A/N: My love and deepest thanks to my incredible beta, serpentsgarden for doing such an incredible job

Chapter 1

The meet and greet party for the new expedition members was in full swing and the west dock amphitheatre, with its hundred-foot glass wall overlooking the ocean, was the perfect setting. It was as huge as the jumper bay, but not as utilitarian in design. The place looked like the Ancient equivalent of a cathedral with all its tapered ceilings, spires and stained glass windows. Minus the pews, of course.

When Rodney McKay entered the crowded, noisy room, the party was at a decibel level that would shatter titanium.

"Don't you scientists ever read the memos?" a blond lieutenant in dress uniform said as he passed Rodney in the amphitheatre's entrance. He was one of the new guys. Rodney had never seen him before. "This is a black tie event."

Rodney stared down at his work uniform, then back up at the tall officer and sneered, "Guess I was too busy working on ways to save your ass from the Wraith to remember to pack my tux. And forgive me if I wasn't willing to waste my personal cargo space on something so useless. Besides, I'm not the only one not wearing a penguin suit," he pointed out as he caught sight of Zelenka across the room.

"Yeah, that's right and they're all from your department," the lieutenant said with a disgusted shake of his head and walked away.

If he'd needed any proof of how different things were, it was this. When they'd left for the Pegasus galaxy the last time, they hadn't even been allowed to bring ties. Now they were having black tie functions. He wondered what would be next – catering Atlantis for weddings and bah mitzvahs?

Taking in the crowd, Rodney realized that he was dressed totally wrong. With the exception of a few of his scientists, who had obviously come straight from the lab as Rodney had and were similarly clad in science division's familiar blue and tan garb, everyone was in formal evening wear or their military dress uniforms. But what the hell? It wasn't like he'd asked to be here.

Still, forced as his attendance might be, it wasn't all bad. The music was canned, but the food wasn't, and that was all that mattered. The amphitheatre's walls were lined with buffet tables, heavily laden with delicacies fresh from Earth.

The majority of the original expedition team members were grouped around the tables, scoffing down the food as fast as their hands and mouths could move. The two hundred plus newcomers were scattered among the Atlanteans and Athosians, chatting amiably while the war-stressed, long-term inhabitants gorged themselves with whatever degree of politeness to which that particular soldier or scientist's social skills could lay claim.

There was a small, but enthusiastic group in the empty center of the room gyrating to the Rolling Stone's Start Me Up. McKay felt his lips twitch as he noticed Teyla out there on the makeshift dance floor. Sergeant Stackhouse was attempting to teach her something no one with a body that hot needed lessons to do well. Teyla seemed to be legitimately enjoying herself, but as Rodney watched, he couldn't help but note how Stackhouse's smile seemed epoxied to his face, like he was out there forcing himself to have a good time.

Stackhouse wasn't the only one. Rodney wondered if Major, no, Lt. Colonel Sheppard had ordered his men to attend, much the same as Elizabeth had asked him to come as a personal favor to her. It had been almost two months, but Rodney still couldn't look at Stackhouse without thinking of his missing sidekick, Markham. They'd been a joint pair on so many missions that Rodney had rarely seen one without the other.

It was strange how empty the room seemed, even though there were more people assembled in it than the city had seen since its builders had abandoned it ten thousand years ago. With the Daedalus' crew and Athosians, there had to be close to four hundred people in the place. The noise in the room declared how populated it was, and yet, as Rodney surveyed the party, he was achingly aware of those who were no longer present.

Elizabeth had looked lopsided for months now without Peter Grodin shadowing her. Rodney was beginning to get used to Peter's absence, but it was hard to lose such an essential team member.

And now Aiden Ford was gone as well. Rodney hadn't expected to feel so much over his loss, but not a day went by that he didn't miss the younger man's boyish enthusiasm. The kid brother bantering Ford and Sheppard had engaged in had added something to each of their missions that Rodney knew he'd miss. It wasn't like he and Ford had been close, for Rodney had never really been able to make that claim with anybody. But Ford had saved his hide more times than he could count, and, although they were so different that they might as well have been raised in different galaxies, Ford had always shown him a level of respect and patience that had been rare in his life.

Rodney would never forget the way Ford had thrown his arms around him and hugged him when they'd solved the nanovirus. That hug hadn't been anything momentous to Ford, just an expression of his relief, joy, and gratitude, something that he'd do with anyone he knew well, but it was the first spontaneous hug Rodney could remember receiving since kindergarten. That casual gift of Ford's had caused a shift in Rodney's perspective that he was only now beginning to acknowledge. It had made him recognize what was lacking in his own life.

Or maybe he was just losing it, Rodney thought. Standing inside the doorway in a party, thinking about a man who'd been gone nearly two months was hardly sane. But, then, after what they'd been through this last year, who could be expected to be sane? Life-force-sucking, technologically superior vampires might be the fodder of a bad SciFi channel original movie, but it was their reality now.

Normally, Rodney kept his attention on his work and tried not to think about these things. The threat of daily, imminent extinction had a way of focusing him that nothing else could rival, but tonight he didn't seem able to distract himself. Not so much from the ever present fear, but from too many losses that there'd been no time to properly mourn.

And how different was that – feeling the need to mourn someone? Before coming to Atlantis, Rodney was so centered on his projects that he hardly ever noticed when he was the last one left in the lab. He would forget it was Saturday, come in, and not notice he was alone in the place until he tried to get lunch from the closed cafeteria. When he was in Area 51, Lindstrom was always dragging him out after they'd both been there more than eighteen hours.

The thought of Lindstrom stabbed through him like a knife. He'd talked his former co-worker into joining the expedition. Lindstrom hadn't survived long enough to even make it to the city.

Rodney knew that there was nothing more he could have done. Hell, that damn computer virus had nearly poisoned him, too. But, last night, after finally making it home to Atlantis, he was unable to escape the awful image of poor Lindstrom, screaming for help as he was blown from the airlock. Even now his heartbeat kicked into overdrive and his lungs tightened like he was about to go into a panic attack just thinking about it.

He knew that his present low mood was an aftereffect of yesterday's crisis of the moment, the Wraith computer virus that had nearly killed them all on the Daedalus' return trip. Realistically speaking, even with someone of such superior intellect and leadership qualities as himself, how many times could the fate of the entire mission be placed on one person's shoulders before the stress started to show?

Two months ago, they'd given him forty seconds to save the city. Yesterday, he'd had two minutes to calibrate the Asgard transporter or John would have been a dead man. Or the Colonel would have been a dead man, he mentally corrected himself.

With all the other stresses upon him, Rodney knew he couldn't afford to get sloppy about that. Sheppard had to remain the Major or the Colonel, or whatever distinction Rodney could come up with to remind himself that some things could never happen, even in the Pegasus galaxy.

Rodney only had to look over to where Sheppard was laughing with Elizabeth, Kate Heightmeyer, and that pretty blonde technician from the Daedalus' bridge to have the utter impossibility of that particular issue driven home. Sheppard had naturally enough gravitated to three of the most stunning women in the room. Elizabeth looked unbelievable in her long red gown. Dr. Heightmeyer was wearing a flowing, cottony turquoise and green skirt with a low cut black shimmering top. While the technician had her long blonde hair loose and was dressed in a lilac sundress. Their brains might rival any geek on the floor, but at the moment, the women looked like models. John himself was similarly decked out in his dress uniform like a poster boy for America's bravest and best. Sheppard even appeared to have shaven for the occasion. Rodney knew John was still showing off his new rank, otherwise he would never have worn the dress uniform, but he looked damn good in it all the same. Rodney tried not to allow himself to speculate how much better John would look out of it.

If the sight of Sheppard charming the three loveliest Earth women on Atlantis wasn't enough to reinforce the utter impossibility of this insane infatuation, all Rodney need do was to recall the exquisitely beautiful, utterly perfect Ancient woman whom the Colonel had Kirked out over. Sleek, feminine bodies, warm curves, pretty faces – this was what turned John Sheppard on, not slightly-pudgy, egotistical geeks with double chins and receding hairlines.

Rodney couldn't even let himself think of this ridiculous infatuation as a dream, a desire, or even a hope, because too much hurt was packed into the reality of knowing that the only person he'd managed to make any kind of real emotional connection with would never see him as anything but a friend.

But sometimes when Sheppard and he were trading intellectual barbs and the playful, almost flirtatious insults that were the earmark of their relationship, Rodney would forget for a moment. He'd lose himself in those glinting hazel eyes that were charming their way straight through the Pegasus Galaxy, and nothing else would matter but the connection he'd made with this man. In his thirty-six years of life, Rodney could count the number of times he'd forged an actual attachment to another human on one hand, and come up with four, well, probably five if he were being totally honest, fingers left over.

He wasn't the sort of man who inspired either friendship or affection. He knew that. The war zone that was his childhood had left him in no doubt that he'd never been loved or wanted, but he was too old to blame his social leperdom on his parents. Geniuses just had trouble fitting into society. Normal people were envious or resentful of their superior intelligence, and Rodney was self-aware enough to know that he was a genius among geniuses. Atlantis had the best of the best, and even here his superior intellect isolated him from the other scientists. Most were bitterly resentful of him like Kavanagh, but there were a few like Zelenka, who was like Lindstrom in that he almost seemed to admire him, who joked with him and didn't hold his temper outbursts against him.

But Lindstrom was gone now. More gone than Ford.

Rodney took a deep breath, desperately trying to forget Lindstrom's expression as he'd faced down his death.

His mind on poor Lindstrom, Rodney stood there in the entranceway lost in thought, his gaze on Sheppard's party.

As if the Ancient gene had warned Sheppard that he was being observed or as if he'd actually felt Rodney enter the room, those hazel eyes left Elizabeth's face, homing in unerringly on Rodney's gaze.

And suddenly, all thoughts of Lindstrom's gruesome death were gone. The charge that jolted through him when their eyes met felt like a lightning strike or an intensely powerful EM field discharging. The breath caught in Rodney's chest and his insides tightened. For a second, he was sure he was having a heart attack, or maybe it was another after-effect of the radiation exposure. It just seemed like he'd never breathe again.

Sheppard flashed him a grin and a wave, which all three of the women copied. But Rodney barely saw the others. All that was real to him was John's smile and the utter impossibility of what that smile seemed to silently promise.

When Rodney saw Sheppard's eyes narrow in concern, he forcibly pulled himself together, pasted on a smile, waved back at the group, and then staggered to the nearest buffet table.

Food would help. Kick up his blood sugar level, and maybe then this damn blue funk would pass. He hated feeling this way.

It took twenty-five deep breaths before the tightness in his chest let up and he was actually able to take in the contents of the buffet table. One glance at the clear plastic ice water pitchers and Rodney knew that the cooks were trying to kill him again. Every one of the damn things had sliced lemons floating in it.

Next to the water jugs was a huge platter of pink shrimp, but since shellfish could sometimes cause a reaction, Rodney moved on down the table. A huge bowl of half-eaten onion dip sat next to the shrimp. There were several types of chips and crackers next to the dip, plus some baby carrots. On the other side of the chips was a huge platter of Swedish meatballs. Pay dirt.

Feeling more himself by the moment, Rodney dove into the dip and meatballs and spent the next fifteen minutes gleefully stuffing his face. He was on his thirty-fourth meatball when he glanced over at the next table and dropped the thing from his hand at the sight of Samantha Carter in a slinky black party dress, reaching for something on the next buffet table. She had her back to him, but there was no mistaking her lithe figure and short blonde hair.

Even now, with his confused, hopeless attraction to John Sheppard, Sam Carter could still get to him.

There was no way she could be here. Rodney knew that. He'd seen the passenger manifest. Unless she'd stowed away in a storage crate in the Daedalus' cargo hold, Sam Carter had not been on board when they'd left Earth, and he'd have known if they'd powered up the Atlantis Gate to bring her through. Yet there she stood, or leaned, and good god, what a sight she was.

Pure lust curling through him, Rodney abandoned his plate next to the meatball platter and bee-lined for Sam, who still had her back to him, but had now straightened up.

"Dr. Carter?" Rodney asked as soon as he was close enough to be heard over Robert Palmer's Simply Irresistible – a fitting theme song for Carter if ever there was one, Rodney privately acknowledged.

She turned at his voice, and Rodney immediately recognized his error. Green eyes, not Carter's blue. Instead of Carter's peaches and cream complexion, her skin was charmingly speckled with freckles. She had an upturned nose, and a sensual round mouth with the kind of red lipstick on it that you saw in porn movies. In fact, that wasn't the only attribute she shared with porn stars. As Rodney took in her ample bosom, he realized that he could never have mistaken her for Carter from the front, even at a distance. However, she was drop dead gorgeous.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I thought you were someone I knew."

"Don't apologize," she smiled. "I've got the same cut as Dr. Carter. It happens a lot."

Remembering his manners, Rodney thrust out a sweaty hand and introduced himself, "I'm Dr. Rodney McKay."

She shook his hand and quickly released it, her eyes narrowing a bit, doubtless from its clammy state. "Barbara Morris."

"You're not one of the new expedition members?" he half-asked. He'd seen everyone's files and knew he wouldn't have forgotten anyone who looked like her, no matter what section she was assigned to.

"No. I work in the Daedalus engine room," she answered.

"Oh." Staring dumbly into her beautiful face, he forced his tongue-tied mouth to work and asked, "So, er, how do you like Atlantis?"

"It's fantastic, isn't it? Like something from a fairy tale," Barbara enthused.

"The city is impressive, isn't it?" he agreed, warming to anybody who liked what he privately thought of as his city.

She nodded, and Rodney was once again left in that hideous position of not knowing what to say. The question 'Is there any chance in the world that you'd have sex with me?' was grossly inappropriate, but it was all his mind could think when he looked at her. Struggling, he stammered, "I'm, er, the head of sciences here." He went on to enumerate his responsibilities and told her about a few of the times he'd had to save the city in what he knew was a nervous rush. He recognized that he was rambling and probably bragging way too much, but he was unable to control the flood of words. He felt like he had when Elizabeth had told him he had forty seconds to save the city, like if he didn't get it all done now, he'd never get a second chance. Finally remembering that you were supposed to let the other person talk, too, when you were flirting, he lamely finished with, "If you'd like, I could give you a private tour of the city. The ZedPM power drive is absolutely incredible."

It was the only thing he could think of to interest an engineer.

Something flashed in her eyes and then her face settled into the stiff expression Rodney was far too familiar with. He'd seen it in scores of beautiful or cute faces, that frozen 'How did this happen and how do I get away from him?' look of horror.

"That's very kind of you, Dr. McKay, but – " Barbara began.

It wasn't an instant denial, so Rodney came on a little stronger. "Call me Rodney, please. If you like the city, you really should see – "

She was in full flight mode. "Dr. McKay, I'm sorry, but you're really not my type. I – " before she finished speaking, someone tall approached behind her.

"Barb?" In black pants, blue silk shirt, and black jacket, Kavanagh looked very unlike himself.

If Rodney had tried all night, he knew he couldn't have inspired the smile that Barbara Morris turned on Kavanagh as she looked up into his blue eyes. Kavanagh might be the biggest asshole in two galaxies, but he cleaned up well. Even Rodney had to admit that if the guy kept his mouth shut, he might be hot. Not the way John was hot, but in a geekier way.

"Hi, Tom," she greeted and explained. "Tom and I were in the same freshman year in Harvard."

Normally, Rodney would have been amused to have the old joke confirmed – How do you know when someone's a Harvard grad? Within thirty seconds of introduction, they'll tell you.

But tonight, Rodney couldn't even crack a smile at the confirmation of that universal law of intellectual elitism. All he could hear was the relief in her voice, like he was some kind of skeeve hitting on her in a club. Recognizing the futility of his effort to get laid or even find some intelligent female company to just talk about something other than the Wraith and dead or missing friends, Rodney stiffly acknowledged his co-worker's obviously timely interruption. "Kavanagh."

Kavanagh nodded, looked from Barbara to him with a malicious, speculative light in his eyes, and then said, "You've got to be kidding, McKay. Not in this lifetime. Even your ego can't be that big."

To her merit, Barbara's face filled with embarrassment at Kavanagh's rude remark. But she still took Kavanagh's arm when he offered it to her. With a subdued, "Good to meet you, Dr. McKay," Rodney's black-clad beauty floated off to the dance floor with his most incompetent staff member.

Barbara looked right on Kavanagh's arm in a way she would never have looked right on his own.

Biting his lower lip, Rodney's fingers curled into painfully tight fists as the humiliation stung through him. He quickly glanced around. Mercifully enough, no one had been close enough to hear. But when his eyes roamed over the crowd, back to where they'd been before he'd thought he'd seen Sam Carter, Rodney found Sheppard's hazel gaze fixed on him with laser-sighting accuracy. Even from across the room, he could see John's mobile expression change.

Rodney braced himself for further scorn. The Colonel might be his co-worker and friend, but Sheppard never passed up an opportunity to take his ego down a notch or two, and right now it was so in the toilet that Rodney didn't think he could stand even playful mockery.

To his confusion, there was nothing like triumph in John's eyes. They looked pained. When Sheppard realized Rodney was staring at him, he quickly averted his gaze. But Rodney knew he'd seen the whole humiliating thing.

He felt the heat of embarrassment scorch his radiation-burned cheeks.

Turning his back on the party, Rodney stood in front of the buffet table. The laughter seemed unnaturally loud now. As much as it felt like it, he knew that everyone back there wasn't laughing at him.

It took him nearly two minutes to notice the champagne glasses on the table in front of him. Needing some false courage, he picked one up and downed it like it was water. The second, third, and fourth glass disappeared nearly as fast.

Champagne normally went straight to his head, and tonight was no exception to that rule. Within moments, he felt flushed and the room seemed to be swaying ever so slightly. He'd thought the booze would help him forget the humiliating rejection he'd just endured, but it only made him feel more depressed. And everyone was still laughing behind him. Unable to bear the sound and happy people another minute, Rodney hurried to the nearest door.

It wasn't the one he'd entered by. This portal whooshed open in front of him and let him out onto the deck that girded the amphitheatre. The sea crashed below in a steady susurration of sound.

It was a cold, windy night. The waves were choppy and the stars shone down on the roiling water with crystal clarity. The salty winds ripped at his eyes, causing them to sting. At least, he told himself it was the sea winds.

Rodney stumbled to the railing, feeling more than a little woozy. Maybe the champagne hadn't been such a good idea, after all. Gripping the rail's cold metal bar, he stared out into the briny gusts, wishing he'd had the sense to forego the booze.

He wasn't alone out here. There were a number of couples taking advantage of the romantic setting to practice mouth to mouth, but they were all a respectable distance away and ignored him with the unspoken courtesy of strangers in the night. As usual, he was the only one alone in such a romantic setting.

As the salty night winds filled his lungs, Rodney knew he'd be lucky if he didn't have an asthma attack or catch a cold by morning. Considering how things were going this week, that would be just his luck.

His health demanded that he go back inside, but he simply couldn't face the party again and the idea of returning to his empty quarters chilled him worse than the crisp temperature.

"Hey," a familiar voice called softly from behind and Sheppard came to stand beside him at the railing. He hadn't even heard the doors open.

Rodney glanced over at his companion. They were both cloaked in shadows. John almost looked like a stranger in his dress uniform. Rodney had never seen him in it before tonight. Good thing. Sheppard was absolutely devastating in his dress uniform.

Not up to pretending, Rodney stated more than questioned, "You saw?" Even he could hear how dead his voice sounded. He didn't know why he needed to confirm that his humiliation was complete. He knew John had witnessed the entire sorry scene.

"Yeah," John answered in a tentative tone before giving a more heartfelt, "Talk about terminal stupidity."

Rodney stiffened in sudden and complete outrage. Had Sheppard just come out here to mock him? "Look, I'm ah-abysmally aware of how utterly I struck out. I don't need you to come out here and rub my nose in – "

Damn, the liquor was affecting his speech now. Just getting the word 'abysmally' out had taken a conscious effort. His mouth kept trying to put in at least four more syllables than the word had.

"Whoa, what are you talking about?" John cut in.

"You just called me schtupid," Rodney shouted, turning his glare on John's perfect good looks. Over John's shoulder, Rodney could see several of the couples on the deck looking their way.

"I wasn't talking about you," John instantly denied in a startled tone.

"You weren't?" Rodney asked stupidly, thrown. John's tone was conciliatory. He didn't understand why he still felt so threatened by it.

"Of course not. Why would I say something like that?"

Although Rodney could hear the genuine confusion in Sheppard's voice, he couldn't hold back the bitterness. It spilled out of him as venomous and black as that energy creature they'd encountered their first week in Atlantis. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because you saw me do something phenomenally embarrashing. Maybe because I am schtupid and never learn. Maybe because I throw my hintel – my intellectual superiority in your face a thousand times a day and you couldn't resist the chance to knock Supergeek's super ego down a notch or two?"

"Supergeek and his super ego, huh?" John responded in that unperturbed drawl that made Rodney want to take a swing at him. "I like it. But do you think you should disparage your super power that way?"

"This isn't funny!" Rodney found himself yelling again, like he always did every time his emotions got the better of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two of the couples slip silently back into the party.

"No," John agreed, instantly sober. "It's not. And you know that isn't why I came out here."

"It's not?" Rodney knew he shouldn't have voiced the words, but he hadn't been able to hold them back. He never could when he was this upset. The drink hadn't helped any, either. Everything just came spewing forth like the water into the submerged Atlantis' outer sections when the shields had failed on their first day here.

"No, of course not," John replied. "You're my friend, McKay. I'm not gonna kick you when you're down."

Rodney struggled to get a hold of his runaway emotions. When he felt he could speak again without any embarrassing yelling, he tightly spat out in his snidest tone, "Sorry. Novel concept."

He just wanted John to go away so that he could lick his wounds in peace.

Rodney saw John's shadow-hidden gaze leave him for a minute to scan their environment. Rodney did the same, trying his best not to sway too much in the wind. The three couples that were off to their left were no longer lip-locked, but were now watching the shouting match. Well, him shouting. John had been perfectly rational the entire time – which only made him madder.

"Come on," John said. "Walk with me."

As with everything since Rodney had come to the Pegasus galaxy, he wasn't given a choice. Sheppard put a hand on his back and guided him down the deck and around the corner of the amphitheatre to the leeward side where there was no audience.

Rodney shivered as the stronger winds pelted him. But he followed along beside John on the deserted deck, occasionally glancing to the right out to sea or to the left to look in through the windows at the party.

"Talk to me," John said in the kind of intimate voice that made Rodney want to drop to his knees in front of him. No one should be allowed to use a tone like that in casual conversation. It was meant for the bedroom, for hot, sweaty sexual instructions like Suck me or Spread 'em.

Rodney tried to not answer, but he was as powerless to refuse as he would have been with the other two orders. John walked beside him, his gaze a steady weight on Rodney's right cheek, calm and collected as though he could wait a century for a reply.

Rodney hated that John knew him so well that he knew he didn't have to do anything more than ask to get him to spill his secrets. He wondered if the tug of wills he felt going on was really happening or if it were simply another symptom of his losing it. He caved, as John had no doubt known he would.

"I just ... get so tired of it sometimes, you know?" Rodney admitted to the quiet man at his side who called him his friend.

"It?" John asked in an encouraging tone.

Rodney couldn't figure out why John was still out here shivering in the cold with him rather than inside having fun talking to a beautiful woman. So, instead of his usual evading, Rodney explained, "The whole ... dating thing. Or, in my case, the not dating thing. It doesn't matter if I try to be myself, or try to impresh, or try to be cool ... they all still run from me like I've got a social disease, every damn one of them."

The silence after he'd spoken told Rodney that he'd done it again. TMI. He'd never get it straight, none of it. Guys didn't admit things like that to each other. He knew that, on a mental level. And yet, he went around spewing his guts like this every time someone would try to be his buddy. Or maybe he did it whenever it seemed someone, anyone, was actually listening to him. Sometimes he really seemed that pathetic to himself. He just couldn't get a single level of the relationship stuff straight.

Straight? Wasn't that a misnomer, in light of his feelings for the man with whom he was conversing.

But John didn't freak out on him or make a joke to get past his inappropriate candor. To the contrary, Sheppard assumed that over-patient, annoying tone he'd use on missions when he was contradicting him. "That's not true, Rodney. They don't all run from you. I've been to your lab. Dr. Takonimi would love if you asked her out."

Was John out of his mind? John had seen how Takonimi acted around him.

"Dr. Takonimi is delusional," Rodney replied, unable to believe that Sheppard was seriously suggesting that he date someone on his staff.

"Let me get this straight. She doesn't treat you like the rest, so she's delusional?" John asked, a smile in his voice, though there was no accompanying flash of teeth.

"No, she's delusional because she doesn't see me, not for who I am. She's got this vision of me in her head that's ... well, it's almost like she believes me when I ..." Rodney didn't know how to complete the sentence.

John helped him out with a softly playful, "Use your super ego super power?"

"Yeah, that," Rodney snapped, though he was grateful that he didn't have to say the words himself.

"I still don't get what's wrong with that," John said.

"It's not just that. You know how, er, verbal I get when bad things start happening?" Rodney said, painfully aware that he'd just treated John to a prime example of it a few minutes ago.

"Yeah, so? She works with you, McKay. She's got to be used to it."

"That's just the point. She's not. When I yell at her, she apologizes to me, even when we both know I'm totally out of line. And if I'm too excited and don't back off – " Rodney paused, not sure how to say this without sounding like a monster.

"Yes?" John encouraged.

"She cries. I mean, not to manipulate me. She's too mush of a professional for that, but the tears start running down her cheeks and she'll schniffle and ... I just can't take someone who folds like that," Rodney admitted. The sad fact of life was that John was really the only one who gave back everything he dished out.

"Christ. I don't blame you. I hate tears myself," John said. When Rodney glanced over at him, he thought John's shadowed face looked horrified.

"Yeah," Rodney said. After a minute, he added a quiet, "Thanks."

"For?"

"For reminding me that there's someone who wants me somewhere, but that I'm not a desperate enough loser to take her up on it just to get laid. Pathetic as it may shound, it feels good to know that even though I'm hard up, I'm not without shome morals." Rodney hated how bad he was slurring his words, but John was acting as though he wasn't noticing.

"Glad to be of help," John said in a comforting wry tone. After a few more steps, Sheppard stopped beside the railing. The wind ripped at his already disorderly hair, whipping it in and out of his eyes.

Their walk had taken them around the deck to the side of the amphitheatre that had no doors or windows. This was the northern end of the west dock, where the winds were the strongest all year round. They could still feel the base rumble of the music, but could no longer see or hear anyone inside.

"McKay?"

"Yes?"

"You're wrong about yourself. There's nothing pathetic about you," John said in a strangely insistent tone.

"Since when do you lie to me?" Rodney demanded, all angry again because the one thing John and he always were was honest with each other. "We both know what I am. Your goons don't even bother to lower their voices when they talk about me. Even the people who reshpect me for my brain mock me on a daily basis, so don't you dare shh-stand there and tell me pretty lies! It doesn't help."

A tight, strangely dangerous tone entered John's still level voice. "I'm not lying."

"Yeah, right," Rodney snarled, totally infuriated. John had never patronized him before. How stupid did he think he was? Feeling totally betrayed, he coldly added, "Thansksh for the pep talk, Maj – Colonel. I'll see you around."

Rodney had stalked a total of two steps when a grip like iron dug into both his biceps and held him in place. John was so far into his personal space that Rodney could feel the heat of his body down his entire left side, despite the night's cold. Something in him began to shake.

John wasn't a toucher. For all his easy camaraderie, John kept as much of a distance from people as he did.

"I don't lie to you," John insisted, no longer cool, no longer controlled. "You know that. You know you know that!"

John sounded like the entire city was at stake here.

It was too dark for Rodney to see the gaze digging into him. Even so close, John's eyes were nothing but the occasional bright flash of white and shadows, but he could feel the power of John's stare.

Locked in that compelling, unseen gaze, Rodney shivered, raged inside, and finally capitulated, "Okay. You don't lie to me." The pressure of the hold on his arms let up some, but John didn't release him. "You're delusional, too."

"Because I respect a man with the raw courage to stand beside me each and every time I've faced certain death?" John demanded.

Rodney couldn't hold back his snort. "Raw courage? Colonel, we both know I'm sho scared at those times that I piss my pants, and I'm not talking figutra-figuratively here. So sha-save me the – "

John cut him off. "But you still do it. Each and every time. It doesn't matter what we're facing or how scared you are, you always find a way to back me up. Courage isn't a lack of fear, Rodney. It's doing what you have to do in spite of your fear, and you do that every damn time."

His throat tightened up so much at John's words that it took him a couple of swallows to loosen it enough to speak, and even then, the words didn't come out sounding right. Not that any of them had. He was aware how badly he was slurring. "Thatsh ... that's ... thank you."

"I know it's hard, but don't let what happened in there before get you down."

"You mean being sexshully repulsive to every beautiful woman I meet?" Rodney laid it on the line, forcing John to see his reality. Or as much of his reality as he dared reveal. Rodney knew, even if John never would, that there wasn't a gorgeous woman in either galaxy that moved him the way John Sheppard did, not even Sam Carter.

"That bimbo wasn't worth your time. She was on the ship yesterday. She has to have known what you did, how you saved the day," John began, clearly unaware how much worse his reasoning made Rodney feel.

Rodney hated how fast he lost it. He could feel the wind stinging his eyes again as he hurt his throat shouting again. "And this is relevant how? She knew, and it shtill wasn't enough. It'sh never enough, no matter what I do. It doesn't matter if I sha-save the city or the galassy or the entire human race. I'm shtill an obnoss’us geek trapped in this pudgy, balding, allergy-ridden body that no one in their right mind wants to get near. Colonel, take my word for it – it sucks being utterly untouchable!" Rodney broke loose and tried to escape, but the champagne was taking its toll on his equilibrium as well as his speech. He stumbled. "Hhumphf – "

His escape ended as the wind was knocked out of him when he impacted with John's solid, if narrow, chest. Strong arms closed around him as John steadied him and commanded, "Stop it."

John was bracing him in what was almost a hug. Rodney couldn't help himself. Instead of breaking clear and maintaining his personal space like he would have done if sober, he found himself leaning into the support John's body seemed to be offering. John was so warm, and it was so cold out here. So cold all the time, really.

John seemed to freeze for an instant, as if ready to pull away, but then John's arms rose around him, the action painfully tentative, like this was something John was as unfamiliar with as Rodney was himself.

Rodney could only stand there frozen in drunken shock as John hugged him. Slowly, his mind caught up with the fact that he was standing here in John's arms, close as a lover.

When Rodney finally had to breathe and release the breath he was holding, he couldn't smell the sea anymore. He was surrounded by John Sheppard's aftershave and the warmer scent of John himself. Since when did Aqua Velva make his senses reel?

If it were even really Aqua Velva. The drugstore aftershave just didn't seem John Sheppard's style, but Rodney was as clueless about men's toiletries as he was female hygiene products. Both were totally outside his realm of experience. When he'd worried about such things in high school, he'd simply borrowed his father's Old Spice. He hadn't bothered with aftershave since then, so what would he know about it?

All he knew was that John was holding him.

They were of a height, Rodney distractedly realized. He was bigger than John, both wider and bulkier, but there was a strength to John's wiry form that belied its slenderness.

That hug Ford had given him six months ago was nothing when compared to this one. Rodney held on for dear life, hugging back with all his might as he buried his face between John's crisp dress shirt and neck. He was holding John so close that he felt the reactive shudder John's body gave when Rodney's breath brushed over the sensitive skin of his neck.

John's purely instinctive shiver had an unanticipated reaction on his own physique. Before Rodney even knew what was happening, he'd gone hard as a rock. For a glorious thirty seconds, he didn't even notice that he'd thrown a rod, but the instant he realized, he froze.

The similar, shocked tension in John's entire body told him that John was aware of his arousal as well.

Rodney pulled back in absolute panic. "Shorry ... I ..."

He what? Rodney frantically searched for an explanation. Was he really going to tell John how he felt about him? Or was he going to tell a lesser truth and admit how absolutely starved he was for any kind of human contact? Neither choice was acceptable. He had to work with this man.

Paralyzed with horror, Rodney could only wait for the inevitable fist to the jaw as his non-existent social skills tried to suggest a game plan that would get him out of here with his dignity intact. But there was nothing in his limited repertoire that covered pressing an erection against a disinterested straight man's hip, a straight man who just happened to be the head of the military in this galaxy and his away team leader. The thirty-four meatballs he'd gobbled down roiled as he acknowledged that he was more screwed than when the jumper ship had become lodged in the Stargate.

No witty, tension-breaking line presented itself, of course. Nor did he have a team of his best scientists frantically working on a plan to extricate him from his present situation. So Rodney just muttered another drunken, " Shorry," to his shocked, probably-former friend, turned on his heel, and fled as fast as he could without actually running.

The wind was high and loud, but he was pretty sure he heard John call out a confused sounding, "Rodney?" as he made his retreat.

*~*~*

What the ... ?

Lt. Colonel John Sheppard's jaw dropped open as McKay gave another strangled-sounding, slurred "Shorry," and hurried away from him down the starlit deck.

"Rodney?" John called, trying to make sense of the last minute, but there was no stopping McKay this time as his inebriated friend rushed around the deck's corner and disappeared from sight.

John made a mental review of what had transpired. He'd followed Rodney out here after he'd seen him strike out with that pretty Daedalus crewman.

Rodney had been upset. There was nothing new with that. Rodney was high-strung . He was usually upset about something. Everything about the guy seemed to work at a faster, more volatile level than the rest of humanity – his ego, his brain, his mouth, his emotions. Intense was just what Rodney McKay was.

But Rodney had also been drunk, which was something John wasn't accustomed to.

John had expected the yelling. The second he'd seen that shapely blonde walk off with Kavanagh – Kavanagh, of all people! – John had known McKay would be bouncing off the walls. He'd never seen anybody down champagne as fast as Rodney had before leaving the party. Clearly, the booze had lowered Rodney's defenses.

He hadn't really expected McKay to be so open about his problems with the opposite sex, but in retrospect, that wasn't really all that out of character, either. Ask Rodney a question, and you'd get more than you ever wanted to hear on the subject, providing McKay didn't think it a stupid question. Then you'd just get a sarcastic dismissal.

John had never met anyone quite like McKay. Rodney didn't seem to have the defensive barriers that most guys did. He didn't use the same macho pretenses that every male John had met since he was ten used. There was no-stiff-upper-lip bullshit in Rodney McKay's universe. When McKay was scared, worried, annoyed, angry, hungry, or hurt, he let the world know in excruciatingly loud and irritating detail. There was no such thing as subterfuge with Rodney. Everything about McKay was right out there in the open for everyone to see.

It was only the good stuff that he kept hidden.

Most people had no patience for McKay. The majority of the expedition found their lead scientist annoying and immature, an irritant to be avoided. But John had seen what the man could do under pressure and that there was nothing immature about Rodney's commitment to Atlantis. That was the bottom line for him. The first week they were here, he'd watched Rodney walk into an energy creature and risk his life for them all. That one act of selfless sacrifice had told him everything he needed to know about Rodney McKay.

So, while the others made themselves scarce around McKay, John had taken the time to try to get to know the man. It wasn't easy, but somewhere along the way, Rodney had become a friend. John hadn't had many of those in the last few years. The black mark on his name had ensured his isolation in Antarctica, and command pretty much accomplished the same thing here. Friends were his rarest gift. Ford's flight had left him one short, so he was feeling a little protective of the few he had left.

When he'd seen that blonde give McKay the cold shoulder earlier tonight, he'd been furious. He knew Rodney could be work, but everyone knew what McKay had risked yesterday. Would it have killed her to dance with the guy?

John realized that he was probably being unreasonable. He knew Rodney. McKay was so self-absorbed that he often missed subtle hints or not so subtle hints. You needed to take a sledgehammer to him just to get a word in edgewise some days. So, it probably hadn't been all the blonde's fault, but John was tired of seeing that crushed look in Rodney's eyes. He'd worn it for weeks after the Wraith had killed Abrams and Gall. It had been there again since Lindstrom had blown out of the airlock yesterday morning. When that bitch had walked off with Kavanagh tonight, McKay had practically been bleeding.

John hadn't been able to stop himself from following McKay out here. He'd known Rodney would be upset, that he'd have to talk him down, but he'd never expected Rodney to ... get turned on by a simple hug from him. Or from anything from him, for that matter. For all that casual acquaintances often believed that McKay was gay, every indication John had had so far told him that McKay was straight, if a little clueless. But there'd been no mistaking that iron hard flesh as anything other than an erection when it had pushed against his hip a few minutes ago.

John knew he should be upset about this. Were it anyone but Rodney, he would have been frantic as to whether he'd slipped up himself and encouraged it. But Rodney hardly ever saw anything outside his own head. Whatever was going on, it was all about McKay.

The question was what to do about it?

John knew he'd already missed the window of opportunity for the believable, spontaneous reaction of a straight man to such an incident. But punching and shouting had never been his style. Even if it had, he couldn't be that much of a hypocrite. Maintaining a safe cover was one thing. Persecuting someone for something that he might have done himself was something else entirely. And, besides, Rodney had been drunk.

As the cold winds ripped at his hair and uniform, John stared out at the choppy, dark sea, trying to decide how to handle this. His thigh could still feel the burn of Rodney's erection pressing into it. He felt wired, jittery in a way he hadn't been in too long a time.

Twenty years of restraint, all shot to hell by a McKay melt down.

Since the day he'd entered the Academy, he'd never acknowledged the part of himself that liked the feel of a buddy's erection humping against his own. He hadn't been such a fraud as to join the other team and bad mouth those who couldn't deny their natures, but John Sheppard had always made damn sure that his own inclinations were fully in check. His commanders would have been astounded by the degree of ruthless self-discipline he exercised on a daily basis.

So far, there hadn't been any true tests to his resolve. John always made sure that he flirted publicly with enough beautiful women to firmly establish his heterosexuality in everyone's eyes, and it wasn't even an act, because he really did enjoy women. In a world of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, he'd gotten his fair share of looks, but no other man had ever dared even approach him. And now Rodney McKay had to throw the proverbial monkey wrench into his perfect record by ....

By what?

It wasn't like Rodney had propositioned him or kissed him. Rodney had been drunk and overwrought. He'd just lost control when a warm body pressed up against him unexpectedly. John didn't have to be a genius like McKay to realize how long it had probably been since Rodney'd been laid. It could have happened to anybody.

The fact that Rodney had run the minute he'd realized he was hard assured John that there hadn't been any intent behind the event. It was just an accident that could have happened to any man.

So what to do about it? Common sense and self-protection told him to do nothing. To just pretend it had never happened. But he knew Rodney. That kind of act would just make the situation worse. If they didn't clear this up now, Rodney would dwell on it, and there would be an explosion of McKay proportions at probably the most inconvenient, most public time possible. John recognized that if they were going to get past this, they were going to have to discuss it like adults and put it behind them tonight, before it turned into some huge, hideous crisis.

Giving a last glance to the white-capped waves below, John followed in McKay's wake.

Ten minutes later, he was standing in front of Rodney's quarters. He'd checked the lab on his way. There'd been no one there. He could see a light through the translucent gold and white glass on Rodney's doors.

There was no answer when he pressed the door's signal, but he knew Rodney was in there. He could almost feel him through the Ancient glass.

"Rodney?" he tapped the headset at his ear and called, making a conscious choice to use his friend's first name. "Let me in."

The doors slid open and John stepped inside. He was highly conscious of the doors whooshing closed behind him.

This was the first time he'd ever visited McKay's place. Not that either of them had been in their new quarters long.

Rodney's place had the same basic floor plan as his own. McKay hadn't gotten that balcony he'd wanted, but there were a pair of amazing picture windows looking out over the ocean behind the bed up against the far wall. John's own view was that of the city, pretty, but not nearly as stunning as Rodney's.

Rodney had put up a floor to ceiling bookcase on the wall to the left side of the bed. It contained a strange combination of ancient devices and computer parts. There was a desk facing the wall on the right and a couple of chairs. The wall to the left of the doors was stacked with boxes from Earth that Rodney hadn't unpacked yet.

The place was surprisingly neat. He'd expected a layer of dirty clothes and rotting MRE containers, but aside from the clutter on the bookshelves, Rodney's room would have passed a barracks inspection. The bed was even made with a neat blue comforter, though John didn't allow his gaze to linger there.

John found himself staring instead at the only picture on the nightstand, a five by seven of a well-fed gray tabby cat lying on a red blanket. This was the only personal item Rodney McKay had brought with him from Earth, a picture of his cat?

The irony of somebody who'd only brought a poster of a musician when it came to the picture department casting aspersions on McKay's choice wasn't wasted on John, but Rodney hadn't been blackballed. McKay's family hadn't turned their backs on him. Why would anybody bring a picture of a pet instead of one of a person they'd miss back home?

"Is that your cat?" John asked inanely of the silent man sitting at his desk, staring out at the dark window.

McKay's back was so straight it must hurt.

"Yes," Rodney answered without looking his way. He sounded a hell of a lot more sober now, but that kind of incident could sober a guy up faster than coffee. "You didn't come here to talk about my cat, Colonel."

Hating that dead tone and the obviously intentional use of his rank, John ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "No, I guess you're right. I didn't come to talk about your cat."

"Just say it," Rodney snapped, spinning his computer chair around to face him.

Not that Rodney met his eyes. His friend's gaze seemed to be fixed on the ribbons on his chest. As John watched, those pale cheeks pinked with color.

John didn't think he'd ever seen Rodney look so sick at heart, not even yesterday in the Daedalus' hall when Rodney was telling them how Lindstrom had died in between hits of oxygen.

"I thought we should discuss what happened before things get out of hand," John said in his most reasonable tone. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

Rodney's gaze jumped to his face as Rodney gestured towards the other empty computer chair.

Once seated, John's resolve seemed to desert him. He had no idea how to begin, not with Rodney sitting there watching him so pale and tense, looking like he was about to be marched off to a firing squad.

"I thought you'd be freaking out," Rodney said into the silence, with only the slightest slurring of words. It was as much a question as anything.

Drawing his calm around him, John shook his head, gave a small smile, and said, "No, no freaking out. How about you?"

Rodney actually blinked in surprise. "Yes, freaking out big time here." To illustrate, Rodney held out his right arm, which was visibly shaking. "My heart's racing and I think I might be about to have a panic attack."

John felt his smile grow larger. This was the Rodney he knew, not the drunken, vulnerable man he'd met on the deck a short time ago. Though, John suspected that the Rodney on the deck might have been more the real Rodney McKay than anything he'd seen to date.

Rodney seemed to study him for a moment before asking, "Not that I'm complaining, but why aren't you ... you know, doing the enraged, defending your honor, macho routine?"

"Maybe because what happened wasn't a threat to either my honor or my machismo. You didn't do anything wrong, Rodney. You were just drunk and upset. I'm a guy. I know it's got a life of its own sometimes," John answered, holding Rodney's worried gaze.

"It can't be that easy," Rodney said, searching his face as if he thought this were a set up.

"Yes, it can. It doesn't have to be any harder than we make it," John softly assured.

After a moment, Rodney gulped and some of the tension lining his face seemed to let up. "So nothing's ... ruined? We can still work together?"

Understanding where Rodney's fear was coming from, John assured, "We're fine. It was an accident. It's not like you've been pining away over me for months or something – "

As usual, John didn't know when to quit while he was ahead. One sentence too many. His words cut off as Rodney's always-expressive face blanked out, and something that John reluctantly identified as guilt flickered through Rodney's bloodshot blue eyes for no longer than a single heartbeat before it too was squashed into non-reaction.

Not a word was spoken. Rodney's expression remained totally frozen in its utter inscrutability, but John abruptly knew that he'd been working on some major misconceptions here. John still believed what had happened was a complete accident, but clearly, pining away was an issue.

The fact that Rodney was dead silent and not yelling and gesticulating told him just how serious an issue it was. The only time Rodney got quiet like this was when things were way past the code red zone and well into complete doom.

So, serious pining and doom. That was where Rodney's head was at. The question was, where was his own?

Mostly, John was shocked. Rodney had never struck him as being able to conceal something this huge, but, then, he realized that for all his nervous chatter and flying off the handle, Rodney had to be able to keep a secret. McKay had been in charge of Top Secret military projects for nearly a decade now. The Air Force didn't put someone who couldn't keep his mouth shut in that kind of position of authority.

The ramification that Rodney wanted him was slow to filter in. Only as the silence grew thicker and tension closed in around them did John finally absorb that serious pining meant serious pain. Rodney's chillingly empty gaze told him how devastating this was to him.

But that still didn't tell John how he felt about this development himself. Rodney wanted to have sex with him. Rodney had probably lain in that bed right there with his hand pumping his cock as he thought about his naked body ...

John was weirded out by the idea, but nowhere near as freaked as he should have been.

Maybe because he couldn't see Rodney as any kind of threat. He knew Rodney would never put him in the awkward or unpleasant situation of having to reject an advance. Everybody jerked off to thoughts of someone. That Rodney would be fantasizing about him ...

John's heart seemed to race for a moment, his breathing hitching painfully in his chest under a blast of raw ...

John ruthlessly slammed the door on his reaction. Surprise, it was just surprise, he frantically told himself as he willed his body to relax.

What the hell was wrong with him? This was Rodney McKay, for Christ's sake. His friend, for sure, but still the most irritating man on the planet. Yet his heart was racing like it used to when the absolutely gorgeous Jimmy Burton used to go down on him in sophomore year at high school. He couldn't think, could barely breathe.

Shit. This was so not good. On the verge of a panic of McKay-ish proportions, John slammed down hard on his body's reactions. He did not go there anymore. Not for twenty years. He sure as hell wasn't going to ruin that record because Rodney McKay was a horny drunk.

After a moment, John could breathe again. Everything was okay. He told himself that it was strange that Rodney would be thinking of him that way, but not revolting or anything. It was good that he wasn't freaked. He was just ... shocked. That's what it was, shock. He hadn't seen this coming at all.

That was the most truthful part of his near-freak out, the fact that this had totally blindsided him.

John couldn't say that he'd ever even considered the idea of doing it with Rodney McKay. First, he'd believed Rodney was straight, and, even if Rodney wasn't, his friend had never given him any indication that he thought about him that way. More importantly, John never allowed himself to speculate along those lines, at all. Also, reluctant as he was to admit it, Rodney had been right before. The physical attraction thing hadn't exactly happened. Rodney just wasn't the kind of guy who'd ever have interested him. If John had lived a different kind of life and seen Rodney in a club, he would never have approached the man or accepted an advance from him.

But John hadn't lived that kind of life. He hadn't met Rodney in a pick up joint. Rodney was his friend, probably his closest friend at this point. He didn't look at Rodney and see the receding hairline and soft waist Rodney had mentioned earlier. It was more complicated than that.

John took a deep breath, trying to clear his head, but he felt all twisted up inside.

Rodney wanted him. That was all his mind could think about.

John knew what the right thing to do was. A gentle refusal was called for here. It wasn't like he'd never had to turn anyone down before, but always in the past it had been women he'd been dealing with. Never guys, and never one this close to him. Even with those strangers, John hadn't found refusal easy, but he'd always been able to do it. His common sense was screaming at him that that was precisely what he had to do here.

Only, Rodney hadn't come on to him. Rodney had said nothing, done nothing. What was he going to do, hurt Rodney for being human, for needing someone? Rub Rodney's nose in the fact that there was someone else he wanted and couldn't have?

Self-preservation demanded that he do something of the sort. Only, Rodney looked like they'd already had that entire conversation. When he looked at Rodney with this new knowledge between them, there was no hope at all in Rodney's eyes or attitude. All John could see was his friend's pain.

Realizing that one of them had to say something soon, John took in Rodney's bloodless face and unnatural stillness and said as casually as he could manage, "If you don't breathe soon, you're going to pass out."

Although Rodney's chest seemed to start moving at regular intervals again, that eerie stillness didn't change, nor did Rodney speak.

"Guess we're back at square one again, huh?" John asked. "This ... changes things."

Though John couldn't say how. Everything just felt a lot more dangerous.

Rodney gave a slow nod and bit his lower lip before asking in a controlled voice, "Damage assessment?"

Rodney appeared to be dead sober now.

"What?" John blinked, hearing the fear, seeing it in Rodney's desolate expression.

"How bad a hit am I going to take on this one? Is it ... just the friendship thing that's a casualty? Or am I off the team? Or maybe looking for a job in another galaxy? Our reestablished connection with Earth is timely. It'll make it convenient – "

John could tell that the panic was finally setting in. Rodney's mouth was moving faster than light. John figured he'd better derail the freak-out before it got into full blast.

"Not those kinds of changes," John interrupted the nervous rush of words. "You think I'm going to – what? – banish you because you – "

"Have inappropriate designs on my team leader, who incidentally happens to be the ranking military officer in this galaxy? Funny, the thought of banishment and firing squads did cross my mind. It is a court-martialable offense, isn't it?" Rodney asked, watching him as though he suspected John were toying with him.

"First off, you're a civilian contractor, so those regulations don't apply to you. Second, and most important, you didn't do anything wrong or inappropriate, and even if you had ... this is between us," John clarified.

He really had to wonder what Rodney thought about him because Rodney appeared utterly shocked. It wasn't often that Rodney McKay didn't understand something. The look of confusion on his usually arrogant face would have been enjoyable under any other circumstances. As it was, it hurt to see him so worried.

"So it's just the friendship that's forfeit?" Rodney asked in a shaky voice, and then rushed on as if reasoning it out, "That makes sense. I'm still invaluable to the project. You can't afford to lose me right now. So we can work around it and pretend – "

"Rodney!" he didn't quite shout. Seeing that he'd gotten Rodney's full attention, John begged, "Just shut up. Please."

John regretted the words as soon as they were out. Rodney looked hurt, but he clammed up instantly, which was a miracle in itself. The confusion in those troubled eyes still bordered on anxiety and dug at John's conscience.

He felt like an ogre, like he'd cut Rodney down the same way the bitch had earlier; only they'd never even had that particular conversation. An iron fist seemed to close around John's heart as he realized that Rodney obviously believed that he didn't have enough of a chance to even try, that Rodney saw rejection as a foregone conclusion.

John tried to tell himself that he should be grateful that Rodney had spared them that, but he ached for his friend.

"I ... wasn't expecting anything like this. It's ... a lot to wrap my mind around," John said, wondering if he were explaining or excusing. Realizing that there was something he needed to clear up right away, he said, "Let's get one thing straight – this doesn't change anything. The, ah, friendship thing, it's still good. Everything's still good ..."

"I ... don't understand," Rodney admitted. "How can you not be ... mad?"

It was a valid question. Most straight men would have been freaked out to discover that their buddy had a thing for them. John tried to explain without telling Rodney an outright lie, "Rodney, there are monsters trying to eat us. We've lived this last year on a roller coaster, going from one near-apocalypse to the next. We're scared out of our minds all the time. The only things we've got standing between us and that horrible Wraith death are each other's courage and strength. When you're living on the edge like that, emotions run high. The lines get blurred real easy."

"You really don't ... hate me?" Rodney sounded more like an uncertain child than the most egotistical, irritating man in the universe. He also sounded as though the idea was incomprehensible to him.

"You're my best friend. I could never hate you," John didn't have to think about his answer to that one.

"Oh, I ... er, didn't know that. The best friend part. Well, the never hating part, too. Most people hate me. I'm used to it," Rodney babbled before he seemed to force himself to respond in kind with, "You're, er, my only friend."

He could see that Rodney truly believed that. "That's not true. You've got plenty of friends here."

"Name one," Rodney demanded.

"Elizabeth. Teyla. Dr. Zelenka. Carson. Ford. Should I go on? Because I can," John said. When Rodney didn't challenge his assessment, John continued, "I'm not your only friend, but I'd be honored to be your best one."

He heard Rodney swallow from where he sat. Then Rodney asked in an oddly soft voice, "Even after what you learned tonight?"

"Yes," John answered.

"Don't tell me," Rodney sneered with his usual burning vitriol, "you're flattered and honored, but – "

John cut him off before he could finish. "Don't go there. Don't do this." Holding that troubled blue gaze, he reiterated, "You didn't do anything wrong."

"How can you say that?" Rodney snapped with his usual short temper. "I ..."

"You're human. You're entitled to feelings. You've done nothing wrong," John repeated. Somewhere in this incredibly painful and awkward conversation, he'd decided that he wasn't going to do anything to add to Rodney's existing pain.

"Can you really pretend like nothing's changed?" Rodney questioned. "I only ask because the few times this has happened in the past, the person was usually out the door as soon as they found out."

John noted the ambiguous use of pronouns and couldn't help but wonder if Rodney had fallen for straight men in the past. For all that Rodney talked non-stop, John realized that he really didn't know much about his life before Atlantis at all. Just that he'd built a workable atom bomb in sixth grade, had left behind a cat, and had a thing for Sam Carter. It wasn't a lot of information to know about the person you considered your best friend. For all John knew, Rodney could have good reason for expecting the worst from people. "No, we're good to go. Unless, you're not comfortable around me now?"

John hadn't thought of that. If their positions were reversed, he didn't know how he'd feel about having to work with Rodney, knowing Rodney was aware of his feelings. Just thinking about it hurt and made him feel uncomfortably vulnerable.

Rodney didn't answer immediately. When he did, it was with visible reluctance. "You're not going to ... make this unbearable for me, are you?" His confusion must have been apparent, because Rodney started talking faster as his friend's strained nerves took their toll, "I can go on the way we've been for the rest of eternity, but if you start teasing me ... making me want what I can't have, I'd really prefer that you banish me now."

"Teasing you ... " John knew he should be outraged, but the matter-of-fact way Rodney made the insulting suggestion concerned him.

"Some people find it ... entertaining to boost their ego by ... getting someone they've already rejected all hot and bothered. If you start flashing bare skin, touching me, or playing any kind of head games, I'll ask for a transfer out, no matter how much Atlantis needs me. I won't put up with that, John, not even for you," Rodney warned.

For some reason, the use of his first name seemed to accentuate the threat. John was too sickened by Rodney's words to take proper offense at the suggestion that he'd do something that unscrupulous. It was very apparent that Rodney had been down this road before.

"Someone actually did that to you?" John managed to ask at last. Even he could hear the tightness and anger in his voice.

Rodney gave a stiff nod.

"Jesus, Rodney," John muttered, rubbing his too-smooth chin. When he looked back up at Rodney, the other man's face was almost white with exhaustion and stress. He could tell how hard Rodney was struggling to remain clear-headed after the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. "You're my friend. I'm not going to do anything to intentionally hurt you."

John was beginning to realize that there was going to be quite a bit of unintentional hurting going on, no matter how careful he was.

"Then we should be fine," Rodney said, though his eyes told a different story. Those sad blue eyes said that Rodney was so far from fine that he might never get back to it.

It hurt that he was the one who'd put that pain there, if inadvertently. There was a part of John that wanted to reach out and wrap his arms around Rodney as he had on the deck earlier tonight and tell him that everything would work out, but that was what had started this whole mess. Besides, it would be quite some time before there was anything like an innocent touch between them again.

"Good. That's good." Not knowing what else he could say, John settled on retreat, "I, ah, should probably let you get some rest now."

Rodney winced and nodded.

John rose awkwardly to his feet. "Good night."

"Good night, Colonel."

His title came like a slap in the face, but he understood Rodney's need to put as much distance as possible between them. Hoping that his face didn't reveal what he was feeling, he headed for the door.

"John?"

He stopped at the tentative call and looked back at his worried friend.

Rodney seemed torn as he quietly said, "Thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for. I'll see you in the morning," with that, he fled.

*~*~*

Chapter 2

John didn't see Rodney in the morning, or in the afternoon, or even at dinner break. In fact, for all that John could tell during the next three days, Rodney never set foot out of the lab at all.

The avoidance was hardly surprising. Were John in Rodney's position, he would have needed some space himself. But when day three came with no sign of McKay ever emerging from his work, John decided that enough was enough.

When John saw Dr. Zelenka leaving the mess hall with three MREs piled in his hands, he intercepted the man. "Hi, Dr. Zelenka. How's it going?"

"Colonel," Zelenka greeted with a smile, his frizzy hair bobbing around his face. "I am well. It still feels good to be alive, no?"

"Definitely, yes," John agreed. Pointing to the meal pile in Zelenka's arms, he asked, "Are those for Dr. McKay?"

"Yes. He insists he is about to pass out from manly hunger. Although, I believe lack of sleep to be more the problem. There are murmurs of revolt," Zelenka joked, although there was serious concern in his eyes.

"Has he been out of the lab at all in the last three days?" John asked.

"I won small war last night. He went to quarters, but came back two hours later. Curiously, his return coincided with end of my shift."

"You actually have a shift? I thought you and McKay lived in the lab," John joked.

"Rodney is terrible roommate. I go to quarters to sleep. Showering is also good. Rodney has done neither for many days now," Zelenka said.

Rodney was usually fastidious as a cat when it came to his personal hygiene – John suspected he was too much of a hypochondriac to do anything that might increase his risk of infection. But he knew Rodney forgot such niceties when he was caught up in his work, or diving into it to avoid something.

"He gets like that sometimes," John said.

"I think he is taking Dr. Lindstrom's death very hard," Zelenka told him in a soft, confidential tone.

At first, John didn't know what Zelenka was talking about, but then he remembered the scientist that the Wraith computer virus had ejected out the Daedalus' airlock sans space suit. With their personal crisis, John had all but forgotten that Rodney had known the man. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty when he realized that Rodney had had to deal with all the stress of their problem on top of his grief.

"I, ah, didn't know they were close," John said.

"Two years they were at Area 51 together. Rodney talked Dr. Lindstrom into joining Atlantis team. I think Rodney is feeling guilt now," Zelenka said. "Everyone is being patient, but if McKay doesn't rest soon, it will not be good."

"How 'bout I take those off your hands and pry him out of the lab?" John suggested.

"You would do this? Without battle gear?" Zelenka asked.

John chuckled.

"Kevlar is no match for McKay's razor tongue. You're not coming?" he asked as Zelenka turned in the opposite direction from the labs.

"No. Too many reports for me to be murder witness. I will give you alibi if you emerge survivor," Zelenka promised before disappearing around the corridor corner.

Smiling, John headed over to Rodney's lab.

Most of Atlantis' rooms were soundproofed, but John swore he heard the shouting on the other side of the lab doors before they slid open.

"... I've seen more intelligent, competent mold colonies!" McKay's irritated voice thundered through the lab. "What kind of interpretation do you call this? It might as well read tweedle dum and tweedle dumber for all the sense this makes. Did you even – "

As Rodney continued along that line, John stared around at the counters filled with Ancient machinery, naquadah generators, and other equipment in various states of assembly. He had to smile as he took in the poster board sign behind where McKay stood shouting. It read in Rodney's neat printing, 'DO NOT TOUCH. EVER. VERY, VERY, VERY DEADLY. Rodney McKay.'

"Good evening, Rodney," John greeted in an amused drawl as he stepped into Rodney's line of fire. As McKay swung around to face him, John saw the unfortunate scientist McKay had been berating slink away.

Rodney's face had been twisted in irritation when he'd first turned. As those tired-looking, too-red eyes with the dark smudges beneath them took John in, all the fire left Rodney's expression, and it became guarded and distant. "Colonel."

John's gut clenched at Rodney's reaction to him. Deciding to ignore it and try to behave as though everything were normal between them, John said, "I promised Zelenka I'd pry you out of here for a while. Come on, let's go eat."

"I can't," Rodney refused, something like panic in his exhausted face. "I'm in the middle of a very important – "

"Yeah, I saw what you were in the middle of," John allowed his tone to convey his opinion of Rodney's approach to leadership. "Don't you think you could all use a break? I haven't seen you in three days. Let's catch up over dinner, okay?"

John held Rodney's bloodshot gaze, silently beseeching Rodney's compliance.

After a long moment, Rodney said, "I, ah ... all right. I should get out of here before they storm the castle with pitchforks and scythes."

John laughed. The man might be a tyrant at times, but he had a sense of humor that made up for a lot.

Rodney followed him out the door and down the corridors to the mess hall. John couldn't help but notice that McKay looked dead on his feet. He hadn't gotten much sleep himself these last few days, but it had obviously been much worse on his high-strung friend.

John led Rodney to a table away from the crowd.

"They've still got diet coke left," John said. "Do you want me to get you one to go with those MREs when I pick up my own dinner?"

"Just coffee, if you don't mind," Rodney said, staring at the packaged dinners John pushed his way as though he were too exhausted to tackle the wrappings.

By the time John returned from the food line, Rodney had conquered one of the MREs. A bowlful of Athosian stew on his own tray, John took the seat across from Rodney and passed over an extra-large Styrofoam coffee cup and six sugars.

"Thanks," Rodney said in between chews.

"You're welcome," John said, smiling as Rodney chowed down with his usual lack of refinement.

Rodney was halfway through his third meal before he seemed to make a conscious effort at conversation and asked, "How are things going with Caldwell?"

It was weird as hell. Rodney might be the most self-centered person he'd ever met, but as clueless as he could often be, Rodney also had a gift for scoping out trouble spots. There wasn't anyone John had been able to talk to about the tension mounting between the Daedalus' commander and him. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to rely on Rodney as a confidant until McKay had been missing from his life these last few days.

Glad of the opportunity to vent a little, John shrugged. "You've seen how the briefings go. We butt heads over everything. I know it's paranoid, but I, ah, feel like he's just waiting for me to screw up so he can go running back to SG command and report me."

Rodney was quiet a moment before he offered, "He wanted your job."

John nodded. "I know. I ... feel like it's only a matter of time before they yank command away from me and hand it over to him."

John hadn't realized just how much that had been bothering him until he said the words to Rodney.

"Elizabeth's not going to let that happen," Rodney insisted. "You know Atlantis. You know the military situation here better than anyone. You mightn't be conventional enough for the brass' peace of mind, but their jarhead thinking will only get us all killed out here. Everett proved that. We need someone who can think outside the box, someone who can adapt to the Pegasus galaxy as it is, instead of trying to force the Pegasus galaxy to adapt to them. General O'Neill understood that. I think General Landry does, too. There isn't a better man for the job than you, Colonel, and even Caldwell knows it. Though I'll bet the truth sticks in his craw."

Rodney had never said anything like that to him before. He could tell that Rodney wasn't BSing him. His friend was too exhausted and stressed out for subterfuge, not that prevarication was Rodney's style.

John gulped, strangely moved by this difficult man's passionate endorsement. "Thanks, Rodney."

John watched Rodney shift in his uncomfortable plastic chair, blush, and look quickly away, as if he were already regretting his candor.

"How have you been doing?" John softly questioned, though he hardly needed to ask, not in light of how worn out Rodney appeared.

"You saw how I'm doing," Rodney replied in a flat tone, his gaze on the people in the food line.

"Have you slept at all?" John asked.

"Not really."

"Because of what we talked about the other night, or because of Lindstrom?" John hoped it was the latter keeping Rodney awake. He hated the idea of Rodney hurting this way over him.

There was a pause before Rodney replied. His gaze never moved from the food line as he spoke. "It would be easier for us both if you didn't ask those kinds of questions, Colonel."

The use of his rank hit him like a slap in the face. John had this sudden, miserable vision of them acting like polite strangers around each other for the rest of their lives.

"You finished here?" John asked through anger-pursed lips.

He wished Rodney's face wasn't so damn expressive. There was no missing the misery that shadowed those already burdened eyes at his tone.

Rodney nodded. Picking up his trash, McKay moved to the nearest garbage bin. As John joined him to dump his own trash, Rodney said in what sounded like a conciliatory tone, "Thanks for coming to drag me out of the lab for a while."

"We're not done. You choose where we talk, but we're going to talk. It would be best if we didn't have an audience," John warned.

"I need to get back to the lab," Rodney said. "I don't have time for – "

"Make time," John demanded. It was crazy. Even as he was fighting to save their friendship, he wanted to slug McKay. "Now."

"Has that promotion gone to your head? Who do you think you are, ordering me around like that? We're not on a mission. I'm not one of your goons. You don't get to tell me what to do – "

John broke into Rodney's tirade. "We can do this here if you insist, but we are going to talk. Choice is yours, McKay."

Those angry, bloodshot eyes glared at him before Rodney's mouth straightened into a narrow line and he gave a clipped, "Fine," before turning on his heel and stalking off towards the nearest transporter.

John silently followed his fuming friend into the small chamber. He was angry himself, so it was a tense and silent trip to the living quarters' decks. He trailed McKay to his room and stepped inside without a word.

The place looked pretty much the same as it had four days ago. Of course, Rodney hadn't spent enough time in his room lately to mess it up, so that only made sense.

"All right, talk," Rodney snarled once the door had closed behind them.

They were squared off like a couple of boxers.

John once again resisted the overwhelming urge to pop him one. "You know, you've got all the charm of a sleep-deprived weasel."

"That's what you dragged me here to say? Are you insane?" Rodney yelled.

"I must be. Because you're sure as hell not making it easy to be your friend right now, but I still want to do it," John said. As he'd hoped, the direct approach derailed Rodney's rant. "What's with the avoidance and this 'Colonel' bullshit every five minutes? How the hell are we going to get past this if you're treating me like a stranger?"

"Do you think this is easy for me? Do you even have a clue what I'm feeling right now?" Rodney demanded, everything right there in his eyes.

"I know you're hurting," John cautiously acknowledged.

"Hurting?" Rodney's snort was entirely without humor. "Right. Try abject humiliation squared."

"Hu – " John shut his mouth before he could say anything to make matters worse.

"I don't know how to deal with you now. I don't even know how to look at you anymore," Rodney admitted with visible reluctance. "I feel ... naked in front of you."

John gulped. "Rodney ..."

It felt like McKay was baring his very soul to him. John had asked to talk, but he'd never expected anything this intensely self-honest.

"Look, I know you didn't ask for any of this. I know I'm the one that screwed up big time here, and I appreciate the effort you're making, but I just can't ... " Rodney's words faltered and he stared down at the floor.

"Hey, it's okay," John said, reaching out to touch Rodney's arm. He was close enough to smell the man. Zelenka was right. Rodney hadn't showered in a while, but they'd worked so closely on away missions this last year that John was used to the scent of Rodney's sweat. What he wasn't used to was the shudder that passed through him as he breathed it in.

"No, it's not," Rodney said, pointedly stepping back from him. "I'm a grown up. I should be able to deal with rejection. God knows, I've had enough experience with it. But I just feel so ... bruised right now that ... I'm sorry. All right? I'll try to do better." Though it was clear from Rodney's lost look that he had no clue how to cope with this.

John swallowed around his dry and painful throat. This wasn't right. No one should be made to hurt this way over sex.

John's brain and heart fought a brutal, fast engagement. His self-preservation instincts were screaming that he get the hell out of here, but it was already too late. His heart had taken the field. Rodney was miserable. He was miserable. The entire situation was fucked up.

Unsure what he was about to unleash here, John said in the calmest tone he could manage, "Rodney, you weren't rejected. You never asked me for anything the other night."

For a moment, it was almost as though Rodney didn't hear him, but then McKay's face went scarlet and twisted with emotion.

"You son of a bitch!" It wasn't just pique contorting Rodney's face, but something so intense and contemptuous that it might be hatred. "Get the hell out of here."

"Rodney – "

"I said get out! Now! Before I call security."

John stared into those anger-twisted features. Rodney's face was livid, the blue of his eyes bright as sapphires against the red ribbon work of capillaries webbing his sclera. John wanted to push his luck and make Rodney understand, but his friend looked as though he were going to have a heart attack or a stroke.

As usual, John recognized way too late that this hadn't been his best idea ever. Rodney was already working at a disadvantage here. John wasn't about to add to his friend's embarrassment by waiting around for the brightness in his eyes to become something solid. Recognizing that Rodney was both physically and emotionally exhausted, he decided to exercise the better part of valor and retreat.

"All right. I’ll go, but this isn’t over. I’m not your enemy. We have to – "

Rodney’s left hand rose to the headset in his ear as he said in a tight tone, "Calling security here."

"Fine. Be that way. "

Tired of the whole frustrating mess, John turned on his heel and left.

*~*~*

Rodney thought about fate sometimes. He didn't buy into the concept, but he thought about it. There was the whole predetermination debate. The theory that every event that befell every creature in the universe was written in some cosmic day planner somewhere eons before they were born. Then there was the whole God contingent that claimed that some unseen, all-knowing deity was responsible for events to whatever degree of predetermined lunacy the fanatics endorsed.

The whole thing befuddled him. He couldn't understand how any intelligent human could possibly believe that every action of every living thing was written somewhere. Getting hit by a car and killed on your way to return some overdue videos was predetermined? He supposed that predestination was better than the religious slant, the belief there was some deity out there deciding what would happen to them. That made about as much sense as the tooth fairy, and at least there was some empirical proof of the tooth fairy's existence before you became old enough to figure the parents angle out; provided, of course, that your parents actually cared enough about you to do the whole tooth fairy/Santa Claus thing, but that was a different issue entirely.

No, definitely no predestination or deity. Rodney was a firm believer in free will and cause and effect.

But he still thought about how certain moments in a person's life could determine how the remainder of their lives would be lived, how that could sometimes seem like fate. But even such ephemeral concepts as personality traits could be traced back to certain events if a person had the courage to be honest with one's self. When the only time a child's mother paid any attention to a young boy was when he was sick, that boy might grow up to have a tendency to be ill far more frequently than his peers. If the only genuine smile in memory came when a three-year-old boy picked out the melody for the Beatles' I Wanna Hold Your Hand on his toy piano without missing a note, that child might devote his life to music. For every single one of his myriad neuroses, Rodney could find the seed that had planted it if he raked through his memories of the war zone that was his childhood.

Even his eventual career choice could be traced back to cause and effect. Rocket science and quantum physics were considered the most difficult, incomprehensible fields of study, so, naturally enough, his ego would demand that he master both. For the last week, he'd been musing about how cause and effect related to the impossible situation he currently found himself involved in with Sheppard. He'd tried to trace his feelings back to their inception, hoping that understanding would lead to better coping strategies, but the fact was these horribly inappropriate feelings had been there, probably from the moment John had given Elizabeth and him that boyish wave before following Colonel Sumner into the Stargate their first day in Atlantis. In a reality that was nightmarishly frightening, John Sheppard was a solid, reassuring presence. It was only natural that Rodney would come to admire the man who saved their lives on an almost weekly basis, and once admiration happened, it was only a single side step into desire. At least for him. Everything was cause and effect. That was all that was to it. No fate, no predestination, no omnipotent deity with his day planner. Just pure science.

Only, today's events were making him rethink that theory. He was seriously reconsidering the whole jealous, avenging god angle, because if this weren't what being smote was all about, Rodney McKay didn't know what was. Try as he would, Rodney could find no trail of causality that would explain how and why a man with his truly astounding IQ would end up dangling by one foot from a tree in this radioactive hellhole of a planet.

His ankle was definitely broken. And, he couldn't be sure, but he thought he might have pulled a groin muscle when he'd found himself doing an unpremeditated, unrehearsed, upside down split. Jean Claude Van Damme he was not. If he hadn't decided to forego reproducing because of the radiation exposure, this would have settled the matter for sure.

He still wasn't certain what had happened. One moment he'd been fleeing Lt. Ford in a panicked rush that was only one step away from actual hysteria – undignified, to be sure, but still perfectly logical and understandable given the circumstances. Then, whammo, something grabbed his left ankle. There was a sudden, agonizing yank, and Rodney abruptly found himself observing the world from the perspective of a sleeping bat as his crazed team member menaced him with a P-90.

Things had been looking grim for his self-sustaining fusion theory for a while there, until the situation moved from the bizarro realm into true Twilight Zone territory when Ford's attempt at murder was interrupted by what Rodney could only describe as a Next Gen Klingon. In his leathers and barbaric dreadlocks, the guy looked like Worf in a Star Trek episode where the holograph deck trapped him in some kind of Mad Max scenario.

Maybe that was what was happening here, Rodney thought as he swayed back and forth on his tree, watching as Ford and the Klingon wrestled in the mud and traded crippling blows, maybe they'd stumbled into some kind of weird ass Shore Leave Planet. All he had to do was hang here – literally and figuratively – and wait for the Keeper to show up to explain everything to him.

And right after that, the tooth fairy and Santa Claus would both stop by to offer their apologies for all the years they'd missed his house.

Who was he kidding? Rodney knew he was never getting out of this. He was so screwed it wasn't even funny.

Even if the combatants didn't kill him, the planet would. His radiation poison was getting worse. He'd been nauseous all day. His current predicament wasn't helping in that department any. It was all he could do to keep the admittedly sparse contents of his stomach inside him where they belonged. Even if by some miracle he did survive this, his death wasn't going to be pretty. All that radiation last week, added to today's exposure would get him cancer for sure. Only, he wasn't going to live long enough to develop cancer. The blood was rushing to his head at an alarming rate. He could feel his brain veins clogging and getting ready to pop.

That was so grossly unfair that he could barely wrap his mind around the concept. How could one single human being possibly face death by exploding brain twice within a four month period? What were the odds? As he watched the Klingon and Ford battle, he tried to do the calculations, but he wasn't as good at using numbers to deflect his fears as John was. He didn't need the actual equations to know that the odds were pretty damn astronomical. There was only one explanation. Rodney realized that he was going to have to admit that there was a god, and that that god hated him. It was the only thing that made sense.

The surreal fight taking place in front of his eyes certainly didn't. Who was this guy and why had he stopped Ford from murdering him? As usual, Rodney really didn't care why he was alive; he was just happy he was. Only, it made no sense that a total stranger would fight so fiercely to protect him.

Of course, he didn't really know that the Klingon was protecting him. With the way his day was progressing, Rodney figured there was probably an explanation for that, too. The jealous god that hated him had sent this organic Terminator to eat him. Exploding brain and radiation poisoning weren't good enough. He was going to be the Pegasus galaxy's answer to the happy meal.

Rodney couldn't contain his gasp of horror as the battle escalated to knives. He was so dead; it wasn't even funny.

Ford was scary, but the Klingon was terrifying. Rodney didn't even know who to root for. If Ford won, his hyped-up teammate would probably follow through on his plan to murder him. But at least the P-90 would be fast. There was no telling what the Klingon had planned for him.

Rodney almost wet himself in relief when John Sheppard came barreling out of the forest. Rodney was so out of his head with panic that he didn't even care how embarrassing this was. He'd already humiliated himself with this man last week. Nothing could hurt more than what had already passed between them.

His P-90 up and pointed at Ford, who was going for his Wraith stun gun on the ground, Sheppard warned, "Lieutenant, don't."

It might have ended there if three Wraith darts hadn't flown by overhead and claimed all their attention at that point. At the interruption, Ford took off into the pitch-black woods with Sheppard hot in pursuit.

Rodney could only gape in disbelief. Rescue would have been awkward, but Rodney just wasn't prepared for John to not save him. Sheppard saved everybody, for Christ's sake. It was what the man did.

But Sheppard didn't spare him so much as a glance, just ran off into the woods after Lt. Ford.

John hadn't saved him. That was just so wrong that it almost pitched him back into his Shore Leave episode theory. Rodney couldn't believe that John would just leave him dangling in the wilderness like this, at the mercy of every wild beast, genius-eating Klingon, and Wraith. John Sheppard was a bona fide, all-American hero. Sheppard saved everyone. But his bona fide, all-American hero had run off and left him to the mercies of the gladiator in front of him.

The pressure from the blood in his head starting to get to him, Rodney stared at the Klingon and considered his limited options. As far as he could tell, there were just three. The first, and probably most painless, was to simply give in to his panic and stroke out. No long, lingering death. No watching Conan the Barbarian here heat up the stewpot. Just a quick, ignoble passing. Conan would probably still eat him, but at least he wouldn't be aware of it.

His second option was to start screaming and pray to that god that hated him that John Sheppard would come back to rescue him. Since he'd tried screaming several times today with no effect, he dismissed the idea. Besides, his head was pounding really bad with all the blood pooling there and he was starting to have trouble breathing, though he didn't know if that were due to hanging upside down, an asthma attack from all the mold he'd breathed in today, or another symptom of his radiation poisoning.

His third option was to try to reason with the Klingon.

Rodney shivered as gunfire sounded from the direction Ford and the Colonel had run off in. There was also the unmistakable, unforgettable whine of a Wraith culling beam. Rodney took a moment to fear for John's safety, but he had his own troubles to think about at the moment.

With an almost animal awareness of being observed, Conan turned back to face him.

"Er," Rodney greeted with as much dignity as someone hanging like a side of beef could muster. He didn't even know if the Klingon spoke English, or was even capable of speech at all. "Dr. Rodney McKay. Could you ... umm ... get me down please?"

His stomach roiled as the Klingon actually bared his teeth at him. Jesus, he was dinner!

"You were with the friend of Lt. Colonel John Sheppard and Teyla Emmagen?" the Klingon asked in a voice thick with disuse.

Of course, Sheppard would have been off making friends with the natives while he was being held hostage by their psychotic teammate.

"I was his prisoner," Rodney answered, his fear of becoming the Klingon's dinner diminishing under the rational exchange. "I work with Colonel Sheppard and Teyla. They would be very grateful to you if you let me down."

"Your friend, the man you've been with all day," Conan said, as if catching him in a lie, "is not like the others."

"Yes, I'd noticed that, but thank you for pointing that out to me. Lt. Ford is suffering from paranoia from an overdose of the Wraith feeding enzyme. Look, do you think you could cut me down? My head is about to explode here." Reading the gladiator's reluctance, Rodney upped his pleading until there was no chance it was anything but a whine. "Oh, come on! My ankle's broken. It's killing me! Even if it wasn't, do you think I could really run away from you? Hey, where are you going? Come back! Don't leave me here! Please!"

The Klingon didn't even pause. He just turned and walked into the dark forest.

Rodney didn't think that anything could have felt worse than John abandoning him to the Klingon, but the sense of utter despair that overwhelmed him as the Klingon left was ten times worse.

Rodney realized that he really was going to die here, hanging upside down from this damn tree like the Hanged Man in that tarot deck Dr. Lillehoj had shown him. With all the radiation stored in the vegetation, the Jumper's sensors would never detect him. Sheppard knew where he was, but John's sense of direction was nonexistent. The man got lost in Atlantis, where he was able to raise up a map of the city with a thought. What chance was there of John finding him again in a forest at night?

He wondered how long it would take to die from the blood rushing to his head. An hour? A day? If it were longer, there was a fifty-fifty chance that the radiation poison would get him, if the animals didn't first. Realizing that he was hanging here like a giant cat toy, Rodney started to panic, but then he remembered Dr. Parrish saying that the residual radiation in the vegetation ruled out the possibility of fauna. But, looking at all the plants around him, Rodney realized that there was a hell of a lot of pollinating going on. In both galaxies he'd visited, the most common pollinator was insects.

That was what the sadistic god who hated him had in mind, Rodney realized. He was going to get stung by some mutant radioactive bee and die of a combination of anaphylactic shock and exploding brain. He had a vision of that Wraith tick that had attached itself to John, only in his case, it was a two foot bee with a stinger longer than Carson's worst hypodermic needle. It was all he could do to keep from whimpering as the fantasy played out to its inevitable conclusion – his brain exploding as his throat simultaneously swelled shut.

His breathing was really getting difficult now, his heart racing like a mad thing. The symptoms felt like those of an incipient panic attack, but Rodney didn't know if they were also the symptoms of radiation poisoning or death from hanging upside down.

John had just left him here to die ....

Rodney yelped as a harsh voice sounded out of the darkness.

"Prepare yourself," the Klingon's thick voice warned from somewhere in the wet woods.

Rodney braced himself, expecting the Klingon to cut the rope and send him plummeting to the ground. There was definite vertebrae damage in his immediate future to go with the radiation poisoning and ruptured brain vessels.

To his utter astonishment, Rodney found himself being carefully lowered to the muddy forest floor. His hands braced the rest of him in the slick, cold mud as he came down, keeping his head from impacting, and then he was on solid ground again.

Shaking all over, Rodney knelt there in the rain and mud, just trying to stay conscious as all the blood dammed in his head did an abrupt 180. His rubber radiation suit was keeping the rain out, but he'd sweated so much in his endless hike with Ford this afternoon that the clothes beneath it were drenched like he'd fallen into the sea wearing them. Now that his life wasn't in such immediate peril anymore, he was cold all over.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Klingon return. The man simply stood there watching him. If he hadn't been so completely miserable, he might have cared enough to be threatened, but at this point he'd almost welcome a quick death. The nausea from the radiation sickness was getting worse by the second.

Rodney looked up from his inelegant position on all fours as the Colonel rushed out of the woods into their tiny, busy clearing.

"You're down," John said by way of greeting.

Rodney glared up from where he was hunched in the mud. "No thanks to you. Where's Lt. Ford?"

Whatever the answer was, it wasn't good. John seemed very subdued as he replied, "He jumped into a culling beam. After I shot him."

"He what? Damn, he's really out of his head. I thought he was crazy when he tried to shoot me – "

"Ford tried to shoot you?" John questioned.

Even though Rodney was still angry at John, he took no joy in hurting the man. He could tell how painful this was. So, instead of snapping at John, he reported, "Twice. Though, he only meant it the last time, I think. Conan over there saved me."

John's gaze moved in the direction Rodney's chin indicated where the Klingon was standing listening to their exchange.

"Ronon," John corrected. "His name's Ronon Dex. Ronon, this is Dr. Rodney McKay, another member of my team. Rodney, this is Ronon Dex."

"A pleasure," Rodney said in response to the Klingon's nod of acknowledgement. In a quieter voice, he asked, "Is he the guy who shot Teyla? I heard you on the radio with Major Lorne before Ford showed up."

"She's all right. We both are," John assured and then briefed him on Teyla and his adventure. It was childish, he knew, but Rodney felt better hearing that he wasn't the only one who'd had a crappy day. Though, from the sound of it, neither Sheppard nor Teyla had ended up impersonating a side of beef in their mishaps.

When John finished telling him about Dex's life as a runner from the Wraith, Rodney filled him in on his ordeal with Ford.

When Rodney finished, John's expression changed and he asked in a softer tone, "Are you all right?"

"Definite radiation poisoning. I've been nauseous for hours. My head's pounding. I think my ankle's broken, and my thighs hurt like hell from playing Grandpa Munster on that tree," Rodney tried to stop it, but the whine was back in his voice.

For once, John didn't mock him. "Can you walk?"

Rodney didn't understand it, but the sympathy made him suddenly, explosively angry for some reason. "What do you care?"

"Huh? What do you mean?" John asked.

"You left me here to die with a stranger," Rodney accused.

"I had to go after Ford. You know that, Rodney. Ronon wasn't going to hurt you," John said.

"And I'd know that because?"

"Rodney," John began in that overly-patient tone that made Rodney want to eviscerate the man.

He was hurting too much for restraint. Everything he felt came rushing out his mouth, as it usually did around John. "Don't 'Rodney' me! If you want me off the team, just say so."

"Where the hell's that coming from?" John seemed genuinely mystified.

Rodney knew John wasn't that dumb. "We usually pair up on missions, but you pawned me off on Major Lorne today. He wanted to shoot me."

"I want to shoot you most days," John answered in a playful tone that was clearly intended to defuse his anger.

Only Rodney wasn't buying into it.

"Yeah, but that's different. I know you won't. Lorne may have been joking, but he meant it underneath. And ... and then he went and got himself stunned and I was alone out there with SuperFord ... if you don't want me around anymore, you just have to say. It's not like I enjoy being exposed to deadly levels of radiation on a weekly basis."

"For Christ's sake, I assigned you to Lorne because that's what I thought you wanted. Unless it's escaped your memory, you've been avoiding me all week. I thought it would be easier on us both if – " John broke off his gaze straying past Rodney to their silent audience of one. "Look, I don't want you off the team, all right? Can we discuss this later?"

"Whatever," Rodney said, embarrassed now by his outburst. John was right; this wasn't the time to air their dirty laundry.

"Come on. Let's get back to the Jumper. Carson can take a look at that ankle and give you something for the pain," John said, holding out a hand to help him up out of the mud.

After a moment's hesitation, Rodney accepted it and climbed shakily to his feet.

The moment he put his weight on the ankle the snare had been wrapped around, red-hot agony flared through him. The leg went immediately out from under him and his stomach gave up the ghost. He fell to his knees and was immediately, spectacularly sick in the mud.

"Rodney!" John grabbed hold of his shoulders, keeping him from falling face first into the pungent mess he'd made. When there was nothing else to bring up, Rodney sank back onto his heels and closed his eyes. Would there be no end to the number of ways he humiliated himself in front of this man?

His eyes snapped open as something soft mopped his mouth. John's hand, holding a no-longer white handkerchief. A moment later, John's other hand offered his canteen.

His own water had run out hours ago. Rodney took a sip, rinsed his mouth, and spat. Then took a longer drag. "Thanks. Er, sorry about – "

"It's all right," John assured. The ground in front of them reeked of vomit, but John made no effort to move away. "That make it better or worse?"

Rodney considered. The radiation sickness didn't seem as bad now. After a moment, he hesitantly admitted. "Better, I think."

"Good. Think you can try it again? Only this time, don't put any weight on the left foot. Lean on me."

Rodney nodded and then allowed John to help him up. He let John pull his left arm over his shoulders. When John slipped his right arm around Rodney's waist, Rodney froze at the intimacy of it and nearly put all his weight back down on his hurt left foot.

"Whoa, there," John said, steadying him before another disaster occurred. "Are you all right?"

The forced proximity was hard. He could smell the tantalizing tang of John's sweat. He didn't want to think about what he smelt like to John. He'd been sweating like a pig in this rubber suit all day. His throwing up couldn't have improved his aroma any, but John didn't seem bothered by it.

Not that John had seemed bothered by any of the humiliating things he'd done this week, Rodney acknowledged before swallowing hard and giving a tight nod.

They started off in the completely wrong direction. Each hopping step hurt like hell, but it was doable with John's help.

"The jumper is back the other way," Rodney said before they took the third step.

"You sure?" John challenged, like he always did.

"Positive," Rodney answered.

"The Ring of the Ancestors is back in this direction," Conan, no, Ronon, pointed the way Rodney had been gesturing. "Your ship was there earlier today."

"There, you see," Rodney said. They started walking back through the woods, the Ronon guy in the front, John and he moving more slowly behind. Rallying a bit, Rodney added through pain-clenched teeth. "I think there's an inverse relationship between the strength of the ATA gene and sense of direction. I'm going to ask Carson to do a study on it."

"I found my way back to you didn't I?" John challenged.

"You couldn't have gone very far, then." Glad of something like a return of normality between them, Rodney forced himself to continue in kind. If nothing, it took his mind off the excruciating pain in his left ankle. It felt like it was three times its normal size. "How far did you go?"

"Truth?" John asked, and then said, "Maybe a couple hundred yards."

"Not even you could get lost that close," Rodney said. They were quiet for a few steps. Needing to fill the void with sound to keep his mind off how good John felt, Rodney said, "I, er, made a disturbing discovery out here today."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I was wrong about religion. There is a god."

"A lot of men find religion in the foxhole, Rodney," John said in a reassuring tone. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"No, you don't understand. There's a god, but he obviously hates me. It's the only thing that can possibly explain everything that's happened this last week, well, this last year," Rodney explained.

"God doesn't hate you, Rodney," John corrected.

"How do you know?" Rodney demanded.

"I just know, all right?" John sounded way too amused.

Deciding to let the topic drop, Rodney hopped along beside John, doing his best not to pull them both down.

Silence fell between them, except for Rodney's pain-filled, hissing