Broadcast Signal by Madison [Reviews - 16]
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Category: Slash Pairings > McKay/Sheppard
Characters: John Sheppard, Major Lorne, Original Character, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, First Time, Hurt Comfort, Team
Warnings: Adult themes
Series: None

Word count: 21707; Completed: Yes

Summary: Oh great. Now he was destined to see dead people.
Story set sometime in Season Three. (No obvious spoilers that I'm aware of)


Story Notes:
Written for the sga_santa story exchange on LJ. My thanks to the moderators who put together such an awesome story exchange, the_cephalopod for acting as usual as my impeccable beta and threnodyjones for writing me the coolest story, Antediluvian.
The first time he woke up, his head felt like it was being crushed in a vise and that's how he would have described it, only he would have been twitted for the unoriginality of the oh-so-obvious cliché. But that was what it felt like, he would have argued back: his head felt as though clamps had been placed at the temples and that someone was slowly and inexorably turning the handles so that any second now his brains would come exploding out his nose and ears. The mental image coupled with the sudden wave of nausea that rolled over him, cold and green like an ocean wave, caused him to clutch the side of the metal-framed cot and vomit on the floor. Though it was really more like dry-heaving, he thought dispassionately, with the part of his brain that was still functioning, before he passed out again.

The second time he awoke, he was slightly more aware of his surroundings, the cold, gray room that had an institutional feel to it, the utilitarian bed on which he lay, the obvious toilet facilities. All these spoke 'prison' more than 'hospital' and he should know; he'd spent enough time in both to know the difference. He tried to sit up, but retched again, thinking that vomiting would almost be preferable, because the wracking, non-productive heaving hurt. It had him gasping for breath as well. He touched the side of his head where it hurt the most and found dried blood there.

A flutter of movement told him someone was in the room with him. "I need a doctor," he said through gritted teeth.

"You have been examined," a voice answered, but he could not tell if it was male or female. There was something about the cadence of it that was familiar but he could not place it. The lack of compassion was the thing that bothered him the most as the voice continued. "You merely have a concussion. You will live."

He squinted at the form standing next to his bed, shrouded in some sort of heavy garment and obscured by the thankfully dim lighting. He couldn't remember the events that brought him here (and that was scaring the hell out of him) but he still knew what was important. "My team," he said thickly. "Where's the rest of my team?"

"The other people that came with you are deceased. You belong to us now."

Like bloody hell. "I don't believe you," he said flatly. He fixed the silent form with the most fearsome glare he could muster. He wasn't going to think about the implications of what he was being told right now. He just couldn't.

The figure shrugged slightly. "Your belief is irrelevant. The fact remains that you are our prisoner. You will work for us, repairing the equipment left behind by the Ancestors, or you will die like your friends."

"If you want me for my brains," he said, feeling his lips curl up into a nasty snarl, "then you should take better care of them."

He didn't know what happened after that.

The next time he awoke, he realized he'd been given a room upgrade while he was unconscious. The walls were soft beige, the floor covered with thick, hand-woven carpets. There were no windows, but the light seemed to diffuse in gently from all around. His bed was more comfortable as well and on the nightstand beside it, a pitcher of water sat next to a metal cup, condensation beading on the outside of the container. He sat up stiffly and poured himself a drink, sipping cautiously (after smelling it suspiciously first). The water was gloriously cold, with a bite to it like drinking from a mountain spring, and he was hard-pressed not to gulp it down the way his body demanded.

Instead, he got carefully to his feet, noting the absence of his regular off-world uniform as he flipped back the blanket covering him. Instead he wore some sort of tunic and pants that looked Asian in design, a shimmering black with bright red piping. Beside the bed were flat, slipper-like shoes. He slid his feet into them and held his breath for a moment as the room spun crazily around him. When it stopped, he began to walk cautiously around his upper class cell. Behind a patterned screen, a toilet and sink were discretely tucked away. He clutched his metal cup, periodically taking sips from it as he shuffled in his slippers around the room. He paused at a table, where his laptop was sitting in the closed position, the emblem for Atlantis emblazoned at the top. He let a finger trail thoughtfully over the design before moving away. The laptop couldn't help him unless there as some way to connect to the city systems. There was nothing else of his in the room.

The door opened silently, catching him off guard, and he froze in apprehension as people began to enter the room. He felt himself relax slightly as it became apparent that the people were both women, one no more than a child. Both paused as they entered and inclined their heads in his direction, eerily reminiscent of Teyla's Athosian greeting, before placing the covered trays that they carried on the table. They left as silently as they entered. He felt himself drawn to the table, where the smells of hot food wafted out from beneath the covered trays. Hopefully, he lifted the wicker lid on the first tray. Tava beans and that grain that was either like quinoa or couscous; he could never remember which was which. Scant little bits of some unidentifiable meat mixed in, with that green weedy stuff that served as shallots. A flat spoon, a dull knife. Basic utensils that could not easily be converted into a weapon. The other tray held a flatbread that was rubbery in consistency and a small dish of some sort of greenish paste. It triggered a faint memory for him and he tentatively tore off a piece of the gelatinous bread and spread a little of the paste on it. It was surprisingly good and he wished he could remember the planet where they had first discovered that particular combination of foods.

The tray also held a small flask that contained an oily brown fluid—just sniffing it made his eyes water and he knew instinctively he was supposed to drizzle it on the tava-grain combo. He stoppered it hastily and replaced it on the tray. A sudden mental image of Sheppard and Ronon came to mind, laughing over dinner in a tavern, the flickering light of a fire behind them in the hearth, both urging him with poorly suppressed grins to souse his dinner with the sauce that John later called 'wasabi to the tenth power'.

He resolutely shut that thought away. John and Ronon and Teyla could not be dead. They couldn't. How could they possibly be dead and he still be alive? Morosely, he sat down at the table and began nibbling at the proffered food. Just his luck he'd be captured by the NearlyVegetarian&NoStarchyCarbs people. He picked at his dinner, having a hard time telling how much of his lack of interest was due to the menu verses the effects of the concussion. He had a passing thought that Jennifer would be happy that he was finally sticking to her diet recommendations and then his spoon fell to the tray with a clatter. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the memories of all the people he'd lost to Pegasus and it seemed not only plausible but highly probable that his captors were telling the truth. He pushed the trays aside and laid his head down on his folded forearms against the tabletop.

The women who had served him had appeared faintly Asian in appearance, with long dark hair pulled back in braids and wearing silk-like tunics similar to his own. Though they could be more like a middle-eastern society for all he knew. He wasn't very good with ethnic differences, though it occurred to him that maybe the Ancients had somehow influenced the Persians and that's why their society was so advanced in science and math at a time when the rest of Europe was in the Dark Ages. And weren't the Persians the Iraqis now? Or was that the Iranians? Daniel would know and he suddenly couldn't think of anyone he wanted less at his side at this moment. Jackson knew his stuff all right, and he wasn't afraid to die for what he thought was right (though here Rodney couldn't help the snide thought that anyone who'd come back from the dead as many times as one Dr. Daniel Jackson probably wouldn't be afraid of dying) but Daniel was not the one he wanted in his corner when push came to shove.

He wanted John. And Ronon. And Teyla.

John with his drawl and his ridiculously non-military hair and his outrageous plans that worked despite the fact that they should utterly fail. Ronon with his indestructibility and his dog-like loyalty (especially if you fed him) and his ability to blast his way out of any given situation. Teyla with her diplomacy and her serenity and the fact that she could kick the ass of any man on Atlantis, including John, which would never, ever cease to be funny but was so reassuring to have at your back.

They couldn't be dead.

After a bit, he got up and returned to his bed, curling on his side and longing for some sort of comfort, some reassurance that everything was going to be all right. Without realizing it, he slept once more.

The door suddenly opened, forcing him upright with a gasp of surprise and then pain as the abrupt movement set off an evil gnome with a hammer in his head. This time his head, though still hurting, felt clearer. He watched apprehensively, wondering how long he'd slept, as an entirely new set of people entered. They swept into the room, an armed guard taking up position near the door and looking impassively at nothing in particular as the remainder of the party came to a halt in a little semi-circle around his bed.

"I know you," he said sharply, shaking his finger rapidly at the garishly robed man slightly at the forefront of the group. "You, you, you, you're Delmar, no, Delkin and you're the leader of the..." he paused to snap his fingers several times in the manner of 'wait, wait, don't tell me' before snapping his chin forward to finish his sentence with "the Soldarians." His moment of triumph at remembering was squashed by the pain that his normal, conversational movement had caused.

"You are correct." Delkin bowed slightly in his direction, the braided and beaded ends of his mustaches waving cheerfully with his movement. There was nothing cheerful about Delkin's expression however, when he straightened. His eyes were flat and cold, like a shark's.

Little bits of memory were starting to return to him now, the request by the Soldarians to set up diplomatic talks, the promise of a higher level of tech than usually found on the average planet in Pegasus, and the fact they'd been oddly ignored by the Wraith for many generations. The subsequent discovery of a treasure trove of Ancient tech that had him squealing like a school girl with excitement...and then what? He vaguely recalled the sound of weapons fire, of John telling him to take cover...the wave of nausea rolled over him with a small shudder again.

"You can't expect to get away with this. Whatever story you made up, my people will never believe you." He spoke with a fierceness he didn't know he possessed.

Delkin shrugged, resulting in a whisper of red and gold silk with the movement. "A regrettable accident to be sure. The snowstorms that blow up at this time of year are always treacherous. Your ship—you called it a 'puddle jumper' I believe? Yes, well your ship went off course and crashed into the mountains. So sad. And too dangerous to risk mounting a rescue part right away. And of course, when we allow your people to examine the site crash, they will find parts of your ship scattered all over the mountain range. Unfortunately, they will find no survivors."

Rodney surged to his feet, swaying briefly with dizziness. "I'll have you know John Sheppard can land a rock, for pity's sake! No one's going to buy your crappy story!"

Delkin fixed an odd look on him. "Perhaps. But that does not concern you. I would like to remind you that without your ship, the Ring of the Ancestors is a five day walk at best. At this time of year, it can take up to two weeks due to the intense winter storms. As long as you do not venture outside, you will find your clothing...adequate." Another bow, mocking this time, accompanied the statement.

He was tempted to sneeringly retaliate by threatening Delkin with the retribution that would follow when the team investigating their claims arrived through the gate and picked up on his transponder, but he seemed to hear John drawl in his ear not to give away his whole hand before the bets were laid and he suddenly clamped his lips shut.

"You have already been allowed three days to recover. That time is at an end now. It is imperative that you start your work immediately. If you do not cooperate, we will kill you, as we killed your companions. In this, we are determined." Delkin seemed to be engaged in some sort of staring contest with him, but oddly enough, it was Delkin who blinked first, narrowing his eyes and motioning over his shoulder to the man next to him.

"I understand you have some doubts as to the seriousness of our intent." Delkin spoke calmly, without emotion, as the man stepped forward, bearing a tray covered with an embroidered cloth.

There was a moment of tenseness, in which Rodney anticipated some sort of evil torture device would be revealed that would frighten him into cooperating, which it would, because he knew that had to buy time for his team to find him. He struggled to control the hidden confidence in his team's ability to find and rescue him (even if he had to do most of the escaping himself, they would come for him in the end). He just had to stay alive.

The man beside Delkin presented the tray. With a sidewise glance to see how he was reacting, Delkin whipped off the cover with a flourish. For a moment, Rodney wasn't sure what he was seeing. His eyes almost seemed to cross, to lose focus and then everything suddenly sharpened and his gaze zeroed in on the items on the tray.

A lock of copper-colored hair, chopped off haphazardly at one end. A set of dog tags on their chain, black noise guards still in place. A big blaster, the handle taped at one end with what looked like surgical tape, once white and now grubby with handling.

He began to hyperventilate.

"I see that you understand the significance of these items," Delkin said smoothly.

Rodney stepped forward, reaching out and touching the items on the tray with a forefinger. The silky softness of Teyla's hair. Ronon's big gun; the one that everyone who'd ever seen it had coveted. His fingers curled around the dog tags and he lifted them up to read the embossed lettering. Lt. Colonel John Sheppard.

He closed them in his fist.

When he looked up, Delkin was watching him, a small smile on his face. "You will start work tomorrow. We have delayed long enough."

He backed up from the display, dog tags still in hand, until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he sat down abruptly. "You might as well shoot me now," he said, and all the despair he thought he was hiding somehow leached out into his voice, giving his every emotion away.

Delkin shared a glance with the tray-bearer and then frowned. "Let's hope you will rethink that position come the morning." He turned with a swirl of clothing and pushed past his contingent heading for the door, the others following in his wake. The guard snapped to attention sharply as Delkin passed and then followed the others out the room, which was promptly locked behind them.

"I don't think so," he said aloud to the empty room. He sat on the edge of the bed a long moment and then pushed himself further up onto it, swinging his legs up onto the mattress and rolling himself into the blanket, huddling down into it as though he'd never be warm again. It's shock, he told himself. Shock and concussion and lack of reasonable food. He crunched his eyes tight in a wince, as though he could shut out the images of the items on the tray. He suddenly realized he still had the dog tags when he felt them cutting into his hand. Loosening his grip, he stared at them a long moment before clumsily slipping them over his head and into his tunic. The metal felt warm against his skin and was somehow comforting. He closed his eyes again.

"Hey Rodney." He heard the drawl and refused to open his eyes. He didn't want to be shattered when no one was there.

"Yo, Rodney," the familiar voice persisted. "Hey, nice jammies and all, but are you going to wake up and talk to me?"

Rodney cautiously opened one eye and then was surprised into opening the other. John Sheppard did indeed stand before him, but in a way that Rodney had never seen before. John was nearly luminescent in the quiet light of the room and looked impossibly young.

"You're dead," Rodney huffed, wanting to close his eyes again, but mesmerized by the huge shock of hair flopping over into John's eyes and the decidedly late eighties, preppy look to his clothing.

"Huh." John appeared briefly startled. "Well, that explains a lot."

****

Rodney took a deep breath and let it out gustily. He pushed himself up on one elbow and squinted at the apparition of John Sheppard. "I tell you that you're dead, and that's all you have to say?"

John shrugged and ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck the way he did whenever he was embarrassed or uncomfortable. Rodney spared a passing thought that maybe it was time for him to give up his hobby of Sheppard-watching, as there would probably be little source for material in the near future. It depressed him and he almost missed it when John began speaking again.

"What? What did you say?" Rodney sat all the way up and propped himself up against the wall behind the bed, carefully allowing his head come to a rest on the wall as well, wincing as he did so.

"I said," John drawled in a fake-casual way, "that I have a few gaps in my memory, that's all." He was wearing a white, crew necked shirt with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows (naturally) and a black knit sweater vest over it, that should have looked dorky, but didn't, not on him. He was slouching with his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He didn't look a day over eighteen.

Rodney looked over at him sharply. "Huh. Maybe this is not you; appearing in Ascended form to me after all. Maybe this is just a head-trauma induced hallucination, like the time in the submerged jumper, and you're really just part of my subconscious and that's why you have the same memory gaps that I do."

John blinked at him and raised an eyebrow. It was hard to believe, but Rodney realized that he preferred John as he knew him now—this baby-faced John, while admittedly good-looking (okay, smokingly hot), somehow did not inspire the same confidence as the more mature Lt. Colonel Sheppard. It really wasn't fair that John started off gorgeous and just got better looking with time.

"Wait a minute, you hallucinated about me when you where in the sunken jumper? And what makes you think I'm Ascended?" John glanced down at his body and seemed startled again. "Damn, I haven't seen this sweater in years." He plucked at it experimentally.

"I didn't hallucinate about you in the jumper," Rodney said tartly. "I dreamt up Sam. She appeared and told me everything that was wrong with what I was doing to try and save myself. Only it was really my subconscious, arguing with myself, which after a while got really...weird." He finished on a self-conscious note, recalling both the events as he'd perceived them and his conversation with Dr. Heightmeyer afterwards. John was giving him the 'oh really?' eyebrow, so he hurried on. "Anyway, I'm sure I picked her because we had unfinished business and I thought I was going to die. As for you, you have this whole glowy thing going on, which I'm sure you will recognize from all your previous dealings with Ascended beings. Not to mention you don't look old enough to drink legally."

He'd been watching John's face as he spoke and noted the rapid but subtle shifting of emotion in John's expression. Whoever said John Sheppard was a closed book just didn't know how to read him. He appeared to ignore almost everything Rodney said, eyes narrowing until just a glint of hazel showed, a half smile on his face.

"So. We have unfinished business then?" He smirked at Rodney, picking up on the one thing that Rodney would have preferred he not bring up.

Rodney heaved his pillow at him. John laughed and half turned to ward off the blow, but they both stopped and stared when the pillow sailed right through him.

"Oh, fuck me," John breathed, turning to look at the pillow behind him on the floor.

If only. John turned his head sharply back towards Rodney, and for an instant, Rodney thought John had heard his thoughts. He felt his face warm and knew he was turning a dull red.

"Let me get this straight," John began, still looking as though Ronon had just punched him in the gut. "I'm either dead, Ascended or a figment of your imagination?" Rodney thought it was interesting that when John got upset, instead of his voice rising the way Rodney's would, it got all growly and threatening instead.

"That about sums it up," Rodney agreed.

"I don't like those choices," John was starting to look seriously pissed now.

"Hey, at least you've got some choices. You were voted Most Likely To Ascend from the moment you set foot in this galaxy. All the cool kids want you at their party. But I don't think Ronon and Teyla got any choice at all." His voice broke at the end and he closed his eyes. If only his head didn't hurt so damn much. The pain was making him tear up. He pressed the heel of one hand into his eye and rubbed.

"Rodney." John's voice felt more like a whisper next to his ear and Rodney could hear the layers of sorrow and anger contained within. "I'm going to get you out of this, I promise. You hear me? I'm going to get you out of this."

"You'll just get kicked out of Club Ascended," Rodney warned, opening one eye to see if John really was as close to him as he thought. But John was no where to be seen.

He was alone in the room again. His life totally sucked.

****

The lights in the room seemed to dim and brighten on their own roughly 12 hour cycle—never quite all the way on or off, something for which Rodney could not decide whether to be grateful or not. It felt a little like he was living in a hamster cage and he briefly could not refrain from picturing himself as a pudgy, angry rodent in one of those transparent exercise balls.

He really hoped his head would get back to normal soon.

He had a moment of panic where he wondered if maybe this was normal for him now, that his head had taken one too many blows or that his brain had been exposed one to many times to dangerous situations—like the Ascending machine or the time he got all hopped up on the Wraith enzyme or the fact that he drank more beer hanging out with Sheppard than he'd ever drunk in his entire life up to now. Maybe his brain was just completely fried and he was going to see dead people and think random crazy thoughts from here on out until he descended into madness.

Yeah, well not before he utterly destroyed this world.

Yeah.

The door to the room began to open and Rodney eyed it narrowly, the full force of anger suddenly seething in him, making him want to pounce on whoever walked through the door and pound the living shit out of them. In the seconds that it took for the door to fully open, he could see it happening, him biffing the guards with a good ol' one-two punch to the jaw, snatching up a weapon and making a run for it. People that lived so far from the gate had to have alternative means of transport to it. Some sort of land vehicle, no doubt. He suddenly recalled being given a tour of a hanger of aircraft, John becoming both animated and charming and the conversation rapidly disintegrating into g-forces, airspeed and firepower. Right. So that meant there were some sort of aircraft here...not that he'd be able to actually fly it, but still...Rodney gathered himself to rush whoever came through the door.

And almost fell off the edge of the bed when the small girl from the meal trays entered the room silently and alone, closing the door behind her. With a solemn expression on her face, she walked towards his bed and stood before him.

"You are sad. You do not wish to live if your friends have died. I have been sent here to bring you comfort." Her long hair was no longer braided and had been washed and dried so that it hung in a curtain near her face, rippling in a shiny blue-black wave that reminded Rodney of the silk garments they wore.

"What? Okay, that's a nice thought and all, but all the food in the world can't make up for the fact that oh yeah, right, you people killed my friends, so yeah, pardon me if I am less than enthusiastic about your offer of comfort here. Unless you brought ice cream?" he added hopefully.

The young girl lifted her head from where she'd been studying the floor and frowned slightly at him. "I am not familiar with this 'ice cream' that you mention. Nor have I brought food. I am here to serve at your pleasure...whatever that pleasure may be."

She undid her robe and started to shrug out of it, revealing nothing but acres of naked skin beneath it.

"Stop!" Rodney gave an agonized yell and launched himself out of bed, wincing at the pain this caused. He grabbed the girl's robe by the lapels, trying to pull it back up over her shoulders. "You can't...I won't...this is not..." he stammered, all the while fighting the slick silk as the girl protested and tried to continue disrobing.

"Hey, Rodney," he heard from behind him, as well as an intake of breath. "Whoa," John continued, "Um, I guess I'll come back later."

Rodney hurled a glare over his shoulder at John, who was now dressed in a cream colored cable knit sweater that was miles too long for him. "This is not what it looks like!" he snarled at John. To the girl, he said, "Put your clothes back on. I don't have sex with children."

The girl lifted her chin in a fashion that reminded him of Jeannie and boy, didn't that just kill any mood that could have possibly been there before. "I am not a child. I am almost seventeen."

"Oh great," Rodney huffed, relieved to see that she was no longer trying to disrobe but in fact was now pulling the garment back on in indignation. "You'll be a good match for the Prep School Kid over there."

She looked around the room uneasily. "I do not know what you mean. Do you not find me attractive?"

"I don't think she can see me, McKay," John volunteered.

"No really? Fancy that. Of course not. I'm the only person allowed to see people that aren't really there, have multiple personalities in one consciousness..."

"It was one time. Jeez, are you going to whine about having Cadman in your head forever?"

"It's my head!" Rodney shouted. "How would you feel if someone else had control over your body? Made you do things you didn't want to do?"

"I thought you wanted to kiss Katie Brown." John frowned, sounding faintly puzzled.

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Rodney turned away from John to look at the girl, who was now openly frightened. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a deep breath. "Okay, it's not that I don't find you attractive, because well, oh never mind that, the important thing here is that in my culture, it would be highly offensive to you if I...it would be considered taking advantage of you...it would be wrong..."

"Fifteen will get you twenty," John sang quietly in the background.

Rodney wheeled around to shoot him a death glare (admittedly less effective on the already declared dead) and then turned back to face the girl-child in front of him. "It is not permissible for me to accept the kind of comfort you are offering," he ground out desperately at last.

The girl re-tied her robe around her slim body, allowing her hair to fall forward to shield her face. "You mean to kill me then?" she asked in a small voice.

"What? No, where did you get such a crazy idea?" Rodney was horrified and he glanced over at John, whose eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline, though really, that was not very hard to do at the moment.

"Ask her for her name," John suggested as the girl sank to her knees in a billow of silk, head bowed in supplication.

"I am yours to do with as you wish," she said softly, not lifting her head. "If you do not find me sexually attractive, perhaps you wish to take my life in retribution for the friends you have lost."

"Okay, that's just way beyond wrong," Rodney said to the room at large before staring down helplessly at the girl at his feet. He glanced over at John who gave him a 'don't look at me' face. Rodney turned back to the girl. "Look, what's your name?"

The girl lifted her head cautiously. "Lia," she said.

"Okay, Lia," Rodney sighed. "There will be no sex with, or killing of, little girls, okay?"

"But I must bring you comfort in some way." Lia looked as though she might cry and Rodney wondered if she might be punished if she failed in her given task.

"I smell a foot massage coming on," John said and then snorted at his own joke. Rodney shot him another evil glare. Honestly, even dead, John had the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy.

"Look," Rodney said with a little more vindictiveness than he might have done otherwise, "if you want to bring me comfort, you can see to it I get a little more meat with dinner, okay? And if I think of anything else, I'll let you know. I feel much better now. So off you go then." He made shooing motions with his hands.

Lia stood, a tremulous smile appearing on her face briefly before turning and making quickly for the door. At her touch it opened and let her out, closing behind her with the sounds of locking again.

"I have to figure out how that works," Rodney said thoughtfully. He yawned suddenly and flexed his shoulders, wincing at how much that hurt.

He almost jumped out of his clothes when he felt warm hands on the back on his neck. He did gasp and start to turn, but John stopped him, moving his thumbs in slow circles along the tight muscles of his upper back and neck. "What the...how'd you...?"

"That's what I came to tell you." Rodney could hear the grin in John's voice. "If I concentrate, I can, you know, take solid form. Not for very long though. But it might come in handy."

"That still doesn't narrow down our choices as to what you are," Rodney groaned and dropped his head, rocking a little as John's fingers continued to work on his neck. He steadfastly refused to think of all the ways that John might come in handy or the fact that he could not recall John ever voluntarily giving him a neck rub before. "You could still be an Ascended being who's figured out how to manipulate different planes of existence or you could be a hallucination where I've perfected the details." He recalled sharply the kiss he shared with Imaginary Sam at the bottom of the ocean and a little evil part of him wanted Imaginary John to be that real. If John was really dead and he was stuck on this hell-hole for the rest of his life, then at the very least, he wanted his moment with John before the concussion completely went away.

"You left out just plain dead and I'm a ghost," John said lightly, even as his hands continued to knead and work Rodney's abused muscles.

"Yeah, right, a ghost that's learned how to manipulate ectoplasm and that's why you feel real," Rodney said in a burst of sarcasm before deflating again. "I don't want you to be any of those things."

John's hands stopped moving, fingers tightening briefly as they rested on his shoulders.

"I want you to be alive and plotting some stupid plan to rescue me and then we all go home back to Atlantis. You can't be dead, John." Rodney turned to face him, John's hands slipping away with the movement. "I need you to still be alive."

John looked at him helplessly before turning his palms over in a half shrug. He winked out of existence as Rodney stood staring at him.

****

"Hey," he heard over his shoulder and it caused him to drop his instruments with a curse.

"Will you just stop that!" Rodney hissed at John, collecting his tools again and making sure that they were not damaged. Today, John was dressed a bit more like his usual self, still in jeans and battered brown hiking boots, but with a black tee-shirt and a drab-olive sweater thrown over top. He still had a mop of hair that hung endearingly down over his eyes and Rodney suddenly pictured him in a convertible, with hordes of squealing girls marking his passage down the street.

"You want me to leave?" John briefly looked hurt.

"What? No, of course not. I just want you to stop sneaking up on me. At least when you showed up at the lab, the odor of Aqua Velva always gave you away in advance."

"I don't wear Aqua Velva and you know it, McKay," John made his own version of the 'ha-ha, funny' face. Rodney did know it. Curiosity had led him to explore John's bathroom one day (didn't everyone do that if given the opportunity?) and he'd discovered unopened bottles of both Stetson and Polo (obviously gifts, but the burning question was from whom?), and the Athosian soap that most people despised, but Rodney had to admit, smelled good on John. He had been extremely gratified however to find a jar of hair gel (appropriately called 'whatever') that promised to give the wearer that messy, bed-head look. Rodney had felt viciously vindicated.

"Where the hell have you been?" Rodney continued to talk in a lowered voice, pretending to work. He had no reason to believe he was being observed, but no reason not to as well. "It's been at least 12 hours since I've seen you last—maybe longer. I was beginning to think...well, never mind."

"I've had a few things on my mind, Rodney." John pulled out the sarcastic drawl now. Rodney spared him a glance and saw that he was leaning with his hips against the end of Rodney's workstation and oh wow, didn't that take him back to every time he'd experienced 'the lean' before. "You know, like trying to work out what happened to us in the first place, and what exactly I am and how we're going to get you out of here."

"Us," Rodney corrected. "Get us out of here."

"You can't exactly take a hallucination with you, Rodney," John made a sour face and then suddenly seemed depressed. "Or hell, I don't know, maybe you can. Who the fuck knows?" He scrunched his eyes shut as he rubbed his forehead.

For Rodney, that was just so wrong. John didn't give up. He didn't second guess himself, or at least not without the help of Radek's very best tormack vodka and Rodney had long since learned when to cut John off and roll him home. For John to sound so defeated just tore at something in Rodney's heart. "Any luck with that? Figuring out what's going on, I mean?" he asked lightly.

"No." John folded his arms across his chest and stared at the floor.

"Well, since this thinking thing is working so well for you, how about I tell you what I've discovered?" Rodney let smug superiority enter his voice and was rewarded with an upward tick of the corner of John's mouth.

"Carry on, Professor," John made a 'go on' roll with one hand and Rodney was hard-pressed not to wonder what John was like as a student in college—probably as different from him in every way as the sun was from the moon. Blinking, he focused back on his subject.

"The Soldarians have quite the little collection of Ancient artifacts, but they only showed us the kinds of things we've already encountered—defunct personal shields, medical equipment, that sort of thing. The thing is, there's a complex computer system here, something pretty powerful that is somehow shielding this planet from Wraith interference." Rodney could feel himself getting excited and saw from John's reaction that it was contagious.

He straightened out of his lean and raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Shield how? Not like the Peter Pan planet, because we flew in with the jumper just fine."

"No, you're right, this is far more complex than a simple EM field, probably necessary because the degree of technology already in place here would also be affected by EM interference. They're still blocking me from a lot of the information, despite the fact that I really can't fix anything if I don't understand the system I'm working on, but give me enough time and I'll hack into their little secrets. I've got the strong impression that what I'm dealing with is a powerful AI, but at the moment, it's seriously compromised—probably from centuries of incompetents doing their own patches and fixes to the system. Still, if I can figure out how the system works, it might be something we can use in Atlantis."

"You can use in Atlantis," John reminded. "And be careful, buddy. I have the feeling these people won't take kindly to snooping. If you get caught..."

"So? What more can they do to me?" Rodney said sharply, surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

"Rodney," John began, and the familiar two-note drawl made Rodney inexplicably angry.

"No, you listen to me, John. I'm too fucking valuable to kill, see? They need me." The very fact galled him. A lifetime ago, the very value placed on his brains, on his technical skills, would have made him grateful for the protection it offered him. Now it just sickened him. Like the Soldarians couldn't recognize the value of the rest of his team?

"They can still make your life miserable." John obviously felt the need to warn him.

"They already have," Rodney turned his back and hunched over the equipment again. Somehow he knew when John had left the room.

****

Rodney was not accustomed to being wrong. That is not to say he was always right, but most of the time he was. Only as the flexible, bamboo-like rod in Delkin's grip came down with a searing crack on the back of his hand, Rodney remembered at least one other time when John had been right and he'd been seriously wrong and the consequences of that error had resulted in the near-destruction of a solar system.

"Gah!" Rodney yelled, snatching his hand protectively up against his body. "That's my hand, you moron! Second only to my brains, they're the most valuable thing about me. Damage my hands and how do you expect me to fix your stupid machines, eh?"

Delkin seemed unimpressed. "You will not meddle in systems that are not pertinent to your repairs. You will focus only on the information we have provided you. You have everything you need to work on the problem at hand, and yet you persist in this foolish delay. You have no hope of rescue. Your people have come and gone days ago, and they have accepted our story as to the death of your entire team. No one is looking for you."

Rodney could feel his blood pressure start to rise, could feel it pounding in the pulse point at his throat and in the corresponding tic he was developing under one eye. "How the hell do you know what is 'pertinent to my repairs'? You have no idea what a mess your operating system is in and I have no idea how to approach solving the problems because you are withholding information. Have you ever heard of the expression, 'making bricks without straw'? It means you've only given me half of what I need to know and I can't build anything with that!" He stood up and was surprised to notice he was significantly taller than Delkin. He took a decisive step towards his captor.

"Look, you have a powerful AI—a computer—an artificial intelligence—at work here, but there is something seriously wrong with it. The best that I can tell is that there is a power drain somewhere that keeps shutting down the system—a system mind you, that the Ancients meant to last for centuries without needing a new power source. If you could just let me take a look at the power configurations, I do have some experience with ZPMs..."

"No!" Delkin suddenly snapped. "That is not permissible, nor is necessary. You will do the work you are assigned and stop making excuses for your failures." He struck out sharply with the rod, snapping it against Rodney's thigh and making his leg buckle.

"Ow! Fuck! Why, you little pipsqueak..." Rodney clutched at his leg and felt the fury rising in him again. He was so sick and tired of this petty little man...he straightened and reached out for Delkin's rod with a snarl, his fingers curled into a claw-like grip.

Delkin avoided him easily and cracked the rod again on Rodney's leg, three times in rapid succession. Rodney couldn't help it; he dropped to his knees on the floor, the pain overriding the brief surge of rage. He curled on his side, drawing his leg up into his body in an attempt to smother the protests of outraged nerve endings by clutching his thigh and muttering, "fuck, fuck, fuck," under his breath.

Delkin leaned forward slightly and said in a voice that plainly revealed how much he disliked Rodney, "Your hands may be valuable, but your legs are not. You can work from a chair without the use of your lower limbs. Think about that the next time you choose to disobey me." He raised his hand again, in preparation of landing another blow.

The lights went out.

There was a brief moment where both Rodney and Delkin seemed to hold their breaths, and then Delkin began yelling for the guard at the door. Before Rodney could fully acknowledge his desire to grab the Soldarian leader by his scrawny throat and wring his neck like a chicken, the lights came back up to half-power. Which was just as well, as he was pretty sure he couldn't stand right now.

"What is it? What is happening?" Delkin sounded a little panicked. Comm units began squawking at Rodney's workstation—multiple people were reporting in at once, sounding just as alarmed as Delkin. Rodney pulled himself up by the edge of the workbench and sat heavily in his chair before adjusting the information flow to his computer.

"Power is down all across the city," he said, not taking his eyes off the screen as the data continued to roll past. "You're running on emergency power now and that's draining fast. You need to shut down all non-essential systems or you're going to lose the whole grid and I'm not sure I can re-start it if the AI goes. Did you hear me?" Rodney turned to glare at the Soldarian, who seemed utterly shaken. "Shut down everything you don't need. Don't stand there wringing your hands—do it!" He bellowed out the last words, causing Delkin to jump forward and begin shouting commands into the comms.

Rodney watched as the power levels started to stabilize, but they were still dangerously low. If the Wraith should chose to attack now...well, they could all kiss their asses goodbye. As it was, if the AI lost even the backup power, then the system was probably toast. "I need access to your power grid information now," he thundered, "before we lose the whole system."

Delkin hesitated a moment and then nodded, causing his mustaches to swing merrily once more, before removing a key from inside his tunic and inserting it in a slot on the main console. A panel slid open revealing a scanner and he quickly placed his palm on it for identification. Once he was recognized by the system, he wasted no time in putting the necessary access codes at Rodney's disposal.

Rodney ignored Delkin once access had been granted and wheeled himself from one console to the other, fingers flying blind over the keyboards as he kept his eye fixed on the data stream that began scrolling on the main computer displays overhead. "Shut up," he rudely told Delkin at one point when the man began demanding to know what was going on, and he was surprised later to find Lia standing at his elbow with a mug of that fragrant not-coffee that was almost as good as the real thing, as long as you put lots of that not-sugar syrup in it. "Bring me several pots of this," he ordered, as he continued to read and tweak the system, rerouting necessary relays, by-passing non-critical areas, pausing only to wolf down a piece of cold meat folded into a slice warm bread and to write new code designed to stem the hemorrhage of power in the system until he could get a handle on it.

Worried looking science types also appeared frequently at his side and he snatched datapads from their hands before sending them away with orders to implement his directives and be less stupid in the future. Hours, or maybe years, later, when the crisis seemed to be resolved for the moment, Rodney took the time to point out to Delkin (now supported by a contingent of upset and anxious city council types) that this was the very reason why they needed to give him complete access to all their systems if they didn't want risking the loss of their AI, and very likely their entire defense system as well, in the near future. "All I've done is put a massive patch on it for now. But the whole system needs to be re-coded and I still have to decipher the mess that's been created over the years from you people and your 'it doesn't have to work right, it only has to work today' mentality."

"You will be given the access you need," Delkin assured him, once more in control, but to Rodney's mind, slightly more deferential. "The AI, as you call it, must not fail. It is the Heart of the City."

"Yes, yes, whatever," Rodney flapped a weary hand in his direction. He was too tired to care.

He was startled to discover that he was grossly stiff when he went to get up out of his chair, and that the silk pants he was wearing were sticking to the side of his thigh. It wasn't readily obvious at first, but he'd bled where Delkin had struck him. He limped painfully down the corridor to his room, flanked on either side by his guards. With only disquieting thoughts for company, he was surprised when they arrived at the door to his room.

****

Inside his holding cell, he was dismayed to find Lia and a contingent of women moving about the room with purpose. The room was dimly lit, but several great, fat votives flickered on sconces set about the room now. Covered trays of food sat waiting for him on the table, as well as a dark bottle of what was probably ale or wine. In the center of the room sat a large, oblong container of some sort, either bronze or copper from the looks of it. The women rapidly assembled themselves into a fluttering line at his entrance to the room, reminding him of brightly colored birds on an overhead wire. "Lia, please," he spoke to the girl, as the only one there he knew by name, "whatever this is, I just want to be left alone."

Lia clapped her hands sharply and the women began to file out, each one pausing to give Rodney a slight incline of the head as they left. With their passing, Rodney could now see that a fresh tunic had been laid out on the bed, along with some sort of kimono-like robe in a bright, royal blue.

"You will bathe, eat, rest," Lia said simply. "You have worked hard today, protecting the Heart. I am here to take care of you."

Rodney realized now that the metal box was actually a tub of some kind, a lid covering to prevent the heat from escaping, thick, undyed towels stacked on a small table within easy reach, with soap and the means to shave as well. He couldn't help but sigh at the thought of sinking into a hot tub full of water. "Ah, Lia," he began with gratitude, "really, you have no idea. I do my best thinking in the tub. But I uh, that is to say, well, I don't really need any help to, you know..." he felt himself start to flush.

Lia smiled charmingly, suddenly looking her age. "This I know. You are like the grafon in the workplace, growling and snapping and crushing bones between your teeth. But in the home, you are but a tiffin." She made her hands into a small bowl, suggesting something timid and possibly fuzzy as well. She grinned up at him as she spoke.

"Yes, well, I think you're possibly mistaken on that front, and I'm sure there's more to this tiffin than meets the eye, they're probably veritable tigers if you back them into a corner—I wouldn't underestimate them if I were you and anyway, I think I'll take a bath first while the water is still hot, so you can just..."

He broke off abruptly as she stood on her tiptoes and brushed his cheek with a kiss. "I think it's sweet," she said.

In stammering confusion, he turned away towards the bed, fingering the beautiful robe and the embossed designs of the silk. "What's this?" he said suddenly, staring down at the bed. Beside the robe, a coil of copper-colored hair was braided and beaded into a small ring. It reminded him of the stargate with its chevrons. Gently he picked it up and turned to face Lia, holding it out to her for explanation. He could feel his face folding in on itself with the effort of keeping his emotions in check.

Lia ducked her head, until her face was hidden by the curtain of her hair. "You kept the necklace," she said simply. "I thought you would also wish a keepsake of the other friend that you have lost. I hope you are not offended, but this way, you may carry the lock of hair without fear of losing it."

"Thank you," he said quietly, thumbing the ring of hair before placing it on the bedside table.

Thankfully, she left without another word. Rodney pulled off the tunic top, tossing it at the foot of the bed and began to shrug out of the pants when he realized that he would have to pull the material off his skin like a giant band-aid and he dithered about that for some time before simply gritting his teeth and giving it a jerk, hissing with pain at the action. Naked, he inspected his thigh and noted the angry, raised welts along his leg, several of which had beaded with enough blood to cause the cloth to adhere to his skin. It was now bleeding again and he was tempted to call Lia back for some first aid, but he figured that bathing would be sufficient for the time being. Shivering, he slipped on the kimono and walked over to the tub to assess the situation.

Shifting the tight fitting lid to one side and lowering it to the floor, Rodney was treated to the sight of steam rising off scented water in the nearly waist deep tub. The ends were fluted in such a way to support one's head and neck at the surface level of the water. He was anticipating the sheer bliss of sinking into that warm embrace when he found himself puzzling over how to get in the deep tub. This was going to require lifting one leg over the edge and lowering himself carefully into the hot water...

He was pushing the kimono off his shoulders when John's voice behind him said, "What's this?"

Yelping, Rodney spun around, wincing as he did so and hastily pulling back on the robe. He took in a deep breath with which to yell at John for startling him, yet again, when he noticed that John was holding the little circle of braided hair.

"It's Teyla's," Rodney said, the words hanging dull and heavy in the air. John stared down at the lock of hair in his hand for several heartbeats before looking up at Rodney with a shuttered look, his mouth tightening briefly and his eyes squinting momentarily in a flare of pain.

"Bastards," he said softly, before replacing the lock of hair on the table beside the bed. "Hey, don't let me stop you from your bath there, buddy," he added with a forced lightness.

Rodney found he was clutching the robe around his body, the lapels folded all the way up under his chin. "Never mind, I can wait. I thought I might eat dinner first anyway."

"Liar," John grinned. "Oh for god's sake, Rodney, I'm not really here, remember? And it's not like I haven't seen it all anyway. Besides, you do the McKays proud."

Rodney began to sputter (just what did he mean by that crack?) but John turned away and inspected his trays, lifting covers and poking at the food within. Rodney hesitated, but decided to quickly disrobe while John had his back turned and climb in the tub before the water got completely cold. Only he had a hard time deciding which leg to lift in first. Going with the injured one, he got one foot over into the tub and gripped the edges with both hands as he started to swing his other leg in so he could lower himself into the water. He hissed as the water hit the welts on his leg; there had to be some sort of mineral salts in the water, he realized belatedly, trying to hang above the water and avoid sitting down.

"What are you over here 'ooh-ahing' about?" Rodney could hear the grin in John's voice as he approached and then the sudden, "Christ."

"It looks worse that it is," Rodney said, hastily sitting down and submerging himself to his chin in the vaguely spearmint scented water. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it hurt like a sonofabitch, but it's not like, you know, an arrow in the ass or anything." Rodney desperately downplayed his injuries so that John would not decide he needed to take a closer look.

John was wearing a black turtleneck over black pants, the stubble on his chin making Rodney realized that he looked older, closer to his real age now. He pushed one sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow and knelt down beside the tub, so that he was at eye level with Rodney. He reached over the edge of the tub and into the water, causing Rodney to open his mouth in surprise, but freeze into immobility as well.

John lifted the dog tags off Rodney's chest and held them up for inspection, water dripping off his hand and onto Rodney's collarbone. "These are mine," he said, frowning slightly.

"Yes," Rodney let out his breath somewhat shakily. "The Soldarians showed them to me, as proof, you know..." he trailed off, wanting to sink under the water until he was entirely submerged, to cross his hands over his groin, to will John to look anywhere but at him, naked in the tub and not very impressive, to say the least.

John continued to hold the tags in his hand, but his gaze followed the chain back up to Rodney's face. "You're wearing them." In the light of the candles, John's eyes appeared almost leonine in nature.

"They told me you were dead. They laid out these items on a tray—your tags, Teyla's hair, Ronon's gun." Rodney watched as John's jaw clenched at the words; like Rodney, John knew Ronon would never leave his gun behind voluntarily. Rodney continued hastily, repeating himself in his hurry to get the words out. "They told me you were dead. There were your tags, just lying there. I wanted them."

"You wanted them." John looked blank.

"Yes, yes, you moron," Rodney snapped, suddenly impatient with John's willful stupidity. "I wanted them because I could not have you. Satisfied?"

John relinquished the tags, sitting back on his heels with a stunned look on his face. Rodney folded his arms over his chest and glared at John. "And just to make things perfectly clear, this has less to do with your eternal hotness and more to do with who you are as a person, although the hotness doesn't hurt at all, seriously. And I mean that in a 'I care about you' way, which is not the same way as a 'friend loves a friend' kind of way."

"Oh." John still looked a little pole-axed. He rubbed the side of one ear.

"Oh? Is that all you have to say? I declare that I...um, care about you, and all you can say is 'oh'?" Rodney found John's intense stare unnerving. He reached for the soap and began sudsing up.

"You're telling me this, now?" John said at last, his voice sounding a touch plaintive to Rodney's ear.

Rodney studiously soaped his forearms, refusing to look directly at John. "Oh, so like I should have told you before."

"You waited until I was dead, Rodney, so yeah, I think maybe you should have told me before."

Rodney shot John a quick glance, but only saw a faintly irritated frown on his face, which confused the hell out of him. "Yeah. Right. I should have said something earlier. Why didn't I think of that? Oh wait, right, because I'm a genius, that's why." The soap was lathering nicely, thankfully creating a small film of bubbles of the surface of the water.

"You wanna explain that one?" Rodney got both the drawl and the eyebrow this time.

He sighed. "I didn't say anything to you before because well, face it. It would have been...well, you know." He made a little soapy wave of his hand.

"No, I don't know," John gave his little half smile and Rodney knew he wasn't trying to look seductive, merely aiming to put Rodney on the spot, but the effect was just the same anyway. "Explain it to me."

Rodney glared, feeling his mouth tighten until his lips had to have nearly disappeared. John was making this difficult on purpose and he didn't want to have to spell it out in so many words that he'd been afraid of ruining the best relationship he'd ever had by revealing unwanted and unreciprocated desires. Suddenly he popped one hand out of the water, snapping his fingers and making soap fly. "I've got it. It would be like if Spock and McCoy somehow became one person and together they hit on Kirk. Can you imagine Kirk's reaction?"

John's left forearm came forward to rest on the edge of the tub. The watch looked like a Rolex; definitely not military. Somehow his other sleeve had gotten pushed up and his arms were bare to the elbows. Rodney tried not to notice how the dark hair of his arms contrasted with his skin, or how everything about John proclaimed his masculinity.

"You're assuming that Kirk didn't have a thing for McSpock." John tilted his hand, splaying his fingers slightly for emphasis as he spoke.

"Are you kidding me? That would only be because Kirk has a thing for everything that moves, not because he in any way in particular...wait a minute. A thing for McSpock? Really?" Rodney's voice rose in incredulity. "But, I mean, he's Kirk."

"He never ended up with any of those women." John's statement seemed somehow very significant and yet not very clear at the same time and wasn't that just John all over?

"Can we dispense with the analogies now?" Rodney complained. "They can only take you so far before things start to get really confusing."

John responded by way of snagging the soap out of Rodney's hand. "Duck," he ordered.

"Excuse me?" Rodney could feel his brain whirr to a jarring halt with the subject change. "What? Why?"

"You need to wash your hair," Sheppard grinned as he placed a hand on Rodney's shoulder and pushed him under the water. Rodney's gasp of outrage turned out to be the only breath he got before he was completely submerged. He came up sputtering with fury, but before he could clear the water out of his eyes and threaten John with non-corporal harm, he felt John's hands on his scalp, working the soap into a lather in his hair.

"Keep your eyes shut," John ordered, the smile evident in his voice, "I don't want to hear you whining about getting soap in your eyes."

Rodney wanted to huff about that, but the feel of John's fingers against his scalp was so good, he merely grunted instead. It felt so delicious; Rodney knew now how his cat must have felt when he scratched him under his chin, because if he had access to a mirror right now, he was sure he'd see the same blissful expression on his face that had been on the cat's...he might even start purring as well. Part of him wanted to tell Sheppard that it really wasn't necessary, that Rodney understood what he was doing and that the effort was appreciated and all, but he really didn't need John's pity. Another part of him said just shut the fuck up and go with it.

All too soon, the scalp massage stopped. "Rinse," John said, and it was Rodney's only warning before he was ducked under the water again. Rodney came up, pushing his hair back off his forehead and lay with his head back against the rim of the tub, his eyes closed.

"Shave?" John suggested, with entirely too much humor in his voice.

Rodney opened one eye. "No, thank you. I can take care of that myself. I know how that would go—it would start out being the most erotic experience of my life and would end with you accidentally cutting my throat."

"Rodney." John's protest was in that two note drawl and this time, instead of making Rodney angry, it sent a pang of regret through him. Maybe John was right. Maybe he should have said something when it still mattered. It was too late now. He snatched the soap back from John's hand and began lathering his chest.

John watched him for a long moment, looking more like a dangerous, feral animal than his friend and team leader, before rising to his feet and moving over to the bed. He re-arranged the pillows and made obviously himself comfortable, continuing to stare at Rodney.

Rodney tried not to be self-conscious. He wasn't going to let John rattle him with this stupid post-mortem game he was playing. He finished his bath and cautiously gave himself a not-too-close shave with the wicked looking straight edge razor. When he was done, he carefully cleaned and closed it, eyeing it thoughtfully. It was either a measure of trust or an oversight, he decided, that he'd been provided with something so potentially lethal. Either way, he was going to make sure he hung onto the razor for future use. He looked up to find John gazing at him with half-closed eyes, a lazy glint of hazel watching him with approval. He found himself grinning at John and getting a corresponding smirk in return.

But he'd delayed as long as he could in getting out of the tub. His fingers and toes were getting pruney; the water cold and a soapy scum was starting to form. He reached over the edge for one of the towels and shook it out, trying to stand up at the same time without relinquishing his hold on the towel. He wobbled, losing his balance, and felt John's hand under his forearm in an instant.

"Let me help you out there, buddy," John spoke practically in his ear, so close that his whiskery chin brushed Rodney's skin, sending a little frisson of pleasure down his spine. He accepted John's assistance in getting out of the tub, because really, it was dangerous and he didn't need any more head trauma. Just as he was vigorously tucking his towel around his body and preparing to tell John that he no longer needed any help, John let go of him. John then stooped to pick up the fallen kimono, letting one hand trail down Rodney's body as though for support as he leaned over—down his still damp spine, over the edge of the towel, sweeping his cloth covered ass before dropping away as John stood again. He placed the robe over Rodney's shoulders, smoothing the silk against Rodney's skin before stepping away.

Rodney pulled the robe on and tied it at the waist before turning to look at John. He wasn't sure exactly what was on his face, but robe was tented outwards from his erection, which certainly didn't leave much to anyone's imagination. John's eyes seemed to darken and his respiration increased. His teeth appeared and caught the tip of his lower lip between them.

"Bridge over River Kwai," Rodney said suddenly.

John only looked blank for a moment before smiling his slow smile and turning away towards the bed once more. His expression suggested he knew what Rodney was doing, whether it was conscious or not, and had decided to play along. After he'd settled himself on the bed, hands folded behind his head against the wall, he said, "Is that the movie where Obi Wan is in a POW camp and he has to blow up a bridge?"

Rodney made for the table, uncovering the trays and seating himself so he could still see John but eat at the same time. It seemed the safest course of action. "Alec Guinness was in more than just Star Wars, you know," Rodney said sourly. "And yes, he was overseeing the construction of a bridge while a POW in a vicious prison camp, not that I'm making any comparisons here, but his real mission was to blow it up. However, he got so caught up in the construction, in making it the best bridge it could possibly be..." he trailed off and took a mouthful of tava-and-rice.

"You think you should sabotage the AI?"

"You don't?" Rodney found himself raising an eyebrow at John for a change.

He took his hands down from behind his head and appeared to study them. "Whatever the leaders of this world have done, they were ultimately trying to protect their people."

Rodney hurled the tray of vegetables across the room. It hit the far wall with a resounding clatter, spattering the food with the explosive force of P-90 firepower. "These fucking leaders, as you call them, could have asked. We would have helped them. Hell, I would have promised them my first born child for the opportunity to study this technology. They didn't have to kill you guys."

John seemed startled by his vehemence and he pushed himself up so he could sit on the edge of the bed. "They didn't know that, Rodney. Pegasus, as you well know, isn't exactly a forgiving sort of place. Are you going to condemn Lia and the rest of this world because their leaders are ruthless assholes?"

"This isn't like you," Rodney frowned. "You should be saying, 'fuck that shit and where's my C-4?' You don't seriously think I should fix their systems, do you?"

"If you do," John shrugged, "you're a hero. Whereas on the other hand, if they catch you tampering with their systems..."

"You don't get it do you?" Rodney pushed the remaining tray aside and stood up to glare at John. "If I have to stay here the rest of my life, then the shorter the better."

"You don't mean that." The look that John fixed on him was sharp, angry.

"Try me," Rodney said bitterly. They glared at each other for a long moment and then Rodney came over to the bed.

"Shove over," he said, pushing at John's legs. "I want to go to bed."

John disappeared.

"I didn't mean for you to leave," Rodney said aloud to the room. Silence met his efforts. Grumpily, he shed out of the kimono and put on the fresh silk tunic and pants. John was right; they did look like pajamas—really fancy ones. He got under the covers and lay curled on his side, watching the flickering flame of the nearest candle. He closed his hand around the dog tags under his tunic.

Why the dog tags, he wondered as he began to drift off to sleep. Why the tags, the hair, the gun? Why not actual bodies? If they really wanted to shock him into cooperation, that would have done it. A rational part of his brain tried to explain about decomposition and the probable delay before he had been even aware enough to process such a sight but something weary and pissed within him said, 'oh bite me'. And his brain shut up.

****

In the morning, the army of women returned and began cleaning up the spilled food, removing the guttered candles, working as quietly as possible, but Rodney could no loner sleep. Four large men came in and removed the tub while he was shaving; he pocketed the straight edge in his tunic when no one was looking. Rodney was stiff and sore, the welts on his leg having subsided to leave ugly bruises behind instead.

Lia appeared with a pot of not-coffee (or maybe it was not-tea), already sweetened the way he liked it. She also brought a bowl of steaming hot cereal, which he ate hungrily, but found himself wishing that this culture believed in eating bread. Bread dripping with butter and honey, biscuits with gravy, chipped beef in a white sauce on toast, cornbread, pancakes...he cut off the train of thought only when he was scraping the bottom of the bowl with his spoon.

"Lia," he said, as she was hovering right at his elbow, the rest of the workers having left the room. "Tell me more about the Heart of the city."

Lia looked faintly surprised. "What could I possibly tell you that you do not already know?"

"You'd think more people would recognize that fact and act accordingly," Rodney shook a finger at her in agreement, "but sadly, that is not the case. This time, however, I need to know more about the history of the Heart—has it always been here?" It occurred to him that Daniel Jackson just might have his uses on off-world missions after all.

"Oh yes," she seemed astonished at the idea of there being a time when no Heart existed. "The Heart has been part of the city since the time that the Ancestors first built it. There has always been a Heart." She seemed to hesitate slightly as she finished her sentence and Rodney pounced on it.

"Wait, you say there has always been a Heart...has there been more than one, then?"

Lia looked slightly uneasy. She shifted her eyes sideways, as though to reconfirm they were alone in the room and then added in a confidential tone. "When the Ancestors first built the city, the Heart was strong. For many generations, the Heart protected us, kept us safe from the Wraith and outside invaders, provided the power for our city and allowed us to flourish as a people. But over time, the Heart grew weak. Things began to fail and our people realized that should the Heart die, we would all be at risk. So one of the people was chosen to feed the Heart and make it strong again. It is a great honor to be chosen—but the Heart began to weaken faster and faster and there came a time when none among out people was pure enough of spirit to feed the Heart. That's why it is so very important that you determine what is wrong; why the Heart is bleeding, why it needs so much energy. If the Heart dies, we all die."

She looked at him so earnestly that it was hard for him to hate her. She couldn't know. But he did.

He knew where John was now.

"Lia," he said, rising to his feet and taking her by the shoulders, "it is very, very important that you take me to the Heart. I must see it in order to fix it."

She locked her gaze with his for a long moment before nodding. "You must wait here. The Heart is in another part of the city. You will need warmer clothes."

"I need my things from the lab where I've been working as well, my laptop," he drew a square with his hands and mimed opening it, "as well as my tools."

"This will take time," Lia nodded. "You must be patient and wait for my return."

"You have met me, right?" Rodney said with a downward turn of his mouth, but Lia only laughed and quickly left the room.

****

She seemed to be taking forever. Rodney paced impatiently around the room, thinking of all the things that could go wrong and wondering if he was already too late. He placed the ring of Teyla's hair in a small pocket within the tunic, next to his chest. Periodically he would touch the braid or finger John's tags and take solace in the solidity of his talismans. He half-hoped that John would appear so he could run his theory past him, but there were problems with that idea as well and in the end, Rodney decided it was just as well that John didn't show. He wasn't sure he could look John in the eye right now.

When Lia returned at last, she brought with her several heavy, hooded robes and some fur-lined boots. She also had Rodney's equipment and he wondered briefly what kind of reaction he'd receive if he showed up with Lia back in Atlantis as his very own personal assistant. Lia guided him quickly down the corridors; the one time they were challenged by guards, they accepted without question her explanation that Rodney was at work on the Heart. Which, he conceded, was perfectly true, just not in the way anyone expected.

"This place you're taking me. Where the Heart is," and he winced mentally at the thoughts this conjured up, suddenly picturing John making cracks about home being where the heart is and warbling 'I left my heart in San Francisco', which really, took on a whole new meaning now. "This room," he continued, shaking off thoughts of John, "is it guarded? Will we be able to get inside?"

Lia paused beside a door and pulled the hood of her robe up over her head. "No one guards the Heart," she said, slightly puzzled. "The Heart guards us."

She opened the door and a rush of frigid air drove needle sharp, crystalline shards of ice into the hallway, forcing Rodney to turn his head and close his eyes against the blast. "How far is it to the Heart?" he had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind.

"It is on the other side of town," Lia said, before exiting the building.

She plainly expected Rodney to follow. "Oh great," he muttered as he pulled his hood up over his head. "Now we can add frostbite to the list."

The air was so cold that Rodney couldn't breathe; each intake of breath burned a fiery trail down his airways, causing them to constrict painfully in an effort to prevent them from being frozen from the inside out. He staggered after Lia, her form an oddly moving shadow in the empty streets before him—he himself bounced from wall to wall like a ball in a pinball machine as he tried to keep up. He tried to keep his face covered with a sleeve, but he couldn't maintain that for long, given all the gear he was carrying. Just when he thought he could go no further, he saw a rectangle of light appear ahead of him as a door opened and he struggled to move leaden feet to catch up to Lia as she entered the building before them.

He collapsed on the floor as he cleared the threshold.

"What are you doing?" Lia frowned, shaking snow and ice off her hood as she tossed it back. "We must hurry."

"No problem," Rodney groaned from the floor. "Just give me a moment for the blocks of ice that are my feet and hands to thaw...or completely break off, whichever comes first." He could barely speak; his lips felt like they were frozen solid and his face was numb in places.

"Let me guess," John's amused voice came to him from nearby. "Force Ten from Navarone? Ice Station Zebra?"

Rodney opened his eyes to see John squatting on his heels next to him. He was wearing a navy suit this time, with a light blue oxford open at the neck, tie askew, cuffs (naturally) shot to expose his wrists and forearms. For a split second Rodney thought John was wearing his dress blues, until he noticed the faint pin-striping and the lack of military insignia. "Shall I open up one of those ugly riding beasts from Empire and stuff you inside with its intestines to keep you warm?" John's grin was engaging.

"A tauntaun," Rodney tilted his head to look up at John, blinking away the melting snow on his eyelashes. "They're called tauntauns."

"The fact that you even know that..." John shook his head in a 'loser-geek' kind of way but Rodney thought he sounded admiring just the same. He stood as Rodney struggled to his feet.

"What are called tauntauns?" Lia said with frowning curiosity.

"Never mind," Rodney shot in her direction before turning to John again. "You know that discussion we had last night about the AI? Well, you're it."

"I'm it what?" Now it was John's turn to frown.

"You're the AI, you moron!" Rodney snapped. "They didn't kill you, well at least not per se; they merged your consciousness with the machine. You're running the whole damn show."

"Who are you talking to?" Lia asked slowly.

"I am?" John said at the same time and running two conversations at once, when one person was invisible to everyone else, was just as confusing as when Cadman was in his head.

"Yes, you! You're the Heart, okay? They needed someone with the ATA gene to run it and they chose you. Only there's something wrong with the system that keeps killing off the gene carriers prematurely. I'm guessing they ran through them in their own population a long time ago and didn't know exactly what they were looking for until we arrived and made their toys light up."

"The chosen come willingly," Lia said with some distress, as though reciting a traditional formula. "It is a great honor."

Rodney wheeled on her. "Well not this time. This time, they took my friend and stuffed him into the system against his will. The only reason they chose him and not me was that his gene is stronger—he has more energy to feed the Heart as you'd say, and because they were hoping I'd be able to fix the problem so that it wouldn't keep draining the population of a resource you no longer have."

"But you can fix it, right?" John sounded a touch concerned.

Rodney turned to face him. "I don't know. I won't know anything until I get in there and find out what really happened to you."

John disappeared.

"I hate it when you do that," Rodney announced out loud. "Come on," he said to an obviously confused Lia as he began to hurry down the corridor, urgency driving him forward. The control room doors opened at his approach and he sensed Lia's surprise and dismissed it immediately, of course John would let him in.

Inside, the control room had huge display screens that showed every part of the city and its various systems from power distribution to gate activity to winter storm patterns. There was even an orbital satellite array. Rodney sat down at the main console and began making the necessary connections to his computer—from there he downloaded all the access codes from the day before. He worked quickly as the new information began streaming in, finding the missing pieces to his puzzle that he'd been unable to solve before but still not knowing where and how they all fit in. He ruthlessly ripped out huge sections of bad code, rewriting it on the fly and creating new linkages, shutting down areas of the system that simply did not need to be run by any AI in order to save power.

"Someone is coming," Lia said at one point, indicating the screens, and Rodney had to laugh when doors refused to open, power went off to whole sectors and an entire contingent of military types became trapped inside an elevator. He thought the use of the fire suppression system on the people in the elevator was a nice touch. He could trust John to hold this room long enough for him to do his thing. The problem was he was no closer to a solution than he had been before. Where was John himself? What if there was nothing left of him outside the computer?

Lia's small hand suddenly closed on his arm. He looked up in irritation to see her fishing around in one of her pockets. "I must go," she said abruptly. "I will return as soon as I can. This is for you."

She pulled out Ronon's gun and held it by the handle towards Rodney. "What the...?" Rodney began, automatically taking the gun, albeit a bit gingerly.

"A keepsake from your other friend," she said with a very adult smile. "I thought you might need it."

"Lia," Rodney began uncertainly, but she waved him off.

"You must keep working. I will return, I promise." Within seconds of her exit, Rodney had forgotten all about her, once more absorbed in the problem of finding and extricating John from the AI.

"Where the hell are you, Sheppard?" Rodney muttered, staring at the viewscreen.

"Hey." Rodney spun in his chair to find John standing behind him, looking at last like his real age, 24 hour's worth of stubble darkening the lower half of his face, his hair just as crazy as ever, but shorter, and Rodney could tell now there was some control as well. He was wearing a rather loud print shirt; open at the collar and showing some skin, as well as the very beginnings of chest hair, over black pants, shadows under his eyes making him look dangerous and somewhat seedy. Rodney had to resist letting his jaw drop, because John looked amazing and yet a little frightening at the same time.

"Um, I could use some help here," Rodney swallowed hard, hating to have to admit that fact. "The way I see it, you've got to be around here somewhere, serving as a power conduit for the AI." He refused to call it the Heart anymore. "From what I could tell, the original Ancients who set this up thought that in addition to protecting this world, that it might be a short-cut to Ascension, that is if you could call spending centuries inside an AI a short-cut."

"Centuries," John said flatly.

"Well, that was the original plan. One Ancient would volunteer to maintain the machine in return for centuries of an artificial life, presumably allowing time to mediate their way into Ascension, whereby another Ancient would step up to the plate. Somewhere along the line though, a glitch developed. The volunteers no longer lasted centuries, new ones had to be chosen with little to no notice, the gene pool got smaller, and the attempts to fix the power drains made things worse. The truth is, each generation built on to the Ancients' original design, meaning that the AI was taking on far more responsibility for running the city than it was ever meant to do. Hell, you're handling trash disposal, John. The Soldarians were desperate—they'd begun asking off-worlders to come and examine their Ancient artifacts in the hopes of just what happened—someone would trigger and reaction and they got a new 'replacement' for the AI."

"So they snagged me? To play Sim City for them?" John looked pretty pissed and Rodney knew it wasn't aimed at him, but still it made him uneasy just the same. "So what's the problem? Get me out."

"Well, that's just it. I don't know that I can. I haven't actually found a...I mean you, yet. I'm not picking up your transponder or finding you on the life-signs detector. And it's possible that there isn't any you left, you know, outside of living in the machine, so to speak. They don't actually need that much DNA, you know." Rodney sighed unhappily. "The power problem I can solve—I've patched it for now, I can come back with a naquada generator and take care of the problem for the foreseeable future, that is, if these people learn to run some of their own systems and stop relying on the AI for everything. And the AI can exist for some months on back up power, once the drain has been solved. But I still don't know exactly where you are."

"How come I'm here then?" John looked down at his shirt. "Looking like an extra on CSI Miami?"

"I think," Rodney lay extra emphasis on the word 'think', "you're sort of projecting yourself. You know, subconsciously. Like a radio wave. Because of your connection with the AI."

"That explains some things," John said thoughtfully.

"Like what?" Rodney frowned.

He shrugged. "Weird dreams mostly. Having conversations with people that I think I know but I've never met before. Swatting Wraith darts out of the sky with my hands, and making sandcastles on the beach that turned into cities under a glass like a snow globe. "

"Probably a shield of some sort, and that other stuff? The AI has probably done all of that over the centuries—and I bet every personality is still there within it," Rodney muttered, glancing back at the console before steeling himself to meet John's eyes again. "The point is, what do you want me to do? Even if I find your body, I may not be able to separate you from the AI. Everyone else who has left the AI did so because they were dying or Ascending. I could kill you trying to get you out. At least here, like this, you can still exist." His hands had shifted tightly during this speech, opening on 'find', clenching on 'separate', wringing on 'kill'. He couldn't help but remember that John had been the one to argue against destroying the AI. Maybe that had been his subconscious at work.

"I'm not going to live like this," John said shortly. "I'd rather be dead than trapped inside some machine forever."

"Okay," Rodney said unhappily. "I was just thinking, given enough time, I could probably come up with a way to download you and bring you back to Atlantis."

He could see the idea was tempting to John—to be able to leave, knowing he could exist at least part of the time in some sort of corporeal form and still bring the best means of protecting Atlantis they'd found so far back with them to the city. He could also tell the moment John rejected the idea.

"Nope," John grinned, but it looked forced. "When you leave here, I don't think you'll be coming back."

Rodney looked down at his hands. John was undoubtedly right. It was questionable whether they'd even be able to install the naquada generator. He was considering this when he suddenly felt John's hand on his chin, tilting his face up.

John had a somewhat self-conscious smirk on his own face. "So, just in case this doesn't work..." he leaned forward and kissed Rodney full on the mouth.

Rodney froze for a second, and then surged back in response, opening his mouth and taking John in greedily, hands gripping him by the shoulders. When John stepped back, he looked a little stunned and then he gave that little boy's smile that usually drove Rodney mad. And disappeared again.

"Bastard," Rodney said without heat. Now to find John in reality. He gathered up his toolkit and Ronon's gun and headed for the door. It opened at his approach, to reveal Delkin and three armed guards on the other side.

With a yelp of surprise, Rodney fired Ronon's gun in rapid succession, watching as all four men collapsed, completely stunned, on the ground. "Oh. My. God." Rodney breathed, holding the weapon up to look at it in awe. "I love this gun."

He stepped over their bodies and exited the room.

****

He was hurrying down another long corridor when a wall panel began beeping insistently at him. Stopping to check it out, he was startled to find a message written in English blinking at him.

"Check for the transponder now," it read and if writing could smirk, he'd swear this message did.

Rodney pulled out the LSD and grinned when he saw John's subcutaneous transmitter emitting its normal signal. Of course, the AI must have been suppressing it before. And probably his as well, which is why Atlantis accepted news of their demise so readily. He took off at a limping gallop in the direction indicated. Doors opened for him well in advance of his approach, swinging open slowly in a manner that reminded him of the opening sequence of Get Smart and he wondered if John remembered that too and would be juvenile enough not to open one set of doors so he would walk face first into them.

If he ever got back home to Atlantis, he was taking a week off. Maybe two.

Fortunately, John took his rescue seriously and played no moronic pranks on Rodney as he entered the room where the signal indicated he was located. A stasis chamber, much like the ones on the Aurora, lay on a dais in the middle of the room; a bright white light shining down on it from above. Rodney approached worriedly; afraid of what he'd find when he looked down within.

John was lying inside, dressed in his field uniform, minus the tac vest, the familiar black tee and BDU pants making Rodney smile. He had a cut lip and an ugly bruise on the side of his head—Rodney was momentarily surprised until he realized that the stasis chamber was holding John in the exact condition in which he'd been placed. Rodney could only hope John wasn't seriously injured when he'd been placed in the unit.

He reached for the control panel on the side of the chamber, the tray of crystals sliding out towards him, winking in the bright light. As he began to activate the wake cycle, a voice suddenly said, "Who are you? What are you doing?"

Rodney jumped and looked around for the voice, griping Ronon's gun, but there was no one there. There had been an odd quality to the voice; as though several people were speaking at once, resonating in the open chamber.

"I'm releasing my friend from the stasis pod," Rodney said, reaching for the panel again. A small arc of electricity jumped out towards his hand and zapped him. "Ow!" he yelped, putting his fingers in his mouth to suck on them and then shaking them out vigorously. "Cut that out!"

"Why would you remove your friend from our service? It is not permissible."

A cold wave of fear washed over Rodney as he realized that he was dealing with the AI itself. He looked back at John, sleeping in the glassed-in chamber like every other cliché in the book and then he lifted his head to speak to the AI.

"Your systems are damaged. You have been killing the people in your service, not helping them to Ascend. Check your own records if you don't believe me."

This time, when the voice spoke, it had deepened, sounding more masculine. "Sometimes sacrifices are necessary in order to protect the City. The City must be protected at all cost. What are a few lives compared to that?"

Rodney knew in a flash he was arguing with the personalities of everyone who'd ever served the AI, that this must be part of the programming that allowed the AI to grow over time. It frightened him now to think that the person he was really arguing with was John.

"Everyone who has ever served in the past came willingly," Rodney began desperately. "This man was captured and forced here against his will."

"This man has done great harm to the galaxy. It is only right that he should give his life to serve and protect now."

"What? No, no, you can't say that. The waking of the Wraith was an accident—and besides, he's given of himself over and over again to try and make things right. You can't do this; you can't take this from him."

"He must serve and protect. He must atone."

"And how will you atone?" Rodney demanded. "Your programming is flawed. Your mission is corrupted. You've killed every person on this planet who still had the Ancient technology gene and now you're reaching out across the galaxy to feed your hunger. There are no more Ancients—just some people who happen to carry the gene. And with each cycle, that person sustains you for a shorter period of time. Centuries at first, then decades, then months, now a matter of weeks. What will you do when it's only days? If you keep going in this fashion, people will die needlessly and you will still ultimately fail. I can fix your systems if you only let him go."

"There are no more Ancients?" The AI sounded confused and weary at the same time. "How can that be?"

"They lost the war with the Wraith. They left this galaxy eons ago and came to our galaxy where the gene got passed on. We came here as explorers—we knew nothing of the Wraith until we stumbled across them. You have access to his memories, you know this."

There was no sound in the room for several long minutes and then the voice said flatly, "You will fix the systems so that no more must die. But this one stays. He is needed here."

Rodney should have known that the Captain Kirk method of disabling evil computers by talking them into destroying themselves wouldn't work in the Pegasus galaxy.

"No," Rodney folded his arms across his chest. "Your proposal is unacceptable. I need him more." He tapped his fingers impatiently against one arm. "And just so you know, I once blew up five-sixths of a solar system."

The sound of the stasis pod opening had him turning sharply to look over his shoulder. The lid was sliding back as Rodney reached its side; inside John was opening his eyes and blinking in confusion. "Hey," he said thickly, and then passed his tongue over his lips. "What happened?"

"Rescue now, explanations later," Rodney huffed, reaching in the chamber to put an arm around John and haul him up.

They were making their way slowly towards the door, with Rodney trying to support John and John trying to persuade Rodney he could walk just fine, when it opened before them. Rodney released his grip on John so he could bring Ronon's weapon round to bear, but his hand jerked upwards when Lia came into the room, followed by several of the council members.

"A large, armed party has come through the Ring looking for you," Lia said in an amazingly chipper voice for someone under attack. "I told the council that they had been deceived by Delkin into committing actions that were not honorable and they have seen the error of their ways."

"You must believe us, Dr. McKay, Colonel Sheppard." The tallest man in Lia's party stepped forward, wringing his hands. "We accepted Councilman Delkin's story at face value. We had no idea that the Colonel had been given to the Heart nor that your stay here was not voluntary. You must accept our deepest, most humble apologies." He looked stricken, his wispy, beaded mustaches quivering in agitation.

"Get me a radio," John demanded, holding out a hand. He looked as though he'd been in a hard fight, but was ready to go at it again if needed and Rodney thought that was simply unfair. And also the most beautiful sight he'd seen in a long while. "I'll talk to my men and let them know what's going on."

Rodney went over to the console and pressed a few buttons. "Here, before Lorne and Co. tear this city apart. This comm should be able to link with the radio's frequency."

"We have a vehicle waiting to take you to the council chambers," the self-proclaimed leader of the bunch made a little half bow and indicated the door. "Perhaps we can all sit down and discuss the matter peacefully?" He looked painfully hopeful.

"We could have driven over here?" Rodney said balefully, in aside to Lia.

She just laughed. "I'm not old enough to drive."

****

No, Rodney was wrong, the most beautiful sight in the world was entering the chambers to find Lorne and two SGA teams of marines, armed for bear and looking for a fight. And Ronon. And Teyla.

Rodney felt his face split into a wide grin and he turned to John and punched him in the arm with glee. John's mouth twitched into a smile, but with more relief than happiness and his smile vanished quickly. Rodney had no time to think about that further before Ronon was moving towards them with a determined, frowning purpose and Rodney gulped as Ronon bore down on them. He held Ronon's gun out at arm's length by the handle, wincing in expectation of a blow as he turned his head aside and hunched up his shoulders in self-defense. "Seriously, big guy, I was just bringing it back to you."

"You thought he was dead, Rodney," John drawled and Rodney couldn't figure out what was wrong with John before Ronon enveloped him in a python-like hug that probably cracked some ribs.

"Ugh," Rodney wheezed as Ronon released him. He also took back the gun.

"I don't kill that easy, McKay," Ronon said with a grin. "You should know that by now." He looked rough though, patches of frostbite on his cheeks, stitches across one cheekbone and his wrist in a cast.

Rodney shifted his glance to Teyla, who was beaming at them both, and she too looked like she'd been in the wars, dark circles under her eyes and one arm in a sling. "Oh Teyla, your hair," Rodney breathed, startled to feel the sting of tears in his eyes.

Teyla reached up with one hand to touch her hair, which just brushed the bottom of her jaw line now. "The nice thing about hair, Rodney, is that it grows," she said with a laugh.

"Well, some people's do," John said but without his usual zing.

"I thought you were dead," Rodney began rapidly, feeling his respiration rate rise as a sort of delayed panic set in, "all of you. They told me you were dead, they brought me proof, I thought...I thought..."

"Well, we're not. We're fine. Get over it." Ronon's words sounded hard, but he reached out and squeezed Rodney on the shoulder just the same.

"Let's go home," John said shortly.

****

It turned out that Ronon and Teyla had been captured as well, only they'd been held in a different, older section of town and had managed to escape from their cell, albeit without any weapons or gear. When they realized that they would need reinforcements to find and free Rodney and John, they decided to head to the gate on foot. They actually had seen the first jumper sent to investigate their disappearance fly overhead, but had no way to contact it. Teyla glossed over the description of their journey to the gate, merely saying that it had taken longer than they had desired, but Rodney had been outside in that weather, had lived in Canada, Siberia and Antarctica; he knew how arduous and dangerous a task they'd undertaken. It humbled him, listening to the story of their journey on the flight home, to hear of the consternation, joy and outrage their contact of Atlantis had caused. John was pretty silent on the return trip, answering questions only when Ronon or Teyla asked. He took his tags back from Rodney without a word.

Somewhere on the trip home, Rodney dozed off, and he woke up in time to grumpily comply with the mandatory infirmary check. Elizabeth appeared briefly to say that she was sure that he wanted nothing more than a hot meal and a good night's rest; she could wait for a debrief until tomorrow afternoon. Eventually freed, dressed in his own clean clothes again, he made a beeline for the mess hall, where he was not surprised to find Ronon and Teyla waiting for him. And no sign of John.

"You and John have said little of what happened to you on Soldar," Teyla said with that gentle smile of hers and Rodney suddenly found himself spilling most of the details, the display of the 'death' items, the demands of Delkin, the gift of Lia, the appearance of John that only he could see and hear.

"Probably had something to do with the gene," Ronon rumbled. "No offense, McKay, but I'm glad I don't have it. Seems like it causes more trouble than it's worth."

"That is not what I recall you saying when we were unable to fly the jumper back for help," Teyla said sweetly and then grinned slyly at Rodney when Ronon made a face at her.

"You know," Rodney began, only to stop again. His meal lay in decimated ruins on his plate, he was warm and full and tired and glad to be with his friends. It should be easy to say what he wanted to say, but somehow it still wasn't. "You know," he started again, "I probably don't say this nearly enough..."

"Like 'ever'," Ronon inserted and Teyla smacked him with the back of her good hand.

"Yes, well, right, as I was saying," Rodney paused to glare at Ronon before clearing his throat and continuing, "I just really...appreciate...you guys."

Teyla beamed at him as though she just might possibly shed tears. Ronon stretched his long arms along the table, appearing to study his clasped hands, until he looked up with a warm grin that Rodney was not accustomed to seeing on his face. "You gonna tell Sheppard how much you appreciate him too?" Ronon's green eyes seemed lit up from within with their own secret joke.

"I already did," Rodney said morosely, without thinking. "I think that's why he's in hiding."

Ronon made an inelegant snorting-choking sound and Rodney looked up to see both Ronon and Teyla staring at him, eyes round with both surprise and suppressed humor.

In horror, Rodney replayed what he'd just said over again in his mind. "That's not what I meant!" he sputtered. "Oh, come on, guys, you know that's not what I meant."

Teyla fixed a stern look on Ronon before turning back to speak to Rodney. "It is alright Rodney. Ronon and I have understood now for some time how you and John care for each other. I'm glad you finally had the courage to say something."

Rodney stared at her for a long, appalled moment and then gave up.

"I thought he was dead, Teyla." He found himself resting his head on his forearms on the table.

"As well he could have been. Do not waste this opportunity, Rodney." He looked up as she rose to return her tray, some unseen signal causing Ronon to join her. "Go talk to him." Teyla moved off with her usual dancer-like grace; Rodney bet within a month, every woman in Atlantis would have copied her new hairstyle. Ronon glanced back over his shoulder at Rodney and shot him an amused grin.

She's right. You know she's right. It didn't make it any easier though. Still, it was best to find out now how John was reacting to the fact that Rodney had revealed feelings for him and he was not dead after all. Eyes narrowed in thought, Rodney mapped out his plan of action.

****

He was waiting for John when he exited the bathroom, with only a towel slung around his narrow hips, and Rodney's plan almost derailed then and there.

"What the hell are you doing here, McKay?" Uh-oh. He did not sound particularly pleased to see Rodney and it occurred to Rodney this whole thing could backfire badly.

Rodney cleared his throat. "Oh, never mind me, I'm not really here."

John paused in the act of opening a drawer to look at him, peeved irritation at war with the chance to make Rodney look silly. "You mean to say, if I throw this lamp at you, it will just go right through you?"

"Lamp?" Rodney eyed the sturdy light fixture that John had indicated. "I only threw a pillow, you blood-thirsty fiend. And no, it would not go through me because I've already learned how to manipulate solid matter on several ethereal planes."

"How could I possibly remember that you're a genius," John said, rolling his eyes at the ceiling, "without you telling me every couple of hours?"

Rodney chuckled and then found himself staring at John once more. When John's face tightened and he turned back towards the dresser again, Rodney knew a moment of panic. Ye gods, Lia was right. He was just a tiffin in private and he didn't even know what a tiffin was.

"Where's your laptop? I've got to show you something," Rodney said suddenly, spying the computer and hurrying over to it, waking it out of sleep mode without asking for further permission, connecting to the website he wanted. "I saw this a few weeks ago and I meant to show it to you then. I think we should order them for the team." He spun the laptop with a flourish so that John could look at the screen as well.

Rodney held his breath as John casually approached the table, seemingly as unselfconscious that he was wearing only a towel as he would have been in full uniform. He stood close enough to Rodney that he could feel the heat coming off John's damp skin, could smell the Athosian soap that he used. Rodney fixated on the few silver strands of hair in John's sideburns as he frowned and leaned into the computer screen—Rodney had never noticed them before. Rodney waited while John read the screen and then joined in with his sudden bark of laughter.

John was still laughing when he said, "Somehow I don't think that would fly, Rodney. We wouldn't get through the gate without being shot."

"But team night, right? We could wear them then. Or during long boring briefings with Elizabeth. We could all come in with our jackets buttoned up and then at the same time..."

They both burst out laughing again.

"Ronon and Teyla will love them," Rodney added, as though that were the most important part.

"Ronon will love it," John corrected, "I'm not so sure about Teyla."

"Aw, she'll love it, you know she will. She might pretend it's not amusing and that she thinks we're all a bunch of overgrown kids, but you know she'll wear it and kick the ass of anyone who thinks it's not funny." Without thinking, he pushed his shoulder into John's and then froze when he realized what he'd done.

"Sorry, sorry," he stammered, starting to move away, but John reached out and grasped his arm.

"Rodney," he said, and this time the two-note drawl was soft and warm. It made something inside Rodney ache and pulled him a step closer to John at the same time, as though he'd been sucked into John's gravitational field.

"I'm not taking back what I said," Rodney said stubbornly. "On the planet, I mean."

"Good," John said seriously, and then his half-smile appeared. He pulled Rodney towards him by his arm until they actually bumped together, Rodney looking down anxiously to make sure he wasn't going to stomp all over John's bare feet and then sucking in a little breath at the feel of John's erection pressing up against his own groin. He looked up so fast he almost bumped noses with John and was on the verge of saying 'sorry' again when John kissed him.

And his brain went 'oh thank god' and suddenly Rodney knew what to do.

His hands reached up and grabbed John by either side of his head, holding him steady so Rodney could devour him with his mouth. John had not yet shaved and his stubble rasped and pulled at Rodney's skin as their lips moved against each other. He knew that if anyone saw him later there'd be no doubt that he'd been thoroughly kissed and that filled him with a secret glee and pride.

John's hands fisted Rodney's shirt on either side of his waist, pulling it up and starting to tunnel underneath his clothing when the kiss went on and on. Rodney trailed a hand down John's back, nails digging in slightly and was rewarded with an arch and a buck of John's pelvis as his hand completed its course, from cervical to lumbar spine.

They broke their lip lock for air. "You're good at this," John said with a breathless laugh and Rodney couldn't let that pass.

"You had doubts?" His fingers reached for the edge of the towel where it was tucked in at John's waist and he removed it with a snap before letting the towel drop to the floor. With John before him naked, some of his bravado disappeared in sheer appreciation of the view. It was always like this with Rodney—the first time he saw a nebula through a telescope, the first time he saw the answer to a complicated theorem, the first time he laid eyes on a complex piece of Ancient tech—there was always a moment where the stark beauty of what he was looking at took his breath away.

He placed his hand on John's chest, fingers splayed for maximum contact and then he lightly drew his hand down John's body, noting the firm planes of muscle, the slight softness to his belly, the way his skin twitched as Rodney's fingers glided past, the way his cock jerked upwards as though reaching for Rodney's touch.

Rodney turned his hand when he reached the heavier line of hair approaching John's groin so that the back of his hand trailed through it, and then he rolled his hand again so that his palm closed around John's shaft. He couldn't help the pleased grin that broke out over his face at the contact, the prospect of yet another new conundrum to solve, the secret of bringing pleasure to John Sheppard. John's hand closed suddenly over his own and he looked up, something of his delight evidently still showing because the little frown of uncertainty that had been on John's face smoothed away. And because Rodney wouldn't have believed that John could ever be uncertain in such matters, he grinned and kissed him again, stroking his cock, occasionally reaching down further to palm John's balls, thrilling to the groan this elicited from John.

Dragging his face across John's mouth and jaw, he found a spot under John's ear that made him sigh when Rodney mouthed it, and Rodney placed a hand on John's shoulder for support, letting it trail down John's body as he sank to his knees. John was looking at him with that same sleepy-lidded expression from the other night on the planet, a banked light in those hazel eyes, a hunger that watched him from the edge of the forest.

Rodney closed his mouth around the end of John's cock, tasting the tang of precome and trying not to grin as John's thighs bumped up against his shoulders. Holding him steady with one hand, Rodney worked his mouth up and down John's shaft a few times, feeling the soft, smooth head of John's cock touch the back of his throat in a way that made Rodney moan with pleasure. He applied suction next, using his tongue at the same time to stroke the end of John's dick, and then he pulled off with a pop to lick the entire shaft and slick it down again. He went through several cycles of this, and was back to licking when suddenly he was being pulled up by his arms and John was kissing him intensely again.

This time when they broke apart, John began pulling at Rodney's clothes. "I want you to fuck me now," John demanded, his eyes dark with lust. Rodney wanted to protest—who interrupted a blowjob right in the middle? But John knew what he wanted and was insistent, and who was Rodney to argue with that? When he was reasonably assured that Rodney was indeed taking off his clothes, John stalked over to the bedside table and roughly pulled out the drawer, fishing around until he found some lube and condoms, tossing them onto the bed, where he proceeded to lean down on his hands, one hip cocked, presenting himself to Rodney.

A part of Rodney knew that this was how John had always had sex with men before—standing up, on the fly, against a wall, always in a rush, in hurried secrecy. He knew it was going to be up to him to show John that it could be different.

"Come on," John said, sounding angry, when Rodney took his time placing the condom on his own cock and lubing up his fingers. "Hurry it up, McK...oh."

He went silent when Rodney circled his hole, and then eased one finger inside. Jeeze, John was tight. Rodney wondered how long it had been since John had done this and he instinctively knew a long time, probably not since before he was posted to Afghanistan, maybe not since high school or college. Rodney pulled out and added a second finger, sliding them inside together and pumping them ever so slightly. A light sweat broke out on John's back and Rodney rubbed his hand through it, wishing he could see John's face but recognizing through his movements that John was beginning to enjoy Rodney's actions. Rodney began to pump a little harder, his own cock sliding up over one side of John's ass as he could not help but get closer to John. He rotated his hand and pushed in harder, pulling out to add in three fingers now, alternating between pushing hard and opening John up verses subtle pulsing with his hand. As he felt John relax and open at his touch, he thought maybe he could do this all night.

John was fisting the bedspread and hanging his head low, his hair almost brushing the bed as he swung infinitesimally with Rodney's movement. He had braced his feet wider apart, to let Rodney in, and now he was pushing back as well. Rodney pulled out, wiping his hands on the bedspread, earning a breathless chuckle from John while he lubed up his cock and lined up to press inside John. He went slowly, watching John arch up his back as he entered, but he continued his push forward until his balls were snug up against John's ass. John let out a long groan and rested his head on his forearms briefly, but when Rodney started to move, he got back up on his hands again, rocking with him.

Soft, wordless grunts met each of Rodney's thrusts; he began to pick up speed and push in harder, snapping his hips back and rocking forward again as John's body eagerly accepted him. John was moving as well, the combined rhythm became erratic so Rodney used both hands to grip John's hips and hold him still while Rodney felt his orgasm build. He let out his breath in a high pitched cry (that always embarrassed him when he thought about it), sharp and repetitive, ratcheting higher in pitch as his body tensed and his orgasm came exploding out of him. He could feel himself pulsing inside John as he collapsed down over John's back. It made him feel extremely possessive, a fact he knew he could never reveal. John was panting underneath him, holding both of them up with his hands, his knees resting against the edge of the bed. Rodney reached underneath him and took hold of John's cock, fumbling for more lube and then smiling into the skin of John's back when he was able to easily slide his hand up and down John's shaft. He pumped his hand the way he'd just pounded John's body, bringing the palm up over the head of John's cock with a twist before rotating back down again, taking the rhythm faster and harder. John began to pant harshly, making a noise that sounded like he was almost in pain, before repeating it again and shuddering into Rodney's hand.

They both ended up collapsing into the bed, Rodney remembering to roll off John at the last minute. John lay face down like he couldn't move. Rodney pulled off the condom, dropping it in the general direction of John's trash can. Clean up could wait.

"Hey," Rodney said after several long moments, when he was on the very edge of falling asleep. One hazel eye opened slightly to look at him. Rodney couldn't help but smile; John looked so deliciously sated, all sprawled out over the bed and really, Rodney couldn't wait to do it all again. Maybe this time in the bed, with John on his back, so Rodney could watch his expression...

"Hey," Rodney said again, poking John in the shoulder. "I'm glad you're not dead."

The eye closed briefly, but when it reopened, it was joined with a smile. "I'm glad I'm not dead too. I'm glad you're not dead either, for that matter."

"So why the Great Silent Act on the way home today?"

John sighed and turned so he could face Rodney. "I had a lot to think about."

"Like what I said or what the AI said?"

"Something like that," John admitted.

"Well, which?" Rodney said peevishly.

"A little of both. Can we just leave it for now?" He turned so that he now lay on his back as well. Rodney recognized that this was just moments away from his getting up altogether.

He reached out and laid his arm across John's chest, his fingers rhythmically moving in small circles on John's skin. He could sense John turning his head slightly to look at Rodney, but he studiously ignored him so as not to spook him into running. "You think maybe you should have stayed with the AI?"

He felt rather than heard John sigh. "I thought we weren't talking about this."

"You do know who you're speaking to, right?" Rodney said with his usual bite.

His gamble paid off; he made John laugh. Which was infinitely better than either retreating into silence or rolling out of bed in anger.

Rodney continued to trace idle patterns on John's skin. After a long pause, John spoke. "I just think maybe I could have done more good if I had stayed in the machine."

Rodney waited; something that did not come naturally to him.

"I think maybe it was selfish of me to want more." John laid a hand over Rodney's and closed his fingers briefly.

Rodney wanted to berate him soundly for his pathetic belief that he somehow did not deserve to have what he wanted in this world but instead, he made a humming sound, as though he were pondering the idea.

"We-ll," he said slowly, drawing the word out into two syllables in an unconscious imitation of John's drawl. "There is some merit to what you say. I mean, you'd have made a helluva addition to the Atlantean database. Of course, I'm not sure the expedition would have been ready for a city that played Johnny Cash in the transporters like some sort of insane Muzak. And while I bet I could have figured out how to download you into the puddlejumpers so that you could continue to be our number one pilot, we certainly would have lost out on the charming way you have with the natives during negotiations. Of course, given enough time, I'm sure I could have come up with a mobile hologram emitter..."

"Yeah," John said quietly, in a voice that was pure sex. "But then I would have missed out on this." His thumb began to stroke the back of Rodney's hand in lazy circles.

Rodney tightened his arm around John briefly. "So when you were broadcasting yourself and you took on solid form...?"

He felt John's shrug. "It was like I was watching myself on television. Nothing felt real or right."

Rodney moved his hand slowly down John's body and found his sleepy cock, palming and stroking it gently, reaching down to cup and roll John's balls in his hand.

"Mmm," John murmured. "Feels nice. But I don't really think I can get it up again any time soon."

"That's not what it's about," Rodney said quietly.

John brought a hand up and placed it on the back of Rodney's head, carding Rodney's hair for a moment before letting it fall back to the bed. Rodney could tell John was about to fall asleep and Rodney realized he couldn't stay much longer.

Slowly he withdrew his hand. "I should be going."

There was a long moment of silence. Just when Rodney was about to heave himself out of bed, John said causally, "It's still pretty early. You don't have to go yet." He reached down and pulled the blanket at the foot of the bed up over them. As he settled back in bed next to Rodney, he made a half-hearted gesture towards the wall switch and the lights began to dim slowly.

Rodney fell asleep grinning.

In the pre-dawn light, Rodney woke to the sound of someone moving around in the room. He was disoriented at first, until he realized he was in John's room. Fascinated, Rodney watched John move about as he got ready for his day. He was dressed in his running gear, but was engrossed with something on the computer.

"What are you doing?" Rodney asked, uncertain as to why he felt the need to whisper.

John hit a button with a decisive move and looked up with a grin. He looked like he was about 12 years old while at the same time he was still the familiar face that Rodney had come to depend on. "Ordering t-shirts," he said wickedly. "I've got to meet Ronon. See you later?"

Rodney waved a hand at him and let his eyes close as John left, contemplating with a smile the next long briefing. Elizabeth would go on and on about priorities and requisitions, and the IOA, and productivity and when the time was right, the four of them would reveal their t-shirts. They'd be black (of course) and in the upper right corner there would be a mock-up of those horrible peel-off stickers people wear at large conventions that say, 'hello, my name is...'

In the space below, the tag would read 'Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.'

Rodney lay in bed and sniggered loudly.

~fin~

t-shirt website: here.