape of Rodney’s nails across his chest. 

 

When they were both naked, John pushed Rodney flat on the bed and slid down to take Rodney’s cock in his mouth.  McKay was half-hard already, and it didn’t take much to get him all the way there.  Swirling his tongue around the smooth, blunt head, John felt the touch of McKay’s fingers in his hair and looked up to see Rodney watching him with startled blue eyes that revealed something dangerously close to wonder.

 

John shut his eyes and took him in deeper, only opening them again when he heard McKay’s head thud back against the pillow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So how was your day at the office, dear?”

 

Rodney groaned and flung an arm over his eyes.  “An unmitigated disaster.  They’re all morons.”

 

He felt the mattress bounce as John shifted on the bed; without warning, fingers drifted lazily over Rodney’s thigh, making him twitch.  “I’m guessing you set them straight.”

 

Rodney lifted his arm to see John smirking down at him, his head propped on his other hand.  “Are you trying to be funny?”

 

John waggled his eyebrows.  “Only a little.”

 

“Well, I didn’t,” Rodney huffed.  “It’s going to take another whole round of experiments and simulations to see if I can fix their mistakes.”

 

“And when you’re done, I’m sure they’ll all be glad they asked you to help.”

 

Rodney frowned.  “Now you’re definitely trying to be funny.”

 

But John only pushed his arm back onto the pillow and looked at him with eyes suddenly gone dark and serious.  “Not even a little.”

 

Rodney sucked in a breath, suspended between the heat in Sheppard’s gaze and his own rapidly beating heart.  Slowly, John’s lips met his in a gentle kiss that made Rodney feel strangely weightless.  His fingertips brushed against the stubble of John’s jaw, making his skin tingle.  

 

“So when you figure it all out for them, are you going to go back?” John murmured into his mouth when they broke to breathe.

 

Rodney pulled back, startled.  “Back – where?”

 

“To Atlantis,” John replied simply, as though they’d talked about it a hundred times before.  “You know, the big city that’s sitting under five hundred feet of water on a planet in another galaxy?”

 

Rodney felt his heart stutter in his chest.  “I never – who told you – you shouldn’t have heard about that,” he breathed.

 

John’s jaw clenched.  “I thought I had full clearance.”

 

“You do.  But there’s clearance – ”

 

“And then there’s clearance,” John sighed.  “Yeah, I remember how it worked.”

 

Rodney frowned.  His mind was running in six different directions at once, which normally wasn’t a problem, but considering one of the paths involved wishing they could forget all of this and go back to the kissing, he wasn’t at his best.  “Who told you?  Was it Cadman?”

 

John shook his head.  “Lorne.  And before you try to have his ass busted, I seem to remember that you were the one who told him I had full clearance.”

 

Lorne, Rodney thought, feeling his blood surge.  Lorne had been trying to get into John’s pants since the first time he’d set his horny little eyes on him.  All John would have had to do was bat his eyelashes and Lorne would have given him every secret of the Star –

 

“Earth to Rodney.”

 

Rodney scowled.  “He shouldn’t have told you.”

 

“Loose lips sink puddlejumpers?”

Rodney made a sour face.  “Stop calling them that.  They’re gateships.”

 

John rolled his eyes.  “Come on, Rodney.  I was up in space today.  I know damn well the thing that took me up there wasn’t government issue.”

 

Rodney shoved himself to a sitting position.  “I don’t think we should talk about this.”

 

“Look,” John said wearily, “I’m not asking you to reveal the secrets of the universe.  I just want to know one thing:  if this works, are you going to go back?”

 

Rodney debated with himself for a few moments before answering.  “Yes.”

 

John licked his lips.  “And it’s dangerous,” he said slowly.

 

Rodney folded his arms.  “That’s two things.”

 

“Rodney.”

 

“Yes, all right, yes.  It’s dangerous.  Very, very dangerous.  Are you happy?”

 

“Ecstatic,” John bit out, crossing his own arms.

 

Rodney’s stomach lurched.  “Well, um, I guess I’d better – say goodnight.”  He pointed reluctantly at the door.  When John said nothing, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

 

“Rodney.”  Rodney froze.  “Stay.”  The word was a command, but the tone was soft, almost a whisper.

 

Rodney reached out and turned out the light before sliding under the sheet with his back facing John.  After a few breathless moments, Rodney felt John’s body align with his, one hand coming up to rest almost casually in the hollow of his hip.

 

When Rodney fell asleep, he dreamed that they were walking together at the bottom of a vast ocean, John’s green, glowing armor surrounding them both, keeping them safe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They didn’t talk about it much, just enough for Rodney to extract a promise from John that he’d stick around for the time being, “because I do want to keep working on our projects in the evenings.”  In the meantime John worked a little on his own, calibrating instruments and deciphering the gibberish that McKay called lab notes.  Rodney had warned the task was impossible, that no one else had ever been able to understand his shorthand, but John sussed it out quickly enough.  Maybe living with the guy tuned you in to his bizarre wavelength, he mused as he translated yet another Word file full of Rodneyspeak.

 

The problem with Rodney’s plan was that by the time he returned home every night, it was usually past nine or even ten and he was unable to think about anything but the big project at Cheyenne.  After wolfing down supper, nine times out of ten he’d approve John’s latest round of translations, then go to bed.

 

The other problem was – well, maybe problem was a little harsh – was that McKay was always so keyed up that he couldn’t sleep right away.  Luckily, a round of hot, sweaty sex was more effective than warm milk, and John was only too happy to ensure that McKay got a good night’s rest.  John knew that half of McKay’s restlessness – well, maybe more like ninety percent – came from the fact that he was now working directly with his old lover, Major Carter.  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to notice that most of his diatribes about his co-workers centered around how they all sided with her, when she should clearly bow to his genius, and he had half a mind to quit the program, because how did they expect him to get anything done when he was constantly being undermined, and if John let him get too wound up he usually needed two rounds instead of one, so most of the time John just let him run with it until McKay grabbed him and dragged him to the nearest soft surface.

 

“I can’t figure out why you’re still here,” Lorne said one day when they took the morning to do a flyby of the moon.  “I mean, no offense and all, I like having you around, but…”

 

John shrugged like it was no big deal that he was essentially playing the role of kept man.  “I’m still helping him out, and the gadgets are cool,” he said, and at least that much was the truth.  He just wished he didn’t sound so damned pathetic saying it.  “How are things working out with Parrish?” he asked.

 

Lorne accepted the change of subject easily.  “Not bad,” he admitted, a shy smile tugging at his lips.  “I’m – well, yeah.  He’s pretty terrific, I guess.”  He burst out laughing.  “Christ, I sound like a sap.”

 

“Looks good on you,” John said, forcing an answering smile as his heart lurched.

 

That night, Rodney came home and bounced off the walls for fifteen solid minutes, ranting about Sam this and Sam that.  At least he did until he stalked off to get himself a Coke, at which point John shoved him up against the fridge, bit his earlobe and growled, “Fuck me.”

 

“Oh my God,” Rodney croaked.  “Will you – I mean, you will?  Can I?”

 

John realized that he was developing a serious kink for the contradiction that was Rodney, for the way that he could be (okay, somewhat justifiably) arrogant about his massive brain and then turn around and be hesitant and wide-eyed about this, like John was some kind of fucking gift that he hadn’t been expecting to get.  He didn’t think it was just the guy-on-guy thing, either; something told him he was this way with everyone, and when he thought that Sam Carter had had this and just thrown it away – well, it made him wonder if she was the mental giant Rodney claimed she was.  Because John could quite easily grasp the concept that once you got your hands on this, you’d be an idiot to ever let it go.

 

God, John thought, as the natural conclusion belatedly clobbered him right between the eyes, I am so, so screwed.

 

“Um, you’re going to have to – ” Rodney said between kisses, as they somehow stumbled their way up the stairs and into the bedroom, “ – give me some, I mean, some idea of what you – oh, this is, I should just shut up – ”

 

“No,” John murmured, peeling away Rodney’s boxers because that was all that was left, there were clothes strewn all over the kitchen and the stairs and the upstairs hall and he was so hard he didn’t think he could stand it if Rodney stammered another word.  “I mean, it’s okay, yeah, I’ll, we’ll figure it out.”  He reached for Rodney, wrapping his arms around his solid back and trying to slow it down with kisses that soon turned incendiary.  Rodney sucked on John’s tongue and licked at his lower lip and his fingers stuttered down the crease of John’s ass and John groaned and pushed him onto the bed before digging in the night table for the lube and condoms. 

 

Right before he lowered himself onto Rodney’s cock, Rodney looked up at him with glazed eyes and smiled at him kind of loopily, and when John took him inside it wasn’t at all like flying.

 

But it was a lot like living.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh, get up,” Rodney said wearily.  “It’s not going to work for you, either.” 

 

Beckett looked as though a ten-ton weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he practically vaulted from the chair, casting a fearful glance back at it as though it might have taken a chunk out of his hindquarters while he wasn’t looking.  After it had refused to work for Lorne even after all of his modifications, they’d made everyone with sufficient clearance sit in it to see if anything happened.  Carson Beckett, probably the least likely candidate on the whole team, had managed to make it hiccup a little, but that was all.

 

Behind him, General O’Neill folded his arms.  “Your setup doesn’t seem to be yielding results.”

 

“That,” Rodney said, waving his arm at the chair, “was the most significant result yet.  Beckett just proved that the chair is a power converter and conduit; unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to be able to produce enough current to keep a fart warm.”  Beckett glared at him but kept his mouth shut; Rodney shot him a speculative look.  “Perhaps he can be trained.”

 

“No, I bloody can’t!” Beckett protested, raising his hands.  “I’m a doctor, not an intergalactic explorer.”

 

General O’Neill raised a finger.  “Okay, this may seem like a stupid question…but I don’t really care.  How come Lorne and Beckett can activate some of the Ancient technology but not this?”

 

“Because this is not a personal protection shield, or even a pud- gateship,” Rodney answered.  “It’s a system that channels massive amounts of power and therefore seems to require someone with extraordinary powers to control it.”

 

“Can you find some way to bypass the chair?  Use some other way to raise the city?”

 

Sam shook her head.  “We’ve explored that possibility, but it’s too risky.  It might work in here, in theory, but there’s no way to know how quickly we can reroute the power in the actual city once we get there.”

 

Zelenka nodded.  “We estimated that at the rate of shield deterioration from the first expedition, we have a maximum of twelve hours to raise the city once we get there before it is flooded beyond repair.  We can’t afford to experiment with a radical restructuring of the raising system.”

 

O’Neill heaved a put-upon sigh.  “Okay, fine, but I don’t want someone who’s going to take months – ” he glanced at  Beckett “ – or maybe years – to train.  I want someone who’s ready to plug and play.”

 

Rodney made a face at the analogy.  “Well, we don’t have anyone who fits that description.”

 

“You’ve tried everybody?”

 

Rodney nodded.  He caught movement out of the corner of his eye; looking up, he saw Sam standing across the room, shaking her head. 

 

“There’s one other candidate we haven’t tested,” Sam said, giving Rodney a meaningful look.  “Your Mister Sheppard.”

 

Rodney’s mouth fell open.   “Oh.  No.  That’s not an option.”

 

“Why not?” O’Neill asked.

 

“Because!” Rodney shot back.  “He’s not interested in going on the mission.”

 

“Have you asked him?” Carter prodded.

 

“No, of course not,” Rodney huffed.

 

“Then how do you – ”

 

“I know, all right?” Rodney snarled, suddenly feeling unaccountably possessive.  “He’s – he wouldn’t be interested.”

 

“I understand he’s ex-Air Force,” O’Neill said.  “Any idea why he left?”

 

His lover died, Rodney wanted to say.  His lover died and his heart was broken and I wish I knew how to fix it, because I want – I want –

 

“Rodney, you awake over there?”

 

“Yes.  And no,” he added, “I don’t know.”

 

“Hmph,” O’Neill grunted, and damn, Rodney didn’t like the sound of that grunt at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John knew something was wrong when Rodney came home, dropped to his knees in front of John where he was sitting watching the Giants game, and went down on him.  It was easily the worst blow job John had ever received, and he’d come so fast and so hard his head was still spinning.  He couldn’t even remember what the final score had been.

 

“I’m going to quit the project,” Rodney said to the ceiling, his head thrown back against the couch seat. 

 

“Rodney…”

 

“Not permanently, just for the time being.  We’re not getting anywhere; it’s not working.  I need to take a break, approach it from a different angle.”

 

John debated with himself before running a hand through Rodney’s hair.  “Okay.  So what’s the real reason?”

 

Rodney darted a glance at him.  “Who says that’s not the real reason?”

 

Suddenly tired of ignoring the elephant in the room, John looked away, licking his lips before speaking. “If you’re afraid to work with her you must still love her.”

 

Rodney’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he pulled away from John’s touch and spluttered, “Th-that’s not the reason I’m – !”

 

“It’s not?”  John asked, hope and skepticism warring with one another.

 

Rodney blurted, “I’m not in love with her.  I don’t know that I ever was, really.”  His eyes widened, as though he were as surprised at his words as John was. 

 

John frowned.  “Then why – ”

 

“I don’t – ” Rodney took a deep breath.  “Can we – just not talk about it tonight?  Please?”  He tilted his head back again, looking up at John with a naked, vulnerable gaze that told every one of his secrets, including a few John was pretty sure Rodney himself didn’t know about.  From the start, Rodney’s expression had always told you everything he was feeling, and this was no different, and holy shit, how had they ended up here?

 

“Sure, Rodney,” John managed, and saw the tension in Rodney’s body ease.  Reaching for the remote, he thumbed the off button.  When he stood up, Rodney was still staring up at the ceiling.  He stood there like a goof for a few seconds until he realized Rodney had no intention of getting up off the floor anytime soon.

 

“Well, uh, thanks for the – ” John waved a hand.

 

“Anytime,” Rodney said distantly.

 

“You want me to – ”

 

Rodney blinked, then shook his head.  “No, that’s okay, thanks.  You can, um, owe me one.”

 

“Sure,” John said again, before turning and exiting as quickly as possible.  He might have looked back when he reached the doorway; Rodney was still there, gaze fixed straight ahead.

 

John slept alone, and he dreamed of nothing that was worth remembering in the morning. 

 

Even though it was Saturday, he still awoke early and slipped out of the house barely after dawn.  He never thought he’d enjoy spending time on this ranch, but these still, serene mornings were great for clearing his head, for reminding him that his problems didn’t amount to a whole hell of a lot when set against this vast backdrop of land and sky.

 

This morning was the first time he’d walked out to the stand of trees down by the brook where Mitch had carved their initials into an old oak.  John had ragged him about acting the part of a lovestruck teenager, but inside he’d been grinning like a kid himself.

 

This was the first time he could remember what that felt like.

 

John peered at the initials more closely and noticed that the J in his name looked more like a V.  “Wow,” he murmured, “you really did suck at carving, you know that?” and the next thing he knew he was pressing his palm into the rough bark hard, hard, trying to imprint the letters on his skin, and he was sucking in jagged, sobbing breaths that made his ribs ache. 

 

“You son of a bitch,” John rasped, “you really are dead.  You’re really dead, you’re really dead, oh fuck.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rodney heard John going downstairs at six because he was wide awake and had been for about three hours, but since he had no idea what to say to him, there wasn’t much point in getting up.  He was fairly sure John wouldn’t take off without saying something to him, but he nevertheless lay in bed stiff as a board for over an hour, waiting for the sound of the motorcycle.  When it didn’t come, he rolled over and fell into a deep sleep.

 

He woke again around noon and, after chugging down about five cups of coffee, took the sixth out to Cadman.  She was mucking out the stalls, and her eyes grew wide when she saw Rodney had brought her coffee.  As she took the mug from him, however, they narrowed suspiciously.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I don’t want anything!” Rodney snapped.  “I was just trying to be nice!”

 

They both stared at one another for a few moments, and then Cadman burst out laughing. 

 

“What’s so damned funny?”

 

“You are,” Cadman said, gasping for breath.  “I think John has made you into a real boy, Pinocchio.”

 

Rodney felt himself blushing.  “Where is he?”

 

Cadman looked guilty, and Rodney’s heart leapt.  “A puddlejumper came for him,” she said.  “Took him for a ride.”

Lorne, Rodney thought, his jaw clenching spasmodically. 

 

Cadman raised her hands in a placating gesture.  “Look, it probably doesn’t mean anything,” she said soothingly.  “Don’t take it personally.”

 

“Oh, and what would you know about it, exactly?” Rodney demanded, folding his arms. 

 

“Nothing,” she said.  “Nothing at all.  Uh, only Carson might have told me something about it.”

 

Rodney goggled at her.  “What the hell does Carson know?” he demanded.  “I never – ”

 

Cadman rolled her eyes.  “He was there yesterday, Rodney.  He said you were kind of out of it, but I wouldn’t have thought you’d forgotten.”

 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Rodney shouted.  “Let me think!”  God, he knew he should have kept that last cup of coffee for himself; he needed every ounce of caffeine he could jam into his…oh.

 

Oh.  Oh, no.

 

“Who came for him?”

 

“Lorne flew in General O’Neill this morning,” Cadman said, confirming Rodney’s worst fear.  “Didn’t he tell you he was coming?”

 

Rodney rubbed at his forehead.  “No.  No, he didn’t.  You see, the General and I don’t exactly socialize.”  Christ.  What was he going to do now?  Rodney tried to marshal his thoughts.  He could drive an hour and a half to Cheyenne, stomp into the place like a petulant child, only to find that Sheppard hadn’t been able to raise the city either and all of his worry had been for nothing.

 

And really, what was he worrying about?  That it would turn out Sheppard had been the one they’d been waiting for all along, the magical key that would release the city from its long, cold slumber?

 

A life flashed before his eyes then, one that wasn’t his own:  standing with John atop the highest tower in Atlantis, watching the sun set over the vast ocean; walking with him on an alien planet; coming home to him every –

 

Rodney banished the wistful thoughts ruthlessly.  Stop it.  It’s never going to happen.

 

Cadman leaned back against one of the stalls and took a long sip of her coffee.  “Rodney, is it true that Carson has the Ancient gene?” she asked quietly.

 

Rodney took a moment to pull himself out of his own head.  “It would seem so,” he said carefully, unsure where this was going.

 

She stared into her cup of coffee.  “Did O’Neill ask him on the mission?”

 

“I suppose he might have,” Rodney allowed, “though Carson didn’t seem all that keen on going.”

 

Cadman chuckled, but there was no mirth in it.  “Yeah, I figured as much.”

 

Rodney opened his mouth, then closed it again when he realized he didn’t have anything even remotely consoling to say.  And he wasn’t in the mood to admit to her that he knew exactly how she felt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John sat patiently on the bed while Carson drew a sample of his blood.  The slight prick of the needle reminded him that he was awake, and not mired in some weird sci-fi dream. 

 

He’d just raised the lost city of Atlantis.  In simulation, mind you, but it was still easily more bizarre than anything he’d ever experienced.  He’d felt the energy of the chair dance over the surface of his skin, charge his muscles, reverberate through his bones.  And in those moments he’d felt like he was home. 

 

He wasn’t used to that feeling.

 

“Well, you’re all set,” Carson told him, false cheer infusing his voice.  “You’re free to go.”

 

“Thanks,” John drawled,  “but I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”

 

Carson shot him a guilty look, but John shook his head.  “Don’t feel bad.  I came here of my own free will, after all.”

 

“They’ll be wanting you on the expedition,” Carson told him. 

 

“I know,” John sighed.

 

Carson darted a glance at the door of the examining room before speaking.  “John, there’s something I need to tell you before you decide.  Something about what I’ve been working on, the samples they brought back – ”

 

Just like in a bad movie, at that moment a knock sounded at the door, and Carson jumped about a foot.  When John called out, a lieutenant poked his head around the door and told him the General was ready to see him whenever he was finished.

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” John said, nodding; the head pulled back and disappeared. 

 

“Promise me you won’t make any decisions until we’ve had a chance to talk,” Carson said fervently.

 

“Don’t worry,” John answered, “I’m not going to be making any hasty decisions.”

 

“Good,” Carson breathed, patting him on the arm.  John returned the gesture before following the Lieutenant out.

 

O’Neill’s office was spacious for accommodations at Cheyenne, but then he supposed a guy who was partly responsible for maintaining the safety of the human race deserved a decent amount of space.  He politely asked John to close the door, and John did so.

 

“Before you start, sir,” John said, forestalling anything O’Neill was about to say, “I should tell you why I left the service.”

 

“Go ahead,” O’Neill said blandly, “but I should tell you my policy’s a little different from the military’s.  I’m a big fan of Don’t Ask, Don’t Listen.  I won’t ask about Captain Mitchener and I won’t listen to anything you want to say about him, or you, or you and him, or you and him and a can of Reddi Whip.  Okay?”

 

John’s mouth might have been hanging open a little by the time O’Neill was done.  The other man cocked an eyebrow at him and smiled thinly.  “Problem?”

 

“Uh…no, sir,” John managed.  “I kind of like your policy.”

 

“Thank you.  I’m hoping it’s gonna catch on.”  Leaning back, O’Neill watched him closely.  “Now, can we cut to the chase?  We want you on this mission.”  He held up a hand when John tried to speak.  “It’s a mission to another galaxy.  There is an exceedingly good chance you won’t come back.  Not because the city will flood – I wouldn’t be sending a team if I thought that would happen – but because of the creature that Beckett was probably telling you about.  We’ve found out from the Ancient database that not only were they the race that defeated the Ancients, they live by sucking the life out of people.  On the upside, they have a very low birthrate, but that’s because they tend to live pretty much forever.”

 

“So, no real upside there, then.”

 

O’Neill shook his head.  “Not really.”

 

When O’Neill didn’t say anything else, John ventured, “General, I hope you’ll forgive me since I’m no longer in the service, but your sales pitch sucks.”

 

O’Neill raised his eyebrows.  “You’ll have to find your own reasons, I guess.  Give me a call when you make a decision.  Rodney knows the number.”

 

John pursed his lips when he realized he’d just been outmaneuvered by a master tactician.  When he reached the door, he turned and said, “What would you do if I told you about me, Rodney and a can of Reddi Whip?”

 

O’Neill grimaced.  “I still wouldn’t be listening.  But I’d probably need therapy.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rodney knew the results of the tests as soon as John walked through the door.  His heart, unsure whether to sink or to swell, settled for trampolining around his chest like a three-year-old on caffeine.

 

“Hey,” John said, tightly, and Rodney wasn’t sure if he was mirroring Rodney’s tension or generating some of his own.  He took a step or two toward Rodney, then halted in the middle of the room.

 

“Just for the record, I didn’t think they should ask you,” Rodney blurted.

 

John frowned momentarily.  “Yeah, I kind of figured that already.  But thanks for making it obvious.”

 

Rodney blinked, surprised at the bite in John’s tone.  “You – are you saying you wanted me to ask you?” he murmured, voice hushed and uncharacteristically timid.

 

“No.  Maybe.  I don’t know,” John said, taking another step forward.  “Would you want me?  To, uh, to go?”

 

Rodney shook his head, then watched John’s face fall.  “No.  That is, I – I don’t mean – ”  Oh, hell, he didn’t know what he meant.  “It’s a really dangerous mission, John.  You have no idea – ”

 

John folded his arms.  “O’Neill told me about the space vampires.”

 

“The – what?” Rodney asked, momentarily derailed.  “The – oh.  Yes, I suppose that’s a fitting description.  There’s that to consider, not to mention – “

 

“The danger of the city flooding?”  John shrugged.  “Yeah, I know about that too, but O’Neill told me the risk is minimal.”

 

“Oh, how wonderful for him to say,” Rodney scoffed.  “Really, does that man understand anything about anything?  I happen to know first-hand exactly how risk-filled this expedition is, and I – ”

 

“Rodney,” John interrupted.  His voice was hushed and almost awestruck, and when he closed the final distance between them Rodney could feel the faint, warm puffs of John’s excited breath on his face.  “I raised a city today.  It wasn’t real, but it was, you know?  I sat in that chair and I could feel what it would be like to, to be a part of that, and I – ”  He trailed off abruptly, looking away licking his lip self-consciously, and Rodney had a sudden, frighteningly strong urge to wrap himself around John like a boa constrictor and hold on for the next fifty years or so.

 

“You what?” Rodney murmured, clenching his hands into fists.

 

John dragged his gaze back to meet Rodney’s, and Rodney couldn’t keep his hands off him any longer.  Reaching out, he felt his hands cup John’s shoulders, palms molding to the twin curves of bone and flesh. 

 

“I, uh, I don’t know,” John admitted, chuckling softly.  “It kind of scares the shit out of me.”

 

Rodney’s hands stiffened and froze.  “Like I said, it’s a dangerous mission.  There – ”

 

“I’m not scared for me, Rodney,” John rasped, expression suddenly stricken.  “If something happened to you – shit, I can’t do it again.  I can’t.”

 

Rodney sucked in a startled breath, hands dropping to his sides.  “John,” he murmured, totally at a loss as to what to say. 

 

“Yeah,” John said.  “I know.”  He rubbed at the back of his neck.  “Look, I, uh, I gotta go.”

 

Rodney’s heart thundered against his ribs.  “What do you – ” he began, but John raised a hand.

 

“I’ll be back.  I just need to – go for a ride.  Clear my head.”

 

“F-for how long?”

 

John shrugged, looking away.  “Few days.  Couple of weeks.  Let O’Neill know for me?”

 

“Um,” Rodney said, no longer perturbed by the thought of talking to his rival.  “Sure.”

 

John hesitated for a few moments, obviously torn.  When he finally leaned forward, Rodney closed his eyes so that he could concentrate on the feel of Sheppard’s mouth against his own, commit as much as he could to memory.

 

He didn’t open his eyes again until he heard the front door close.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John ended up in San Francisco, where he was not even the least bit tempted by the acres of hard, tanned California flesh on display under the hot August sun.  It was like looking at the David and realizing you’d rather have one of those Picasso paintings where the people looked like they’d been squashed by a steamroller.

 

He sat atop Tank Hill one evening, watching the setting sun turn the sails of the boats in the harbor below to fire, and thought about all the things he’d been avoiding thinking about for the past eight months.  About Mitch, and Mitch dying, and about missing flying and – hell, missing the man he’d been for fifteen years.  And he thought about Rodney, with his big brain and his rotten, ridiculously hot blowjobs and his habit of drooling on his pillow while he slept and his tendency to let everything he was feeling pour out over everything he touched, including John.  As much as John had loved Mitch and Mitch had loved him, they’d never been allowed to be that open, that unguarded.  Maybe they would’ve eventually, and maybe when all was said and done they’d never have learned how.

 

He thought about losing something he’d never truly had.  He thought about having it for as long as he could hold onto it, which might not be long enough.  He thought about which scenario would piss him off more when he was sitting in the nursing home gumming his food.

 

And when the sun was long over the horizon and the stars had usurped the sky, John decided that he had finally done all the thinking he needed to do.

 

Pushing himself to his feet with a grunt, he flipped the coin that had grown warm in his hand, then stuck it back in his pocket without looking at it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rodney could think of a worse fate than attending Sam Carter and Jack O’Neill’s engagement party, but most of them involved long, sharp knives, twanging banjos and lecherous men with randomly spaced teeth.  And to be fair, when compared to Deliverance Rodney supposed this was an improvement.  At least there was an open bar.

 

It had been three and a half weeks.  More than a few days.  More than a couple of weeks.  A couple was two.  John had a degree in mathematics, for Christ’s sake.  He should have mastered that definition by the end of his freshman year.

 

“Is that your fourth whiskey?” Zelenka asked, eyeing his glass suspiciously as Rodney walked over to him.

 

“My third, mother.” 

 

Zelenka rolled his eyes at that.  “You are annoying enough sober, Rodney.”

 

Rodney glared at him over the rim of his glass as he took another sip.

 

Zelenka sighed.  “I don’t like to see you do this to yourself.  You did not have to come.”

 

“Oh, yes.  Yes, I did.  You see, I am celebrating.  I am celebrating Lieutenant-Colonel Samantha Carter’s happiness.  I toast her happiness.”  Another sip.  “I toast her soon-to-be groom.”  Another sip.  “And her soon-to-be matrimonial state.”  Another…nope.  “Now I’m on my fourth whiskey.”

 

“Rodney…”

 

Rodney shook his head and pointed at him, annoyed when the room spun slightly.  “You don’t get to whine at me like that,” he snarled.  “Only one person gets to whine at me like that, and he’s not here.”

 

Zelenka stared at him for a moment before his eyes widened in comprehension.  “You – I am sorry, I did not know.”  Then he frowned.  “Rodney, why are you here?”

 

Rodney slumped against the bar.  “Because Cadman told me that John called Carson and told him he was coming back, and Carson invited him to this party.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Or maybe she was just trying to torture me, I don’t know.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to torture you.”  Rodney’s head snapped up as Cadman stalked toward them wearing a short red dress that was probably illegal in several parts of the world.  “But I’d like to torture Carson.  Where the hell is he?”

 

“I have not seen him,” Zelenka told her.  “But if you are unescorted, I will be happy to service – ah, pardon my English, that is – serve you in any way I can.” 

 

Rodney closed his eyes in pain.  “I just might take you up on that, Doc,” Cadman said.  “At least you’ve got the balls to get out there and go for the gusto.”

 

“You dense little – little Marine person,” Rodney spluttered, and yes, it was entirely possible he had had enough to drink, “don’t you understand why he’s afraid to go?  Do you think he wants to sit there in his laboratory while you go flying off with a big gun and a charming smile until you get yourself killed and come back in a body bag?  Do you think he’ll be able to stand worrying about you day in and day out?  Do you think it’s easy to face knowing someone you love could, could die at any moment?”

 

Cadman stared at him for a moment, open-mouthed and horrified, and then she took a step forward.  Rodney could see she was shaking a little.

 

“You’re not going to punch me, are you?” Rodney said warily, backing up.

 

Cadman shook her head.  “I’m not going to punch you, Rodney,” she said softly.  “I am going to buy you a drink.”  She patted him on the shoulder and turned him toward the bar.  “Congratulations,” she murmured in his ear.  “You finally get it, don’t you?”

 

“Yes,” Rodney sighed.  “And I wish I didn’t.”

 

They drank copiously for another hour or so, and Rodney ended up dancing with Cadman in a rather intimate way, and then he felt a tap on his shoulder and sucked in a sharp breath and turned around to find –

 

“Oh.  Carson,” Rodney said, too drunk to hide his disappointment.

 

“Oh my God,” Cadman breathed.  “Carson.”

 

Rodney peered at Beckett more closely, trying to figure out what had provoked this reaction.  Finally, he realized that Carson was wearing the navy blue and yellow jacket of the Atlantis medical team.

 

“I joined up,” Carson said triumphantly, spreading his arms.  “Well, aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

 

“Oh my God, Carson,” Rodney said, suddenly feeling sick.

 

Carson took his arm and looked at him. “Rodney, are you all right?”

 

Rodney shook his head mutely, then tore himself from Carson’s grip and dashed toward the bathroom. 

 

God, he thought as he retched a considerable amount of half-digested alcohol into the sink, I was wrong.  This is worse than Deliverance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the time the airman who’d been assigned to babysit him had deposited him at the front door of the ranch house, Rodney had a splitting headache.  However, he was mostly sober, which was a disappointment.

 

He fumbled with his keys, waving off the airman, who snapped him a sarcastic salute and drove off.  The night was warm and close, and Rodney suddenly felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, just as it might in a cheesy old movie.

 

He turned slowly and there near the barn, illuminated in a puddle of moonlight, stood John’s motorcycle.

 

Just as slowly, since his head was very close to rolling right off his shoulders, he turned back and walked into the house, which was dark and silent.  He flipped on the hall light, then staggered down to the kitchen and drank about a half a gallon of water.  What to do, what to do? he thought, but he was still in no fit state of mind to formulate plans.

 

From his bed in the corner, Diz raised his head sleepily and blinked at him.  He eyed Rodney balefully for a moment, then laid his head back down.

 

“You’re no help,” Rodney muttered.  “Come on, get up.  I’m not sleeping alone tonight, and since I don’t have the guts or the brain cells to face him yet, you’re it.”

 

Diz made a put-upon yowling noise and rose from his bed, then tagged after Rodney, no doubt glaring at Rodney’s ankles the whole way up the stairs.  Rodney smiled.  Sam may have gotten to name the animal (God, was there ever so awful a name for a cat as Dizzy?), but he was responsible for its personality.

 

He slipped into his pajamas and got into bed, Diz leaping up beside him and curling up into a ball.   Suddenly, he popped right up again, causing the poor cat to topple over sideways when the covers under him shifted abruptly.

 

“I’ve got it!” Rodney whispered, lying back down.  Diz yawned but offered no other comment on his genius.  After a moment, Rodney rose up again, this time with his arms stretched out in front of him. 

 

He made it halfway to the door before he felt Diz claw at his hamstring.  Stumbling, he turned back to the animal.

 

“No, no, it’s not real!” Rodney hissed at it.  “I’m not really sleepwalking.  See?”  Rodney closed his eyes and stretched his arms out again, and again he felt Diz’s claws sink into his flesh.

 

“Okay, all right, look,” Rodney growled, rounding on the cat, “I’m going to explain this slowly and clearly – ”

 

The door burst open, startling both man and cat and making Rodney’s head pound so much that he barely remembered his own name, let alone recognized John, looking beautiful and standing there in his Air Force uniform with his medals – he supposed they were medals – on his chest, and –

"Hey," John said, falsely cheerful as Rodney stood there gaping, "whaddaya know?  It still fits."

 

Oh.  Oh, God.  Rodney felt like he was being torn in two directions at once, splitting right down the middle like a torn piece of paper. He did it. He did it for you. Say something, dammit.

 

John must have read the look on his face, because he spun on his heel as smartly as any tin soldier and walked out as quickly as he’d breezed in.

 

“John!  Wait!  Please!”  Rodney stumbled after him, nearly tripping over his own feet as Diz made one last attempt to cripple him for life.  “Goddammit, I’m awake!” he shouted, running to catch John despite the spike that someone was trying to ram through his skull.

 

He caught up with him in the parlor, where John stood with his back to him, stiffly, his hands folded behind him.  Rodney debated with himself, aching to touch those long, beautiful fingers, then veered left and headed for the piano.

 

Without thinking, he launched into a tune, and found he was playing an old song he hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

 

“Is that – the theme to Battlestar Galactica?” John asked after a moment.

 

“The original,” Rodney said, hesitating a little over the fingerings before starting up again.  “Never duplicated, never copied.”

 

He could feel John approach before he appeared in his peripheral vision; a good sign, he felt.  “But they did copy it,” John pointed out.  “And with a hot blonde, too.”

 

“Mmm,” Rodney grunted, fingers dancing.  “I think maybe I’ve always had a thing for Starbuck.”  He paused.  “Or maybe just cocky pilots in general.”

 

John shifted closer until he was standing at Rodney’s back.  “You just figuring this out now?” he murmured. 

 

Rodney could feel John’s hands hovering over his shoulders and suppressed a shiver.  Feigning nonchalance, he answered, “I might have known it for a while.”  He took a deep breath.  “What about you?  Have you figured anything out?”

 

“I think so,” John said.  “I’m not afraid any more.”  He paused.  “Well.  I am.  But I don’t care.”  Warm hands settled on Rodney’s shoulders, and Rodney closed his eyes briefly before segueing into another song, this one slower and more melodic.

 

“Wow,” John murmured.  “You know the Imperial march from Star Wars too?”  He gave Rodney’s shoulders one final squeeze before moving to sit beside him.

 

“I’m familiar with all the classics,” Rodney intoned loftily.  “What about the space vampires?”

 

John huffed out a breath, his thigh pressing against Rodney’s as they sat on the narrow bench.  “If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that life is too goddamned short.  And we’re about as likely to get hit by a bus tomorrow as we are to die at the hands of some kind of alien zombie vampires.”

 

Rodney stopped playing and gaped at him.  “How did you manage to avoid taking even one statistics course?  Really, that’s the most ridiculous bit of pseudophilosophy I’ve ever – ”

 

“Rodney,” John whined, and Rodney grabbed John’s face in both hands and kissed him, deeply and thoroughly, because God, he’d missed that whine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“We’re here,” Rodney murmured against John’s ear, “we’re really here.”

 

John smiled and pressed back against him as they stood together on a balcony jutting from the tallest tower of Atlantis.  Most of the city was still asleep, with only a few personnel in the gateroom far below them.  Rodney had bitched about wanting to do structural tests on the tower before climbing it, but fourteen hours ago John had woken the city of the Ancients from her long slumber, and he knew the tower was safe the way he knew that one and one made two.  It was instinctive, and a little creepy, but for now he was content to just accept it.

 

Home, he thought, as he stared out at the faint crescent of light heralding the approaching dawn, Rodney’s arms wrapped around him.  This is home.  They stood together until the sun was peeking just above the horizon, and then John heard Rodney murmur against his skin, so quietly John could barely hear him:

 

“Listen, I, um, I want you to pick me for your team.”

 

John stiffened and turned away from the view, though the light was still too weak for him to make out Rodney’s expression.  “You’re the chief scientist on Atlantis,” he said slowly.  “You shouldn’t be going on offworld missions.”

 

“Sam Carter – ”

 

“ – is military,” John finished for him.  “That’s different.”

 

“It is not!” Rodney protested hotly. 

 

“Okay, all right, back up,” John said, placing his hands on Rodney’s shoulders.  Really, he should’ve guessed this was coming when Rodney had asked John to teach him weapons drill and target practice when they’d been preparing for the expedition.  And maybe he had.  Still, it wasn’t in Rodney’s best interest, and he had to be made to understand that.  “Look at this objectively.”

 

“I can’t.  I won’t,” Rodney said stubbornly.  “You’ll need a scientist on your team for certain missions, and when I can be of use, I want to go with you.  If you don’t think I’m of enough use to you now, then teach me what I need to know.”

 

“Rodney, you can’t get everything you want just by stamping your foot and saying gimme,” John said, exasperated.  “I can’t risk – ” he began, then cut himself off when he realized what he’d been about to say.

 

“But you can,” Rodney said, voice low and earnest.  “And you did.  And now that we’re here, we can’t turn back.  We can’t say we’re only going to go this far and no further.  Don’t you understand?”  He leaned forward and brushed his lips against John’s nose, his cheek, his chin, and John shivered.  “Please understand.”

 

“Yeah,” John croaked, “well, when you put it that way, it kinda – ” Rodney’s mouth covered his briefly before moving on “ – makes sense.”

 

“Good,” Rodney murmured between kisses.  “Good.”  He turned John around gently, then spread his fingers over John’s belly and slid them lower, and John’s breath stuck in his throat and took a few seconds to get loose again, and when it did he gasped, “Yeah, okay, okay,” and Rodney’s fingers fumbled with John’s belt, then his own, and they shoved at their clothes until they were just naked enough.

 

When John felt a slick finger slide into him, he groaned and leaned his head against the railing.  “You planned this, didn’t you?”

 

“Of course not.  This is completely spontaneous.”  Rodney wiggled a condom packet in front of John’s face.  “Open this for me, will you?  My fingers are slippery.”

 

John laughed and took the package from him, ripping it open with his teeth and handing it back to Rodney, and then Rodney was pressing into him, slowly, like they had all the time in the world, except this was a whole new world, so they could start right from scratch, and then Rodney’s hands bracketed his hips and pulled John back against him, driving him in deep, and oh, that was enough thinking for now.

 

Afterward, they tucked and zipped and buttoned, because it was a little chilly up this high, and John threw an arm around Rodney’s broad shoulders as they watched sunlight pour over the city for the first time in ten thousand years, and wondered what this new day would bring them.

 

 

 

 

 

End

June 2006

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