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.