Second to None by Madison [Reviews - 15]
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Category: Slash Pairings > McKay/Sheppard
Characters: Carson Beckett, Elizabeth Weir, Jennifer Keller, John Sheppard, Major Lorne, Radek Zelenka, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, Steven Caldwell, Teyla Emmagan
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, AU - Alternate Universe, Character Study, Established Relationship
Warnings: Adult themes
Series: The Second Series

Word count: 28702; Completed: Yes

Summary: He wasn't the one they wanted. He was the one they *had*. (Sequel to Second Best--it really helps to read that first).


Story Notes:
I never intended to revisit this AU--I didn't think I had another story to tell about it, but a lot of people commented about how badly they felt for Jay and I realized I wasn't done yet. Much thanks to the cephalopod for pruning the story when it threatened to grow tentacles and wander off in strange directions--the input was crucial and valued! And in case you're worried, it is a complete AU story...
He awoke to find himself face down on a concrete floor, the cold dampness beneath him pulling the heat right out of his body. He lifted his head off his forearm and started to push himself up on his elbows, only to wince and curl up on his side as the pain shot through him. Instead, he surveyed his surroundings from where he lay, noting the dim lighting, the barred doors and windows. Oh great. He was in a cell. The worst part was that he had no recollection of how he'd gotten there.

Sitting up carefully, he continued his assessment of his situation. He was dressed for an off-world mission in his usual black tee and dark grey BDU pants, but his tac vest and other equipment was gone—including his radio and, of course, his weapons. He was disconcerted to realize even his hidden knives were gone—usually at least one knife managed to miss discovery during the average search. And though he felt sore all over, like he'd been run over by a truck (or Ronon...or Teyla for that matter), he couldn't find any obvious injuries—not even when he carefully checked the back of his skull for some sort of blunt trauma to explain the memory loss. Though he could have used some water, he didn't have that cotton-mouthed sensation he usually associated with being drugged. And if he was off-world, then where was the rest of his team? This was too weird. It wasn't making him happy.

He got to his feet creakily; it felt like his joints needed oil. A small barred window allowed him to see dimly into the next cell, which appeared to be empty. Another window, high up and too small for escape allowed a feeble beam of sunlight into the room. A cautious touch of the barred cell door proved that his captors were relying on good old-fashioned steel to keep him contained; there was no sign of a force field. The walls were dank with condensation and slick with mold. He could see the vapor of his breath every time he exhaled. A fetid bucket with a lid sat in one corner, obviously serving the function of waste disposal. The place stank of neglect, decay and despair. He was cranking one shoulder cautiously around in a circle, testing his mobility, when the clanking of an iron door caught his attention and he moved to stand in the center of his cell.

Three heavily armed guards came into view. They halted outside his cell—the two flanking guards taking up positions on either side of the door, weapons at the ready. Shit. So much for the expedient escape. One jailor stepped forward towards the door, brandishing a large ring of keys.

"Lt. Colonel John Sheppard?" The man questioned shortly. He was dressed all in olive-brown with sky blue piping, a uniform suggestive of, but not entirely consistent with, the Genii. Oh great.

"Yup. That'd be me." He went for studied casualness. His primary captor seemed unimpressed as he stepped forward to the cell door and began unlocking the cumbersome mechanism.

"You will come with us." The jailor opened the door, stepped back and waved brusquely in the direction of the corridor. What, no 'please'?

"Mind telling me what's going on?" John asked on exiting the cell, only to have one of the guards hit him in the stomach with the butt of his weapon. John grunted and folded over, clutching his abdomen. Hmmn, that explained the pain at least.

"You will not speak." The other soldiers grasped him by each arm and half-dragged, half hoisted him along on his feet until he was able to walk again. Okey-dokey, then. No talking.

He was forcibly marched into a large, cavernous, dimly lit room, a spotlight from above centering on a wooden chair with straps that reminded John uncomfortably of an electric chair. He was pushed down into the seat, hands roughly tightening the belts around his chest, arms and legs, securing him thoroughly before adding insult to injury by gagging him as well. Hey, I wasn't talking—he wanted to protest, but it was too late. He was aware of the presence of other people in the room, but the glare from the overhead light prevented him from seeing much beyond the outer reaches of the beam.

When he had been rendered nearly immobile, the guards stepped back almost obsequiously. John rotated his wrist the slight degree he was capable of doing and flipped his nearest captor the bird as the guard melted away from his side. There was a slow, measured step as booted feet approached him, stopping just short of the pool of light. John could make out long, lean legs encased in black leather, and the bottom of a long fur coat that swung with the wearer's movement, the glossiness of the thick, dark pelt shimmering in the glow from above. The face and upper body of the man before him remained in shadow.

"John Sheppard, I presume?" The voice was tantalizingly familiar with its mocking tone, but recognition remained just out of reach. "No answer for the jury? Well, then, we shall proceed."

The man in the shadows motioned to the guards and a flurry of moment began around John, even as he glared into the darkness at the speaker and dared him to remove the gag. His attention was soon captured however, by the people that approached him towards his right. Walking in a cordon of four tense and heavily armed soldiers, a Wraith in chains was brought forward. Oh fuck me.

"I think you can see where this is going," the orchestrator of this little farce said pleasantly. John tore his eyes off the Wraith to stare at the black emptiness where his persecutor's face should be, willing himself to remember where he'd heard that voice before. There was an additional signal given and doors opened to allow a broad rectangle of light to spill into the room from the outer corridor as several people entered the room and approached the tableaux already in progress.

John's heart nearly stopped when Rodney was forced at gunpoint into the spotlight beside him.

"Is this really necessary?" Rodney was protesting as he was being frog-marched along. "Seriously, be careful there because I bruise easy, just like rotten fruit, my mother used to say." His mouth fell open at the sight of John strapped down to the chair, Wraith in waiting on the sidelines. John prayed to whatever deity might be listening that Rodney would snap his teeth shut and be quiet no matter what happened next, but he knew that was one miracle he just shouldn't hope for. Another signal from the man in black, and the guards began removing the restraints on the Wraith, freeing his feeding hand.

"Okay, now wait a minute. I'm sure we can just talk about this, right? No one needs to get hurt here. I mean, whatever you want from me, I'm sure you just have to ask and if it is even remotely in my power to see that it's done, then you have my word, I'll do it. Okay, well there might be some things I can't guarantee, I mean, if you wanted me to give you the keys to the city or hand over our Zed-PM or all the weapons in our arsenal, there are just some things that I can't do. That I don't have the authority to agree to. But if you need me to build you something or destroy something for you or fix something that's broken, then I'm your man. Just ask me." Rodney's babble ended on a desperate note as his eyes flicked back and forth between John and the Wraith, before half-turning towards the man in black.

"All I have to do is just ask you." The man spoke from within the shadows and something in his voice, a slow, calculated amusement, sent a chill down John's spine. Rodney, you don't know what you're saying. You don't know what he wants. He pushed against the restraints, mouthing orders at Rodney through the gag to just shut up already, but no one seemed to be paying attention to him.

"Well, Dr. McKay. Here is my question. Is this Colonel John Sheppard?"

Rodney frowned as though expecting something far more difficult to answer, like why none of the current models for the grand unification theory were universally accepted. "Well, of course he is. Who else would he be?"

"Wrong answer," the man drawled. He flicked an index finger at the guards containing the Wraith and they parted, the Wraith warrior's hand flashing like a rattlesnake striking its prey. John arched into the restraints, screaming behind his gag, as the Wraith plunged its hand into Rodney's chest and began to feed.

Rodney's blue eyes went round with shock and surprise and then he seemed to cave in on himself as his body folded up and crumpled to the floor, the Wraith following him down, continuing to drive into Rodney as he went to his knees. John railed against his bindings, actually succeeding in moving the heavy chair a few inches, but failing to stop the cycle of desiccation and death being enacted on Rodney. Only when Rodney's body finally collapsed all the way to the floor with the dry whisperings of a mummified corpse and the Wraith was rapidly restrained once more, did John finally cease to struggle. His wrists were a raw, bloody mess; tears ran down his face and threatened to cut off his oxygen due to the gag in his mouth but he didn't care. He didn't even look up as the man in black strode forward and ripped his dog tags from his neck.

"John Sheppard?" The voice twisted bitterly next to his ear. "I don't think so."

The tags dangled in front of John's face, but instead of his name, rank, serial number and blood type, the raised lettering revealed only a single word. Jay.

He inhaled sharply and looked up to see Colonel John Sheppard sneering down at him.

John exploded up out of his bed, gasping for air.

***

It was just a fucking nightmare. John continued to remind himself of this fact as he got up from his bed and staggered into the small bathroom cubicle to wash his face in cold water. He repeated the mantra to himself again when he stood shivering in his quarters, pulling off his sodden, sweat-soaked tee and drawing a clean one over his head. He said it to himself one more time for good measure before he gave up any thought of going back to bed and quickly threw on some sweats, sliding his feet into boots that he left untied as he exited his quarters.

He wasn't entirely sure what destination he had in mind when he left his room. A quick glance at his watch told him it was 02:25. He wasn't remotely hungry and there was always the chance he would run into someone at the mess, regardless of the hour. He didn't feel like explaining what he was doing up and about and yet what was he doing if he wasn't seeking company of some form? Hoping that he might run into Ronon, who would not question his desire for a 'friendly' sparring match in the middle of the night? Yeah, right.

Almost before he knew it, he found himself standing outside Rodney's door. Which was stupid, because Rodney had told him that morning that he had some projects coming to completion over the next few days that were going to keep him down in the labs until all hours. If he wanted to reassure himself that Rodney was okay, then he should just head down to the lab and check in on him...only that would be even harder to explain at this time of night. He stood waffling outside Rodney's door until it unexpectedly opened.

"Rodney?" He took a hesitant step inside the door, the lights within coming up slowly to a comfortable level as the door closed behind him. It took him but a moment to realize the rooms were empty.

"Nice try." He rolled his eyes at the ceiling, acknowledging the city's attempt at being helpful. In the short time that he'd been in this universe, he'd experienced some pretty inexplicable things as far as Atlantis was concerned. Things that he was pretty sure had happened to no one else. He'd never mentioned it to anyone because it seemed so outlandish, but he took some weird little comfort in it all the same.

The door to Rodney's closet opened.

Curious, John walked over. Shirts and pants hung in neat rows according to color, Rodney's working uniform within the city first, his field gear next, followed by a small selection of off-duty clothing. John was amused at the organization within; sometimes he wondered if Rodney was schizophrenic—his life was such an odd combination of obsessive neatness and utter chaos. Organizing the clothing, he had explained to John once, was about expediency and efficiency. He just didn't want to have to think about what to grab first thing in the morning.

John started to shut the door again when his hand brushed past Rodney's bathrobe and he gave a little sigh at the touch. He didn't know what it was made of, but the navy plush robe felt almost like velvet under his fingers and he loved the feel of it against his skin. He stood there for a moment, fingering the fabric. He lifted a sleeve and brought it up to his face, rubbing his cheek against its softness and taking in the scent of Rodney on the cloth. He inhaled deeply before letting it go. After a moment's hesitation, he slid the robe off the hanger and put it on, running his hand up and down the fabric against his arm, turning the collar up against his chin and inhaling once again. It felt incredibly sensuous and a part of him thought it was embarrassing to get so turned on by material for crying out loud.

He reluctantly took off the robe, intending to re-hang it in the closet when he suddenly changed his mind. Quickly he kicked off his boots and peeled out of his clothing. With a moment's hesitation, he pulled the Colonel's dog tags over his head and dropped them into the pile made by his clothes on the floor. He then slid his arms back into Rodney's robe, pulling it closed across his bare skin and belting it before crawling under Rodney's covers. The warmth of the plushy fleece enveloped him, cocooning him with comfort. The lights dimmed quietly all around him.

***

The lights came up to a faint glow as Rodney entered his quarters. He was relieved that they didn't come on full blast—maybe he was getting better at this whole 'adjust the lights with your mind' thing. It was close to four am and he was incredibly weary. He set his laptop down on the table and began pulling off his clothes, stripping down to a tee shirt and boxers, dropping everything else as he stumbled his way towards the bed. He only had a few hours before he needed to be up again; he hoped he could turn off his brain long enough to get some sleep.

He was so tired it took him a second to register what he was seeing when he looked at his bed. There appeared to be someone in it already. A dark tuft of hair stuck out from under the covers and Rodney approached the sleeper grumpily as he flipped back the blanket and slid in to curl behind Jay's back.

"Hey," he mumbled in Jay's ear as he shoved him over to make more room. The room lights dimmed without entirely going out. Showoff. Jay never seemed to get tired of making Atlantis do tricks for him. He should have known who was behind the sudden rheostat effect of the lights in his room. "What are you doing here, Jay? I thought I told you I was going to be late."

Jay rolled on his back so he could face Rodney, forcing him to relinquish the space that Rodney had just gained in the first place. In the low level lighting of the room he looked confused and sleepy. "I need a reason?"

Oh. Good point. "No, you idiot. I just didn't expect you, that's all." Rodney ran his hand across Jay's chest, puzzling at both the feel of plush fabric and the reaction he got from Jay beneath his hands. Jay arched up against his touch, elongating his body like a cat in a full body stretch. "Jay..." Rodney began slowly, his heart rate speeding up at the way Jay inhaled sharply and pushed into his hands, "are you wearing my bathrobe?"

Jay suddenly went still. "Um, yes?" His voice sounded uncertain.

Rodney's hands explored further, his fingers splaying across muscle as he pushed his hands slowly down the dense material over Jay's thighs. He then made his way upwards again, sliding in to work between the folds of cloth where the belt was tied. Jay's skin was unbelievably hot to the touch and he was practically undulating beneath Rodney's hands, his own hands clenching and unclenching the bedding, his legs pushing restlessly against Rodney's own.

"Are you wearing anything else?" He could not help the delighted astonishment in his tone. Seriously, never in a million years did he expect this.

Jay seemed to shudder underneath him. Rodney realized that he had spoken into the side of Jay's neck and that seemed to have only increased his desire to be touched by Rodney. This worked for him, because at this moment he could not think of anything more urgent than his need to touch Jay as well.

"No," Jay's voice dropped a register as he answered Rodney's question and Rodney swarmed up his body to plant a hot and hungry kiss on his mouth. He began kneading Jay's shoulders through the fabric, smoothing a hand down Jay's arm and back up again.

"Ohmygod, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?" Rodney punctuated his sentences with kisses, vaguely worried by the increasingly desperate feel of them but riding the heat wave without question. "I can't believe you were waiting for me wearing nothing but my bathrobe. You have the best ideas, you know that right? How'd you get to be so smart?"

"Osmosis." Jay drew the word out deliberately, pulling Rodney over until they lay chest to chest, Rodney nestling in between Jay's parted thighs, one of Jay's legs hooking over the back of his calf. Rodney couldn't help it; he snorted and laughed into Jay's shoulder. When he lifted his head, Jay caught his face in both hands and stared at him for a long moment before initiating another kiss. Jay kissed him like he was drowning and Rodney was the only one who could provide him with the needed oxygen for continued survival. One of Jay's hands crept around to the back of Rodney's neck, working its way into his hair, short nails scratching lightly and rhythmically against his scalp. The other hand slid down his neck and chest, brushing a cotton-covered nipple in passing before moving up under Rodney's arm and tracing the line of his vertebra down to the waistband of his boxers, fingers slipping underneath to circle the top of his ass.

Rodney made a sound that was not a whimper, not at all, when Jay fingered his crack. He pushed his hands between them, untying the belt at Jay's waist and ran his hands up Jay's sides, feeling the slide of thick cloth all around them. Impatiently, he pushed himself up enough to wriggle out of his boxers and peel off his tee, tossing it aside so that he could look down at Jay spread out beneath him, the dark folds of material parting across his body, baring his skin. The robe appeared almost black in the low lighting, contrasting with the creamy golden skin and the dark line of hair tapering down Jay's abdomen to his groin. There Jay's cock lifted up out of the dark curls, hard, red and leaking at the tip. Rodney reached out and touched Jay on his chest where the robe still covered his skin, thrilling to watch him tilt his head back into the pillow and let his mouth fall open at the sensation.

"Rodney," he breathed.

Rodney buried his face in the soft skin overlying the muscle of Jay's abdomen, taking his time moving back up Jay's chest with little nips and open-mouthed kisses against Jay's flesh, arms working their way underneath Jay's shoulders so that his hands were trapped between skin and cloth. Jay was just so damn responsive to every touch, every brush of skin against skin that Rodney wanted to give him more, give him everything that he had, everything that was in his power to bestow. Jay spread his legs even wider, pulling them up so he could place his feet against the surface of the bed, starting to rock against Rodney's body, the hardness of his cock pushing up against Rodney's belly. Rodney shifted slightly and his cock fell into the tight crease between Jay's thigh and his body and he could feel the heat and slickness of sweat between them. It was too unbelievably perfect and Rodney pushed against Jay with all the arousal and urgency of new lover. Jay's hands moved to grip Rodney's hips, to hold him in that perfect alignment as they both thrust their way to completion.

Rodney moved in to kiss Jay again, reveling in the way their tongues thrust and pushed in sync with their bodies. He knew Jay was getting close, recognized it in the tensing of his body and the way he suddenly tipped his head back, his mouth moving in those silent little gasps he made right before his release. Rodney could feel it in the lips that were just brushing his own and knew the moment it had begun. Sliding down to nip sharply at Jay's neck, causing him to actually yell, Rodney knew a moment of supreme smugness before the spreading warmth between them and the perfection of sliding in all that slick heat and the scent of Jay's come forced an involuntary 'oh-oh-oh' from his lips and he was coming too.

Afterwards, Rodney lay with his cheek against Jay's shoulder. He thought that after 6 months together, shouldn't they be like some old married couple by now and wondered what would Jay's reaction be if he offered to build a shrine to the robe? Jay made that little noise he made when he was trying not to say, 'hey, need to breathe here', and Rodney thought about patting him on the shoulder and lying there a little longer but regretfully shifted off Jay's body instead. And he knew, he knew, that he should just keep going with the momentum before he crashed into the coma he knew was coming, so after another moment, he got up and went to the bathroom, coming back with a warm, damp towel that he used to clean the two of them up.

Tucking the edges of the robe back together, Rodney ran his hand along Jay's ribs and was rewarded with a sleepy smile before being pulled down alongside him again. He dragged the covers up over them again and curled around Jay's back, one hand tracing slow patterns over his plush covered shoulder before they both fell asleep. Moments like these were rare with Jay. He seemed to desperately need to be touched and at the same time reluctant to accept much in the way of affection. A moment of illumination struck Rodney just before he fell asleep. He doesn't want to depend on it too much.

In the morning, Jay was gone. Rodney thought he should be used to that by now, as he sat up in his noticeably colder bed, eyes searching fruitlessly for the man who had been there just a few hours earlier. He frowned as he realized that it was odd that Jay had been waiting for him in the first place, but then Rodney picked up his bathrobe with a grin and headed for the shower.

***

"Good morning, Jay." Elizabeth Weir's voice was exceptionally chipper as she fell into step alongside John, heading towards their respective offices. "I just wanted to congratulate you on your...creativity concerning the report on M1X-417."

"Why, Dr. Weir." John's voice was all exaggerated innocence. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Colonel." Elizabeth said with mock primness, mimicking his more formal address. "Your team came back from that mission naked...and painted blue."

"I thought the pink and orange feathers a nice touch, myself." John said lightly as they continued to walk down the corridor. Sometimes he still was bothered by being addressed by the rank that he himself had never actually earned. You'd think after over half a year in this universe, he'd be used to that by now. "At least they let us keep our weapons that time."

"And no one got married," Elizabeth laughed. They paused outside the door to her office, John frowning thoughtfully. "Jay? No one got married, did they?"

"I don't think so."

Elizabeth laughed again, resting one hand on the doorframe. "Sometimes I wonder what else you leave out. What never makes it back to me, let alone the official record. Reading your mission reports is at times like reading Sherlock Holmes. You know, when Watson makes all those tantalizing references to cases he never documents, and we are left wondering about the man who went back into his house for an umbrella and was never seen again."

"I think I need to trade reading material with you."

"I could provide you with a summer reading list." Elizabeth cocked her head with a smile, dark chestnut curls brushing her collar. She'd been letting her hair grow out, John noticed, and it suited her.

"Gee, that would be great," John said with false cheeriness. "Just as long as there is no test in the fall."

"I have as yet to see any course that would cover the combined works of the Great Russian authors and Marvel Comics."

"But they have so much in common," John grinned. Actually, it would make a really cool course. He almost missed Elizabeth's next salvo as he contemplated the required reading list.

"Very well, I'll leave you to your duties," she was saying as she stepped backwards into her office. "Just tell me where to send the wedding gift for you and Rodney."

"What? Hey! Wait a minute." He leaned into her office, holding the doorframe with both hands. She was still joking, right? "What makes you think it would be me and Rodney?"

"Face it, Jay," she laughed over her shoulder as she rounded the corner to her desk. "You're not Ronon's type and Teyla would have whipped you into better shape by now."

John straightened. Right. Joking. "Okay then, but I'm putting you down for the silver chafing dish."

"Like you even know what that is." Elizabeth snorted inelegantly as she took her chair.

John wondered as he continued on towards his office if Elizabeth was trying to tell him something or not. There certainly didn't seem to be any hidden meaning to her arch playfulness this morning, but diplomats were tricky people and often buried two or three messages in a simple request for morning coffee. Was his relationship with Rodney that obvious? It's not like either one of them were the sort of people that were comfortable showing affection in public, DADT notwithstanding. If she was trying to suggest something here, it would certainly seem that she was comfortable with the idea of him and Rodney. Together. Well why not? When you've installed an imposter as your military CO all other infractions of the rules seem pretty pale in comparison.

Good mood thoroughly quashed, John entered his office and sighed at the stack of paperwork in his inbox. Surely he could delegate some of this crap to Lorne, right? He began leafing through the uppermost reports and realized these were things he had already delegated, and now had come back for him to sign off on. With a sigh, he sat down and began working his way through the files. He hated paperwork.

He was making mental concessions to himself as he worked (finish these next six files and then you can go take a break at the shooting range) when he pulled the next file out of the stack and opened the cover. Inside on the top page, a yellow post-it note was affixed, a single word printed in block letters. FAKE.

He caught his breath as he stared down at the note. After a long moment, he peeled it up carefully from the sheet of paper and read the page beneath, but there was nothing on the page that could account for the post-it note's declaration. He crumpled up the note in his hand and tossed it in the trashcan as he began shuffling through the remaining paperwork looking for any other messages. There were none. By the time he was done, his heart was racing as it had when he awoke from his nightmare last night. It had to be a coincidence. A mistake. A piece of paper that got stuck there by accident. Yeah. Right.

***

"Rodney," Teyla said, shortly after she had taken her seat at the table. "Is everything all right between you and Jay?"

Rodney froze in the act of lifting a heavily laden fork to his mouth, a chunk of scrambled egg hanging precariously off the edge of the tines. He frowned and completed his action, making sure to swallow before beginning to speak (Teyla having chastised him on his table manners again just last week). "There's nothing wrong that I'm aware of...why?"

Teyla appeared to be concentrating on carefully spooning in the correct amount of nuts and fruit into her yogurt cup. "He seems unusually...reticent...lately. Have you noticed how he frequently has an excuse for not joining us for meals? And when was the last time we had a team night? He was all excited over some new television series that he had discovered recently and had said something about weekly gatherings to watch a few episodes at a time, but I have heard nothing more on the subject." She looked up with a raised eyebrow in Rodney's direction, a small worried expression marring her otherwise serene features.

"What show?" Rodney was curious. Jay had not mentioned anything to him about a TV show.

"Torchwood." Ronon supplied around a mouthful of hash-browns. He had his dreads tied back from his face, the better to allow him to inhale his food, Rodney supposed. Funny, but Teyla never said anything to him about his table manners.

"Torchwood? That's a totally cool show. I wish we had some of their gadgets. And their networking systems." Rodney grinned across the table at Ronon. "Can you imagine having access to all their toys? He hasn't seen Torchwood?"

"Didn't have it where he came from." Ronon said, obliquely referring to the fact that Jay was from an alternative universe. It took Rodney a second to catch his meaning. He'd gotten used to thinking of Jay as belonging here. Well, he did belong here, even if he came from another plane of existence.

"I really do not think the television show is the point," Teyla said somewhat testily, a degree of 'men' in her tone. "The point is, he was very enthusiastic, and now he is not."

"I fail to see why you are making such a big deal out of that, Teyla." Rodney began in a lofty tone, glancing at Ronon to see if he could hear the 'women' in Rodney's voice as he spoke. Ronon's little smirk said he did. "Maybe he got busy with some military stuff. Or maybe he just decided we wouldn't want to watch episodes of Torchwood again."

"What 'military stuff' would Jay be involved with that we as his team would not know about?" Teyla said sharply, her coppery hair brushing her shoulders as she turned to look first at Ronon and then at Rodney. "And since when has your seeing something before prohibited you from watching it another thirty times?"

Rodney paused in his eating and traded another glance with Ronon, who shrugged as he spoke. "She has a point."

Teyla laid down her spoon and ticked off more points. "He is not spending time with us. He is evasive when it comes to scheduling sparring time with me. I do not think we have met in the gym in over a week."

"Well maybe if you quit kicking his ass and let him win once and a while..." Rodney suggested. He smiled weakly at her, indicating it was a joke.

"The enemy never lets you win once and a while," Teyla responded tartly before giving a little sigh. She stirred her yogurt thoughtfully before she spoke again. "It is not in his best interests for me to 'take it easy' on him. Jay takes his training seriously. Which makes his absence even harder to understand at the moment."

"I still say you're over-reacting." Rodney cut his still-warm corn muffin in half with a knife and slathered it with butter, making happy little noises as he bit into it.

"Teyla's right, something's up."

"Oh, not you too. Okay, come out with it, Conan. Let's have your great, brilliant insights here." Rodney finished his section of corn muffin and began licking the butter off his fingers.

Ronon's eyes narrowed briefly before he snagged the second half of Rodney's muffin. Rodney opened his mouth to protest, but Ronon shoved the whole thing in his mouth at once, closing his lips over the food and smiling as he chewed thoroughly and swallowed. He then gave a little shrug before speaking. "In the mornings, Jay runs like something's chasing him."

A little frisson of unease rippled its way down Rodney's spine at Ronon's words. He caught himself glancing over at Teyla, who merely raised an eyebrow again.

"You have noticed nothing unusual?" Teyla asked almost gently. Rodney knew she viewed his personal oblivion when it came to other people like it was a physical disability, a sense most people were born with but that somehow Rodney lacked at birth. He thought about his most recent interactions with Jay. Reticent? Withdrawn? Not likely. Just last night, Jay had entered his quarters while he was deep in the data analysis of the recent adjustments to the long range sensors.

Jay had ignored his protests that he really couldn't stop what he was doing right now, had simply dragged his wheeled chair out from his desk far enough to allow Jay to drop to his knees and undo Rodney's pants, giving him a slow and dirty blow job. To Rodney's complaint that he really needed to keep working, Jay had replied, "Don't let me stop you. But I really think you'll work better after taking a little break to relax." Just before his mouth closed over the head of Rodney's cock.

He'd been soft until Jay touched him. Looking down at Jay kneeling on the floor between his spread thighs, the way his hands felt on Rodney's skin when Jay guided his cock out of his pants, the spiky, dark hair silky-soft between his fingers as Jay's head bobbed up and down over his cock—how could his cock resist that? His dick had responded to the attention, filling and hardening rapidly, coming to full mast so quickly it was almost painful. Jay was the master of blowjobs; licking and teasing with his tongue, giving firm strokes of the shaft with one hand while applying suction with his mouth...Rodney felt his eyes half close at the memory, a crooked smile forming on his face.

"I take it everything is just fine between you and Jay, then?" Teyla said with an innocent-yet-knowing expression and Rodney suddenly felt himself flush, heat flaring along his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He started to reply sharply, but then a nagging thought caught at the back of his mind. He remembered the desperation of Jay's kisses during what he fondly referred to as the night of the Bathrobe Sex. He recalled the sense of purpose to Jay's interruption of his work last night and the hot, urgent sex that had followed the amazing blowjob, Jay stripping him bare and pounding into his ass with an intensity that was breath-taking...and a little unusual considering their lives hadn't been threatened lately. Maybe that was it.

"Things have been abnormally calm for us here lately. Maybe he's bored. Maybe he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know, some big crisis to hit." Unbidden the thought came to him. Maybe he's homesick. No, that couldn't be it, could it?

Teyla looked unconvinced. "This is not the behavior I would expect from someone who is bored."

"Maybe not from the Colonel." Ronon's emphasis on the rank was just enough to get his meaning across without giving anything away to the causal listener. Rodney had a sudden mental flashback to the night he first met Jay, standing there in the Florida casino wearing a too-loud print shirt and a serious bad-boy attitude. Perhaps a bored Jay behaved differently from a bored John.

But it still worried Rodney.

***

"Good morning, Jay." Elizabeth's voice was cheerful coming over his shoulder where he stood dispensing himself a cup of coffee. Once his mug was filled, he stepped aside from the row of large stainless steel coffee urns and turned to face his boss. The people who staffed the mess had learned a long time ago that deficiencies in the food would be tolerated with much complaint and long-suffering sighs but that coffee shortages provoked a degree of hysteria that no one wanted to experience ever again. Every morning the coffee table was serviced first and John suspected there was a full-time staff member who did nothing but see to the coffee production and supply here in Atlantis.

"Morning, Elizabeth."

"Just coffee?" Elizabeth indicated his mug and the stack of briefing reports under his arm, but no breakfast to go.

He shrugged. "Not hungry. I'll grab something later. I want to go down to the briefing room and get set up for the meeting."

"Such industry." Elizabeth smiled as she stirred an obscene amount of sugar into her coffee and topped it off with a dollop of milk while John tried not to wince. She had her own briefing report tucked under one arm as well. "Wait a moment and I'll walk down with you."

He stood patiently by the urns as she stepped over to the line and selected half a grapefruit on a plate and added another generous topping of sugar to the fruit. Though he itched to be off, he had no real reason why he could not wait for Elizabeth to join him.

"So," she began as they walked down the curving corridor to the briefing area. "You look like you've brought along some extra material."

John gave a short laugh. "Well, you know how it goes. This briefing is supposed to help us decide the next few missions we undertake and make team assignments. Whenever word gets out that we're planning something like this, everyone starts making suggestions or bringing up their pet projects."

"Yes, I know," Elizabeth smiled a tad mischievously. "Whenever anyone comes to me with a request like that, I re-direct them to you."

"Gee thanks, I was wondering who to blame."

They entered the briefing room, which was still empty. Elizabeth wandered over to her usual seat and sat down to arrange her coffee, grapefruit and reports around her. "So what additions are you planning to add to this morning's agenda?"

John was walking around the large table, placing new reports at each chair. Hopefully everyone (this meant Rodney) would remember to bring the briefs that had already been handed out in anticipation of the meeting. He looked up at her words. "Nothing much, just an interesting reference Rodney came across in the database and a planet the botanists are begging to go to sooner rather than later. Why? Can't you wait to be bored along with everyone else?"

She laughed as she started to section her grapefruit. "I need to preserve my reputation for the rapid assimilation of new information and command decision making abilities. How can I do that if you won't let me cheat and get a head start on the information?"

"Oh is that how it's done? I should have guessed." He finished his circuit of the table and came back to his usual seat, taking a chair and a sip of coffee as he arranged his folders in front of him. He selected copies of the new reports out of the stack and slid them across the table to Elizabeth, who accepted them with a smile and opened the top one to read it.

He kicked back into a comfortable sprawl in his chair, glancing at his watch. People should start trickling in shortly. The scientists were not as punctual about meetings as the military and over the half-year that John had been here in Atlantis, he'd gotten so he could predict the order of arrival of the participants, including how they would usually look and what their excuse for any tardiness might be. He was making an internal list for himself when a small sound from Elizabeth caught his attention. He glanced over in her direction.

She was holding a yellow post-it note and looking at it in puzzlement.

Shit. Another one. And this time found by the wrong person. John felt a wave of cold and then heat wash over him. Certain that his high color would give him away, John casually held out a hand for the note anyway.

"Whatcha got there, Elizabeth?"

"I don't know." She frowned, handing over the note to him and looking back down at the report, as though the answer could be found there. "It was just stuck to the top page of the brief when I opened it."

In the now way-too-familiar block letters, the note read BOGUS.

"Oh that," he said far too easily, in the manner of one for whom lying had become reflexive as a defense mechanism from a very early age. "I've been looking for that. It's a password." He folded the note carefully and stuck it in the pocket of his jacket.

Elizabeth's face lightened with comprehension and she nodded, eyes dropping back to finish reading the report.

Behind the shield of his lazy smile, John's heart was pounding.

***

John came back to his quarters after his early morning run with Ronon and took a quick shower before changing into BDU's. He toyed with the idea of just grabbing some coffee and heading towards his office, but he was actually hungry this morning. Maybe he would page Rodney and see if he wanted to join John for breakfast. He slipped the radio headset over his ear and tapped it. "Sheppard to McKay."

Silence. The radio seemed dead.

Frowning, he started towards the door, only to nearly run into it when it failed to open. He swiped his hand over the control panel again with the same results. Already, his mind began to leap forward, considering possible threats to the city. He went over to his laptop sitting out on the table by his bed, pausing only to make sure the connections to the main frame were hooked up before starting an inquiry into the lack of communications and possible door malfunction. Before he could start his sweep, the door to his quarters suddenly opened and three marines and a med-tech came in wearing haz-mat suits. One of the marines had a weapon pointed in his general direction, if not directly at him.

"Please, sir," the med-tech said politely. "I need you to come with us."

"What is it? What's going on?" John was on his feet but not going anywhere until he got some answers.

"Sir. Please. There's been an outbreak. I must take you down to the infirmary and place you in quarantine right away."

The marines all looked tense and unhappy.

John began to head towards the door and the haz-matted personnel dropped in a square all around him, escorting him into the corridor and in the direction of the infirmary. "Why aren't the radios working?"

The med-tech was apologetic. "There seems to be a glitch in the programming of the lockdown protocols. I'm sure someone is working on it right now."

Everything about this felt off to John. "What kind of outbreak? What are the symptoms? Who's been affected so far? Do we have a handle on what's causing it or where it originated from? How serious is this?" Jesus. He was obviously spending too much time with Rodney.

"I'm sure Dr. Keller can answer all your questions when you reach the infirmary, sir."

"Dr. Keller?" John spoke sharply. "Where the hell's Carson?"

"Dr. Beckett was one of the first members of the expedition to fall ill, sir. If you could just hurry along this way..." Everyone moved at almost a half-trot down the corridors, which were otherwise empty.

When the hell did all this start? Everything was fine when he went running with Ronon earlier. And if the city was in lockdown mode, then why didn't the klaxons sound? None of this made any sense at all. His mind kept screaming 'trap' but where else could he get his answers but the infirmary? Unless this was a hostile takeover of Atlantis. Once made, the suggestion coiled uneasily in his mind and he thought rapidly, trying to see his way out of the situation. Unfortunately, he needed more information, which meant he had to play along for now.

At least they really did end up in the infirmary. Uncertain as to whether he'd rather be dealing with a disease outbreak or an invading force, John stopped short on entering the crowded and chaotic room. Virtually every bed was occupied. Medical personnel in haz-mat suits hurried from one bedside to another, adjusting IV lines, pulling blood samples and administering treatments. Across the room, a nurse was assisting a pale and clammy-looking Radek place an oxygen mask over his face; the Czech scientist sitting on the edge of his examining table, his normally fuzzy halo of hair soaked with sweat and plastered to his skull. Without his glasses, Zelenka's face was strangely childlike and vulnerable. Entering from another door, two med-techs were supporting Major Lorne between them as they half-carried, half-dragged him to the nearest gurney and hoisted him ungracefully onto it. Naturally occurring diseases simply did not spread this fast. What were they dealing with then? Another nanovirus? Some sort of toxin?

Turning away, John saw Dr. Keller pulling up a bed sheet over the face someone he could not identify. The young doctor looked incredibly weary as she started to make her way towards John. His eye was caught by sight of Rodney, lying in a tented bed, half a dozen monitors hooked up to him, beeping sluggishly. The pause-breath-whoosh of a respirator forced Rodney's chest to rise and fall rhythmically. John involuntarily took a step forward towards the bed, but the marines waved him to a halt.

"Colonel." Keller started scanning him with a hand held device as soon as she reached his side. With her honey-blonde hair pulled back in a pony-tail behind her haz-mat helmet, she looked even more ridiculously youthful and out of place in the infirmary than usual.

"Dr. Keller, what the fuck is going on?" He growled. Keller's eyes snapped up to meet his, surprised by his anger.

"We don't really know yet. This came on out of nowhere. All of the command staff seems to be affected, which was why I had you escorted here as soon as possible to place you in quarantine." She avoided his eyes, easy to do within the haz-mat suit, continuing to scan him as she spoke. He wanted to point out that bringing him to the infirmary and exposing him directly to the sickest patients wasn't the smartest thing to do if he wasn't already exposed, but maybe she knew something he didn't.

"What can you tell me?" He ground out. "What does Carson have to say?"

"Dr. Beckett died about an hour ago, making me acting CMO." She met his eyes then, suddenly looking far older than her years. Jesus. Not Carson.

She turned and gestured towards the covered body in the bed behind them. "Dr. Weir died just as you came in."

No. No. This is not happening. This cannot be happening. It was getting hard to breathe all the sudden.

"Dr. McKay will likely be the next person to die if I don't get a handle on what's going on here soon and frankly, I think even if the solution was handed to me now, it's too late to save him. His lungs are filling with fluid, his circulatory system is shutting down and he is in multi-system organ failure."

John's mind shut down temporarily, overwhelmed by the enormity of what she was telling him. He stood staring blankly at Rodney's abnormally still form as Keller continued to speak.

"It is no longer a matter of containing the outbreak and treating the sick—it has gone too far beyond that. The only thing left to do is enact the self-destruct."

"Wait a minute...you're just going to give up? I mean, I know this thing seems to be spreading fast, but..."

"I'm sure," Keller snapped, holding up the scanner in front of his face, her voice as hard as nails. "It's because of you. It's your fault. You're the source of the infection."

"Well, of course I am," John said bitterly to his ceiling when he awoke with a violent jerk. He lay in the dark, staring upwards. The lights began to come on slowly, gently, but he thought angrily "off" at them and they subsided. The light of two moons shone through his window, illuminating his room in a clear, cold glow, bright enough to allow him to read the time on his watch, had he felt so inclined. He didn't bother. There was no point in getting up.

***

John could smell the storm coming in from across the sea. The skies were dull and leaden, the wind ruffled his hair and nipped at the exposed skin on the back of his neck before he turned the collar of his jacket up and hunched down into it further. He leaned on his hands over the balcony to look down, where the water below frothed in tiny whitecaps, licking at the moorings of the east pier. The first spatterings of rain fell on the balcony floor around him, large wet splats of moisture promising of the storm to come. He could feel the barometric pressure falling even as the wind picked up. He used to love being outside during a storm—the smell of ozone, the feel of electricity in the air, the exhilaration of being outside during a drenching downpour. Not so much fun to fly in. He could only imagine what it must have been like for the Colonel to fight in it as he protected the city from invasion that first year. In his pants pocket, he had the latest message from his anonymous letter-writer.

What are you doing here? He thought about the person he was before he met Rodney, before he walked through the quantum mirror into a strange new universe. That person had been spiraling down, on his way out, a series of bad decisions and poor choices, one short step away from sinking into a life of crime or living off some equally desperate woman. He hadn't liked that person, but he also hadn't given him much thought at the time, living each day for the moment and taking from it what he could get. Rodney, Ronon and Teyla had showed him something else, something bigger than himself and had introduced him to the magical world of Atlantis and crowhoppers, of gate travel and demons worth fighting. As opposed to the personal kind.

And he had met his counterpart, the deceased Colonel Sheppard. Sheppard had left a journal of his experiences in Atlantis that no one but John knew existed. Sheppard had been as lost as John himself, but had found some sort of integrity despite it all and had made something for himself in Atlantis. Only to die at the hands of Octavus Kolya in retaliation for the killing of Kolya's father. That Kolya senior had died as a result of his failed attempt to invade Atlantis; that the Colonel had killed him defending the city and the expedition was of no consequence to the son. The unfairness of it all rankled with him. If anyone deserved to have lived, to have a little happiness in his life, it was the John Sheppard of this universe.

He didn't belong here. He came because the adventure called to him and because he had nothing to leave behind. He stayed because he felt a sense of obligation to the man he was replacing and because he had unwillingly been drawn into the Colonel's life, adopting his friends, his sense of purpose, the call to duty. The sense of belonging that he'd felt since his arrival was false, a lie that he had concocted for himself once again to avoid the realities of his life. He wasn't the one they wanted; he was the one they had.

Even his relationship with Rodney, which he didn't really know how to put into words but which meant more to him than he could have ever imagined—even Rodney hadn't really wanted him. He was a substitute for the friend for whom Rodney had grieved and somehow as their relationship—or whatever they had—had evolved, Rodney had managed to forget that the man he called 'Jay' was not his Colonel Sheppard.

Nothing he had here was real. It was all an empty show, a trick done with smoke and mirrors and someone, somewhere, knew it and was threatening to expose the magician's sleight of hand for what it was. If it was just him, well, he was selfish enough to hang on to the fiction of what he had, to continue to lie to himself and deal with the nightmares on his own. But he had all his friends to worry about—what would happen to everyone who had willingly accepted Rodney's proposal to introduce him to the city as the 'real' Colonel Sheppard, miraculously returned from the dead?

Their careers would be ruined. Their credibility would be destroyed. They would be removed from their positions, sent home in disgrace, if not sent to prison. They would be torn from the life they loved more than anything else and the expedition would be mortally wounded because of it. And Atlantis would be turned over to a set of strangers who neither knew nor loved her the way these people did. If it came down to it, to his exposure as imposter, he knew he would have to take the fall for it all by himself. Somehow he had to protect the others.

Where's your goddamned backbone? The voice in his head lashed out viciously. Don't you think what you have here is worth fighting for?

He stood for a moment longer, leaning on the rail, looking out over the sea. The pain he felt at losing all this was almost a visceral thing, but for once in his life, he could not be selfish. The Colonel would not have given up. He snorted at that thought. The Colonel would not have had to give up. It was his life, his place to begin with. And the Colonel would have done whatever it took to protect the city. And even if he was only a substitute and the city was not really his, he would protect it too. That he would end up protecting Rodney as well was all the more reason to do it.

As he stood in the deepening darkness preceding the storm, all around him the lights of the city below began to intensify. Like a warm glow from a fire, they came up slowly, lighting up the towers around him, surrounding him like an embrace. He felt foolish standing there with a goofy smile on his face, like the city had lit up just for him. He felt his grin fade. Not even that was real; it was just his imagination. It was because he wanted it so bad, he wanted to feel like he belonged, that the city wanted him here. Rodney had told him from day one—the city wasn't sentient. If weird things happened here in Atlantis, it was because of that wonky ATA gene and his subconscious desire to manipulate things to support his little fantasy.

To his astonishment he felt something slap him sharply on the back of the head. He wheeled around, half-expecting Teyla to be standing behind him, but there was no one there. The skies opened and the rain suddenly began to fall hard, as though a faucet were turned on. Within seconds, he was soaked to the skin. He ducked back inside the building, shaking the water out of his hair as he stood dripping in front of the balcony doors. He felt the lightest of touches brush his temple and for a split-second he thought he heard the word 'silly' in his mind.

He decided to go see Rodney.

***

He shuddered slightly as he walked towards his room for some dry clothes. He was always cold it seemed these days. He touched his ear piece and shuddered again as a trickle of frigid water made its way down his neck. "Sheppard to McKay. Where are you?"

"I was actually on my way to find you." Was it his imagination or did Rodney sound hesitant?

"I just got caught in the rain. I'm headed back to my quarters for a change of clothes." John went for the light touch, allowing a sense of amusement to enter into his voice. "Got a minute?"

"I'm actually just down the hall from your quarters—I'll meet you there." No imagination this time, Rodney sounded relieved.

"I'm on my way. Let yourself in. Sheppard out." No sense in creating a full-blown panic attack before he saw Rodney face to face. He was dreading this.

Inside his room, Rodney sat at the foot of the bed, one leg crossed over the other so that his ankle rested on his knee. John glanced briefly in his direction before peeling off the wet jacket, hanging it up to dry before shucking off the tee-shirt as well, which he let drop to the floor as he ducked into the bathroom for a towel and applied it briskly to his head and chest before dropping it on the floor as well. He selected a long-sleeved tee out of a drawer, pulling it over his head hurriedly and zipping up the collar as the silence thickened. He decided his pants were dry enough and he couldn't avoid Rodney's worried face any longer. Rodney's silence was unnerving; it was so unnatural.

"So." Rodney said when John finally looked up. "It's raining, eh?"

John couldn't help it, he gave a muffled little snort at Rodney sounding so Canadian all of the sudden. He realized that his actions over the last few weeks could have been perceived as avoidance, and Rodney's awkwardness suddenly made more sense. He sighed as he opened another drawer, pulling out a shoebox. He carried it over to the bed and stood in front of Rodney, holding it out.

"What's this, your 'shoebox of lies'?" Rodney quipped as he took hold of the box.

John felt all the breath leave him, as though punched in the gut. The song reference was astonishingly accurate. "In a manner of speaking, yes," he said tightly.

Rodney looked up at him sharply, uncrossed his legs and sat up straighter, placing the box beside him as he removed the lid. John watched as his frown deepened. Inside the box was a layer of crumpled up post-it notes. Rodney lifted one out at random and unfolded it, smoothing the paper unconsciously between his fingers as he did so. "Phony," he read aloud.

He glanced up at John again, frown still marring his features. He selected another note and repeated his actions. "Fraud." He said.

And another. "Pretender." John could hear the note of anger in his voice, could see his jaw tighten as he spoke.

And another. "Imposter." His voice caught on that one and he looked up in horror at John's face and then back at the box, still well-filled with tiny missives. "Jay," he began, his voice cracking, "what's...how long has this been going on? How many of these..." his voice trailed off as he looked helplessly from the box to John's face.

"For a little while now. I've been finding them in my office, in briefing reports, on my laptop—all places where lots of people have access. I received this one today." He fished the slightly damp note out of his pants pocket and handed it over to Rodney.

Rodney unfolded the note and read it aloud. "Caldwell." He sat in silence for a long moment and then looked up belligerently. "That's it? Just 'Caldwell'?"

"The Icarus is due back in a few days. What else does it need to say?"

"Well, for starters, what do they want? I mean they must be after something, right? This has to be a form of blackmail. What demands have they made?"

John shrugged. "None. Just a series of one-word accusations and the implication that they intend to go to Caldwell on his return to the city."

"So." Rodney snapped as he glared furiously at John. "So what we have here is a poison pen with a Webster's thesaurus who apparently enjoys needling people. And a colonel who apparently is too stubborn to ask for help when there's a serious problem. At what point where you going to inform me, anyway?"

"I'm telling you now, Rodney." And I'm not really a colonel. I'm just a major, remember?

Rodney jumped to his feet and began stalking around the room. "Oh right, only when you are completely backed into a corner over it and Caldwell is imminently about to return and you could be exposed at any moment. What did you think was going to happen—that it would just go away? What did you intend to do about it? Just suck it up and take it because that's what good soldiers do? Or does this have more to do with your fucked up self-esteem? If you had told me sooner, we could have set a trap, caught this loser in the act before things had gotten this far."

"And what would you have done then, McKay?" John managed to contain his anger physically, but it leached out in his crushing tone. "Tell this guy, 'hey, you can't go around telling the truth like that'?"

Rodney halted as abruptly as though he'd walked into a wall and he turned to stare open mouthed at John. "You're not...you can't possibly be thinking...Jay, you can't!"

"What I can't do, McKay, is allow this situation to take down the entire command staff of Atlantis."

"Which is exactly what will happen if you turn yourself in!" Rodney flared, throwing his hands up into the air for emphasis.

"Not if I was in it alone."

"Jay, no. Look, no one would buy that anyway. This is just crazy talk here. I won't let you throw yourself on your sword like that, not like this, not over something this stupid." Rodney took a step forward to touch him on the arm, but he shrugged out of the contact and moved away. "Jay, please." Rodney's blue eyes were suddenly pleading. "All the same reasons for bringing you here in the first place still apply. That hasn't changed."

"Oh really?" Damn it, he simply could not help the drawl. "What exactly have I done for Atlantis in the half a year that I've been here?"

Rodney was frowning again. "What have you done? You're the military CO. You've been making decisions regarding the safety of this expedition and you've been leading missions to further the goals of our presence here. You've been choosing our missions, you've made new allies, you perform stupid heroics and you let Teyla beat you up. You've re-directed some of Ronon's hostility into training the marines, honestly, that was a brilliant move on your part. Aside from your endless ability to find ways to act like a 12 year old child, you're one of the hardest working people here I know."

"You're wrong." John stalked over to Rodney, getting in his face. "I've been pretending to be military CO here. I'm just a fake and you know it. You, Elizabeth, Carson...all of you. You wanted Sheppard back so badly you didn't care if you got a cheap knock-off—as long as you all could pretend I was the real thing."

"You stop that, stop that right now." Rodney's fingers dug in suddenly into his arm and he had to shake him off hard to get him to release his grip. Rodney reached for him again and he smacked his hand roughly away, only to get shoved up against a wall. John instinctively pushed back, but Rodney caught his hands, pinning them by his head and pushed him flat, holding him there with his greater bulk.

"You listen to me," Rodney growled, angrier than John had ever seen before, bumping him with his chest for emphasis. "Don't you dare make what we have—whatever we have—into something less than what it is by telling yourself it's not for real."

John felt his face flush and he dropped his eyes, unable to look into Rodney's searing expression. He stopped trying to push Rodney off of him. He could feel Rodney's eyes searching his face but he still could not look up at him. Rodney released his hands and pushed off of him suddenly with an angry snort.

When John looked up, Rodney was glaring at him with his arms folded across his chest.

"I can't keep up the deception any more, Rodney." John sighed and allowed his head to fall back against the wall. "Sheppard wouldn't have done it, and you know it."

"You can't keep up the deception?" Rodney's anger deflated all at once, leaving him looking oddly vulnerable. He flicked his index finger rapidly back and forth between John and himself. "This? Us? Is that what you mean? You're saying that you can do this because Sheppard wouldn't...?"

John felt the frown crease his forehead as he straightened again. "What? No! Not you and me. That has nothing to do with...the con, Rodney. I can't keep pretending to be the Colonel."

"Oh." Rodney looked somehow small and relieved all at the same time. "Because when you said deception, I thought you meant...and well, I mean, in theory you could get in as much trouble for that as...well, you know what I mean. And then when you said that Sheppard wouldn't..."

"He only had a handful of people he really cared about. If Sheppard wanted to be with someone, do you think he'd let some stupid regs get in his way?" John said impatiently. "That wasn't why he never..." he broke off sharply as Rodney's eyes locked onto his face, astonishment stamped all over his features.

"What are you saying?" Rodney said quietly after a long moment.

Shit. Might as well get it over with. "That the Colonel had feelings for you. That he chose not to act on them because he already felt like he'd fucked up so much here. Your friendship was important to him; he didn't want to lose that."

Rodney walked over to the foot of the bed and sat down heavily, resting his elbows on his knees, allowing his hands to hang quietly without movement as he contemplated the floor. "And you know this how?" he said softly without looking up.

"He left a journal," John said simply. He leaned into the wall, allowing it to support his weight.

"I see." Rodney's tone was thoughtful. After a moment he lifted his head. "This act you feel you cannot continue...tell me, would you have kept it up if your hand wasn't being forced here?"

John closed his eyes. How could he possibly convey to Rodney how much all of this meant to him? "Probably. But that's not the point. My hand is being forced and what we are talking about here is damage control. If I give myself up, I might be able to spare you and everyone else involved."

Rodney stood up again. "You don't know if the letter-writer intends to give you up to Caldwell. I know, chances are that's the ultimate goal, after obviously making you sweat a little. And don't think I didn't notice how squirrely you've been lately."

"T pointed it out, didn't she?" John's attempt at humor was thin but the startled, guilty look on Rodney's face told him his little jibe had smacked straight home on target.

"As I was saying," Rodney continued, ducking his head to sweep up the various notes with his hand, pushing them off the edge of the bed back into the box. "So we don't know what the poison pen wants just yet. Could you please give me 48 hours to do some investigating on my own before you decide to do anything rash? Please?" He replaced the lid on the box and walked over to where John was still leaning on the wall.

He held out the box. John took it silently.

"Jay?" There was a wealth of emotion in his tone that John chose to ignore.

"48 hours," he agreed with resignation.

Rodney gave a big gusty sigh of relief but instead of moving in for a kiss as John had feared, he began moving briskly towards the door. "Okay," he said, rubbing his hands together as he turned briefly to look back at John. "I've got a lot to do here. You need to get rid of all those notes—we don't need them anymore. I'll let you know when I've got something." He started to leave and then paused, snapping his fingers as he turned back again. "Oh, and Jay? Sheppard would do anything if he thought it was best for Atlantis. Keep that in mind, okay?"

Rodney exited the room without further ado. What do you think I am doing?

***

Various members of the expedition approached him over the next few days. Ronon was first, meeting him as usual for the before-work morning run. He scowled at John on his arrival, reminding him of those early days when Ronon resented his presence in Atlantis and made no bones about it. Taking a page out of his own book from that time, John ignored him.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Ronon asked with his characteristic bluntness as they warmed up.

"What could you have done? It's not like it isn't the truth." John avoided Ronon's eye, concentrating on the warm up that he could have performed in his sleep.

"I could have gotten rid of the problem for you."

John's head snapped up then. He felt one eyebrow climb into his hairline. "You're not seriously telling me you'd 'take care' of a fellow expedition member, are you?" Maybe he didn't know Ronon as well as he thought.

Ronon bared his teeth in his trademark feral grin. "Why not? I don't want to see you replaced. I've just now got you broken in." The slap to the shoulder he administered almost staggered John. Ronon took off a light jog, forcing John to have to hurry to catch up.

Teyla gave him the 'I'm disappointed in you' eyes, which no one ever, ever wanted to see. It made him feel about 12 years old and as though he should scuff one toe in the dirt as she spoke to him. That he felt this way in the first place just pissed him off.

"I thought we were a team." T's voice was mildly reproving, speaking volumes louder than angry words could have done.

"It wasn't a team problem."

"A problem that affects the team leader affects the whole team."

"And you have a solution to this problem?"

T made a small face. "If we had the time to identify the person in question, perhaps we could have reasoned with them before it reached this point."

"Funny, that wasn't Ronon's solution."

"Let me guess," T said dryly. "Ronon's solution was 'stop making these accusations and I won't drop you off the nearest balcony'?"

John snorted. "Something like that."

Teyla shrugged. "Works for me."

"Tey-la!"

When it was Elizabeth's turn, she merely said, "I wish you had brought this up earlier, Jay."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry to have placed you in this position in the first place."

"It's not your fault. You had no idea what you were really getting into when Rodney persuaded you to come back through the mirror. We were the ones that backed him up. I just don't like being blindsided, that's all." She gave him a friendly smile before changing the subject. "So I wanted to discuss with you our next requisition order. I'm wondering whether we are allocating our resources appropriately just now..."

Technically, Carson did not come to him; he ended up having to see Carson after a round with Ronon landed him with a sharp cut on his forehead that needed stitches. Carson had made the appropriate noises of disapproval as he inspected the cut and John tried hard not to look up his nostrils as he leaned over him to do so.

"I fail to see why these matches with Ronon always end with one or the other of you in my infirmary."

"Not always," John had protested mildly. The numbing agent that Carson had applied to the cut stung like a bitch at first but then rapidly deadened all sensation to the area. With gloved hands, Carson blotted the excess blood and re-applied some more gel, waiting for the full effect before beginning to suture.

"I don't see you or Teyla in here all the time after the two of you spar with each other." John never got tired of Carson's accent. The Scots brogue rolled pleasantly off the ear. John's mother had some Scottish ancestry in her background. He wondered if it was genetic memory that made the accent so appealing.

"Maybe T likes me better," John grinned.

"If Ronon didn't like you at least a little, I doubt you would still be alive." Carson said dryly, testing the sensitivity of the cut before prepping it for sutures. "Not to mention that no one is making him stay here. He could have left at any time. Thought there for a while he would. Instead he has chosen to stay."

"Carson," John began, unable to look up because Carson was staring at his forehead intently, carefully pulling the suture through his skin and neatly lining up the edges before placing his knot.

"Jay," Carson interrupted softly and John realized with a start that Carson seldom called him by anything other than 'his' rank. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that as the person who validated your 'return' so to speak, that I have the most to lose from a potential investigation."

John opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Carson continued on, calmly suturing Johns' cut as he did so. "I didna know it at the time, but it was a wise decision. I do not regret having made it. Do you ken me?"

John opened and closed his mouth helplessly again.

"Just say yes, Jay." Carson grinned. "That's a good lad."

Through it all, Rodney was conspicuously absent.

***

Rodney exploded into his quarters roughly 60 hours after their last conversation. "Okay-okay-okay," he began as he charged into the room, bringing the lights up to full blast as he spoke, "let me tell you what I've got. Oh hey, were you sleeping?"

John surreptitiously replaced the safety on his Beretta and replaced it on the bedside table, picking up his watch to squint at it briefly before tossing it back down. "No, it's only 03:15. Why would I be sleeping?" He let his head fall dramatically back to the pillow.

"Oh. Sorry about that. I didn't notice. Get up. I need to talk to you."

"Seems like you're doing just fine as it is." John burrowed down into his covers, drawing them up over his head to block out the light. Before he could complete the action, Atlantis was lowering the lights. They began to fade gently when Rodney pounced on the bed beside him.

"Oh, no, no, no. No you don't, mister. You get up right now."

Rodney gave a startled yelp when John suddenly rolled and pinned him to the bed. The lights froze during the dimming process as John growled in his ear. "Are we under attack? Is it the Wraith? The Replicators? A virus? A city-wide malfunction?"

"Um, no?" Rodney's voice rose in pitch on the second word.

"Then I'm not getting up." John rolled away from Rodney, turning his back towards the other man and pulling the covers up over his shoulder again.

"Fine." Rodney's tone was sharp. "I guess you really don't care then what I've been doing for the last few days or the fact that shortly after the Icarus came into radio range, Caldwell asked for a private audience with Elizabeth first thing in the morning. Radek and I are working on tracking down the source of the signal that Caldwell received first, but we think the information we want was buried within a routine databurst that uploaded as a matter of course when the Icarus came into range." He turned onto his back, clasping his hands over his abdomen, staring at the ceiling.

John lifted his head and looked over his shoulder at Rodney for a long moment before lying back down on the pillow, facing the wall. "Well, that's it then."

"Yup." Rodney sounded very matter of fact. "Of course, we've got just about everything in place now."

John rolled ever so slowly until he was back on his other side, facing Rodney. He had to pull at the covers to get the slack he needed to do so, but Rodney refused to budge an inch.

"What are you talking about, McKay?"

Rodney bounced up on his own side, propping his head with one hand supported by his elbow. "Well, first, I went back and removed all mention of the quantum mirror from the database. Radek was the only other scientist who knew of its existence, so we're cool there. Speaking of Radek, he's been working on some sort of scanner to look for bugs—not the kind we usually run into but the spying kind. Humor him for me, okay? He's very proud of this. And then I went around and spoke to each...co-conspirator, if you will, individually, thinking it best not to give away the entire group in case the poison pen is watching. I think the weakest link here is Carson actually—he says that because you and Colonel Sheppard lived different lives, your bodies, though genetically identical, don't match in terms of wear and tear, scarring and so forth—for example, you never got bitten by the Iratus bug."

"Thank god. But what does that..."

Rodney mowed over him as though he had not spoken. "Ronon has proposed a rather interesting explanation for this—and one that cannot be readily disproved. It seems that there are rumors that the Wraith worshippers actually get fed on multiple times—that the Wraith can actually restore the years taken during a feeding—kind of a reverse feeding if you will."

"No shit?" John was interested in spite of himself.

"I know, I know," Rodney beamed. "Freaky, huh? Point is, such a reversal could easily remove scars, heal old fracture lines, restore a missing appendix, whatever. And no one can say otherwise. Especially if you say don't remember what happened yourself. All we know is that there was a Wraith involved at some point. Who's to say what happened to you before your 'escape'?"

"Rodney..."

"No. No, Jay. Listen to me. All you have to do is sit tight. Do not cave in to presumed pressure. No one can prove you aren't who you say you are. If you just hang in there, this will all blow over—it has to." He sat up suddenly. "I gotta go. I've still got things to do."

He rolled off the bed and was headed for the door as he spoke over his shoulder. "Everything will be alright, you'll see."

He suddenly stopped as though in mid-thought, and stalked back over to the bed, resting one knee on the mattress as he leaned in over John, bracing himself with a hand by John's head. "You may be an idiot, but you're my idiot." His mouth just hovered over John's, blue eyes gleaming with the Rodney-on-a-mission glint before closing to give him a hot, dirty and possessive kiss. John leaned up and chased after his lips as Rodney withdrew but was not surprised that he could not be sidetracked at this time.

John watched as Rodney exited his room and the lights continued their gradual fadeout. It had to be his imagination that echoed 'you'll see' in his mind.

***

When the summons to Elizabeth's office finally came over the radio, John could not help a mental sigh of 'finally'. It was like the first time he directly encountered the Wraith after arriving in this universe. After weeks of reading about them, hearing horror stories from Ronon, watching the limited video footage that existed, he had begun to worry how he would respond when he finally was confronted by the worst nightmare in Pegasus. Sheppard's bitter and cynical journal entries hadn't helped, particularly when John knew Sheppard had likely died at the hands of a Wraith that was controlled by Kolya. But when the moment finally arrived and they were ambushed on a planet, all John could feel was a fierce anger. He remembered thinking 'it's about goddamned time' before he and Ronon had blasted the way out, allowing the team to escape. That's how he felt now. At least the waiting was over, come what may.

He was conscious of a desire to saunter into Elizabeth's office like he owned it, hook his thumb in the belt of his BDU's and walk right up to Caldwell, tell him to his face where he could stick his suspicions and allegations. Tell him that if he thought John wasn't doing a good job here in Atlantis then Caldwell could just accept his resignation and send him on his merry way back to Earth. It was oh-so-tempting on so many levels. It would neatly solve the problem of what to do with him whether or not he was an imposter, making it something of a moot point. It would allow him to protect the command staff of Atlantis. And it would be exactly what he did after the Afghanistan debacle that got him discharged without a court-marshal in his own universe. A part of him admired the symmetry in that.

He'd not been surprised to find that Colonel Sheppard acted in virtually the same manner as he did in Afghanistan. What surprised him was Sheppard's determination to keep his mouth shut and his willingness to accept the posting to Antarctica afterwards. Still a hot head, still impulsive, still willing to risk everything to rescue a member of his squadron, but somehow smarter, more mature. He had learned a lot from Sheppard over the last few months. It was important now not to over analyze his response to Caldwell's impending accusations. And to keep a lid on his temper.

Just as he was about to enter Elizabeth's office, unbidden the thought came to mind 'What Would John Do?', remembering the time he'd come close to asking Rodney for just such a bracelet and he entered the room with an unwilling smile tugging at his lips. Elizabeth looked tense and somewhat surprised at his expression.

"Elizabeth." John acknowledged her with a nod. "Colonel." He turned towards Caldwell, his no-nonsense bulldog features assessing John grimly from where he stood next to Elizabeth's desk. "Is there something going on I should know about?"

"Jay," Elizabeth began, a note of warning in her tone, but Caldwell cut her off abruptly with a sharply upraised hand.

"What makes you say that, Colonel?" Caldwell was even cooler than usual. Well, that was to be expected.

John couldn't help a short, suppressed laugh. "Well, Colonel, I get a call to come down here with no pleasantries, no explanation. I walk into a room with an atmosphere so thick I could cut it with a knife. So I ask again, is something up?"

"You might say so, Colonel." Was it his imagination or did Caldwell lay an odd stress on his rank? "Some serious allegations have been made about one of the members of this expedition. I have no choice but to conduct an investigation into them."

John felt himself frown. How would Sheppard have reacted to such news? Before he even fully worked through what he was thinking, he was speaking again. "Allegations? What kind of allegations? And who are we talking about here?" He found himself exchanging a glance with Elizabeth and then noting that it was not lost on Caldwell.

Caldwell didn't beat around the bush. "Specifically, the allegations concern you. It has been suggested that are that you are not the real Colonel Sheppard but an imposter."

A short cough escaped John's lips. Well, that was blunt enough. "Excuse me?" He shook his head slowly, as though he could not believe what he was hearing.

"An imposter." Caldwell was now openly cold, his words clipped and precise.

"Soooo," John couldn't help the exaggerating the drawl slightly. "Exactly who am I supposed to be?"

"That remains to be determined." Caldwell's comment caused Elizabeth to tighten her mouth and shoot Caldwell a sharp look, which John found inexplicably amusing and he had to control his expression. "In the meantime, I will conduct an informal investigation in order to decide how to proceed in this matter. I am not confining you to quarters or relieving you of command...yet...but I am asking that you stand down from all off-world activity at this time. And to relinquish your weapon."

"Is that really necessary?" Elizabeth began even as John interrupted.

"Are you serious?" He felt himself starting to get angry on Sheppard's behalf, which was a little weird no matter how you looked at it. "You might as well post a vote of no-confidence and be done with it."

"Jay," Elizabeth tried again, this time sounding like she wanted to plead with him to cooperate. He shook his head.

"I want to know what the extent of these 'allegations' are and who is making them." John turned to Caldwell, trying to contain his anger and remain within the bounds of respect but not quite succeeding.

Caldwell's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to divulge my source at this time." He held his hand out for John's gun. They held eye contact for a long moment. This is a test. John forced down a tight sigh and removed his weapon from the thigh holster, handing it butt first to Caldwell.

The tension in the room seemed to ease slightly with the action. "Thank you, Colonel." Caldwell began. "As I said, for the time being..." he broke off abruptly as John slid the knife out of his boot and laid it on the desk at Caldwell's hand.

"Anyway, as I was saying..."Caldwell tried again, but then broke off as John pulled another blade out of a sheath just inside his belt and placed it beside the first.

John caught Elizabeth's eye as he pulled the garrote wire out of the collar of his jacket and tossed it and the small wooden handles that went with it on the desk as well. Elizabeth was biting her lip, trying not to smile and John arched an eyebrow at her, forcing her to look away with a cough. John patted down his jacket, came up with a small amount of C-4 and a detonator and put those on the growing pile of weapons on the desk.

"If you are quite finished, Colonel," Caldwell said when John began turning out empty pockets. John snapped his fingers and worked his way up one sleeve with his other hand, grimacing a little at the tight fit before pulling out a slim switchblade. John quashed the urge to give Caldwell a cheeky grin and settled for blankly innocent instead. "As I was saying," Caldwell soldiered on; sounding somewhat like he was grinding his teeth. "I am beginning with an informal investigation to determine if formal actions should be taken and charges filed. Aside from the restriction in gate-travel, your duties are unchanged at this time."

"I see." John's voice was deliberately bland. "I take it you would prefer that I stay out of the armory as well?"

A glint of humor chased itself across Caldwell's face and John realized with surprise that the bastard was human after all. "It would be my preference, yes."

"Well then, Colonel. Is there any way that I can assist you in your inquiries?" Caldwell looked startled by his offer and John met his eyes without flinching.

"Yes..." Caldwell began slowly. "You could provide me the mission reports from your team for the last... let's make it a year."

"Will do, sir." Caldwell's mouth twitched at the out-of-character formality and his expression said he knew why John was making an effort to be formal now. John turned to Elizabeth. "This will affect the roster of away missions we've just created. I'll need to re-assign some personnel and we should discuss which missions we can simply post-pone."

"Yes of course. Colonel?" Elizabeth turned to Caldwell and said primly, "Will that be all?"

The skin around Caldwell's eyes and mouth tightened at Elizabeth's overt dismissal. "I'll be conducting interviews in my office here in Atlantis for convenience's sake." If there had been any humor present earlier, it was gone now. "You'll be hearing from me. Doctor. Colonel." He nodded, scooping up the pile of weapons and taking them with him as he left the office.

John watched him leave and then turned with a sigh to look at Elizabeth.

She was covering a little-girl-grin with one hand. "You are so bad!" she breathed.

"You say that like it's a good thing," John complained.

***

John trailed along behind the Czech scientist, uncertain as to what Zelenka wanted with him, but reasonably sure from his slightly furtive manner that it had something to do with the investigation. His supposition was proved correct when Radek detoured into a small, seldom used room just off the main block of laboratories.

"Dr. Zelenka..." he began warily, only to have Radek cut him off with a raised palm, astonishingly reminiscent of Rodney at his most imperious. The scientist whipped out an unfamiliar scanning device from his labcoat pocket and swept the room, turning in a semi-circle as he took his readings. He gave a small sigh of relief and replaced the scanner before turning towards John to speak.

"It is safe to speak of private matters in here. So, I am Dr. Zelenka now?" He arched an eyebrow inquiringly and puckered his lips with mild disapproval. "Distancing yourself already, Colonel? Just yesterday, I was 'Zelenka' to you. Or 'Radek' when you are feeling particularly, what is your word? Chummy."

"Radek, look I'm sorry, but it's better this way." He had to resist the urge to shuffle his feet uncomfortably.

Radek made a noise that sounded like 'tut, tut' and rounded the corner of the nearest countertop where a laptop was set up. He turned the screen so it faced John and touched a button on the menu. "Rodney's interview with Colonel Caldwell," he explained as the video loaded.

"Radek!" John was appalled. "I don't think this is such a good idea..."

"Please." Again, his mannerism was eerily Rodney-esque. "The only person capable of discovering that I have tapped into these proceedings is Rodney and it was his idea. He thought we should watch each other's interviews. To see where our weaknesses are. Fortunately, Colonel Caldwell has decided to conduct them all from his office here in Atlantis for the sake of privacy. It would be much more difficult to track them down if he chose to interview people willy-nilly as they went about their usual activities, which is how I am sure you would have decided to speak to everyone."

John could not tell if that final sentence was a positive or negative commentary on his command style but, before he could ask a smart-ass question as to which it was, the video finished loading and began to play. John was admittedly curious and not just a little worried as to how Rodney would come across in an interview with Caldwell. Lord knows Rodney was no good at dissembling. He fully expected Caldwell to tie Rodney up in knots.

"Dr. McKay." Caldwell's voice came smoothly from off screen, the camera being focused squarely on the person seated in the chair across from his desk. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me."

Rodney looked predictably irritable, a slight frown on his face, his hair somewhat ruffled. His chin was tilted upwards in a challenging manner. "Yes. Well. Can we make this short then? I've got important things to do, tasks I need to address this afternoon." His fingers expressed his impatience to be off about his business as they tapped on the armrest of his chair. John suddenly realized that no sane person should find McKay in this mode remotely hot and with a pang, kissed even the fiction of his sanity goodbye.

"I can appreciate the demands on your time, Doctor." Caldwell must have decided that placating Rodney was the best way of getting his cooperation—which if he had only known, instantly put Rodney's back up—especially if there was any hint of a condescending manner on the part of the placator. "However, some serious allegations have come to my attention and I would like to ask you a few questions regarding this matter."

Rodney's frown deepened. "Serious allegations?" He did the finger snap thing. "If this is about that marine whose ears I had to pin back over that incredibly stupid...wait, wait, wait." His hand jumped up again, his index finger shaking rapidly in Caldwell's direction. "What sort of allegations, because pardon me for asking, but if it's about a member of my staff, then what business is it of yours? And if it's not about a member of my staff but one of the grunts, then again, why are you conducting this interview?"

"Astute as ever, Dr. McKay. I guess you really are a genius." Caldwell's voice was faintly mocking and Rodney visibly bristled.

"Like a little hog of the hedge," Radek murmured as he watched the scene with John, and despite his tension, John snorted. Radek was being excessively Balkan today and John suspected it was an act for his benefit. Radek was pretty cool.

"The allegations concern Colonel Sheppard." Rodney's frown developed a perplexed component to it. John couldn't help but mentally flinch at Caldwell's words and watched Rodney with increasing concern. Rodney's face was far too expressive and he hoped to god Rodney wasn't going to try acting.

"What about Colonel Sheppard?" His voice was sharp and John winced as he watched. Take it easy there, buddy.

"Someone has suggested that the man currently claiming to be Colonel Sheppard is in fact, an imposter."

"Oh for..." Rodney's face went from astonishment to amusement to indignation in a flash. "Seriously, Colonel. Don't you have better things to do then to chase down silly rumors? Like, I don't know, defending us from the Wraith? For pity's sake, Carson examined the man himself on his return. He's human, his DNA is a match, he has the ATA gene, he has gravity-defying hair and the ability to lounge effortlessly on nearly any surface, vertical or horizontal. What more do you want?"

"You make it sound like Sheppard would be a reasonably easy individual to impersonate."

John could have predicted the eye roll. "I don't know how you could have possibly come to that conclusion from the previous description, but whatever. Look, I know he seems superficially to be a rather simplistic personality, but really, he's quite complicated for one of you military types. Don't you think his own team members would know if he was an imposter?"

"Perhaps they do."

Rodney's blue eyes suddenly snapped with fire and he leaned towards the camera screen. "What precisely are you implying, Colonel? That someone in Atlantis would willingly aid and abet an imposter in playing the role of Colonel Sheppard? That would be insane. Suicidal even."

Caldwell's voice continued on quietly. "Would it, Dr. McKay? Suppose this imposter presented a logical reason for the subterfuge? The members of this expedition have shown an astonishing tendency to...ignore certain protocols and support each other with fierce loyalty, even if that loyalty is misplaced. What if you had been told that your help was needed to cover up serious lapses in memory? Something that might otherwise qualify the 'Colonel' for a medical discharge. I mean, what's the harm in that, right? Just the team helping out its leader, because that's what Sheppard would do for you. Even if you had your doubts, your suspicions. Might you ignore them simply because you wanted this person to be John Sheppard?"

Rodney's face fell and his eyes widened. He looked as though an arrow had come astonishingly close to being on target, whizzing past his head to thud into the bark of a nearby tree. Oh shit.

Caldwell's voice continued on persuasively. "No one can deny a certain superstitious belief that certain members of the expedition are indispensable to its continued success. I believe that most people would include both yourself and Colonel Sheppard in that category."

John waited for the explosion and for an instant, when Rodney's face went beet-red, he was sure that Rodney was going to totally go postal all over Caldwell. But though Rodney ground his teeth briefly, causing a muscle in his jaw to clench and unclench, he leaned back in his chair and appeared to marshal his thoughts before speaking. His words when he spoke at last were deadly quiet.

"No one in this expedition is indispensable, Colonel Caldwell. Though there are some members that are irreplaceable." John caught his breath at Rodney's words and tone. A long silence stretched out on screen, where Rodney and the invisible Colonel Caldwell seemed to be taking each other's measure.

"I have to take these allegations seriously, Dr. McKay." Caldwell's voice sounded just a tad weary when he spoke again. "Considering the potential security threat alone..."

"These allegations..." Rodney began. "Made by whom? Do you have an actual accuser or just an 'anonymous tipster'?" Sardonic finger quotes made an appearance here. "Any theories on how a duplicate Colonel was created? Do you have any concrete proof or just wishful thinking?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by that, Doctor," Caldwell began angrily, "but I resent the implication that I..."

Rodney, not surprisingly, cut him off with a dismissive wave of one hand. "Face it Colonel, you've wanted Sheppard's job from the moment contact with Earth was re-established. Are you sure you can objectively run your private little inquisition into what has to be the most ludicrous accusation ever?" Rodney's pitch and ire rose on the final word.

"Dr. McKay!" Caldwell's voice was cutting. "Might I remind you of some of the more serious and yet unbelievable situations the expedition has found itself in since your arrival here? Do you recall how the alien Thalen took over Sheppard's body and used it to wreak havoc in the city while carrying out a personal vendetta? Or perhaps you've forgotten the time in which you and Lt. Cadman shared consciousness within the same body?"

"As if anyone is ever likely to let me forget that," Rodney said sourly. "Might I point out to you that no one has noticed Sheppard behaving in any fashion other than his usual, um Sheppardy self?"

"Be that as it may, if this is simply a malicious accusation, then Sheppard has nothing to worry about. But if it is indeed true, then it is my duty to get to the bottom of this. For the safety of the Atlantis expedition...and Earth."

"What do you intend to do?" Rodney looked as though it was taking every ounce of his limited self-control not to go on a systems overload.

"This is only an informal proceeding for now." Caldwell was calm, but unrelenting. "At this time, I have no specific grounds for removing Colonel Sheppard from duty. I will continue to conduct my inquiries, but I must admit I am disturbed by discrepancies in Sheppard's medical files that Dr. Beckett cannot entirely explain to my satisfaction. And while it is possible that Sheppard is acting alone, possibly with the memories extracted from the real Sheppard before his death, I cannot rule out the possibility of collaborators within the expedition. Until I have asked all my questions and am satisfied with the answers, the investigation will proceed until such time that I deem it necessary to start a formal hearing or determine that there is no basis for the allegations."

"So then," Rodney smirked. "Anonymous tipster. Be careful that you don't give someone who hasn't the balls to make an accusation in person—or else has no proof whatsoever—more power than they deserve, Colonel Caldwell. You sound as though you've already made up your mind in advance of the evidence. Any scientist worth his salt will tell you it is a critical mistake to theorize without data."

Rodney suddenly touched his radio headset. "What?" he barked. "What? I told you the desalination systems were very delicate and would not handle any major changes. No, no, no! Don't touch anything until I get there. I'm on my way." He looked up at the camera again, presumably in Caldwell's direction. "Well. I'm glad you've got time to waste. My time however, is more valuable. So if you don't need me for anything else? No, I thought not. I'll be going then." Rodney slapped his thighs as he rose from the chair and stomped out of the room without a backward glance. The video cut off shortly thereafter.

"Caldwell's not going to let this go," John said, still staring at the blank monitor screen. "Not as long as he's concerned that I'm a threat to Atlantis."

"But you are not." Radek laid a brief hand on John's arm and released him when John glanced down at his action. John looked up to meet his eye. "You would never threaten Atlantis. Therein lies your safety. Do not forget that."

My safety, maybe. But what about everyone else?

***

When John entered the lab two days later, Radek and Rodney were glued suspiciously to the laptop screen, as though a major sporting event was playing. Somehow John knew that was not the case. He walked over to where the two men sat hunched at the lab counter top, craning over Rodney's shoulder to see what had grasped their undivided attention. On screen, Kate Heightmeyer was taking a seat in the interview chair.

"Okay, you know what? This is not making me happy." John reached across Rodney's arm to shut the video feed down, but Rodney batted his hand away.

"Forget about your deep dark personal secrets for a moment, which Heightmeyer wouldn't reveal anyway. This is important. This is the first interview with someone outside the loop so to speak. We need to know what her impressions of you are."

"Rodney..."

"Shush! Shush! They're about to start!" Radek complained.

"Shush?" Rodney repeated incredulously. He looked like he was about to push Radek in the shoulder. "Did you just 'shush' me?"

"Gee, I wish I'd brought popcorn," John said dryly. Rodney looked up hopefully as Radek rolled his eyes.

"Oh right," Rodney sighed. "Joking. I get it."

Kate Heightmeyer had taken her seat in the interview chair, looking calm, and if John was reading her correctly, slightly pissed as well.

"Has she always been a blonde?" Rodney said suddenly. "Wasn't she a redhead at one point? I think I like the blonde better."

Both Radek and John growled simultaneously. "Rodney."

"Right. Right. Shutting up now."

Against his will, John found his attention drawn to the screen along with that of the scientists.

"Colonel Caldwell," Kate was saying smoothly in her soothing, professional voice. "I'm certain you realize that anything discussed with Colonel Sheppard during one of our sessions is privileged information and as such I am not a liberty to share it with you."

"Dr. Heightmeyer," Caldwell's off camera voice sounded as though he were deliberately imitating her manner. "I'm sure you realize that when it comes to the safety of this expedition, I have the authority to overrule you in this matter."

"If you are asking me to turn over my records to you, Colonel, then I respectfully decline to do so at this time and ask that you take this up with your superiors and return with the appropriate legal documents to enforce your request." Her smile was polite but firm. Huh. He didn't know Heightmeyer had it in her.

"Well, I could do that, Doctor." Caldwell's voice sounded deceptively calm, and John could hear the trap coiled within before he finished speaking. "But then that would make this investigation official, and I don't think anyone really wants that to occur at this juncture, do you?"

Kate's eyes narrowed slightly before her expression became blandly professional again. "Then may I ask, Colonel, what is it you require of me?"

"Now see, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Kate's irritation at Caldwell's comment showed only briefly as he continued to speak. "I merely am interested in your impressions of Sheppard over time."

A small frown appeared on Kate's forehead. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Simply this, Doctor. You've been with the expedition since the beginning. You've had the opportunity to work with Sheppard through a wide variety of situations. You've been in a position to observe his actions, his decision-making, and how he deals with the aftermath of a situation that has gone well or gone badly. Would you say that the man you know as Colonel Sheppard here today is the same man you knew at the beginning of this expedition?"

"Well, of course not." Kate made a funny little 'as-if' face, more expression than John was accustomed to seeing her make on a general basis. "If he was the same man, if he had he not been affected by his experiences here at all, I would be seriously worried about him."

"Explain." Caldwell's voice sounded terse, like he wasn't getting the answer he wanted.

Kate rolled her eyes. "Colonel, when I first met John Sheppard he was the epitome of the cocky flyboy. I knew his record, knew he had some authority issues but I also knew that, like many of the other personnel chosen for this expedition, his individualism and creative problem solving, while not ideal for a military man, where ideal for a colonist. And at the beginning of the expedition, we had every expectation of being just that—colonists cut off from Earth." She smiled then, leaning back in her chair, looking suddenly relaxed. "I knew he would either thrive in this environment or get himself killed."

Rodney and Radek both turned to goggle at John. "She's not talking about me," he hissed. They abruptly faced the screen again.

Kate's smile faded. "I don't think any of us realized the magnitude of risk we were all taking or just how dangerous the Pegasus galaxy was in which to live. But I was right about John Sheppard." She gave a little shrug. "Many people here have struggled to cope with the things that life in Atlantis has thrown at them. A lesser man, someone who was merely an insubordinate flyboy, would not have achieved what Colonel Sheppard has done during his tenure as CO in this expedition." John felt his jaw tighten as he listened, and he could tell Rodney was glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Colonel Sheppard not only has managed the burdens of this command exceedingly well, but he has grown as a person too."

"I would like you to think back to the last few months here." Caldwell interrupted when Kate would have gone on. "Would you say that you've noticed things that are out of character for the Colonel? Behaviors that you would not expect?"

"You are treading dangerously close into asking for my opinion on the Colonel's command abilities, Colonel Caldwell." Kate said primly. "However, if I had one fault to make of Colonel Sheppard, it was that he seemed bound and determined to carry the weight of the universe on his shoulders. He took his duties very seriously and seemed to burden himself unduly with guilt for things not necessarily under his control."

"And now?" Caldwell sounded a little too eager, like a hunting dog that had just picked up the faintest whiff of his prey. "That has changed? Or is it that you feel the sense of guilt itself is indicative of a problem?"

Kate definitely looked miffed now. "What has changed is that I have seen a greater tendency to interact with his team and the people of the expedition—ever since his miraculous 'return from the dead' earlier in the year. I believe that Colonel Sheppard has a deeper appreciation of his ties here and is more willing to share his burdens with his friends. This is not all that unusual following such an experience as being cut off from all known support and living on your own in a hostile environment for weeks at a time. I know," her mouth twisted sarcastically, "that this is generally frowned upon for you military types, but I'm telling you it's healthier than what he was doing before. And it's human. And in the long run, he will be a more stable and better commander for it." She stood up abruptly.

"I believe I've told you everything that is relevant to your investigation, Colonel." Her tone was remarkably similar to the one she used when she advised that your time was up for the day, only with a little more steel in it. "I will say this, however. I trust Colonel Sheppard with my life." She gave a short little nod as she left the room.

"Aw, that was sweet." Rodney interjected into the long silence after the video ended. He shot John an evil grin. "Kate likes you."

"If you breathe one word of this to anyone, I will kill you." John promised.

***

"Okay, we've got a problem." Rodney's glare took in the entire briefing room, packed with the science staff to the point of standing room only, with John, Elizabeth and Major Lorne sitting in as well. "A real problem, not some made up, imaginary, oh-I've-got-nothing-better-to-do-than-cause-trouble problem." Rodney continued, glowering at the occupants of the room as though one of them might be the mystery note writer. As they very well could be.

"Rodney." Elizabeth was stern. "Focus."

"Yes, well, right. Okay then. This is what we know. Earlier today, the long range sensors, recently recalibrated by yours truly, picked up this object that appeared in our space." Rodney's fingers flew over his keyboard and the schematics of the region of space surrounding Atlantis appeared on the large screen behind him. A small blinking dot was visible at the outer reaches of the star map. "Unbeknownst to us, 23 minutes after showing up on the long range sensors, the anomaly began broadcasting a subspace signal. Several hours later, the signal was received in Atlantis and the Gate systems abruptly shut down, effectively isolating some of our people off-world but more importantly, trapping the population of Atlantis here within the city. The UFO appears to be on a path that will cause it to intersect with Atlantis in 7.2 of our days."

"Any thoughts as to what the UFO might be?" Elizabeth hid her worry well, but John could see the tension in her rigid posture.

"Well," Rodney tapped his finger alongside his laptop and looked over his shoulder at the star map. "I can't tell much from this distance. I would guess by its appearance and its slow but steady progress that it is not hypercapable, but I can't know that for sure unless we get up close and examine it. I can tell you this, the thing is roughly the size of a small moon."

"A Death Star," John murmured.

A few of the science types hid their snickers behind their hands, but Rodney's head snapped up abruptly and his eyes locked onto John's in horror. "Wait, wait, wait. He may be right. Ohmygod, he may be right." Hands flashed over the keyboard again. "Radek..." Rodney said urgently and Radek was nodding and typing rapidly as well.

"I'm with you," he said.

Behind the two men, schematics of various Ancient technologies appeared briefly on the large viewscreen, the images shifting rapidly as the database search continued. "Got it." Rodney jumped up and walked over to the screen as a large round object was displayed, the text describing it written in Ancient and highlighting various features. The screen split into smaller diagrams, revealing sections of the round sphere and its internal structure.

"Okay," Rodney said at last, after staring at the screen in silence for far too long, thumbing his lower lip as he studied the schematics. "Colonel Watches Too Many Movies may be right. The database describes a moving weapons platform, a planet killer if you will, that sounds like it could be our UFO."

"Weapons platform?" John couldn't help it; he perked up like a dog that heard the can opener.

"Did you miss the part where I said 'planet killer', Colonel?" Rodney said nastily.

"If it's Ancient, maybe the thing got lost and is just now finding its way back home." John shrugged.

"How is it possible that you can speak with such insight one minute and such utter lunacy the next?" Rodney looked as though he might start pulling out his hair.

"Well, what can we do to find out more about it and what its intentions are?" Elizabeth interjected smoothly before John could fire off a smart-ass retort.

"We need to go to it. Get on board, access its systems and see what its directive is. And before you say it," his glance was at John, "it will take too long to get there by crowhopper."

"The Icarus then." John suggested. "I'll notify Caldwell."

"Oh joy," said Rodney.

Oddly enough, that had pretty much been Caldwell's reaction too. Oh sure, John could tell he was a little psyched about the idea of going to check out the UFO, seriously, why have a cool ship if you didn't get to go do cool things? But he obviously was less enamored with the idea of having Rodney on board at close quarters for several days and his expression grew even grimmer when Rodney proposed that John be included.

"Don't be ridiculous, Colonel," Rodney had over-ridden Caldwell's protests. "I may well need someone with a strong ATA gene and piloting experience and I cannot analyze the systems and fly the Death Star at the same time. Of course Colonel Sheppard is coming with us. Besides, you will have him under your...direct surveillance...at all times."

John strongly suspected Rodney's original intended statement was far nastier and he amused himself by creating alternative phrases Rodney might have used while Caldwell swallowed his pride and acknowledged that indeed, Colonel Sheppard's presence on the mission might prove useful. It also amused him that Rodney had rapidly followed everyone else in adopting the term 'Death Star' for the UFO. Rodney had briefly argued for calling it the Mobile Ancient Weapons Platform, but after John had yelped "MAWP?" and collapsed with a whoop of laughter, he let it drop.

Bags packed, John waited patiently for the beam-up to the Icarus while Rodney gave last minute instructions to Radek regarding things he could try to overwrite the command codes to the Gate. He wasn't surprised when Ronon and Teyla showed up with small bags of their own.

"You too, eh?" He gave his half smile as they took their places beside him. "Well, it's Rodney's mission, I guess he gets to pick his team."

T gave him a funny look, but Ronon yawned, showing very white teeth, reminding John of a large jungle cat. "McKay probably wants my assistance in recalibrating the balance for the ion flow in the propulsion system of the Death Star," Ronon said.

Teyla turned her head slowly to stare at him.

"Or maybe he just wants me to shoot something," Ronon shrugged.

John was still laughing when the beam took them up to the Icarus.

***

After two days under Caldwell's watchful eye, it was a relief when they were beamed aboard the Death Star. Rodney had determined that though sections of the asteroid-like unit were open to space, there was a small area of breathable atmosphere internally, although there were no life signs present. The Icarus scanned the hull superficially—the breaches were due to damage rather than incomplete workmanship. After they had gathered as much information as they could from a distance, Rodney had the four of them beamed to what was likely the central command area.

All four team members gave a little collective sigh of relief to find themselves standing in what appeared to be a control room. "Let's get to it then," Rodney said, rubbing his hands together briskly. As he moved towards the first console, units around him began to power up. Rodney gave a small, crooked smile and turned to speak to John. "I didn't have the gene therapy when we first arrived in Atlantis. Carson gave that to me later. So I didn't get to make the city light up on arrival. That was...Sheppard." Only the slight pause made John realize that Rodney had almost said 'you'.

"Didn't that cause all sorts of problems for you guys? The city powering up after lying dormant for so long?" John could play this cool.

The look of pleased remembrance faded abruptly. "God yes," Rodney hurried worriedly over to the console, checking the power readings. "Okay. I need quiet here for a minute. The systems are definitely coming on line as a reaction to our presence here."

Like a well-oiled machine, the team fell into place. Rodney tapped into the computer banks quickly and confirmed that the power grid seemed to have been in shutdown mode, but systems were now reactivating all over the construct. He also confirmed that the DS did indeed match the description of the mobile weapons platform in the Ancient database. Ronon had mysteriously procured a wheeled chair and Rodney was now propelling himself back and forth between consoles, calling up information and specs on one while simultaneously running a systems diagnostic on the other, talking to himself under his breath all the while. John sent Ronon and T out for a little look around. He'd have gone with Ronon himself and left T to watch Rodney's back, but Rodney insisted that he might be needed on short notice.

Only a limited number of service areas became accessible with the increased output by the life support systems. Ronon and T soon returned with very little to report. There were no food supplies. There was no water. A barracks style room revealed 30 cots stripped of their bedding. John had discovered a command log with a crew manifest. The last entry was over ten thousand years ago. Teyla and John went through the specs that Rodney had pulled up; John whistling at the destructive capability of the DS. Planet killer, indeed.

They discussed it over a break for power bars and some bottled water. "Typical Ancient plan," Rodney groused. "Conceive of an idea imperfectly and then carry it out without thinking it through. Better yet, go off and leave your toys unattended for someone else to trip over."

"What have you discovered so far?" T questioned.

"The first weapons platforms were supposed to be orbital defense arrays—with limited mobility primarily for positioning purposes. Presumably someone got the bright idea to go bigger, badder and more mobile—upgrading a planetary terra-forming system so that it had the capability to actually take out a whole planet. It only has limited hyperdrive capability—it can make short jumps only, which was why it dropped out of hyperspace so far out from Atlantis. The damn thing is so big and cumbersome though that it takes weeks to reach a target, and everyone could see it coming, so the smart thing to do was boogie through your gate and kiss your planet goodbye. Until someone cleverly added the Gate-blocking code to the matrix, thus effectively trapping the population on the world that was targeted."

"Why would the Ancestors build such a weapon?" Teyla sounded disappointed.

So did Rodney, but for different reasons. "Because, like I said, they weren't thinking. They eventually abandoned the program, converting the units into other orbital weapons platforms."

"Looks like they missed one," Ronon offered.

"If your resources were limited, and the war wasn't going well, wouldn't you be tempted to send a planet killer off to wipe out an enclave of hibernating Wraith?" John suggested.

"Now that," Rodney oscillated a finger rapidly in John's direction, "makes a weird sort of sense, if you can buy a stealth attack on a hornet's nest made by an elephant."

Teyla looked really confused and John tried to come up with a Pegasus equivalent for Rodney's strange analogy.

An hour after the break, Rodney leaned into his console screen and said, "No, no, no. Oh no, this is bad, very bad." His fingers began to dance across the keyboard; John had a sudden mental image of Rodney as a concert pianist and wondered if he had ever played the piano as a child.

"What is it?" To his ear, his voice sounded only mildly concerned, completely ignoring the jump in heart rate that Rodney's words had triggered. Rodney paid no attention to him and pushed himself sharply away from the console, wheeling himself expertly towards the wall, where he accessed a panel, a tray of crystals sliding out. His fingers touched the various crystals within, like a chess player selecting but not yet committing to his next move. "Crap. This is bad."

"Rodney," John said sharply. "Care to share with the class?"

"Someone reconfigured the ship's program to target Atlantis."

"I pretty much assumed that was a given."

Rodney looked up at him then, as though seeing him for the first time.

"Death Star on a collision course, gate shut down, what did you think was going on?" John was curious.

"Jay." Rodney's face was the epitome of despair. "Even if the Icarus left right now, there would only be enough time to ferry one load, maybe two, of personnel off Atlantis to the nearest safe planet. There's not enough time to get to the Alpha site without the Gate. Those that we save would have to fare as best they could on whatever world we can locate nearby and quickly. If I can't get the Gate program up and running again, everyone that can't fit on the Icarus will die in five days when the Death Star reaches Atlantis. And I can't fix this."

***

Of course, they didn't give up right away. Rodney kept trying to figure out what had been done to sabotage the system but it was hopelessly convoluted and unexpectedly booby trapped. After being seriously shocked once and nearly causing a catastrophic atmospheric cascade on another attempt, John called a halt to the proceedings for the night, suggesting everyone would think more clearly in the morning after a real meal and some sleep. They returned with enough supplies that Rodney felt there would be no need for further interruptions to his work by returning unnecessarily to the Icarus.

The next morning, John left Rodney in the control room while he and Ronon went to check out the rest of the station. As he suspected, life support was activated in more areas as they explored, responding to his ATA gene when it had ignored the presence of just Ronon and T the day before. Fortunately, by then Ronon had also found a working toilet.

Their explorations led to a chair room. Rodney practically wept with relief. He offered to talk John through it but basically said, "You're a natural. Just think what you want it to do."

Rodney's voice in his ear had been breathless with excitement when John affected a course correction for the DS. "That's it! You've done it! We're changing course. Ohmygod, I love you!"

Caught off guard, John might have squeaked, just a little. "What did you say?"

"Hyperbole in the face of profound relief, get over it, Colonel." Rodney's voice was crisp once more. "Okay, that should do it. We've got a new heading now that will take us safely away from Atlantis."

John bounced up out of the chair with a grin, accepted a hearty slap on the shoulder from Ronon (bracing for it this time) and was almost out the door when Rodney's "no, no, no..." came across the headset.

"What's up, McKay?"

"Go back to the chair. The course re-set to Atlantis again."

Experimentation over several hours revealed that while John could affect a minor course change, as soon as he left the chair, the course re-set to the original heading. Over time they also discovered that as John got tired, he could not override the programming, so simply parking him in the chair and driving the DS past Atlantis would not work either. Meanwhile, the Death Star marched inexorably on.

When Rodney wanted to try yet another variation on the same theme, John raised a weary hand. "Hold up, Rodney. I've got a plan."

He motioned the team together and then contacted the Icarus.

"Colonel Caldwell, this is Sheppard. I want to give you an update on the situation."

"Caldwell here. Go on."

Rodney explained the facts of the situation, John reeling him in when he threatened to get too technical.

"So, let me see if I have a clear understanding. The weapons platform has been set to target Atlantis but the programmer was not an Ancient and has booby trapped the system. Colonel Sheppard is able to effect course slight changes but cannot manifest them over time. Dr. McKay feels that he cannot solve the programming changes in the time we have left." Caldwell's voice was carefully neutral. "Would more personnel and equipment help? I can send additional science teams over, environmental suits..."

"No, no, no." Rodney chimed in unhappily. "Much as I hate to say it, because I know it sounds terribly egotistical on my part, but this really is the sort of programming problem that is best tackled by only one person—we get too many people in here and someone's going to trigger something really bad. The program has a self-defense mode that is designed to kill those that interfere without affecting the platform itself in the slightest."

There was a long silence before Caldwell spoke again. "What exactly is your plan of action?"

John took a deep breath. "I believe McKay's time would best be served by returning to Atlantis and cracking the Gate-jamming code, allowing the evacuation of the entire expedition to the Alpha site. Barring successful re-working of the Gate code, the Icarus would at least be in a position to evacuate some personnel. I propose that McKay, Teyla and Ronon return to Atlantis now, leaving me here on the Death Star."

"And the purpose of that would be?" He wasn't imagining it now, Caldwell sounded positively suspicious.

He avoided looking at the team, but he could tell that Rodney was frowning at him when he glanced over out of the corner of his eye. "I may not be able to hold a course correction over time, but if I wait until the Death Star enters the solar system, I can bring it close enough to one of the planets that the gravitational pull will drive it into the atmosphere and destroy it."

"What?" Rodney exploded. "What kind of plan is that? That's a terrible plan! The minute you get up from the chair, the course will self-correct. In order for that to work you'd...oh. Oh no. No, no, no. You can't do this!"

"Actually," John said quietly, very much aware that Caldwell was still listening in, "I'm the only one who can."

"Colonel Sheppard," Caldwell said carefully. "Are you sure about this?"

"The sooner you get Dr. McKay back to Atlantis, the better the chance that he and Dr. Zelenka will figure out this gate-blocking code. If I can't divert the Death Star for whatever reason, then at least the personnel of Atlantis can be safely evacuated."

Another long silence and then Caldwell said, "Very well, Dr. McKay—prepare your party to beam up."

"No! Wait!" Rodney's voice was strangled. "I need a word with Colonel Sheppard."

"Two minutes, Dr. McKay." Caldwell was impassive. "Caldwell out."

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?" Uh-oh. John thought he had seen Rodney angry before but apparently all the arm-flailing, screaming and turning beet-red was just a cartoon caricature for the real thing. The real thing was much scarier. Rodney got quiet.

He just stood there, staring at John, eyes too intense in a shockingly white face, two spots of hectic color on his cheekbones, as though he were ill and running a fever. John couldn't stand seeing him like this; it was all wrong somehow.

"Rodney," he said slowly, as if by doing so the right words would come to him in time. "You guys are heading back to Atlantis on the Icarus. You'll solve the Gate coding error—I'm just staying here as a precaution."

"Right. Right." Rodney nodded woodenly. "As soon as we're dropped off, the Icarus will head back for you..."

"No." John was firm. "The Icarus will start ferrying as many people as possible off Atlantis, just in case plan A and B both fail. When you get the Gate working, Caldwell can come back for me."

They both stood staring at each other a long moment, oblivious to the presence of Ronon and Teyla in the room with them. Rodney suddenly took a step forward and fisted John's tac vest, hauling him in closer and then releasing his grip to thump him lightly on the shoulder. "Look, I'm no good at this sort of thing...but when Sheppard took off for that Hive ship with my bomb on board, it nearly killed me because I had failed one of my few friends, my best friend, and he was going to die because of it." Rodney ducked his head away, staring off over John's left shoulder. "This is ten times worse than that." His voice was barely a whisper.

He suddenly clutched John in a fierce hug, face buried in his neck, one hand gripping the back of his head and the other wrapped around his body. Startled, John froze for a second and then relaxed into it before hugging Rodney back with all his might. A gentle touch on his arm made him lift his head and then Teyla was gripping both of them by the arms while standing on tiptoe to press her forehead in to touch theirs as well. When Ronon stepped in from the other side and encircled them all with his strong arms, John had to start blinking furiously. He was the first to shift uncomfortably.

His team stepped back, releasing him. "You all really need to go away now," he said hoarsely.

Ronon snorted and pulled an unwilling Rodney away as they moved to join Teyla for the beam up. John raised a hand in causal goodbye as the beam from the Icarus took them.

The radio clicked in his ear. "Colonel Sheppard. I assume you have given this a great deal of thought. Are you sure you want to do this? Perhaps there are other options."

"I'm open to suggestions, Colonel," John said lightly.

"None come to mind," Caldwell said dryly. "Very well. As soon as it has been determined that there is no further need for the Icarus to assist with the evacuation of Atlantis, we'll be back for you."

"So long, Colonel."

There was a long pause during which John thought possibly that communications had been cut off but then Caldwell's voice said quietly, "Good luck, Sheppard. Caldwell out."

John had the feeling it was going to be a long couple of days.

***

He was right. John had never minded being alone, preferred it a great deal of the time, but time passed with agonizing slowness on the DS with nothing to do and no one to talk to. John hadn't realized how much he'd come to rely on Rodney for company—to share meals, play computer games, harass down at the labs. Or how Ronon gave him an outlet for his energy by challenging him every morning on their runs and was refreshingly non-verbal when they hung out together. And how Teyla grounded him, helping him find the words he needed to say or sometimes just understanding him without any words. His thoughts idly turned to Radek and how he'd turned out to be a really good guy and how glad he was that Carson was in charge of things down in the infirmary every time the situation had gone to hell on a mission. He missed them all. He was so very glad to have known them, even for such a short time.

If he thought the day was long, the 'night' was worse. He walked the corridors and thought about his life up until now, thought about the way things had been going in south Florida before he met Rodney. He remembered that first night in the hotel room, when Rodney had been so volatile with the memory of his dead friend haunting him and his crazy-ass scheme to get John to come and replace him. He remembered with a snort the embarrassing mix-up when he'd thought Rodney was propositioning him and Rodney's outrage when John had begun stripping for him. Those thoughts led to others, of Rodney's hands on his skin, of Rodney's mouth on his own, of smokin' dry humping sex up against a wall, of long lazy sessions in bed. A guiding hand on the small of one's back. His mouth on Rodney's cock; feeling it swell as he licked and sucked, the smooth head filling his mouth perfectly.

He finally made his way to the barracks Ronon had found the day before and curled up awkwardly on one of the narrow cots within. The Ancients really knew nothing about beds. If he managed to get out of this, he promised himself he would take Rodney to some place with a real bed, some place warm with sand and surf where they could sit on the beach and drink drinks with funny little umbrellas in them. John had a sudden mental image of Rodney in Bermuda shorts and sandals with a big floppy straw hat and zinc oxide on his nose, complaining about the sun and refusing to do anything that seemed remotely dangerous, like parasailing. He bet he could get Rodney to snorkel, and they'd rent a sailboat and take it out at sunset.

Who are you kidding?

The thought jerked him to wakefulness. Oh. Right. He was on a Death Star with a one way ticket into oblivion. Because even if Rodney did get the gate working, there was no way that John could let the DS destroy Atlantis. The Pegasus galaxy was so dangerous; the expedition didn't stand a chance trying to operate long term from the Alpha site. At best, the expedition would be called home, and they all knew it was just a matter of time before the Wraith made their way to the Milky Way with no one to stand between them and their goal of fresh new worlds to conquer. He wasn't going to let that happen.

The next day passed as the first. If he jerked off to thoughts of Rodney as day cycle changed into night, well, it wasn't the first time.

The morning of the third day, the DS entered the outer reaches of the solar system. No word from the Icarus. He was still out of range to contact Atlantis directly. He sat down and scanned his options, realizing rather quickly that once he passed the outer circle of planets his choices rapidly diminished. In fact, if he waited too much longer to act, there would be nothing of a large enough size close enough to his current course to stop the DS.

The eighth planet had 12 moons, some with atmospheres; none with life. Okay, in his book, bacteria didn't count. Twelve moons seemed excessive to John so he decided one less wouldn't matter to the universe at large. He calculated to the last possible minute when he needed to get in the chair to make the course change, worried that if he went too soon, the DS would override him again. When his time was up, he made his way down to the chair room and took his place. It was harder this time, as though the DS knew him and was ready to fight back. Or maybe it's because deep down you don't want to do this?

Squashing the thought firmly he concentrated on the moon he had targeted, feeling the whine of the engines as the DS altered course unwillingly. He held his goal in mind, a trickle of sweat running down his temple, hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly. For one delirious second he pictured himself in the wooden chair of his nightmare, strapped down while the real John Sheppard interrogated him. Oddly enough, he felt a sense that Sheppard would have approved, and this made him grimace with laughter. His arms began to shake with the concentration it took to hold his course as the DS actively resisted the course change. Opening an eye just enough to picture the map of the solar system above him; he could follow his course as he approached the moon. Just a little while longer, and then the DS would be unable to retreat from the gravitational pull of the moon.

He knew it the second that line had been crossed. The DS seemed to groan but the pull against him in his mind lessened dramatically, and he felt it when the DS began to lumber towards its new goal. He stayed with it just a little longer, just to be sure, and then let go of the chair, testing to see if the DS could get out of its current course. The map showed him that he was now on a decaying orbit with the moon—in a very short while it was going to get pretty hot around here.

Wearily, he stood up from the chair.

Hey.

John felt an eyebrow rise as he turned slowly to look around him. Obviously the strain of the last few weeks was starting to play with his mind. Great. He'd always suspected he was borderline insane.

Hey you.

Shaking his head, he stalked over to his pack and pulled out one of the water bottles, opening it over his head and letting the cool water spill over his face and neck before taking a swallow.

You. Come. This way.

John whipped his head around, trying to pin down the location of the voice, but his eye was caught instead by a station map that appeared on the wall by the exit. Walking over to it, he saw a schematic of the room he was in. He appeared to be represented by a blinking blue light. As he watched, the schematics panned through several levels where a red blinking light sat in the middle of a large open area. He touched the screen map and words in Ancient appeared by the room in question. Well, that was a big help.

The red light blinked more rapidly. Hurry.

John began walking slowly out of the room, puzzled by a growing sense of urgency pressing upon him. Hurry.

He had picked up the pace when the voice spoke again. Run.

Dropping his pack, John began to sprint for the lower levels. He pelted down several flights of stairs, and slid down a ladder into a narrow corridor. He started to head down the hallway. No, the other way. Hurry.

John ran like he'd never run before and it was exhilarating. He turned when the voice told him to, skidded around corners, swung himself around railings and ran until he thought his lungs would explode. He charged into the open room that was calling him, breathless from the exertion and the odd desire to laugh. Slowing to a halt, he looked around at what appeared to be a small flight bay. In the middle of the floor sat an odd little vehicle that reminded him of a snow globe, the windshield a large domed structure. As he stood gaping at it, the door popped open and lifted upwards, just like a Lamborghini. Without hesitation, John climbed in and took the only seat, chest heaving for air. The door shut and sealed behind him and the control panel lit up with the pre-flight checks.

"You're the oddest little crowhopper I've ever seen." John patted the control deck. In the back of his mind, he thought he heard a faint snort. Checking the HUD that popped up in front him, John realized they would have to boogie to get out of the DS which was now spiraling down to the moon's surface. He hit the control for the bay doors and the one man ship lifted smoothly to his commands and zipped out of the flight deck. When he had put a safe distance between him and the DS, he angled around to watch as the DS made satisfying contact with the moon. He was too far up to see the actual impact, but the subsequent explosion was very impressive. Peeling away into the upper atmosphere, he set a course for Atlantis.

He was pleased to see the Icarus when it appeared on an intercept course several hours later. That meant Rodney had been successful in solving the Gate problem, which he knew would make McKay very happy, if a tad insufferable.

"Unknown craft. This is Colonel Stephen Caldwell of the Earth ship Icarus. Please identify yourself."

"This is Colonel John Sheppard," John let the drawl out to play.

"Colonel Sheppard?" Caldwell was incredulous. "But how..."

"I found this cute little hopper in the basement of the Death Star and was on my way back to Atlantis, but if you guys wouldn't mind giving me a ride...?"

Something rather like an unwilling chuckle came across John's comm link. "And the 'Death Star'?" John could hear the quotation marks. "We registered an explosion."

"Oh yeah, that. I crashed it on one of those moons back there. I hope you didn't want it for anything."

He got an actual laugh this time. "You're cleared to land in Flight Bay One. Caldwell out."

Ronon and Teyla met him in the bay as soon as he landed. He looked around warily after their enthusiastic greetings. "Where's Rodney?"

Ronon and Teyla exchanged a glance. Teyla did the speaking. "We were all on the bridge when the destruction of the Death Star was reported. Rodney took the news...rather badly."

"But he knows I'm alright, right?" John frowned at his teammates.

"Yeah, he didn't take that so well either." Ronon shrugged. "He's hiding out in his assigned quarters."

"Good luck, Jay," Teyla squeezed his arm reassuringly before she and Ronon abandoned him.

John had to buzz Rodney's door three times before it opened to let him in. Rodney was curled up on his bed with his back to the door.

"Rodney," John spoke softly as he stepped into the door and let it shut behind him.

"Go away, you bastard." Rodney's voice was muffled. "I hate you."

"No you don't." John sighed and crossed over to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it without touching Rodney.

"I thought you were dead." Rodney spoke to the wall.

"I'm sorry, I could go back and try again."

That made Rodney roll over in order to attempt to shove him off the bed. "Shut up, you prick, I'm mad at you." Rodney ended up gripping him by the upper arms, pushing at him while he grabbed hold of Rodney back and wouldn't let go.

"I know," John said as they both ended up panting with the struggle. "I know," he said more quietly.

Rodney closed his eyes, releasing John's arm to lay a hand across them. "Just sit there and shut up for a moment while I get used to the idea of you being alive again."

John's fingers said 'okay' as they smoothed their way along Rodney's shoulder.

***

The summons to Caldwell's briefing room was not entirely unexpected. The resulting conversation, however, was.

"I see you managed to find another bit of useful technology, Colonel." Caldwell invited him to take a seat.

"You know how it is, time on your hands, nothing better to do than to walk around opening doors."

Caldwell raised an eyebrow. "And it's a what? A mini-hopper? A one-man shuttle?"

"Something like that." John slouched back in his chair. "It's a frisky little thing. Reminds me of a Volkswagen Beetle. I'm thinking of calling it 'Herbie'." The fact that Caldwell would never get the joke only served to make it funnier in his mind.

Caldwell seemed to sense this just a little and after a long moment during which it looked as though he were about to speak several times, he suddenly said, "You intended from the very beginning to drive the weapons platform into that moon."

"We-ll," John drawled, stretching the word out into two syllables, "you can't just leave a thing like that lying around. Never know when it will come back again to bite you in the ass."

Caldwell simply nodded several times in a row and then suddenly blinked, clearing his throat. "I'm calling an end to the informal investigation concerning you."

John blinked himself and sat up straighter. "Sir?"

"I can just see myself trying to explain to the SGC and the IOA on what grounds do I have for thinking you are an imposter. Especially when my informant remains anonymous and has offered no concrete proof. And the entire expedition seems to be on your side. And you pull a crazy stunt like this, successfully, I might add, which just reeks of John Sheppard. Of course you're John Sheppard." His eyes narrowed and he leaned in across the table. "And for your sake, you'd better continue to be."

"Um, yes sir."

A small smile twitched at Caldwell's mouth. "Colonel Sheppard, you are dismissed."

***

"Um, sir?" Lorne sounded slightly diffident as he stuck his head in the door. "Do you have a minute?"

Trying to ignore the sinking feeling he was experiencing at Lorne's words and demeanor, John waved him into the room with an attempt at nonchalance. He just wanted to tie up some loose ends and go look for Rodney, who was still giving him the cold shoulder. He was disconcerted to see Lt. Cadman following on Lorne's heels as well.

"Sir? I believe Lt. Cadman has something you should hear. Off the record, that is." Despite his misgivings, John couldn't help but notice both Cadman's apparent confusion as well as Lorne's suppressed amusement. Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as he thought.

"I do?" Cadman shot the major a searching look.

"I believe," Lorne said carefully, "that you should share with the Colonel what you told me when you found out about Caldwell's investigation regarding the Colonel."

"Oh. Oh! Seriously?" Laura Cadman split her glances between Lorne and John and nibbled at her lower lip. "You want to know everything I said?"

"Well, some of your more personal opinions you can keep to yourself, but yes, everything. Off the record, of course." Lorne added helpfully. "As a matter of fact, I have some duties to attend to, so I'll just leave you to it. Sir." He nodded in John's direction before taking his leave. John waved him off; he'd never been big on formal dismissals.

The door shut smoothly behind Lorne and though the major could have engineered that himself, John had the impression Atlantis was just being helpful again.

"Well, Cadman. Off the record. Let's here what you have to say." He leaned back in his chair, tossing down the stylus to his PDA and trying not to sound as weary as he felt.

"Well, it's just this, sir. When Major Lorne informed me that Colonel Caldwell was...well, on a witch hunt to prove you were an imposter, I believe I said something to the effect of, 'oh is that all?'"

John felt his head cock sideways. Cadman shrugged and smiled, flipping her neat, strawberry blonde braid back over one shoulder. "I mean, seriously, like we didn't already know you weren't the same John Sheppard that came on the expedition originally."

"What?" John inhaled sharply and got very still.

Cadman seemed to be enjoying her effect on him. She slid into the chair opposite his desk and waved a hand airily. "Oh sure. I mean, it wasn't obvious right away...you guys had a decent cover story and you did a really good job at being the Colonel and I'm sure for the most part anyone who had any strong suspicions just sorta forgot about them after a while, but yeah, not the Colonel we knew before." Her face fell briefly, in remembrance.

"What..." he swallowed abruptly, mouth suddenly dry. "What makes you think I'm not John Sheppard?"

"Oh, I never said that." Cadman grinned cheekily. "Just not the man that signed on with the expedition initially. If you must know, there are several competing theories as to who you really are. Some people think you're a clone, some think you're from an alternative universe. There was an idea buffeted around for a while that you were a Replicator, but no one believes that any more."

"Gee thanks."

Cadman snorted in a most un-ladylike fashion. "Off the record, right? I personally vote for you being a twin. I like the idea of you being the black sheep of the family. Of course, the less said about how you found your way to Atlantis, the better."

"Uh-huh. And your reasons for thinking this...?"

"Well, for starters, there's the way that after all this time, people suddenly started calling you 'Jay'. Not significant in and of itself, but I'm sure you've also noticed that no one invites you to the weekly poker game any more—you've suddenly gotten too good for most of us here. And I don't think anyone can ever remember seeing the Colonel have more than a single beer at most, whereas you and Ronon now have been known to drink even Zelenka under the table. Not to mention, you finished War and Peace, seriously sir, what were you thinking? Oh, and let's not forget you and Dr. McKay..." Cadman trailed off suggestively, to sit and blink at him innocently.

"Me and Dr. McKay?" John said weakly, resisting the urge to smack his own forehead.

"We-ll..." Cadman exaggerated the syllables. "I mean, it's possible that a near-death experience could cause two people to re-evaluate their relationship but..."

John stayed her with a raised hand. "I get the picture." He sighed and then frowned, leaning forward out of his slouch. "You mean to say that all this time you..."

"Not just me." Cadman interrupted with a smirk.

"All this time various members of the expedition have had their doubts about my identity and no one saw fit to do anything about it?" He felt himself sliding into angry Colonel mode, but damn it, how could anyone have known for sure he wasn't a threat to the expedition?"

Cadman looked a little hesitant and then gave him a genuine smile, no smirk or tease involved. "Since we're off the record, sir...Jay...see, the very fact that you're upset about this just proves everyone's point. No matter who you really are, you're John Sheppard enough for us. I think I can pretty much speak for the people under your command when I say that."

"But..." John shook his head slowly. "How could you possibly know I wasn't a threat? What makes you so sure now?"

"Oh that." The saucy look was back again. "Well, we figured there was no way that your team wasn't in on it. I personally know that Rodney has a pretty strong streak of self-preservation and no one could see him endangering his own life, not even for really hot...um, well, never mind." Cadman flushed prettily and swallowed before continuing. "We trusted Ronon to deal with it if you were a problem. Besides, if it was okay with Teyla, then, well, it was just plain okay. I mean seriously, sir. She lets you call her 'T'".

John was beginning to have a small amount of sympathy for Caldwell. He pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to five before he spoke. "Lieutenant. You really should treat the possibility that your CO is an imposter with a little more...that is to say, your criteria for choosing to trust someone that you suspect might be..." he trailed off helplessly.

"Two words for you, sir," Cadman grinned. "Death Star."

"But..."

Cadman threw a hand in the air to block further comment on his part. "No buts, sir. Even if there were some people who had their doubts about you before, no one does now."

"That had nothing to do with...Cadman, that was necessary."

"Yes, sir. It always is with you." She smirked openly and then cocked her head, frowning slightly. "Some unsolicited advice, sir?"

"By all means." He hoped the sarcasm was not wasted on her. By the looks of her grin, it was not.

"If I were you, I'd go talk to Rodney. I'm pretty sure he'll forgive you eventually, but I'm guessing he'll hold it over your head for a long time."

"I am not having this conversation with you, Cadman." John managed to grind out.

Cadman beat a strategic retreat for the door. "Whatever you say, sir."

John briefly thought about thumping his head repeatedly on his desk but Cadman's words kept coming back to him. Maybe he should go see Rodney instead.

***

It took him a while to track Rodney down, since he was determined not to use the radios. Somehow using the radio felt like cheating, which made no sense, but there he was, searching for Rodney the old-fashioned way. Perhaps it was his subconscious way of delaying what was bound to be an awkward conversation, who knows? In the end, John got the sudden inspiration to visit the balcony over the east pier again. There he found Rodney leaning against the rail, much as John had done the week before.

Rodney had his back to the doors as John stepped out on the balcony, but he glanced over his shoulder briefly at the sound of John's entrance, and then turned to look back out over the sea. Dusk and another storm were approaching together; the skies were darkening rapidly and the air was heavy with moisture. John stopped short as he cleared the doors, uncertain of his welcome. He glanced up as a fat raindrop plopped on his shoulder and another splattered down by his boot.

Rodney's posture positively radiated 'go away'.

"Hey." John took a step forward, his voice quiet as he spoke. "I never told you how cool you were in that interview with Caldwell."

Rodney's head snapped up as he glanced back around at John, blue eyes narrowing in suspicion, waiting for the punchline. "Oh really?"

John nodded. "Yeah." He gave a small grin. "I mean, you made him lose his temper and everything and you got way more information out of him than he did from you. Very cool."

"I staged the radio call too," Rodney said smugly, turning off the rail to face John, bouncing on the balls of his feet lightly. "I had Radek create a mild situation and then page me so I could get out of the interview, well, before I said, in case I..."

John felt his mouth drop open slightly. He hadn't suspected that. "Oh man, very cool, Rodney."

"I might have had a good role model when it comes to bluffing." Rodney was looking slightly more conciliatory.

"Maybe," John agreed, edging closer again. "But the Sherlock Holmes reference was just brilliant."

"I know," Rodney was suddenly gleefully conspiratorial. "The best part was that Caldwell never even noticed. But I knew you would. Well, and maybe Elizabeth. Though I really wasn't thinking about Elizabeth at the time..."

John moved into Rodney's space, placing a hand on the side of his neck and tracing the line of his jaw with a thumb, feeling the rough texture of stubble against his skin. "Can we not talk about Elizabeth right now?"

"Are you crazy?" Rodney hissed, looking sharply around in all directions and then pulling John out of the line of sight with the doors. "Or just punch-drunk with your recent success? It might interest you to know that despite the fact that we are not talking about Elizabeth, I just spoke with her and Caldwell has officially declared his unofficial investigation of you at an end. That however, does not mean you can go around making public displays of...whatever. " Rodney finished lamely.

They ended up under the short roof that protected part of the balcony, just around the corner from the doors. John went willingly with Rodney at his insistence, but then met sudden resistance when he would have taken Rodney into his arms.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm still mad at you." Rodney pushed him back sharply with a firm hand on his chest when John would have pressed him up against the wall.

Coming to a sudden decision, John took a step back. "Rodney," he said calmly. "You know I had to do that. It had nothing to do with proving myself to Caldwell or to the expedition or to you. It was about doing what needed to be done in order to save the city."

"I would hope to god that it had nothing to do with your having to prove something to me, because you don't have anything to prove!" Rodney shouted abruptly and then clapped his hands over his mouth, looking aghast at his outburst. The wind began to pick up, ruffling his hair, making him look startled and suddenly rather young.

"Okay," John said carefully, as though Rodney was an ordinance that might still go off if not handled carefully. "So no one has anything to prove to each other and I was just doing my job."

"The least you could do, for the sake of this conversation, is pretend that you're never going to do something like that again."

John started to automatically protest that he wouldn't make promises he couldn't keep but then he saw something in Rodney's miserable expression that said 'pretend' and something inside of him that he hadn't even known was frozen suddenly thawed.

"Well of course I'm never going to do that again. That would be insane." He watched as a crooked smile twitched unwillingly at Rodney's mouth.

"Well, okay then." Rodney huffed quietly. "At least we've got that settled."

This time when John moved to take Rodney into his arms, there was no resistance. Rodney's mouth on his felt amazingly hot in contrast to the cool air around them and together they thumped gently back up against the wall.

John rested his forehead against Rodney's when the kiss finally ended. "Do you really think this is really over?" He was going for casually cool but was ashamed to hear how small his voice sounded instead.

Rodney tipped his chin back to look at him in the eye. "Doesn't matter if it is or isn't. It's been decided among the rest of us—if this thing still manages to go bad on you, then we all go down together."

"What? Rodney, no!" John reared back, suddenly pissed. "Goddamn it, that would be the worst possible outcome and you know it."

"Doesn't matter." Rodney was oh-so-Rodney smug. "It's unanimous. Elizabeth, Carson, Radek, Lorne, Ronon, Teyla and, of course, me. You were going to give yourself up to save us—we won't let you go down by yourself. You can't stop us from confessing, so you might as well keep up the pretence yourself."

John stood with his mouth opening and shutting as he tried to find the words to convince Rodney they shouldn't do that for him.

"You look like a goldfish," Rodney said helpfully, folding his arms across his chest in complacent victory. "You might as well give up and accept the fact that you're one of us."

Someday, John was going to tell Rodney just how hot he found that superior-ass attitude of his. But not today. Instead, the words he needed finally came to him. "It doesn't feel like I'm pretending any more."

"Really?" Rodney was touchingly pleased. He stood briefly in open-mouthed astonishment until the smile broke across his face like the sun parting the clouds. "C'mere you." He pulled John into the circle of his arms as the rain began to fall more steadily just outside the overhang. "I should have arranged for a Death Star to come threaten our home earlier," he murmured into John's ear as he hugged him, hands in his hair, tilting his head suddenly for a breath-stealing kiss.

Our home. Cool.

He lost himself in the feel of Rodney's mouth against his skin, his broad hands sliding down John's back, cupping his ass, kneading his flesh through his clothing. The thought of a threat suddenly broke through to his brain.

"What about the poison pen? People like that don't stop once they get started."

"Don't you worry about the letter-writer." Rodney's voice suddenly went sharp and cold, a degree of ruthlessness John was not accustomed to hearing. "If I ever find out who it is, I will make their lives a living hell until they chose to return to Earth on their own."

"My hero." John batted his eyes dramatically, hand over his heart.

"Shut up." Rodney growled. The rain suddenly began in earnest. "Okay, that's it. Let's take this to a dryer venue."

John felt the notion take hold of him, felt the devilish expression come over his face. A bubbling sort of glee made itself known deep inside of him. "I've got a better idea." He took Rodney by the hand and began to drag him out on the balcony further.

"Jay! Are you crazy? We'll get wet. At the very least. If not pneumonia. Cut it out." Rodney put on the brakes like a balky mule, leaning back, using his weight to avoid being dragged out into the rain.

John just grinned, dug in his heels and pulled harder. With a stumbling half-step, Rodney shot forward into John and they both cannoned down to the balcony floor as the rain poured down. Rodney rolled off of him hurriedly. "Ohmygod, are you all right? Did you hit your head? Although it would serve you right it you did. Are you laughing?" He sat up on his heels, looking very indignant as he glowered down at John, the rain plastering his short hair to his head. He blinked and shook the water out of his eyes.

John just tilted his head back and laughed harder, loving the feel of the rain on his face, the way it ran down the planes of his neck. He clutched his belly as he pulled up one leg, placing his foot on the floor of the balcony and laughing some more.

Grumbling about being soaked, Rodney pushed himself to his feet and gruffly reached down a hand to pull John to his. John bounced up easily, still laughing breathlessly as the rain pounded down on them. It was so loud, rattling on the roof of the overhang and bouncing off the floor of the balcony, he could barely hear when Rodney shouted in his ear, "You're officially crazy!"

John grabbed him by his jacket, fisting the material as he pulled Rodney closer so he could shout laughingly into his face. "No, I'm officially alive."


***
Epilogue:

A few days later after the event that everyone referred to as the Death Star Incident, he came to his workstation and began setting up for the day's projects. He carefully placed his mug of coffee to one side of his keyboard so as not to risk potential catastrophe by an accidental spill. He mentally sniffed at the image of his co-workers, busily stuffing their faces all day long at their desks, their sloppy habits threatening weeks of work and delicate equipment to boot. But consider the source. That's what he always said. There was always a trickle-down effect from the top and the leader was the one who set the example. He sniffed again.

He checked the experiment that he'd left running the night before. Satisfied that it was going to prove his theory, thereby winning him his bet with Simpson, he moved on to the days' emails and memos on his laptop. He was taking a careful sip of coffee when he opened an email with no header. Odd. It had no return address either. The screen was entirely blank, or so he thought at first until he began to scroll down. Halfway down the page in Times New Roman size 24 font appeared the words "I KNOW WHAT YOU DID."

He looked at the screen a long time before glancing around furtively to see if anyone in the lab was watching him. Heart pounding, a trickle of sweat beading at his temple and with a shaky hand, Kavanaugh hit the 'delete' button.

~fin~

Chapter End Notes:
The song reference Rodney makes is from "Shoebox" by the Bare Naked Ladies.