Homecoming by Madison [Reviews - 8]
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Category: Slash Pairings > McKay/Sheppard
Characters: Jennifer Keller, John Sheppard, Other, Radek Zelenka, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Angst, Challenge, Character Study, Drama, First Time
Warnings: Adult themes
Series: None

Word count: 27513; Completed: Yes

Summary: Rodney thought it would be nice if they took a vacation where no one was shooting at them. Spoilers thru season 5.


Story Notes:
Written as both a birthday gift and a 'handmade gift' for vida_boheme on live journal. Beta'd by the incomparable the_cephalopod, bluespirit_star and zinfic. Additional support by rissaby. Fantastic coverart by bluespirit_star here. vida_boheme asked for a story that used the OC from Second Chance, but it is not necessary to have read that story first.
"Did you see this weeks' datastream yet? Came in this morning." Rodney blew into Sheppard's office practically mid-sentence, but certain John would know exactly what he was talking about, just the same.

John looked up from his desktop with a frown. "I've been kinda busy this morning, Rodney," he drawled in that irritating way of his. "You know, doing colonel-y things."

Rodney rolled his eyes and thought it was just as well that Firefly got canceled after one season because John identified just a little too much with Mal. John's desk, however, was showing actual signs of work in progress, for a change. "I'll be sure to alert the media," Rodney said tartly, before returning to his theme. "Pull it up, the part about where if you don't take your leave by the end of the year, you'll lose it—no accumulated comp time."

John shrugged, leaning back in his chair and tapping a stylus on the surface of the desk. "So?"

Rodney tried to picture him sitting casually at a bar, dressed in off-duty wear, drinking a beer. He was astonishingly successful. John would be dressed in one of his battered-looking cotton shirts, open at the neck, revealing tanned skin and a glimpse of dark chest hair. His two-day beard would make him look scruffy and disreputable in a way that could only be described as the embodiment of hotness, his long legs encased in comfortable, loose fitting jeans, his combat boots exchanged for brown hikers. His expression would be open and relaxed for a change, lips smiling as they closed over the mouth of a cold beer. Rodney had a sudden yearning to see him like that.

"So," Rodney said sharply, in an effort to dispel his little fantasy. "People are going to start signing up like mad. Schedules will be trashed; projects compromised in an effort to see that everyone gets their time off before they lose the right to take it altogether."

"Huh. Sounds like a big pain in the ass," John conceded. He frowned a moment and then his hazel eyes took on an evil gleam. "So, 'end of the year' means different things on different worlds. It can mean the calendar back on Earth or the Athosian calendar or the Lantean calendar. I'm sure between us, Lorne and I can come up with something to satisfy most everyone, even Woolsey."

"You're not listening. I'm saying," Rodney persisted, "that you need to apply for leave ASAP. So you can get your time off on Earth before you lose it."

John's eyebrow lifted as he looked askance in Rodney's direction. "I don't need to take any more time off. I'm over my time this year already."

Rodney folded his arms across his chest. "Time off recovering from life-threatening injuries doesn't count, Colonel. And you've had more than your fair share of that this past year, too. You need some time off that doesn't include lying flat on your back in the infirmary. Ever heard of the little concept called a vacation?"

"Of course I have, Rodney," John made a face at him, suggesting that John had a much better idea of what constituted a good vacation than Rodney did. "But if I want some time off, I can always take a couple of days here. Anything I want to do is right here in Pegasus. Surfing, mountain climbing, kayaking..."

"There are Wraith here too. And Iratus bugs," Rodney added for emphasis when John would have made a dismissing gesture. "And plants that spit toxins and crazy villagers with spears...I just think a vacation shouldn't include the need to carry a P-90 with you."

"And Earth is so much safer," John said lightly.

"Well," Rodney waffled. "Mostly."

"Uh-huh," John said without much conviction.

"Anyway, a true vacation includes access to hot showers and clean beds at the end of the day, not a grass mat on the ground and a cold stream to wash in, if you're lucky. I'm going to take a few weeks and go back to Earth to work on that project I was telling you about—you know, the one that will be a complete disaster if Edwards and Strazinsky maintain the position they're currently taking? I'm pretty sure I can blow their argument out of the water before the SGC invests too much time and resources into it. But I need to have more immediate access to some materials for my research."

"That doesn't exactly sound like a vacation to me, Rodney," John gave his little half-grin, the one that always made Rodney want to see the whole thing. "You hate Cheyenne Mountain."

"As long as I have access to broadband, I can work from almost anywhere. So why be in a stuffy lab when I can be at the beach?" Rodney went for a 'lofty' tone, hoping John would fall for the bait.

"So who's going to see that you come up for air and actually get out of the hotel room and on the beach?" John grinned and then his expression altered. "Wait a minute, you're not suggesting I go with you, are you?"

Put like that, it did sound odd. Rodney felt his face flush. "I just thought, you know...you might enjoy a little surfing or whatever."

"And see that you get coffee delivered to you on a regular basis?" John spoke with heavy sarcasm, leaning forward to toss the stylus on the desk.

"Don't be an ass, that's what room service is for," Rodney said irritably. "I just thought...it might be nice. You know, not having anyone try to kill us for a change."

John lifted an eyebrow pointedly this time. "So why aren't you asking Jennifer to go with you?"

Rodney had a hard time picturing Jennifer giving him the space he would need to get his research done. Vacation with Jennifer would likely include dawn walks on the beach and a heavy itinerary of sightseeing. He had a sudden image of the two of them walking an interminable distance to view a local historic monument, like a water tower or the remains of a battlement. Rodney suppressed a mental shudder. "What, can't a guy ask one of his buddies to take a little time off with him?"

"You broke up." John said flatly, and Rodney wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

"I don't want to talk about it. Can we not talk about it? Right. Well. Okay. Fine. You're not interested. This was a bad idea. I'll just..." Rodney made 'I'll be leaving now' motions with his hand over his shoulder towards the door.

"Rodney, wait." John sighed and rocked back in his chair again, this time running a hand through his hair, which only furthered its artful disarray. Rodney briefly tried to imagine John with a military-style buzzcut and failed utterly. "Just...give me some time to look at the schedules, okay?"

"Of course! Right. Well then. You let me know." Rodney left John's office feeling far more chipper than when he'd arrived. This was going to be so cool. He'd work on his project during the day, when John would be out doing all the athletic and pointlessly dangerous activities that Rodney thought had no part of any decent vacation and then in the evenings they'd go out to a good restaurant and hang out together. Maybe have a few beers and watch television. And not talk about Jennifer.

God, he was so screwed.

****

Coordinating his vacation time with John had proven to be as difficult as brokering a peace treaty and Rodney had a passing thought of how Elizabeth's diplomacy might have helped things along before realizing just how much he missed her. The sharp pain of loss had sliced through him unexpectedly, which might have made him a little snappish when John had suggested maybe it wasn't such a great idea for the two of them to both be off-world on vacation at the same time.

"You know what? You're right. Because you know, this city has only been here for ten thousand years before we got here and I'm sure it's coming up on its expiration date any second now."

John had seemed a bit taken aback. "Aren't you the one who's always complaining that you can't leave the city for a few hours without one of your minions wreaking havoc and nearly blowing everything up?"

"You have to let the student pilot take the controls sometime, Sheppard," Rodney had said darkly before walking away.

John had emailed him a few hours later with the dates he could be away from Atlantis. Rodney had rapidly sent him back a detailed itinerary of the vacation resort he'd chosen and the travel arrangements he'd made, based on the time of arrival in the SGC (coordinated with several other personnel desiring to go to Earth at the same time) and knowing that they'd have to rely on commercial travel since the Daedalus was already en route to Pegasus and thus could not be relied on for instantaneous transportation to their ultimate destination. He'd also included all the latest travel regulations for flight, since he wasn't sure how long it had been since John had taken public transport somewhere. He'd closed his response to John with "so, am I to assume that Operation: Try to have a Good Time is a go?"

John had responded by sending him a picture of the dimensions of carry-on luggage and how airlines now charged extra for exceeding the weight limits as well. Rodney had taken that as a yes.

So he'd assumed things were all settled when he sat down to breakfast a few days before they were scheduled to head through the gate. He slid into his usual seat beside Ronon and across from Teyla, leaving the empty chair beside her for John when he arrived.

"So," he began, forking into his scrambled eggs with enthusiasm as he directed his question to Ronon. "Did you decide what you're going to do with your time off?" With both Rodney and Sheppard off-world, it had only made sense for Ronon and Teyla to take some time off as well. Rodney had realized belatedly that when he'd planned his trip to Earth, he hadn't included the rest of his team as part of his plans. Teyla, he'd discovered quickly, had been pleased at the idea of spending some time with the other Athosians in their newest camp, the survivors recovering from the mass abduction and genetic manipulation by Michael. He'd suspected she was looking forward even more to spending some alone-time with Kanaan and Torren, which had only left Ronon for him to worry about.

Ronon tore off a chunk of bread and used it to wipe the remains of some gravy off his plate. "Halling's invited me to join a hunting party with him. I'll head out with Teyla after you guys leave."

"Really?" Rodney said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "Good for you. That sounds like great...er, fun."

Ronon's eyes narrowed playfully. "So maybe you should cancel your trip and come with us."

"Right," Rodney said sarcastically. "Because we all know how much the Great Outdoors is really my thing."

"Aw, c'mon, McKay. I bet I could make a tracker out of you. You just need a little more practice."

"Practice!" Rodney could hear the screech in his voice and tried to tone it down. "I get enough practice running for my life nearly every day! I don't need to stomp around in the woods, slapping at killer Pegasus mosquitoes and beating back treacherous vines, all while trying not to get run down by some incredibly lethal local version of a moose. As for tracking, give me a good scanner any day. For your information, I'm taking a vacation. That means I intend to get some pleasant reading done, compose some highly nasty but accurate scientific rebuttal, while lounging in a deck chair and consuming tropical drinks sporting little tiny umbrellas." Rodney let his hands paint a picture of his proposed activities as he spoke—right down to the tiny umbrellas.

"Uh-huh," Ronon snorted. "And meanwhile Sheppard is lying in a chair beside you, basking like a gheela in the sun."

Rodney felt his mouth open and close abruptly at the...suggestiveness of Ronon's statement. "Um," he began, only to chicken out. "What's a gheela?"

"A small, sleek and lazy fur-bearing creature with an affinity for water, native to Sateda," Teyla said smoothly, shooting a 'behave' look at Ronon. "Very handsome. Playful. Cunning. Difficult to catch."

Ronon laughed out loud as Rodney choked on his coffee and Teyla looked charmingly confused and then actually blushed at what she'd said.

"You guys gonna let me in on the joke?" John's voice came from behind Rodney's head, making him jump at John's sneaky ways. He came around the end of the table to take his customary seat, setting his breakfast tray on the table in front of him as he sat down.

"Rodney and Ronon were just discussing the relative merits of their proposed vacations," Teyla said swiftly, before Ronon could speak, the color still high on her cheekbones.

"I can't believe you're planning to go hang out with McKay when you could come have a great time with me," Ronon grinned before flinching suddenly and glaring at Teyla. He sat up straighter, presumably pulling his legs out of kicking distance.

"I've got three words for you," Rodney said, somewhat more sharply than he'd intended. He ticked the words off as he spoke. "Beer. Pizza. Surfboards."

"Uh, yeah, about that, Rodney," John suddenly looked shifty and uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck in that way that he did when he was facing a task he didn't want to perform.

"Oh c'mon," Rodney protested, unhappily aware that his disappointment was loudly on display. "You can't be serious. Oh, let me guess. Something came up." He sat back heavily in his chair, making snide little finger quotes at his last sentence, all interest in his breakfast gone.

"You sound like my ex." John's drawl took on a dangerous quality and his weirdly changeable eyes went muddy with their displeasure.

A hysterical thought of 'which one?' popped briefly into his mind before Rodney squashed it thoroughly. Shit. He was going about this all wrong. He took a deep breath. "You know what? You're right. I'm sorry."

Silence fell at the table; Rodney could feel his whole team staring at him. As a matter of fact, Teyla looked as though she might reach out and feel his forehead for a fever. "What?" he said irritably. "A guy can't apologize for being a jerk?"

"A guy can," Ronon said with a grin and a shake of his shaggy head, "but you wouldn't."

Rodney opened his mouth to protest, but Teyla once again intervened. "I hope that nothing serious is preventing you from taking your trip, John. Perhaps none of us should go. Do you need our assistance on a matter of planetary security?"

"What?" John looked startled and not just a little horrified. "God, no, nothing like that. It's just something came up. Something personal." He looked embarrassed now, eartips flaming as he scrunched up his face and began toying with the food on his tray.

"Personal." Teyla's tone plainly invited him to explain in greater detail.

John began vigorously buttering his toast, despite the fact that it was obviously cold now and the butter refused to spread easily. "Yeah. Um, I got an email from my brother. I'm going to need to clear up a few things. Odds and ends, you know." His voice had dipped into its oh-so-casual register, the one John used when he was lying, being interrogated by a Wraith or pretending not to notice that he was terminally wounded. Rodney wondered wildly which case applied here.

"Your brother? Well, then," Ronon opened his hands wide, palms up. "Problem solved."

"Excuse me?" John gave up on the food and raised an eyebrow at Ronon.

"Well, McKay's been bragging all week about how all he needed was access to broadband or whatever," Ronon turned to Rodney. "You'll like Sheppard's place. It's like one of those big resorts you were showing me in those brochures. Long hallways with tiled floors. Never-ending hot water in the showers and towels as big as blankets. A bunch of servants to wait on you hand and foot. Best part is, his brother lives there, so you get to stay for free."

"Nothing in this world is free," John said tightly to no one in particular, looking down at his plate and tapping his fork idly on the tabletop. He suddenly appeared to have heard what Ronon had also said. "Now wait a minute," John began, looking a little pissed, "for starters, it's not my place; it's my brother's. And Rodney's not going."

Maybe Rodney could salvage something of this trip after all. "Is there a swimming pool?"

Ronon nodded. "Yup. Indoors. In a glassed-in room with a lot of bushy, green plants."

"Food?" Rodney asked Ronon hopefully.

"Not going," John ground out, glaring meaningfully in Rodney's direction.

Ronon made a 'you won't believe it' gesture with his hands. "The food's amazing. And his brother makes a mean martinki."

"That's martini," John corrected crossly, shooting Ronon a sharp glance. "Since when did you have a martini with my brother?"

Ronon simply looked mysterious and raised an eyebrow in John's direction.

"Right." Rodney rubbed his hands together. "I'll cancel our reservations for the resort and rebook our flights for DC."

"No," John said sharply. "No, McKay, you're not coming with me." He looked seriously pissed off now and for an instant, Rodney thought about caving in.

"You took Ronon last year," Rodney pointed out instead, lifting his chin stubbornly, despite feeling hurt.

"It's...it's not like that. For pity's sake, Rodney, it will be unpleasant and boring and stupid for you." John glared at him as though Rodney were being deliberately obtuse.

"You find interacting with your family difficult, John, do you not?" Teyla asked sympathetically.

John seemed to relax at that and he turned to Teyla for support. "Yes." He snapped his fingers in agreement at her, as though she'd gotten a point he'd been trying to make.

"Well, it seems to me that you should welcome Rodney's company on this trip. His presence could only serve to...draw your brother's fire, so to speak." Teyla's smile had the slightest of smirks to it and Rodney realized by John's falling expression that he was aware he'd walked into a trap but was hoping there was still a way out.

"Besides, you can't go to that house without backup," Ronon said in apparent seriousness. "Last time, a Replicator showed up. Right there at the house."

"So unless you think we should all go with you, John..." Teyla let her voice trail off in sweet warning.

"Fine," John muttered, slouching down in his seat and looking sulky, knowing he had lost this one. "He can come."

It didn't exactly make Rodney feel all warm and cozy inside, but it was good enough for now. "As long as they have the internet," he said, as though he were making a concession and not secretly filled with glee. John Sheppard was a puzzle that perhaps Rodney spent too much time contemplating, but rarely did he have such an opportunity to find out about John's past as he would now. This was simply too good to pass up.

****

In retrospect, Rodney was beginning to think attaching himself to John's coattails as he went off on some personal and no doubt family business was not such a good idea. For starters, John promptly retreated behind the GWOS and was scarcely to be seen in the intervening days before they were due to gate back to Earth. And even when he was to be seen, there was the whole GWOS thing, which made him seem blankly unapproachable even when he was right in front of you.

Rodney remembered the first time he'd coined the phrase and the puzzled look Teyla had given him when he'd used it in her hearing. At the time, he'd pulled up a picture of the Great Wall of China on one of the laptops to show her and told her to work out the rest. He could still picture clearly the delighted snort of laughter she'd made when she'd gotten the joke and the mildly reproving shoulder punch he'd received in response. But both she and Ronon had been known to use the acronym as well. They were all careful to keep it to being just a team thing though. Sheppard might be a little damaged when it came to interpersonal relationships, but he was their damaged Sheppard.

Still, Rodney was beginning to wonder if he should just bail on the idea of trying to take a vacation with John and let him do whatever he had to do by himself. John certainly wasn't being very forthcoming and Rodney hated feeling like he was pressuring John or something. The days prior to departure zipped by however, what with having to make contingency plans for every conceivable disaster that might occur in his absence. So before he knew it, he was standing in the gate room with his bags, awaiting the dialing of Earth, and he hadn't yet approached John about going their separate ways once they reached the SGC.

Everyone but John was there waiting along with him and for an awful moment Rodney thought perhaps John wasn't coming at all. Which would really piss him off, because it was one thing for him to be magnanimous and grant John his freedom, so to speak, but quite another for John to blow him off altogether with no warning. Rodney caught himself mid-internal grumble and was appalled. What the hell was wrong with him?

He sighed heavily, causing Chuck-the-technician to look over at him briefly before Rodney's glare sent his glance scurrying back to the control panel. Yeah. Rodney had never really had much in the way of friends before coming to Pegasus. Which was probably why he was being all weird and stupid about spending free time with John now. It wasn't like they going to do anything they hadn't already done before—they were still going to hang out, just on a grander scale than usual. He'd just never actually planned to spend time with John before—it always simply happened on its own. At least Ronon and Teyla seemed to think he should go with John, they'd certainly manipulated John into agreeing on that point. Rodney respected their opinion (well, okay, at least he respected Teyla's opinion) when it came to the whole dealing with other people thing, so he was inclined to blithely ignore the fact that John didn't want him along. But a small part of him kept suggesting that he should really leave that up to John.

He felt relieved when he saw John stroll into the room dressed in his usual black fatigues with a military duffle in one hand and a garment bag over one shoulder.

"'Bout time you showed up," Rodney groused as a matter of course when Sheppard ambled to a halt beside him.

"Everyone here?" John looked relaxed but Rodney could sense the tension radiating off of him. He sighed. Obviously there was no other choice but to cut John loose on this trip. He opened his mouth to speak, but John was already signaling Chuck. Woolsey appeared at the balcony overlooking the gate to give his customary 'be safe' speech, which everyone ignored, largely focused with excitement on the gate as it underwent the dialing sequence. Before Rodney knew it, they were all headed through and coming out the other side in the gloomy recesses of the SGC.

"Sheppard," Rodney began once they cleared the gate. John was slightly ahead of him, walking down the metal ramp with ease while Rodney struggled to bring all his bags with him.

"Colonel Sheppard." An impossibly young Marine stepped forward as they were coming off the ramp and executed a snappy salute to John. "General Landry would like to see you in his office at once."

"Are you in trouble?" Rodney asked worriedly, catching up with John.

John shot him a 'don't be silly' glance. "No more so than usual," he said with a quirky smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "I'll meet up with you later." He sauntered off the end of the ramp as though he hadn't a care in the world, leaving Rodney to watch his movements and sigh once more. Hefting his bags, he started to move off the ramp as well.

"Oh, and Dr. McKay?" the young soldier sounded a little uncertain. Rodney wondered if his reputation had preceded him. "Dr. Lee would like a word with you in his lab if you have a moment."

"Of course he would," Rodney said darkly. "No, no, I know the way," he glowered at the young man when he would have offered to escort Rodney.

On second thought, Rodney could have gotten the marine to carry his bags. Knowing just what John would have thought of that action, Rodney grumbled to himself as he tightened his grip on his luggage and went off in search of Bill Lee.

****

Rodney felt silly at the rush of relief that surged through him when he looked up and saw John standing in the doorway of the lab, looking like his usual self. He trusted John to take care of himself in a wide variety of life-threatening situations back in the Pegasus galaxy, but somehow John on Earth always seemed a little vulnerable to Rodney. Perhaps it was because he felt that Earth hadn't always treated John that well and that it had failed to appreciate John's talents and abilities for most of his adult life. Dismissing his reaction to the sight of John as being foolish, (what, like he expected John to be thrown in the brig somewhere?) Rodney spoke up when John seemed to hesitate on entering the lab.

"Well?" He asked sharply. "Are we on our way, or what?"

John nodded, hands in his pockets, looking lazily at ease. Rodney realized that most people would assume John was relaxed and recalled just how long it had taken him to be able to tell the difference between the real thing and the face John most often showed the world. Even when they were among people that he trusted, John always retained a slight edge of wariness, like a stray cat that showed up for food and the warmth of the fire but was always ready to melt back into the shadows at the first sign that someone wanted to stroke him. Rodney had a sudden mental image of John tipping his head into the touch of someone's hand, fingers carding John's hair at the back of his neck and he felt himself flush.

He looked up to see John staring at him oddly. "Did you hear what I said, McKay?"

"Um, sorry, no," Rodney said, trying to hide embarrassment behind gruffness. "Another train of thought, very...um, important. But I'm listening now."

John just shook his head. "I said," he emphasized, a slight laugh audible in his voice, "Landry just wants me to check in with O'Neill when I get to the DC area. No biggie. We're good to go on this morning's flight as planned. If, that is," John cast a glance around the busy lab before returning his gaze to Rodney, "you can manage to tear yourself away from here."

"Lead the way, flyboy," Rodney said with a grandiose wave of his hand. "I presume you have a car waiting?"

****

Shortly after takeoff, John barricaded himself behind not just a novel, (Master and Commander by Patrick O'Brian) but his ipod and headphones as well. Rodney could recognize 'no trespassing' signs as well as the next person, or perhaps even better. After all, it was exactly the same as when he hunkered down behind an open laptop with his lunch and it never failed to infuriate him when no one seemed to understand that his intent was to be left alone. So obviously, asking John about the reasons for his going back home was not going to happen just now. Rodney opened his laptop instead and pulled up the latest draft of his rebuttal to Edwards and Straszinsky to review and edit.

He found his gaze drifting over to John's hands whenever John turned a page, idly considering the oddness of watching John's long, clean, capable fingers edging the paper prior to flipping the page, superimposing the image of those same hands, bloodstained and covered with oil, competently setting C4 charges to blow or deftly applying a field dressing. Forcing his attention back to the laptop screen, Rodney found himself wondering about John's choice of reading material and whatever happened to War and Peace? And how long would it be before the flight attendants could reasonably be expected to bring around the snack cart?

With a noisy sigh of frustration, Rodney turned his full attention back to his draft.

****

Rodney wearily followed John out to the parking lot to the rental car. The day had been a long one so far, what with the drive from Cheyenne Mountain into Denver and then the flight to Dulles and now they were faced with another drive of at least an hour, probably more, to reach John's old home. Or rather, family estate, if Ronon's description was accurate. Rodney would have thankfully accepted a suggestion to take a hotel in DC for the night and make the drive in the morning, but John had a look of grim determination about him that told Rodney it was no good bringing the subject up. He thought uneasily of all the times he and John had made excruciatingly boring trips somewhere in the jumper and never had the silence between them stretched for so long or felt so uncomfortable.

Fuck it. Rodney was too tired to cater to John's defensive coping mechanisms any more. He tossed his bags into the trunk alongside John's and shut it, making his way to the passenger side, John already behind the wheel, tense and silent.

"When are you supposed to meet with O'Neill?" Rodney thought he'd shown admirable restraint by not asking any questions earlier but he thought now perhaps he should have just ploughed ahead with his usual pushy ways. With being himself. Lord knows, trying to be something other than what he was had not worked out all that well for him recently. John might have pulled himself out of his personal well of doom by now had Rodney simply treated him the same as always. Damn it, what was it about this trip that felt like such a disaster?

"Tomorrow morning. You don't have to come with me."

A surge of very mixed emotions swept over Rodney—on the one hand, he knew Jack O'Neill liked John and wasn't going to be out to get him in any way and he knew Jack was less fond of Rodney himself, so avoiding a meeting with the acerbic general wasn't such a bad idea, but still...it seemed like John was telling Rodney to keep his distance here and Rodney was back to wondering if he should just rent a car and make his own plans for the rest of his stay on Earth.

As the sun began to sink low into the sky, streaking the clouds with plumes of orange and pink, John removed his sunglasses but he kept his eyes firmly on the road as he drove. Rodney had a moment of panicky disorientation as the car moved out of the terminal parking lot and onto the main road. John shot him a look as he clutched at the dashboard.

"No inertial dampers," Rodney said by way of explanation, feeling his mouth pull down at the corners.

John's little flicker of a smile was the first thing that had felt right all day.

"Okay, I can't stand it anymore," Rodney began, certain that he was making a huge mistake but unable to stop himself. "What's the big mystery that is dragging you back home after all this time? A second will was discovered that didn't cut you off completely? A love child has been identified? Someone needs a kidney?" Please don't let it be a kidney. A love child would be bad enough, but Rodney suspected the military had strict rules about discharging people who went around giving away spare body parts.

"I told you it's no big deal, Rodney," John's hand tightened on the wheel and then his fingers tapped briefly in irritation.

"Then quit making it one," Rodney snapped.

Surprisingly, John gave a snort of suppressed laughter. "Fair enough. Dave contacted me because he's selling off all the horses. Closing down the training and breeding operation. Says he's losing too much money on it and no one in the family is interested in the horses anymore."

Rodney waited for the rest of the explanation and when John said nothing further, he huffed, "Well? You need to be there because?"

John's head tilted in a half-shrug. He still kept his eyes on the road, but his posture seemed more relaxed and he steered with only one hand on the wheel now. "It's the end of an era. And Dave discovered one of the horses is still listed in my name."

"Really?" Rodney found this tidbit interesting. "You have a horse? Wow. What's that like? I mean, you know, when you were still here to ride it. You did ride it, right? What sort of riding did you do?" Rodney tried to envision John dressed in one of those red hunt coats (that were called 'pinks' for some silly reason) and chasing a fox to the sound of baying hounds, the way he imagined wealthy people of John's apparent social class did in their free time. He failed miserably; he suspected John would be on the side of the foxes. On the other hand, he had no trouble picturing John slouching in jeans and cowboy boots, pushing a Stetson back on his brow, sporting a lazy grin and twirling a lariat in his gloved hands...

"We bred show jumpers and eventers mostly." John's explanation meant little to Rodney.

"Okay, show jumpers, I get. I've seen that on ESPN. What are eventers?"

In the fading twilight, Rodney could make out John's slightly reminiscent smile. "Well, eventing combines the disciplines of dressage, show-jumping and cross-country all in one sport. With a little bit of steeplechasing thrown in at the upper levels."

"Let me guess," Rodney said dryly. "Iron Man competition for horses. And event-riders are crazy people who jump enormous obstacles at racing speeds and laugh at minor injuries such as fractured femurs."

John laughed out loud that time. "See, you do know what eventing is."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "That explains so much about you, you know." The road continued to unfold smoothly before them, John following the signs back to the interstate. "Wait a minute..." there was a pause as Rodney did the math in his head. "Just how old is this horse? I mean, you've been in the Air Force for what, coming on twenty years?"

"PJ's got to be over thirty now," John said thoughtfully.

"PJ?" Rodney pounced.

"It's not unusual for show horses to have silly barn names," John countered, sounding only slightly defensive. "You can't go around calling your horse Cloud Dancer on a daily basis."

"But PJ," Rodney persisted. "Would that be as in 'Puddle Jumper'?" He could scarcely contain his glee. "You named the jumpers after your horse?"

John shot him a dirty look. "This is why people don't share with you, McKay."

"Okay, look, I'm sorry. It's just all this time, you've given me grief about wanting to call them gateships, and here you've gone and named them after the horse you had when you were a kid. I think I'm justified in having a little moment of vindication here. And by the way, your coolness factor is totally blown with me. You are such a dork."

John acknowledged the fairness of Rodney's statement with a little flick of his fingers off of the steering wheel.

"Of course, it's saying something about your starting level of coolness that even as a dork, you still come off as cool," Rodney continued in a thoughtful tone. He noticed John giving him a sideways glance but another thought had struck him and he was off on a different tangent. "Wait, how long do horses live anyway?"

John grimaced and Rodney realized he'd hit upon the real problem at last. "That's just it. PJ's pretty old for a horse and most likely needs special care. I need to find a good place to move him to or I might have to consider putting him down."

Rodney felt a moment of shock; he'd just met PJ so to speak and already John was talking of shooting him. Although Rodney's impression of horses from film and literature was that, for some reason, shooting them was a pretty common thing to do. Though he supposed, technically they didn't actually shoot them anymore. Did they? "Are you sure?" He could hear the distress in his voice as soon as he spoke and mentally slapped himself with a wince for making things worse for John right now.

John merely shrugged. "Won't know 'til I see him. I didn't even know he was still around. I thought he'd been sold years ago. I was told he'd been sold years ago."

The anger in John's voice as he spoke was sharp and rank as an old wound recently re-opened and Rodney knew he was only hearing part of the story. "But if he's in decent shape, then you still need to find a place to park him, right? Even if he's basically just a lawn mower." Rodney sought clarification. "Are there old folks' homes for horses?"

"Surprisingly, yes." John grinned briefly. "Horses like living in herds. People like looking out their windows at a field of horses. As long as the animal in question isn't high maintenance..." John cast him a sideways glance, somehow managing to imply that if Rodney were a horse, he'd be taken out and shot automatically without actually saying a single word along those lines. "And don't worry," he added, as though they were linked through an Ancient mind-reading device. "I know of someone who can help me find a good place for him."

"Good, that's good," Rodney murmured with a muffled yawn, before staring out into the deepening dusk. The stars were starting to come out, as well as the hazy, pinkish glow of street lamps. He felt as though the car was slowly leaving the planetary atmosphere and John was piloting it towards an orbital gate to take them home.

Rodney was startled out of a light doze as the car turned off the highway and down a smoothly surfaced driveway. He didn't know at what point he'd lost the thread of conversation; he only knew that now the car was making its way down a long drive lined with trees, headlights picking out patches of snow in the surrounding acreage, lights up ahead in the distance, bright points that should have said 'welcome home' but for some reason, tightened a noose of dread around Rodney's heart. He shook off the feelings as irrational, stemming from his uneasy sleep, and sat up more fully to take in his surroundings. "Are we there?" he asked.

"Just about," John said tightly, and Rodney recognized a similar tension within him.

"Doesn't look like anyone's home," Rodney said abruptly as the car passed the front of the house and swept round to the garage in the back. Sure, the house had spotlights aimed at the front of it, giving it a very hotel-like atmosphere and Rodney particularly found the lighted fountain in the side yard to be ostentatious, if pretty, but the interior of the house seemed fairly dark. "Did you remember to tell anyone you were coming?"

"Yes, Rodney," John said tersely and Rodney realized the ease that John had exhibited earlier was gone.

In the silence that followed, broken only by the barely perceptible sound of the car's engine, Rodney roughly calculated the size of the property based on the length of the drive and the placement of the long, sprawling house, taking in consideration the large, attached garage and the shadowy barn on the other side of the driveway. Ronon was right; John's family could house an Athosian village in their home and have room to spare. The realization that John came from a really wealthy family made Rodney uneasy and suddenly uncertain of his welcome. Nothing in John's life or manner in Pegasus had given anyone any reason to suspect that he was anything other than solidly middle-class American.

Rodney found himself questioning for the first time if he really knew the man that he'd come to think of as his best friend and the one person he trusted more than anyone in the universe. It was not a good feeling. In fact, it came close to shaking Rodney to the core of his belief system—of the rightness of all his assumptions. He'd been wrong about so many things when it had come to the people in his life, especially when it came to relationships. The idea that he could be wrong about John was deeply upsetting and made him wonder if his fallibility could possibly extend beyond the borders of human interactions and into the realm of things of which he was certain, like math and science.

Rodney noted that John chose to park the car off to the side so that it did not block access to the garage. He thought it was interesting that John avoided parking inside the garage itself and had to smile at the realization that John was strategically placing the car as he would the jumper on a mission where their reception wasn't necessarily cordial, readily available for a clean, abrupt get-away. Somehow this little observation gave him the strength to face whatever it was that lay before them. Hell, they'd faced Hive ships. And Genii invasions. And imminent death and destruction on a near-weekly basis. How bad could a little family time be? Rodney chose to ignore the little voice in his head that said, bad, very bad.

John was moving around the outside of the car now, slamming doors as though he were angry, tossing their combined bags on the ground beside the car with the delicacy of a airline porter, which caused Rodney to scurry out of the car in time to save his laptop from the same fate. He followed John to the back door, noting the ramrod stiffness to his back as he walked and wondering what had happened to his natural slouchiness. Rodney had a brief moment of insight, in which he pictured himself coming back to his old home and reverting to mannerisms he hadn't displayed since high school. He had a moment's pity for John as John reached out and rang the buzzer.

They had a long wait in the cooling night air before a light came on and the door opened. An honest-to-god butler-type stood in the bright rectangle of light when it opened, peering disapprovingly at them where they stood, bags in hand, obviously expecting admittance.

"Yes?" The distinguished-looking man said witheringly. For an instant, Rodney wondered in horror if this was somehow John's father after all.

"Henry." John's voice was dry and slightly amused. Rodney recognized the tone from interactions with hostile or obstructive natives in Pegasus and it was all he could do to keep from snorting. The man called Henry obviously knew who John was and was being deliberately obtuse. "I believe you are expecting Dr. McKay and me."

"Ah, Mr. Sheppard," the superior house servant said smoothly. "I would have thought you'd have gone to the front entrance." He made it sound as though John had committed an act of gross impropriety by coming to the back door and it pissed Rodney off.

"That's Colonel Sheppard to you, Jeeves," Rodney said nastily. "We've had a long day and we'd like to be shown our rooms right away. John, what time did you say the president's chief of staff would call?"

"I didn't," John said, cutting a glance in Rodney's direction, a chuckle lurking in his voice.

Rodney pushed his way past the startled major domo, speaking all the while as though the man didn't exist. "Well, I hope to god for a little international crisis to keep him busy until at least noon. Is it too much to ask for the chance to sleep in late and a leisurely breakfast before we're off to save the world again?"

"Right this way, sir," Henry said in a gratifyingly deferential fashion and Rodney did snort when John's shoulder bumped his in the narrow passage as they followed Henry to the main portion of the house.

"The president?" He felt John's whisper tickle his ear. "Stretching the truth a bit, aren't we, McKay?"

"Not at all," Rodney said out of the corner of his mouth. "If the president knew we were here, you know he'd be asking us to the White House. After all, he's a Spiderman fan."

Rodney was gratified to see John's usual half smile. "You know, that makes a weird sort of sense."

Rodney just grinned.

****

The sensation of being in a four star hotel didn't dissipate when Rodney was shown his room. He was led to a bland bedroom in a benign beige color scheme completely devoid of any personality, although it was comfortably decked out with a king sized bed, a private bath (with a Jacuzzi, he noted excitedly) and those gooshy pillows that all the high end hotels used as well. A suitably generic print of the Blue Ridge Mountains hung above the bed. There were no photographs of any kind. The carpet was plush and luxurious underneath Rodney's feet and he found himself looking around idly for a mini-bar.

They'd been informed that Dave was out for the evening, that his wife (whose name Rodney promptly forgot) and John's young niece were visiting her family in Maryland; Henry had expressed Dave's regrets at the unavoidable commitment that night while Rodney had refrained manfully from rolling his eyes. He could tell that John was both a little hurt and relieved at Dave's absence and he positively itched to make John forget all about the slight Dave had given him, intentional or not. Only he was without his usual resources; no toy cars to race, no sitting on the edge of the pier with a nice, cold beer, no hanging out with Ronon and Teyla over a late snack in the mess hall. He'd made a mental note at the time to ask Henry about entertainment options—a house like this had to boast its own media center and game room. Fortunately, he'd already thought to point out to Henry before they'd even taken three strides down the corridor that he'd need a room with an internet access right away.

Oddly enough, his arrogance seemed to make Henry more respectful of Rodney. As though there was a correlation between the magnitude of his rudeness and his importance in the world. That very fact made Rodney seethe inside. Much of John's current behavior Rodney could now see was a reaction to the world in which he'd been raised and Rodney found himself approving of John's choices with an odd sense of pride.

Henry had been only mildly apologetic over the lack of dinner waiting for them. Apparently it had been assumed that John would have chosen to stop along the way. John had seemed to take the news in stride, even as he'd cast an amused glance at Rodney's stomach when it had growled loudly at the information. He'd then left Rodney in the living room as he disappeared into the kitchen, and had returned with a plate of sandwiches and a bag of chips tucked under one arm. Henry had followed behind him radiating disapproval as he balanced two bottles of cold beer on a tray.

"Might as well be comfortable," John had said, as he'd collected Rodney, by-passing the dining room and heading down the hall towards what was presumably Dave's study. The room embodied a strong, masculine personality that Rodney had suspected was inherited rather than developed by Dave himself, and he'd gotten a sense that John was thumbing his nose at authority by seating himself in one of the deep, leather chairs and taking a huge bite out of his sandwich. John had waved off the chilled mugs proffered by Henry and unscrewed the top on his beer, taking a healthy swig of that too. He'd seemed to be assessing Henry's reaction and his lips had smirked as they closed around the mouth of the bottle. Rodney had caught himself watching John carefully during this little pissing match. He'd been startled to realize that John looked very much as Rodney had tried to picture him as the 'man on vacation' before, down to the rumpled cotton shirt now open at the collar and the long legs stretched out before him as John slouched down in the rich, leather seat. It was the shuttered expression in his eyes that wasn't right.

Deciding he was on a roll in terms of being successful by being himself, Rodney had prowled about the room, poking into drawers and cabinets under John's amused eye and Henry's look of bland indifference that seemed to mask indignation. "Hah, found it," Rodney had said, gleefully pulling open a wooden panel in the wall, revealing a large flat screen television. He'd laughed at John's surprised expression, both of his eyebrows disappearing into his chaotic hairline. "That will be all, Henry," Rodney had waved the major domo out of the room.

Rodney had snatched up a remote and begun scrolling through the menu options. "Let's see what ol' Dave has on DVR."

"Wait, go back," John had interrupted as he was punching his way through the menu, muttering about Dave's inexorable taste in television. "That one," John had pointed and then motioned for the remote. "Burn Notice."

Rodney had frowned, refusing to give up the remote. "Is that the one about the cop wrongly convicted of a crime and then he comes back after prison to the police force again?"

"No, I know the one you're thinking about; that's not it. This one's about the spy that gets sent into the cold and he's stuck in Miami trying to find out who burned him."

Rodney had taken his seat in the comfortable and probably very expensive chair next to John, placing the remote within easy reach on his side of the table before picking up his sandwich. "Sounds boring. If he's in Miami, how come he's cold?" Rodney had asked around a mouthful of homemade hoagie.

John had flicked his beer cap at him. "The part of Ronon Dex will be played tonight by Dr. Rodney McKay," John had intoned in a theatrical voice before returning to his normal drawl. "Trust me, you'll like it. Fiona is pretty and tough and blows up at least one thing per episode."

They had watched two episodes of Burn Notice and were halfway through an episode of Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe, with Rodney and John tossing out suggestions at the screen of future 'jobs' Mike could tackle (none of which were actually located on Earth) when Dave had arrived. Rodney had been taken aback by his appearance—Dave looked nothing like he expected. Heck, anyone could look at him and Jeannie and know at once they were related, but John and Dave didn't look like they were remotely connected as family. They were both long bodied and lean, but that was the only similarity. Dave's hair was lighter in color and behaved in an ordinary fashion. His ears were ordinary as well, no odd triangular shape to provoke elf-jokes there. He was dressed in a chocolate brown suit with a cream colored shirt and brown, striped tie and Rodney knew instinctively that his clothes were probably made by some Italian designer.

Rodney had taken one look at Dave during the introductions and had turned to John and said, "Ohmygod, you're a changeling."

Fortunately John had not been drinking his beer at the time, or Rodney suspected Dave's elegant suit would have been sprayed.

"You must be Dr. McKay," Dave had said with a stiff smile at Rodney after a sharp glance in John's direction. "John's told me nothing about you."

"Ditto," Rodney had said with a snap, enjoying the way Dave's eyes had widened slightly before narrowing again.

"I take it the two of you work together." Dave had tried again. "You're another civilian consultant? Like the man John brought here last time. I believe his name was Ronon?"

Something about the way Dave had said 'civilian consultant' made Rodney think he hadn't believed John's explanation for either Ronon's or Rodney's presence in the Sheppard family home. In Ronon's case, Rodney could understand, because, well, he really was an alien when it came right down to it, so John had been sort of stretching the truth when he called Ronon a consultant in the first place. But there was something else, something not-quite-sneering in Dave's tone and Rodney had reacted accordingly.

"I'm nothing like Ronon. Ronon's specialty is killing people and blowing things up. He's the brawn and I'm the brains of this operation."

"You've been known to blow up a few things in your own time, McKay," John had said mildly.

"Yes, well," Rodney had been flustered, "when I blow things up, I do it on a grand scale."

"Yep. Whole solar systems." John's expression had been teasingly wicked and Rodney had felt himself blush furiously.

"Not whole solar systems," he'd corrected before turning back to Dave. "Besides, Teyla is the one who really frightens us."

"Who's Teyla?" Dave had said almost desperately, his eyes darting back and forth between John and Rodney, his expression stating plainly that he didn't believe Rodney about the team's lethality, but he wasn't entirely sure.

"The voice of reason," Rodney had replied at the same time John was saying "Our conscience." They'd both looked at each other and laughed.

Dave had still looked confused. "And you're afraid because...?"

"Because she can kick all our asses without trying," Rodney had said in a conspiratorial aside.

"She can kick yours without trying," John had quipped. At Rodney's steady glare, he'd added, "Okay, mine too. But she has to work at kicking Ronon's."

"So..." Dave had said slowly, "if Ronon's the brawn and you're the brain and Teyla's the conscience, then who's John?"

"Yeah, Rodney, what am I, chopped liver?" John's voice had been lightly mocking but there was an edge to it that made Rodney hurt just a little inside for him.

"Don't be an ass. You're the heart of every mission."

John's face had frozen for an instant before a fleeting look of gratification crossed it suddenly. And then he'd been all smirks again. "Jeeze, McKay. Don't give up your day job to moonlight for Hallmark."

"I wouldn't think of it," Rodney had said with a sniff. "You guys wouldn't last a week without me."

The conversation had turned to pleasantries after that, the small questions about Dave's family and the business with the horses. The wife, it seemed, was pregnant again and Dave was full of fatherly pride at the prospect of a son. Rodney had found himself tuning it out and he'd been startled out of his own thoughts when Dave suddenly hoped that Rodney would find everything that he needed during his stay and wished him a good night. Before he knew it, Rodney had been shown the Hilton-esque room he was in now and had discovered that his bags were all there.

Now, perversely (given how tired he'd been earlier), Rodney was wide awake and too restless to settle down to sleep. He puttered about the internet for a bit and then glanced at his watch, yawning, wondering where the last two hours had gone. Dinner seemed like it was a lifetime ago and it hadn't been a very substantial one at that—he wondered if he wandered down towards the kitchen, he could find a housekeeper who'd take pity on him and provide him with a little bedtime snack.

He felt a bit like a schoolboy out of bounds as he walked down the long, carpeted hallway, lit at intervals with a small wall sconce. The carpet felt like a thick pelt under his sock feet and he traveled without a sound. When he reached the stairway, he hesitated, glancing down over the upper balcony railing into the foyer below. It really was a lovely house, he thought idly. A shame it felt so dead and unforgiving. It suddenly occurred to him how much the room he stood in now resembled the gate room in Atlantis, only a cold, sterile version instead of the vibrant place he'd left behind and he experienced a weird little frisson of deja-vu.

He went down the stairs quickly and paused again as he reached the bottom. He remembered the way to the back door. He knew where the study was located; he had a vague idea where the kitchen might be. He snorted quietly when he realized that he too was mapping the house like he would a Hive ship, planning the best exit plan if needed. Walking quietly along the tile floor, worrying about the risk of falling and whether or not he should take off his socks, Rodney got turned around somehow and found himself walking down a long corridor that had a series of French doors along one side, looking out into a garden where a greenhouse appeared to be situated. From the glowing, undulating light within, reflecting up on the walls, Rodney assumed that was also the location of the pool that Ronon had mentioned. Someone was either inside or else they'd left the lights on.

Hesitating only a second, Rodney tried the handle and when he found that it was not locked, he pulled open the door and stepped out into the darkness. The frigid air caught him by surprise—he'd known empirically that it was still winter in VA but he'd somehow thought it never really got that cold here. It certainly had not been that cold when they'd arrived earlier in the evening. Blowing on his hands to warm them, he almost turned and went back inside, only the splash of water and the low hum of machinery caught his ear and curiosity drove him to pick his way cautiously towards the greenhouse door.

The door by which he entered proved to open on a narrow, brick walkway that was heavily flanked by rows of potted plants before widening out into a room that was much larger than Rodney expected. In the center of the room, a good size pool was located, surrounded on all sides by a wide variety of greenery and blooming plants. The air was humid, as evidenced by the steam that rose from the surface of the pool, and heavy with the scent of soil and growing things. The only light came from within the pool itself, giving the water vapor an odd, surreal glow and casting shifting patterns of light against the walls.

Within the pool, John swam lazily, performing an overhand stroke with the ease of long practice. The lighting caused the water to reflect off his skin with a sheen as his arm and shoulder broke the surface; his rhythm was smooth and hypnotic. Rodney realized two things right away.

First, that this seemingly careless midnight swim wasn't about exercise so much as a need to clear John's mind. That John often chose exercise when Rodney would have chosen food was something that he'd come to accept about John a long time ago, and as coping mechanisms for a military man went, Rodney had to admit it made a lot of sense. Even if ice cream was a whole lot more soothing in Rodney's opinion.

Secondly, John was naked.

That realization made him feel suddenly as though he were intruding on a private moment and though he knew he should turn away and go back inside, his feet felt as though they'd become rooted to the floor of the greenhouse, intertwining with the plant life there. As Rodney watched, John's body glided smoothly through the water, each stroke rolling his shoulder and chest up out of the water partway as he took a breath and rolled back under. Each slow and lazy kick of his legs caused his ass to flex and stretch in a way that was almost mesmerizing to watch. It wasn't like he'd never seen John naked in a pool of water before. But somehow, off-world swimming holes seldom were lit up from within, highlighting John's every move.

A gheela, Rodney thought and then flushed, embarrassed by the memory of the conversation back at the mess. John reached the far side of the pool and executed a neat swimmer's turn before heading back.

Rodney swallowed hard and turned to leave before John noticed his presence.

"Hey Rodney," he heard John speak behind him, just as his hand made contact with the door handle. "What's up?"

Feeling his shoulders slump in defeat, Rodney straightened before turning to face John in an attempt to gird himself for the coming conversation. "Nothing, nothing," he said, as he walked back in the general direction of the pool. "I saw the lights and I was curious, that's all."

He stopped a few feet short of the pool. John was leaning with his arms folded along the edge of the pool as he looked up at Rodney. His hair was slicked back, reminding Rodney suddenly of how John had appeared in his subconscious the time the alien crystal entity was trying to kill him, and Rodney could suddenly see John sitting beside him in the rowboat, lashing rain soaking them both to the skin, John shouting words of encouragement over the voice of his evil doppelganger. It was both a frightening and reassuring memory.

John levered himself up on one hand and used the other to shake the water out of his hair, causing it to spring back to its usual spiky array in a way that somehow seemed right and familiar and Rodney found himself relaxing a bit.

"So come on in," John drawled, making the invitation somehow fraught with innuendo. "The water's nice and hot. You'll like it."

"I don't have a suit," Rodney said primly, and was reminded of all the times off-world when he'd refused at first to join the rest of the team in an impromptu skinny dip. How many years had it taken him to get over that? And even now, he was more likely to shed his clothes and dash into the water with the demand that everyone turn their backs first.

"That's never stopped you," John laughed. "Well, not recently," his voice dropped to a lower, teasing register and he leaned on his forearms again. "I don't have a suit either."

"You just want to scandalize Henry," Rodney said sourly and was greeted by a sudden bark of laughter from John.

"He's such an easy mark," John agreed before pushing off from the wall backwards and treading water, sending ripples over the steamy surface of the pool in his wake. "C'mon, Rodney. The water's great and I promise I won't look." John covered up his eyes with both hands as he grinned and promptly sank under the surface.

When he came up for air, Rodney asked, "Did you think to bring towels?"

John shook his head vigorously, sending droplets of water flying. It took Rodney a second to realize that wasn't his answer but an attempt to shake off more water. "Nope, sorry. This was sort of a spur of the moment thing."

"Yeah, well, ask me again when you have towels," Rodney said dryly, momentarily regretting his less than spontaneous nature. "And preferably when you have some tropical drinks as well."

"You asking me to get you drunk, Rodney?" John swam over to the wall again.

"I'm suggesting you're far more likely to get me into that pool naked if I am," Rodney tossed back over his shoulder as he determinedly moved back towards the door.

John's laughter floated out behind him as he stepped into the frosty night air.

****

Rodney had worked for the better part of the morning when the sound of someone quietly clearing their throat made him snap over his shoulder, "What?"

It had turned out to be Dave's personal assistant, a young blonde named Amy Watts, who had come to introduce herself and inquire as to his needs during his stay. She seemed the unflappable sort, who'd calmly heard his request for a ray gun and smoothly informed him that the Colonel had suggested he might ask for something like that and the Colonel got first dibs on the next available ray gun, which made Rodney snort with unwilling laughter.

Apparently John had left interesting orders before he'd headed off to DC for his meeting with O'Neill. He must have been feeling guilty—Rodney's thoughts had flashed back to breakfast that morning and he'd become indignant once more at the memory of the plate that one of the servants had set before him. Half a grapefruit and a glass of orange juice on the side. When Rodney had backpedaled from the table violently (and he did not make the sign of the cross, no matter what John had said), John belatedly informed Henry that Rodney was allergic to citrus ("deathly allergic", Rodney had clarified, with an evil glare. Since when had John forgotten to tell the natives about his allergies?). The second offering had hardly been any better—a bowl of oatmeal with raisins. Rodney must have looked depressed or at least disgruntled when he'd announced to the room at large that it was no wonder the Sheppard men were so thin.

That had drawn a chuckle from Dave and a promise from John that at least for one breakfast before they left, Rodney could have his heart attack on a plate if he wanted it.

"If this is another dig about how much weight I've gained in the last few years..." Rodney had begun testily but to his surprise, John had shaken his head.

"Nope. This is about me wanting to see you hang around for a few years longer. Eat your porridge, Goldilocks."

"Hardly that, Colonel," Since their arrival at Dave's, Rodney had found himself referring to John as though they were on a mission. It had taken him a beat longer to hear what John had actually said and he'd found John's concern about his health touching, in a really irritating sort of way.

"I've seen early pictures of you," John had continued with a nasty leer. "And the description is apt. G-o-l-d-i-l-o-c-k-s." He'd drawn the word out in an exaggerated drawl.

"Dave," Rodney had turned to find Dave watching the two of them with a slightly bemused expression on his face. "Help me out here. You've got to have Sheppard baby pictures lying around here somewhere."

"Consider me Switzerland," Dave had said with a smile, wiping his mouth with his napkin and getting up from the table. "Golly, look at the time." The look of surprise on his face was typical of John being exaggeratedly sarcastic and for the first time, Rodney could see the family resemblance. "I'm going to be late for work."

"Enemy collaborator," Rodney had huffed as Dave left the room.

But Amy had been well-versed in Rodney's special needs, it would seem. She'd showed him how to use the intercom to ask for more coffee, ignoring the decimated remains of the carafe provided that morning, mug empty, spoon standing straight up in the bowl as spilled sugar lay in a snowdrift all around its base. She'd had instructions to escort him to the dining room on John's orders, to see to it that he took a break from the computer and ate a 'real' lunch. And she'd informed him as well, that should he care for a swim, one of the staff would see to it he was provided with swim trunks and a towel.

After having eaten a quite decent lunch of homemade chicken salad and a selection of fruits and cheeses, Rodney found himself unwilling to go back to the keyboard and driven by curiosity to head outdoors instead. He was surprised to find it so mild in temperature, given the chilliness of the night before. In fact, even though there were still patches of snow at the base of some trees, those trees themselves were blooming with tiny white petals and some sort of colorful, bulb flowers were pushing their way up out of the beds surrounding the house and driveway.

The barn lay just down the drive and the sound of a whinnying horse caused Rodney to drift in that direction. He followed the walkway into the relative darkness of the barn.

A long aisle stretched in either direction. Rodney could see people talking at one end in front of what appeared to be the stable office, their bodies silhouetted in the bright light coming from the open end of the barn down that way. Somewhere nearby, a radio played a melancholy song about a long black train and even Rodney knew that was a metaphor for death. In a sudden moment of illumination, John's Johnny Cash fixation made much more sense.

Feeling a bit like he was in a John Sheppard museum, Rodney chose to walk in the opposite direction from the office, his feet making little sound on the hard, rubber matting covering the aisle. He breathed in the earthy smells of the stable, the grassy odor of last winter's hay, the clean, powdery scent of fresh sawdust and the heady smell of leather tack. He was surprised that the scent of dung wasn't too unpleasant and vaguely remembered an inane conversation with Ronon about the difference between carnivore scat and herbivore poop that he'd thought was totally irrelevant at the time, until Ronon had pointed out that proper identification could mean the difference between getting eaten or not.

Most of the stalls were empty. As he passed one, the occupant inside made a soft whickering sound and came over to the open half of the stall door. The animal within was unexpectedly furry (until Rodney remembered that winter was just on the way out here) and the color of a new penny. A long white stripe marked its face and Rodney noted that even in his limited experience, it did not seem to be an attractive animal. The head was rather a bit like a cinderblock, the back swayed with age. Rodney wondered if this could possibly be John's horse, but the temporary nameplate beside the door read "Whimsy". It seemed appropriate to the creature.

Rodney leaned back cautiously as the horse reached its head out across the stall door, mobile lips working energetically towards his pockets. "Sorry, old man," Rodney took a step back and held up empty hands. The horse raised his head and looked so forlorn that Rodney had to chuckle.

"I know exactly how you feel." Glancing around, he saw a trunk stacked in front of the stall with a tin can sitting on top that also had the horse's name on it. Opening the can, he found what appeared to be sugar cubes. "Just one," he said sternly. "We don't want to get into trouble."

Uncertain as to how to offer the treat, Rodney had a moment of concern that he'd placed his fingers in harm's way when he saw the huge yellow teeth coming towards his hand and he remembered at the last second having read something about placing treats on an open palm. Whimsy's lips brushed his hand, velvet soft as the sugar was folded into his mouth, and Rodney found himself smiling at the large beast. Not willing to try patting the horse, Rodney reluctantly moved off and back to his explorations.

He passed a gated opening to a dirt covered arena and glancing across it, saw that it opened out on the opposite side to some paddocks and another arena outside the barn, where he could see a horse being worked. Following his own self-imposed rule of shutting every gate he went through (it worked in scientific laboratories, why not barns?) he crossed the arena, making a face at the heavy not-soil under his feet and regretting that he'd worn his track shoes down to the barn. He quickly made his way to the other side, feeling like an intruder.

He walked down a gravel drive to a small arena where another slim young woman worked a large brown horse on a circle with a long rope and a whip. If he'd thought Whimsy was big, this horse towered over one in the stall. Its mane and tail and all four legs were black, its body the color of a mink coat. The horse was being watched by a man in a ball cap, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, one booted foot propped up on the bottom rail, as he leaned into the fence.

For a nanosecond, Rodney thought it was John.

The body type was right—lean and long through the torso, jeans a bit too baggy over slim hips, even the negligent, lounging pose was right. But when the small, oddly colored dog at the man's feet noticed Rodney's approach and stood up, the man glanced in his direction and Rodney could see at once that he was older, maybe in his fifties. The man said something to the dog, which sat back down. The man on the rail then straightened his stance, but did not approach, instead waiting for Rodney to come to him.

"Can I help you?" He drawled when Rodney was within speaking distance.

Rodney had to struggle not to contain a laugh. So that's where John got it from.

"I'm a friend and colleague of Colonel Sheppard's. Dr. Rodney McKay." Rodney said by way of introduction. "He had to go into town this morning but should be back soon. Is his horse around here somewhere?" Rodney looked around curiously as though the animal in question might appear. The little dog at the man's feet wriggled in hopes of being petted, its coat a strangely mottled pattern of grey, black and white. It had a very short nubbin of a tail, which it wiggled furiously.

The man in the ball cap appeared to be assessing Rodney in a way that made him slightly uncomfortable, as though he were somehow wanting.

"Dancer's at the retirement farm," the man said slowly, and then after a pause, held out his hand. "Jim Banks, stable manager."

"There's a retirement farm?" Rodney asked sharply as he shook the man's hand abruptly. "Well, why can't he just stay there? I mean, he's worked hard and done his job well, right? Exceeded everyone's expectations. Doesn't he have the right to hang out in a field with his friends, eating grass all day?"

Jim Banks removed his ball cap and scratched his head with one hand before replacing it. Rodney could see that his mostly silver hair used to be a reddish brown and he had to revise his earlier age estimate. This guy was at least sixty. And a full head of hair, too, he thought morosely.

"Property in Middleburg's been sold. Land there is at a premium. All the horses have to be relocated. What did you say your name was again?" Banks said with a faint grin.

"Rodney McKay. I see. And the property is very valuable too, I'm sure. And no doubt John won't see a penny of it. I don't get it. It's not like he's an axe-murderer or anything. He joined the military. He's a hero, for crying out loud. What did his dad have against that?" Rodney wound down with a huff and a belated sense of embarrassment.

"What's it to you whether or not John receives an inheritance?" Was it Rodney's imagination, or did Banks seem rather cool? Rodney tried to read the man's expression, wondering how he'd potentially just messed up here, but all he got was a blank wall.

"It matters to me in the sense that it matters to John. Oh, not that he wants the money, because he doesn't. He'd tell you he doesn't need it, which is patently ridiculous because providing that he survives his current assignment, money is always useful in your old age. But the getting shut out—that hurts. And he doesn't deserve that." Rodney ground out the last words defensively and dared Banks to take exception.

Banks merely raised an eyebrow. Rodney had to battle an uncontrollable and highly inappropriate urge to giggle.

Banks turned back to watch the horse in the arena with a faint smile on his face. Rodney joined him at the rail. "That's a really big horse. What do you call that color? And what is that woman doing? What's the purpose of chasing it around in a circle?"

Banks glanced over his shoulder at Rodney.

"I just don't want to look like an idiot when John gets here," Rodney tried to hide his inherent fluster.

A small half-smile appeared briefly on Banks' lined face. "Yes, she's big. 17 hands. A hand is four inches and measured from the ground to the withers—that's the highest point of the shoulder. The brown color with the black points makes this horse a bay. The girl's lunging her—not chasing her. Part of her training, teaches her to obey voice commands. Also useful for assessing gaits or judging lameness."

Rodney had the feeling that was a long speech for this man, but to his surprise, Banks continued. "She's a nice mover. Good competition prospect."

Banks suddenly glanced up beyond Rodney's shoulder and his face lit up with a genuine smile.

Rodney looked back behind him to see John making his way down the drive towards them. He'd changed from the uniform he'd worn into town and was now wearing jeans and a snugly fitting black polartech pullover. He looked younger and more carefree than Rodney could ever recall seeing him before. "Hey, Rodney," John said as he walked up, gravel crunching under his weather-beaten boots. "I see you've met Jim. Nice mare." John indicated the brown (no, bay) horse still trotting in the ring.

Jim flicked an eye over John's attire. "She's for sale. You should try her out."

John laughed, but Rodney thought he could hear a note of regret in his tone. "I can't fit a horse in a duffle bag."

"You should try her out just the same. Do me a favor—I want to see her go under saddle."

Rodney was surprised to see John flush slightly. "Jim, I haven't been on a horse in years."

"Not asking you to go prelim, Hotshot, just jog around the track. C'mon, let's get you some gear."

John shot Rodney a sort of helpless look and then shrugged as he fell into step behind Jim. Rodney joined them, mouthed "Hotshot" at John, who punched him on the arm. They followed Jim back into the barn.

"Wait here," Jim opened a door that led into some sort of formal reception area where the walls were gleaming with oiled wood and decorated with large, framed photographs. In one corner a large glass case contained rows of trophies and rosettes.

Rodney zeroed in on a photograph spotlighted with a bright lamp underneath. In it, a gray haired man with an expansive expression stood with his arm around the shoulders of a much younger John, who stood glaring somewhat sulkily from under a mop of hair back at the camera, the reins of a gray horse in his gloved hand, a large purple ribbon fluttering from the horse's bridle.

"Is that you?" Rodney asked delightedly, looking over his shoulder where John stood looking as though he were about to be interrogated by a Wraith and Jim was still framed by the doorway. "Ohmygod. You were gorgeous."

Jim's snort and John's sudden grim expression made Rodney continue evilly. "Of course in a completely baby-faced sort of way. Seriously though, it's not fair. You only get better looking with age. And oh, hey," he rushed on when John snapped a remarkably good imitation of Rodney's own Death Glare in his direction. "Looky, you obviously were just as fond of having your picture taken then as you are now. You've got that look you get when the brass wants to...well, let's just say I've seen steel that had more flexibility than your spine. Is that Puddle Jumper?"

Jim's smile split his face. "Back in a few," he said as he backed out of the door. "Toad, with me."

"Did he just call that dog Toad?" Rodney asked curiously as Jim and the dog left.

"Yes," John said a little shortly. There was a pause and then John added. "You know, you don't have to hang out here for this."

Rodney felt himself frowning. "Are you kidding? I want to see you ride."

"It'll be boring."

"Not if you get dumped."

John laughed shortly, suddenly relaxed again. "Whatever."

Jim returned after a bit with a pair of cream colored britches draped over one arm and a pair of tall boots in one hand. John took them, some sort of silent communication passing between the two men.

"They belong to Dave. He doesn't ride anymore. They should still fit you though. You can change in there," Jim nodded towards a door on the far side of the room as John was undoing the fly on his jeans and had begun to toe out of his boots. John raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he took the clothing and entered the other room, leaving Rodney alone with Jim and the dog.

"So," Rodney said as he wandered around the room, glancing at the photos. Proud, elegant horses stood posed with riders and owners, trophies prominently displayed. "Is Dave the younger or older brother?"

"You say you're John's friend and you don't know that?" Jim's voice sounded skeptical.

Rodney shot him a sharp look. Jim continued to look blandly at him. Toad whined and pressed her sturdy little body up against Jim's leg.

"I may not know the details, but I know the important things about John. I know he cares more about the people in his command than he does himself. I know that he's much smarter than he lets on—he doesn't hide it, mind you, but he doesn't show it off either. I know what he looks like when he's pretending his injuries aren't that bad or when he's determined to do something suicidally stupid because he thinks it's the right thing to do. And I know that I trust him to come up with a plan to save our asses when things get really, really bad. The other stuff is just...stuff." Rodney ended up red-faced and huffing, conscious of the fact that his arm-waving had taken a particularly aggressive turn towards the end.

"Are you always so...forthright?" Jim asked with that damn raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Rodney said belligerently.

"Good," Jim said with a half-smile and then the door opened and John re-entered the room.

Rodney blinked. He'd seen John in various states of dress and undress over the years and was conscious of the fact that perhaps his appreciation of John's good looks sometimes strayed into territory he'd rather not examine. He told himself most of the time that it was just sheer envy that made him analyze John's appearance at times. Sometimes it was simple curiosity, especially when new scars (ones that he knew the story behind), made him fixate on the old ones, the ones that still held their secrets. But John standing before him now made his breath catch in a way he didn't quite understand.

He still wore the black pullover, the plush fleece open at the zippered collar, the chain of his dog tags visible underneath. The cream britches fit him like an expensive leather glove, emphasizing his long length and placing his package prominently on display. Rodney had never really given much thought to the fact that John was a runner, noting only idly the muscularity of his hairy calves when in the locker room changing. Something about the tall, black boots encasing his lower leg and the expanse of cream britches above made Rodney uncomfortably aware that this was one of those times when his reaction to John was less than appropriate.

John thankfully didn't notice. "So Jim, what can you tell me about this mare?"

"She's a nice mover," Rodney found himself blurting out and John looked at him with startled eyebrows before his face relaxed into an open smile.

"She is that," he said with a grin and a slap on Rodney's shoulder in passing. "I'm just surprised you noticed."

Rodney merely shrugged, knowing his knowledge of horses would not extend to faking much more. He followed the two men and the dog as they left the room, making (and failing) a valiant attempt not to watch John's ass as he walked before him.

****

John had been right; watching him ride had been boring. Well, not boring per se, just that, like flying, John took something that was inherently complicated and made it look easy. Rodney had no doubt that had he been sitting on the large beast, he would have had problems steering it at a walk, let alone navigating it through the different gaits and intricate patterns that John had done. Jim and John too seemed to be speaking in a different language, using terms that Rodney didn't readily understand within the context, like 'two-point', 'on the bit' and 'in the frame' and 'elevation'.

Rodney had been unable to stop himself. He'd asked questions of Jim in the pauses in conversation between him and John about the horse, stockpiling information about the animals in general that he was certain he'd never use but somehow seemed important because it had once been important to John. It was in this fashion that it was revealed that the horse really didn't have a name but they called her Meg (short for Nutmeg) because of her coloring and that she was behind in her training because she'd had to have surgery for a twisted colon (which just reinforced Rodney's former impression that horses were great, dumb beasts just looking for a place to die). Apparently it was rare for horses to survive that kind of surgery without permanent problems and that she'd need special handling for the rest of her life. When he'd asked why they hadn't just put her down at the time, Jim had said shortly that Mr. Patrick had believed in the mare's potential and had hopes that she'd find the right rider.

John had promptly re-named the horse The Moose. "Meg doesn't suit her," he'd said as he dismounted, patting the horse on the neck and passing the reins over her head to collect them in one hand. "Look at the slope of her neck and shoulder. If you just stuck some antlers on her..." the words had been disparaging but the tone was admiring.

"You and your naming thing," Rodney had said in response and he was certain the muffled sound coming from Jim had been a chuckle. "What? You're not going to jump something?" He'd looked around vaguely for a suitable object.

"Wrong saddle," Jim and John had said almost simultaneously and then laughed together.

"If you boys aren't doing anything this evening, come on down to the house. I've got a few steaks I can throw on the grill and I've got a box of your stuff, John, things you left at the barn the summer you left home for the military. You might want to go through it and see if there's anything you want or not." Jim's offer had seemed a shade formal to Rodney, as though he weren't sure of its reception, but John had agreed with alacrity.

"That is, unless you'd rather not, Rodney," John had added belatedly. He'd looked so concerned that Rodney had been unable to say no.

"I want videos of John riding in competition," Rodney had heard himself say to Jim, much to his own surprise.

"I can do that," Jim had said with a grin.

So now, showered and in clean clothes, they pulled up outside the small white-framed house where Jim lived. The older building was well-cared for but looked somewhat out of place in its wooded setting back from the road, the surrounding area overtaken by huge, ostentatious subdivisions.

"That's never made sense to me," Rodney observed as they got out of the car and made their way across the gravel drive to the porch.

"What doesn't?" John asked in a patient sort of way as he climbed the stairs slightly ahead of Rodney, which made Rodney realize that he probably said this sort of thing a lot.

"This, this," Rodney waved a hand irritably around them in general. "The way people mow down all the forest and farmland to put up dozens of huge, expensive homes on postage-stamp sized pieces of property with street names for all the habitats and animals they've destroyed. 'Pheasant Run'. 'Meadowlark Lane'. 'Deerland Park'." He made suitable, mocking, finger quotes as he spoke.

"The deer seem to do alright," John said mildly, indicating a couple of Virginia whitetails melting into the woods behind Jim's house.

"You know what I mean. And besides, if I were to pay almost half a million for a house, you can be damn sure that I wouldn't be able to look out of my kitchen window and see someone cooking barbeque 15 feet away on their back deck."

The look John shot Rodney seemed faintly worried, which puzzled Rodney. "Planning on buying a house, McKay?"

"Maybe. Some day. Why not? I can have a house here. Not here, here, but on Earth somewhere. For when I retire. Provided I don't find something I like better in Pegasus. Speaking of which, does this mean Jim is out of a job?"

John paused in the act of lifting his hand to knock at the door, taking a second to make the verbal leap in conversation with Rodney. "Huh. I guess it does." His face darkened momentarily and the door opened before he got the chance to complete the knock.

"Toad said you were here," Jim said by way of explanation as he opened the door wider. "Come in."

Jim's home was cluttered in the manner of someone who didn't spend a lot of time there. Mail was stacked in a basket on a table by the door, a box set aside for muddy footwear nearby. Several coats of varying purposes hung on a rack by the door, a lightweight windbreaker, some rain gear, a heavy winter coat. The narrow hallway was made even narrower by a staircase to the upper part of the house on one side and a bookcase on the other. The shelves were packed with books, filling the rows and then stuffed in sideways on the tops of others. Rodney glanced at the titles in passing and saw that the topics covered a wide variety of subject matter: classics, mystery novels, science-fiction and more. Gloves, hats and a dog leash were wedged in as well, within easy reach of the door on the way out.

The living area was small but comfortable, with a large, overstuffed easy chair under a reading lamp taking precedence in the center of the room. The couch had a blanket thrown over it; from the amount of dog hair on it, Rodney could tell that Toad's regular place was on the far end next to Jim's chair. There was an old style stereo with stacks of albums nearby, as well as a small but new HD television on a stand. In one corner a Dell laptop sat open on a workdesk, post-it notes stuck to the wall around it.

There were photos everywhere. Pictures of foals in misty, dew-covered fields, a young woman jumping a copper-colored horse over a frighteningly tall wooden fence on a gray, overcast day, laughing people mugging for the camera in some sort of party setting at the barn, a dog silhouetted against the open barn door, staring out at something unseen beyond, a collection of autumn leaves caught floating on the surface of a pond. Rodney suddenly felt very sharply the emptiness of his own 'wall of honor' back in his quarters in Atlantis, with its posed, congratulatory shots of him shaking hands with famous dignitaries.

"Make yourself at home," Jim was saying. "John, you can fix us some drinks. I've got the grill going out back."

Rodney wandered around the room, poking idly at the stack of books on the table beside the easy chair as John disappeared into the kitchen. The uppermost book was the latest science fiction novel by Scalzi. Rodney read the blurb on the back and opened it to the first page, becoming drawn into it against his will and he was startled when John reappeared beside him. John handed him a Fred Flinstone jelly jar glass containing a whisky and coke with a grin before heading back into the kitchen where he could be heard talking about the Moose with Jim.

On one wall, in the middle of several, smaller, framed photos, was a large dramatic shot of a gray horse jumping down from an impossibly huge obstacle into a body of water, his forelegs just striking the surface, the spray shooting up into the air, beading in the sunlight like tiny prisms. It took Rodney but a second to realize it was John on PJ. He sat rocked back in the saddle, the reins looking dangerously long, though Rodney supposed that was to allow the horse to drop down into the water. It was the look on John's face that was captivating, the sheer joy in his expression, the thrill of the ride itself.

As Rodney looked around at the other photos, he recognized John in several of them. John with an incredible amount of hair, struggling with skinny arms to lift a heavy bucket of water, a look of grim determination on his thin, 12 year old face. John at 15 or so, laughing as he squirted someone off camera with a hose and was getting squirted in return. John with a group of other riders listening intently to someone patently giving a lecture in the center of a dirt arena. John, disheveled and dirty, leading a supremely muddy PJ back to the barn, a rueful expression on his face.

Feeling a little like he'd uncovered someone's private journal, Rodney moved away from the wall. He couldn't help but be fiercely glad to know that someone from John's past had really cared about him and realized with sudden insight that John wouldn't be the man he was today if he had not had someone like Jim in his life. He strongly suspected that Jim didn't 'just happen' to have some steaks lying around waiting to be eaten tonight and he felt honored to have been included ahead of time in the invitation.

"You okay out there, Rodney?" John's shout came from the kitchen.

"Aside from being on the verge of starvation," Rodney called back pointedly, moving over to the coffee table in front of the television, where a cardboard box caught his eye. "I'm fine."

"What else is new?" John's response was sarcastic, but without a cutting edge. Rodney set his drink down on the coffee table and sat down on the couch.

The box was a bit dusty and had the odd cobweb or two attached. On one side someone had written "John" in block letters years ago. Curiosity made Rodney lift the open flap. After all, it wasn't like it was sealed shut and the contents had to be at least 20 years old. Rodney found himself wanting to know more about the John that was.

It was the usual odd assortment of items one might expect from a teenager. A well-used pocket knife, still in good condition (Rodney checked). A metal item with a handle and a hook on one end that was presumably something for cleaning horse feet. A broken band of leather, that looked like it belonged to a bridle, probably set aside to be repaired. A ticket stub to a Bruce Springsteen concert at Wolf Trap Park. An old X-men comic (which Rodney flipped through to see if he'd read it). A nylon wallet with a student ID card to some ritzy private prep school as well as a list of phone numbers with only first names attached and thirty-five cents in change. A very old Johnny Cash cassette tape, probably no longer playable.

And books. Rodney was a little surprised. There was Bradbury and Heinlein and Asimov. There were several Alistair McLean thrillers and some Sherlock Holmes. There was a school copy of The Crucible and a book of plays by Eugene O'Neill. And Rodney had to snort when the bottom-most book in the box proved to be War and Peace. John must have started it in high school and never finished it, something that Rodney planned to tease him about at great length. He pulled it out and began to thumb through it, intending to find the last bookmarked place so that he could have sufficient ammunition for his future attack.

On page 58, he found a photograph. Unframed, a simple 4x6 Kodak moment. A moment that changed everything. In the picture, John was lying comfortably on a couch, War and Peace in hand, leaning cozily into an unbelievably handsome blonde boy of about the same age, who was also reading a book, one arm causally thrown about John's shoulders.

Rodney stared at the picture a long time, before turning it over breathlessly to see if anything was written on the back. Nothing. It was blank. He flipped it over again to stare once more at the image there. He became aware that his heart seemed to be pounding unnaturally fast in his chest and that his face felt warm, like he'd been running.

"Hey, Rodney," the sound of John calling from the kitchen made him hastily shove the photo back into the book and stuff it down in the box again. "The party's in here."

"Coming, coming," Rodney said quickly, and hoped his fluster wouldn't show.

****

Rodney had struggled a little to enjoy the remainder of the evening with Jim. He'd been distracted as he'd tried to forget the photograph with its implications and had been unable to follow the conversation when it had turned, inevitably, to horses again. They'd eaten steaks cooked to perfection along with baked potatoes topped with butter and sour cream (though Rodney found to his dismay he really wanted some tormack instead). They'd discussed the sale of the horses and Jim's future plans (which seemed a bit unformed to Rodney) and then had watched some video footage of John riding in a three day event. The dressage section had been enlivened only by the sight of John in black tails and a top hat but the jumping portions had caused Rodney to grip the edge of his seat with sheer horror, despite the fact that the events chronicled had taken place long ago and he knew John had survived them.

He'd spent a restless night sleeping poorly, and as a result, had almost begged off on riding out with John to see PJ at the retirement farm the next morning, but the day had dawned sunny and warm and the idea of a car drive into the country appealed, once he'd eaten a nice breakfast of waffles with maple syrup.

The reunion between John and his old horse had been pleasant; Rodney had enjoyed listening to John talk for a change as he'd reminisced a little about the past. There was something soothing and soporific about watching John brush the gray gelding as they stood out in the field, the sound of meadowlarks and the drone of early spring bees punctuated by the steady rhythm of PJ cropping the new, bright green grass. John had obviously been thinking about Jim's future as well as that of the horse.

"I'm going to talk to Nancy about it," John had said in the car on the way back, his words bringing Rodney to full wakefulness. John had cast a glance in Rodney's direction with a little half-smile, hands resting lightly on the wheel, the air from the partially open window ruffling his hair. "You were dozing again, weren't you?"

"Just resting my eyes," Rodney had said testily. "The sun is bright and unlike you, I don't travel with aviator shades wherever I go. What does your ex have to do with this?"

"Jim said that she and her new husband, Grant or Graham or whatever, bought a place with some land a while back. I think she'd let me park PJ there and she's always been interested in having Jim train her horses. It might be a good match all the way around."

"Why'd you get divorced?" Rodney had heard the words come out of his mouth before he could stop them and he'd given himself a mental dope-slap with a wince.

John had just shrugged. "Why does anyone get divorced? You plan to make a life with someone and then find out you're not as compatible as you thought. Or you drift in different directions. But I think it's more a case of you fooled yourself into believing that the other person was something they were not. Or that you could be something that they wanted, if you just tried hard enough. To me, it's not hard to understand why couples break up. It's harder to understand how they stay together in the first place."

There had been a long silence as the car traveled down the country road back to the main highway. A motorcycle had topped the hill and passed in the opposite direction, John slowing down as it approached and returning to his normal speed as it passed. "Why'd you and Jennifer break up?" John had asked quietly then.

The silence had stretched on for several more heartbeats before Rodney had sighed. "She wanted me to be something I could never be. She wanted me to be the person I was when I was under the influence of that alien parasite in my head. She was so certain I could be that person because she'd seen him before, knew he was inside of me somewhere. That's the person she fell in love with. And I really, really tried to be him. But I couldn't. I just couldn't sustain it."

John had been silent for a moment. "Ain't love a bitch?" he'd drawled at last.

"Yes." Rodney had laughed, though it sounded a little sad, even to him.

"So, let's go out tonight and get drunk."

"You are so on." Rodney had returned John's high-five when he reached over from the steering wheel with one hand.

Which was why he was waiting now for John downstairs in the foyer of Dave's house. He'd made a bit of an effort to clean himself up. He'd opted not to shave however, damn it, he was on vacation. He'd actually had a bit of trouble deciding what to wear, not wanting to appear too causal but not overdressed either. He'd opted for a blue pinstriped shirt that he'd decided to leave un-tucked over his jeans. No sense calling attention to his waist, now was there? Because, the point was to go out to a bar and have a good time, but it had been a long time since he'd gone out to do such a thing. Bars off-world in Pegasus didn't count, because they were almost always on a mission then and they were dressed accordingly. And he was just going out to have a few beers with his buddy, so that meant dressing down, right? Only...

Rodney halted his mental dithering when John appeared at the top of the steps and started down the staircase. He was wearing jeans and boots as usual, with a leather jacket over a black turtleneck as well. He hadn't shaved either and it only made him look devastatingly hot instead of merely disreputable. "Oh no," Rodney blurted out.

"Oh no, what?" John asked with a frown, glancing down at his appearance as he came to a halt at the foot of the stairs.

Rodney felt his face burn with embarrassment. "Well. Um. You. I mean, you're obviously, you know, intent on hooking up with someone tonight. Won't I just be in the way?"

John went very still for an instant before saying, "Don't be an ass. Well, not more of one than usual. Are you coming or not?" He jerked his head in the direction of the door as he walked past Rodney.

"Right, right," Rodney said, a shade miserably as he followed John to the car.

****

Going out on the town with Sheppard on Earth had proven to be even more irritating than going off-world with him. Rodney presumed sourly that his aftershave must have been impregnated with some sort of musky tomcat scent to elicit the sort of potent attraction that took place once they entered the bar. Women could not take their eyes off of John, and they giggled and trilled and played with their necklaces, calling attention to their cleavage as they all found some excuse to approach him.

And they weren't the only ones. The men had eyed him too. Rodney found the ones that looked like him, hair thinning on top, extra weight disguised by careful clothing selection or even the downright slobs in t-shirts and jeans, had stared at John with a familiar look of envy. Rodney could almost hear them saying to themselves and each other, "what's he got that I don't?" and he fought the urge to lean over and whisper, 'everything.'

Other men had sized him up as well and Rodney had seen the assessment in their eyes as to whether John posed a threat to their own territory. Several had looked like they were itching for a fight and Rodney found himself really, really wishing that Ronon and Teyla were with them as well. Having Ronon by your side in a bar was a bit like having a Rottweiler when walking in a scary part of town and Teyla's sheer beauty was tempered with the sort of strength that would have been a sufficient deterrent to most of the women.

A few men, good looking guys with great bodies and enviable hair, had given John the once over as well, something that Rodney realized he'd probably never recognized before in his determination to peg John as James T. Kirk. Come to think of it though, he'd had his doubts about Kirk and Spock in the past...

The staff in the bar had been quick to notice him as well; John never had to wait long to place a drink order. They'd argued a bit over who was going to be the DD but in the end, John had said his familiarity with the area won out and that he'd stop after one beer but that Rodney should enjoy himself. When Rodney had protested, John had merely grinned and said he'd catch up later back at the house.

They'd ordered sandwiches from the bar. They'd drunk some beer and played darts. They'd waited in turn for a pool table and played a few games before someone had claimed the table from them.

Rodney was relieved when John indicated he was ready to go, the smoke and the noise was starting to get to him. He was surprised to discover he was just a bit buzzed. As John went to settle the tab, Rodney noticed a woman at the next table wearing a tight fitting xkcd t-shirt.

"May I?" He said, and then without waiting for permission, he turned her by the shoulder so he could see her shirt. She let him do so with a bemused expression on her face and then laughed with him when he reached the punchline.

"Thank you, you've just made my life make so much more sense now," he said to her as John rejoined him. "John, check it out."

Rodney watched as John scanned the cartoon panels on the shirt, depicting a stick figure girl explaining to a stick figure boy that he was her boyfriend. When he argued that he was not, that he saw plenty of other people, she countered with the fact that he spent twice as much time with her than anyone else, which made her his statistically significant other.

John gave a chuckle as the woman in the t-shirt preened. "You are such a geek," he said affectionately to Rodney. "Ready to go?"

They'd just stepped out of the bar onto the street when Rodney pulled up short and snapped his fingers. "Crap. I left my jacket inside."

"I'll get it," John said easily, but Rodney waved him off.

"No, no, I know right where I left it. You go on; I'll meet you at the car."

John nodded and walked off down the street in the direction where they'd parked while Rodney went back inside the bar. He had a minute where he had to explain to the bouncer why he was returning and then another few minutes of concern when he searched for the jacket but didn't find it. One of the bartenders noticed what he was doing and called out to him.

"I saw that you left this behind and kept it safe for you. Is your, um, friend coming back?" She smiled at him as she handed the coat over the bar, even as she was looking over his shoulder to see if John was there.

"Ah, no, but thanks anyway." Rodney snagged his jacket from her hands and checked the pockets for his wallet, breathing a sigh of relief when it was there and transferring it immediately to his back pocket. The bartender looked a little insulted, so he gave her a big tip and threaded his way back towards the exit, noting that it was getting a bit crowded in the bar now.

Outside, however, the streets were empty. He felt overheated from his time in the bar and tucked the jacket under one arm, rather than putting it on. He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked briskly towards the car, turning down the side street where the small lot was located, watching his feet as he navigated the uneven pavement. The lot was crowded; John had been lucky to wedge the rental in a parking space and Rodney worked his way through the haphazardly parked cars to reach it.

A small sound caught his attention and he looked up to see two figures near the car. The first was John, hands spread, the upper half of his body pressed against the hood of the car. The second figure was close in behind, practically inseparable in the shadowed lot, leaning in on top of him. For an interminable second in time, Rodney could not process what he was seeing and he thought perhaps he'd stumbled into something he should not be witnessing.

And then he realized that the second figure was screwing a gun into the back of John's neck.

Rodney launched himself forward at a dead run. "Hey!" he hollered, swinging his coat up like a giant bat and flapping it in the face of John's assailant when he looked up in startled surprise. Tossing the jacket at the other guy's head, Rodney dropped low and tucked his arm in close to his side, releasing a powerful punch to the solar plexus of the gunman, just like Ronon had taught him to do.

The would-be mugger went down with an outrush of air. The gun clattered to the pavement, where Rodney kicked it aside. The man on the ground was moving weakly, making gasping noises under Rodney's jacket, so he pulled it off and saw that it was just some kid. Looking for an easy mark, no doubt. The youth lay sprawled on his back like some overturned turtle, his mouth working frantically, trying to draw in air.

Rodney was livid. He grabbed the kid by the collar and hauled him up from the ground. "I've killed worse than you before breakfast," he snarled as the kid began to cough, tears streaming down his face.

"Rodney," John's voice held that command note, the one that said he'd better pay attention.

"What?" Rodney growled back, too angry to care.

"Let him go."

"What?" Rodney couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you insane? He'll just go mug someone else. I am not letting him go; I'm making a citizen's arrest, right now!"

John was calmly looking over the weapon he'd picked up off the ground. "The gun's not even real. The kid just made a mistake. He won't make it again, right, kid?"

Rodney could feel the blood pounding in his face, knew it was thumping down into his fists where he still clutched the collar of the boy's shirt. The desire in him to beat the living daylights out of the boy was very real, very strong and he knew the boy could feel it radiate off of him, could see the fear in his dilated pupils as Rodney leaned in close to his face.

"I'm on vacation," Rodney snarled again.

The boy made a whimpering noise and Rodney let go of his collar in disgust.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Sight." Rodney ground out carefully, pointing a finger down the alley like he was the Grim Reaper. The kid scrabbled a moment to get purchase on the ground and then took off running as fast as he could go.

"I can't believe you," Rodney turned to rail at John, his adrenaline needing somewhere to go. "You're just going to let that little shit get away with threatening your life? And since when can some teenager with a toy gun get the drop on you?"

"I might have been thinking about something else at the time," John said shortly, with that tight little expression he got sometimes. "It was just a goddamned wallet, Rodney. Nothing that couldn't be replaced. It's not worth getting killed over."

"You're kidding me, right? Tell me you're joking."

"If it had been a real gun," John said, tossing the toy aside forcefully, "you could have gotten us both killed."

"We're on vacation!" Rodney howled, throwing his head back and yelling at the sky. "We're on Earth. We shouldn't have to worry about getting killed just going out to grab a few beers!" Rodney knew as he said it that it was a stupid thing to say. Earth was no safer than the rest of the universe. Humans could be just as inhumane as anything he'd run across so far in Pegasus. Perhaps even more so.

"Will you just pipe down already?" John frowned, looking seriously pissed.

"You pipe down!" Rodney pushed abruptly at John's chest with both hands.

That did it.

John sprang forward in a grim silence that made Rodney think 'oh, shit!' even as John's hands connected with his collar and Rodney felt himself hit the brick wall behind him with a painful thud. The sudden sharp impact of his head against the rough wall made Rodney even angrier and he started punching and slapping at John, admittedly ineffectually (he hadn't really mastered the whole 'fighting in close quarters' thing yet). It wasn't until he felt John's heavy weight go very still against his body that he realized he'd been yelling at John the whole time as well.

"What did you say?" John's fists were clenched up around Rodney's collar; John was leaning in very close and from the light of the streetlamp, the stubble on his jaw stood out in stark relief, his eyes appeared nearly black. They were both breathing hard.

"I don't know, I'm really mad. What did I say?"

"You said," John said slowly, "that it's bad enough that you have to see me nearly get killed every week, at the very least I could do you the common courtesy of not dying until you figured out how you felt about me. Or words to that effect."

"Well, shit," Rodney said in a very heartfelt way.

John's gaze dropped to Rodney's mouth and then he grabbed Rodney by the shoulders, kissing him, hard.

The sheer surprise of the action made Rodney gasp, opening his mouth wider for John's assault. Rodney embarrassed himself by making moaning sounds as John pushed his tongue alongside Rodney's, tasting of beer and cigarette smoke and something underneath that Rodney felt he must get to the bottom of, and his hands began pulling at John's clothing until suddenly he forcibly pushed John off of him.

John's lips tore away from his, still reaching for them a moment longer and then John stared at him with a look of shock, his hands still gripping Rodney's shoulders.

"Don't you dare," Rodney hissed, "kiss me like that unless you mean to finish it."

John looked a little dazed. "Um, what?" he finally said.

"Have you gone deaf?" Rodney scowled, giving John a little poke in the chest. "Don't start something unless you intend to finish it."

"Okaaaay," John drew the word out uncertainly and then Rodney felt his fingers tighten on Rodney's shoulders again. He leaned in slowly, until his lips were just within brushing range.

Rodney made a noise of frustration and grabbed John by the hips, pulling him closer roughly. Their mouths clashed together briefly and then found the right connection, locking together warmly like they'd been designed for kissing and nothing else. Rodney groaned at the increased contact, and John let go of Rodney's shoulders to brace his hands on the wall alongside Rodney's head, pressing in even closer as Rodney pulled at his shirt and tried to worm his hands underneath to touch bare skin.

A sound from the street made them both freeze. John lifted his mouth away from Rodney's and he could see the hesitation and the fear of discovery on John's face. It must have always been like this for John, Rodney realized, and understood better now why this was an aspect of John's life that had always remained hidden before.

"Let's get out of here." John pushed himself off the wall. Rodney discovered that he'd sagged down a bit and that the wall seemed to be holding him up, so he straightened and then felt the need to adjust himself before following John to the car.

They drove back to the Sheppard family home in silence, the tension growing stronger and tighter with every mile. Rodney opened his mouth several times to say something, only to stop when he didn't know what to say. The beer buzz was gone, the adrenaline rush had crashed and he now felt very flat and unsure of what to do next. The closer they got to Dave's, the more certain Rodney was that he'd made a terrible mistake.

It was very late when the car pulled up in the driveway at Dave's. The house lights were off, the place had a shuttered and closed look to it. John used a key that Rodney didn't know he possessed to let them in the front door and then he turned the deadbolt to lock it once Rodney had entered behind him.

Rodney headed off to the study without a word.

"Where are you going?"

Rodney looked back over his shoulder where John stood in the foyer, keys in hand, looking somehow very tired and vulnerable at the same time.

"I need a drink," Rodney said with a wave over his shoulder as he continued to walk down the corridor. A small table lamp lit the way, its soft glow beating back the shadows. He entered the study, turned on a light and made for the bar, thinking furiously as he went.

Rodney knew John, knew him. And he knew that right now, John was regretting the impulsive move that had made him kiss Rodney in the first place—that even now, John was coming up with a way to explain it, to turn it into some kind of joke, to blame it on the booze or the adrenaline or the stress of coming back to his old house. Rodney knew, as the inexperienced party here, that he had one shot at making John realize that he wanted this too, had wanted it for a while without actually knowing what it was he wanted. And if Rodney couldn't seduce John right here, right now, in his father's house then it was hopeless to think that John would be any more receptive to starting any...whatever...back on Atlantis. By then the walls would have gone up once more and Rodney risked not only losing this opportunity, but John's friendship as well.

So Rodney had a drink ready for John when he finally entered the study and he stalked over to John, pressing the expensive whisky in the heavy cut crystal into John's palm, letting his fingers close over John's hand briefly.

John looked down at the glass. "Rodney," he said softly, not looking up.

"Shut up," Rodney said sternly. "Ohmygod, talk, talk, talk. That's all you do. Do you ever shut up?"

John raised his eyes then, a glint of steel and amusement flashing briefly there.

Rodney took a deep swallow from his glass and set it down with a thump on the side table.

"Rodney," John tried again, a hint of a whine present in his drawl.

Rodney ignored him. Instead, he walked in a circle close behind John and placed both hands on John's shoulders. He could feel the rigid tension in John's body and he smoothed his hands out gently over the soft leather before taking the collar on either side and peeling the jacket off John's shoulders. John let Rodney remove it, shifting the whiskey from one hand to the other as the jacket came off over his arms, taking a deep pull of the amber liquid in silence as he watched Rodney lay the jacket down across the arm of one chair.

Rodney returned and looked him straight in the eye. "You are going to sit down in your father's chair and I am going to give you the blowjob of your life."

John choked a little on the whiskey and Rodney impatiently took it out of his hands and set it aside, coming back immediately to work on the fly of John's jeans. He'd just taken hold of the zipper when John grabbed him firmly by the wrist. "Rodney," he said again and this time his voice was aching with want and regret and Rodney just knew that John was going to tell him to stop.

"Tell me you don't want this," Rodney allowed his fingers to spread over John's fly, cupping his cock through the heavy fabric and squeezing just a little. "Tell me you want me to stop, John. Tell me you don't want this, that you haven't thought about this, that it hasn't been making you insane, and I'll go away right now and we'll never speak of this again."

John's fingers tightened briefly around Rodney's wrist and then Rodney felt his hand being pushed down onto John's cock. John's eyes were wide, dark and serious as he stared back into Rodney's face.

Thank god. Rodney didn't know if he said the words out loud but soon it didn't matter because his knuckles were brushing the surprisingly soft skin of John's belly as he fumbled with the button on the jeans and he growled with satisfaction when he got them open at last. The line of hair that trailed down John's abdomen didn't stop, but pointed straight down to his groin, widening into a visible thatch of black hair as Rodney began to undo the zipper.

It made him catch his breath.

"What?" John asked, hands closing over Rodney's, concern roughening his voice.

Rodney kept staring at the tantalizing glimpse of hair that meant John had gone commando. "That's just...you're not...there isn't any..." Rodney dragged his gaze upward to John's face.

He would never know just what it was that John saw there, but John's lips twitched into that legendary half-smile of his and he lifted his hands to cup Rodney's face and kiss him slowly, deeply. Rodney continued to work at John's fly until he could get one hand down into his jeans and he felt John shudder slightly when his hand closed around John's warm shaft. Rodney tried to work his grip around John's cock, but the jeans hampered his movements. John seemed to like what he was doing however; he dropped hands to Rodney's neck, his lips hovering just a breath away from Rodney's. Rodney could feel him exhale and the soft little sigh of sound he made when Rodney smoothed his thumb across the slit of John's cock.

Rodney felt the little bead of moisture collect there and used his thumb to spread it caressingly over the head, and the feel of John's cock surging into his hand gave him a heady sense of power. He was soon frustrated however, by his inability to move as he wanted. He pulled his hand out and carefully pulled the jeans down over John's hips, down past his knees and then Rodney straightened to view his handiwork.

John stood before him, lips kiss-swollen, hair more disheveled than ever (when did that happen?), naked from the waist down, hobbled by his jeans around his ankles. The contrast between the black turtleneck and the bare skin of his thighs was strangely attractive to the eye. So was his cock. Damn, but it was every bit as gorgeous as the rest of John. Symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing, standing up straight with arousal. Rodney took John by both arms and began to move him backwards one shuffling step at a time towards the leather chair.

"You. Sit." Rodney demanded and when John seemed to be hesitating, Rodney leaned into him and said in a low voice, "Those are one set of orders you should obey."

John grinned a little self-consciously and then crossed his arms in front of his waist and grabbed the hem of his turtleneck, arching his back as he pulled it up and off over his head. He spread it out behind him and let himself fall back into the chair with a grin, spreading his knees as far as he could within the confines of the jeans. "Skin sticks to leather," he said by way of explanation.

If Rodney thought John looked hot before, the sight of him mostly naked, sprawled out in the chair before him made his mouth drop open. The yellowish glow of the lamplight played off the silver chain of his dog tags and painted shadows along the planes of muscle in his shoulder and neck. He smiled up at Rodney with a lazy, half-lidded expression and Rodney felt a fierce wave of possessiveness. Mine.

He dropped to his knees, making a face when he realized perhaps that wasn't such a smart move and thumped John in the knee with a fist at his little snort of laughter. He realized quickly that John couldn't spread his knees far enough apart while still wearing the jeans and Rodney began to pull impatiently at his boot, chucking it aside and pulling off the jeans on that foot so that he could gain access. John looked ridiculously debauched with his jeans hanging around one ankle and wearing just a sock on the other foot and they hadn't even started yet.

Finally he was where he wanted to be, kneeling in between John's spread thighs. It was then that he met his first true moment of real doubt, because there he was, faced with the perfection of John's cock and having boasted of giving John the blowjob of his life and yeah, right, well, he'd never actually done that before. What if he couldn't handle the taste, or if he gagged or he couldn't keep his teeth out of the way or if he really sucked (well, no, that would be a good thing). What if he was so bad it at that John wouldn't have anything to do with him anymore?

"Rodney," John's voice was steady, quiet. Rodney looked up.

"It's okay. You don't have to do this. It's okay, really."

Rodney's response was to shoot John one of his best 'you moron' looks and grasp John's cock firmly in his hand. The welcoming jump forward of John's dick told him all Rodney needed to know. Action and reaction. He was a scientist. He could do this.

He leaned forward and experimentally closed his mouth around the end of John's dick, just taking the soft head into his mouth. It was surprisingly smooth and seemed to fit perfectly into his mouth. Rodney tried getting his hand into a rhythm but his palm seemed to drag against John's cock and he realized he needed more lubrication. He pulled back slightly on the head and then pushed down again, taking in as much as he could, sliding back quickly and sucking back down again. That was better. He noted that with each pass of his mouth over John's cock, it became slicker. Watch the teeth, he thought to himself and then pulled up enough to glance at John's reaction.

John sat in the chair with his head thrown back, eyes closed, hands gripping the armrests. There was a tiny furrow between his eyes; he looked like he was concentrating, much the same as he did when he sat in the Chair and piloted the city. The thought made Rodney grin and he went back for more, this time licking a broad swath up the side of John's cock, noting the way John's fingers flexed and dug back into the armrests again. This could be fun.

Rodney sucked the end of John's cock. He rubbed his lips against the tip; he bobbed his head up and down along its length rapidly, he licked and stoked until his jaw and tongue began to ache. And suddenly it was no longer about giving the best blowjob ever—it was like he couldn't get enough of John's cock. He found himself moaning as it filled his mouth, he nuzzled and suckled John's balls, he buried his nose into that wicked thatch of hair and breathed in deeply of John's scent. And always, he came back to swallowing John down again, pushing forward on his knees, the toes of his shoes digging into the carpet.

He almost didn't notice John's hand in his hair at first and then John was pulling on the back of his neck. Rodney looked up, letting John's cock slide out of his mouth, to see John staring back at him with a desperately hungry expression on his face. Rodney allowed himself to be pulled up by the pressure on his neck until John's mouth enveloped his own. Between their bodies, Rodney could feel John jacking himself off and he pulled back far enough to watch avidly. He closed his hand around John's and then took over completely as John shifted slightly in the chair and began a series of small, wordless sounds.

When his orgasm came, it was as quiet as John himself, causing him to go still momentarily as he pulsed into Rodney's hand, the warm come oozing between Rodney's fingers, filling Rodney with supreme satisfaction. John smiled sleepily and then reached for him. Rodney wiped his hand surreptitiously on the turtleneck and folded his arms around John. Rodney could feel the sweat cooling on the small of John's back as he held on to him; John's breath was moist and hot against his neck when he spoke. "You next. Come on now."

Rodney let himself be tugged forward until he could use the arms of the chair to stand and then he hauled himself to his feet, not-quite suppressing a groan. He was about to grumble over John's chuckle at his discomfort when John pushed up the edge of his shirt and laid soft lips against the skin of Rodney's belly. He kissed Rodney's skin gently and then turned his face into the flesh there, the rasp of his stubble sending an electrifying jolt of sensation straight to Rodney's cock.

Holy fuck.

As though John had heard him, he lifted his eyes. Their hazel light gleamed with a little boy naughtiness and an invitation to bad behavior that Rodney had not seen before and it made him grin wickedly back at John.

John grinned likewise, pushing Rodney back a step so that he could slide down off the chair and kneel in front of him. He made short work of divesting Rodney of his pants and then, before Rodney could help by pushing down his boxers, John pressed his face up against Rodney's cock through the thin, cotton material, mouthing Rodney until he began to leak.

Just when Rodney thought he couldn't stand it any longer and he was about to erupt in an embarrassingly short period of time, John carefully lifted the edge of his waistband up and over his cock, letting it bob forward seeking attention as John pushed the boxers down to join Rodney's pants around his ankles.

John didn't hesitate. Shooting Rodney a lifted eyebrow that seemed to imply admiration, he brought his right hand up between Rodney's thighs and cupped his balls, using his left to steady Rodney's cock as he closed his mouth over the end. Rodney released his breath in a shuddering little gasp as he gave into the sensations of warmth, moisture and suction. He stared down at John's face in fascination as he watched John's cheeks hollow and suck, his head bobbing rhythmically over Rodney's cock, pausing only to let it slide wetly out of his mouth to look up at Rodney, before taking it back in again.

The hand cupping his balls pressed in firmly behind them, even as the other hand grabbed an ass cheek and pulled Rodney closer so that John took him in down to the root. Rodney gasped out an "oh!" and then he was coming.

John backed off but didn't let him go, drinking him down and nursing him through it until Rodney couldn't take it any more and had to pull him up by the hair.

"Ow," John complained, but he was smiling devilishly and then he gave a muffled snort as Rodney hauled him up physically and kissed him, hard. John smelled of Rodney; his mouth tasted of Rodney and Rodney pressed his tongue within to catch the very essence of what they'd just shared. They stood leaning into each other a long moment while Rodney recovered.

"Okay, this sex while standing up thing is harder than it looks," Rodney said at last. "I'm thinking sex in a shower could actually prove lethal."

John laughed into his neck and then straightened, only to have to catch Rodney when he tried to move without remembering the pants-hobbles.

"I think we should take this upstairs," Rodney said as he regained his balance and John took a step back.

"Yeah," John agreed quietly, glancing up through the fringe of his hair at Rodney as he ducked his head and stepped back into his jeans, easing them up over his hips, leaving them open at the fly. He knelt quickly to slip on his other boot. The shirt he collected with one hand, not bother to put it back on. His grin was full of promise and Rodney couldn't believe it was aimed at him.

Something in the pocket of John's jacket beeped.

He frowned at the jacket, still draped over the arm of the chair, and walked over to it. He slung his shirt over one shoulder as he held the jacket up and he fished around in the pocket, pulling out a cell phone. Rodney recognized it as one of the disposable units issued to them each time they came to Earth. He had one himself somewhere.

John scrolled through the menu and stood looking at the screen for a very long time before snapping the phone shut and slipping it into a back pocket.

"Trouble?" Rodney asked worriedly.

"They just want me to come in to DC tomorrow for another meeting," John said coolly, and Rodney could almost see the uniform superimposed over his bare skin.

No, no, no, Rodney thought, as he too, hitched up his pants. Not the GWOS.

He didn't know what to do. He followed John silently up the staircase and down the long corridor towards their rooms, sick inside because he knew he had to say something only he had no fucking idea what to say. When they reached Rodney's door, John was a pace or two ahead in the hallway, already distancing himself and obviously not planning on coming in the room.

"John, are we...?" Rodney made vague, 'you know, okay?' signs with his hands, hoping he did not look utterly miserable.

John's face was hard to read in the subdued lighting of the hallway, but Rodney thought his expression softened. "Yeah, we're cool. It's just..." he broke off uncomfortably.

Rodney felt his mouth twist crookedly and had folded his arms across his chest before he'd even realized it. "No, no, I get it. Fine. Well, then. Goodnight, Colonel." He turned abruptly to let himself into his room.

"Rodney," John grabbed him by the arm. "It's not you, okay. It's just...I can't give you any more. This is all there is."

Rodney looked at him for a long moment and then carefully disengaged his arm. "Don't worry about it, John. I'm a grown man. I can deal with it. Really. I get it."

John stared at him a little helplessly before turning away. He walked down the hall with a military precision that Rodney did not think was conscious at all.

****

Rodney surprised himself by falling asleep after all. He was surprised again when he opened his eyes to see a pale pinkish light streaming through the window and John leaning against the window frame, looking out at the breaking dawn. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and sweat pants, arms folded across his chest, one bare foot resting on top of the other as his hip supported his weight.

"How long have you been standing there?" Rodney croaked out, lifting his head off the pillow just long enough to pick up his watch and glance at the time, letting both watch and head fall back to the bed with a groan.

John didn't appear startled by the sound of Rodney's voice. He looked over his shoulder and then turned around fully, leaning back against the window to face him. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry about last night."

Rodney pushed himself up into a sitting position and tucked his t-shirt down under the sheet, pulling the covers up just a little bit higher over his abdomen. "You're sorry that we had sex or you're sorry that you're such a jerk?" Rodney asked pleasantly.

John bit his lower lip and nodded, as though he'd expected those words. "I'm sorry I can't give you what you deserve. Really. You've got to believe that, Rodney." He bent down to collect his running shoes and straightened again. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know."

"Well, thanks for stopping by. You should probably leave before someone sees you coming out of my room and leaps to the wrong conclusions." Rodney recognized that he had no self-control here, but damn it, John's behavior last night had hurt.

From the stricken look that crossed his face, Rodney realized that it had hurt John too.

Rodney released a gusty sigh. "God, I wish Teyla were here."

John gave a harsh laugh. "Me too."

"So, where does that leave us?" Rodney asked.

"Friends?" John said uncertainly. He had that pained expression on his face that he got whenever someone tried to give him a hug.

As tempting as it was to say, 'fuck that shit', Rodney refrained. It wasn't like John was screwing him over. He was screwing them over, and Rodney knew by now that doing what was right always took precedence for John over doing what he wanted. There wasn't much point in making John feel worse about it. "Friends," Rodney agreed softly.

John nodded a few more times and then jerked his head towards the door, lifting his shoes for display. "I'm just going to go and, um, run now."

"You do that," Rodney said.

"Right," John agreed. "Right. Okay. Well, then. See you at breakfast?" He sounded like he needed reassurance that Rodney wasn't going to take the first plane back to Colorado.

"Sure," Rodney tried to sound reassuring but suspected he came off sounding more disgruntled than anything. John should know better than to try and hold any sort of serious conversation with him before coffee.

"Okay." John still didn't move. "Okay," he repeated and then made a small sigh as he headed for the door.

Rodney let him go. He counted to 60 slowly as various emotions churned through his mind and he planned and rejected a dozen moves in that time span. At 60, he rolled quickly out of bed and snatched up his jeans from the night before, rummaging around in his luggage until he found a navy blue sweatshirt and slid it on over his head. He had very little time to put things in place before John returned.

He headed to the barn first. He was surprised at all the activity until he realized that it was simply feeding time for the horses. He tracked Jim down in a short period of time and followed him as he worked, peppering him with questions that Jim answered with a bemused expression.

"Let me ask you a question in return, McKay," Jim drawled, just as Rodney was turning to go. "Why do you want to know all this?"

Rodney told him.

Jim looked at him a long time before removing his ball cap and scratching his head, a gesture Rodney realized was a delaying tactic when he wanted to think before he spoke.

"Why is this so important to you?" Jim asked seriously at last.

"John needs to know. He needs to know he matters, that people care. That he is accepted just the way he is."

Jim gave a slow grin and then reached out to shake Rodney's hand. "Well good luck to you with that, son."

Rodney hurried back to the house, toeing off his shoes at the door under Henry's disapproving eye and heading straight for the dining room.

"There you are," he said, spying Dave behind a newspaper, eating breakfast. "I need to talk to you about a horse."

****

Rodney was alone at the breakfast table when John finally came in. He'd apparently chosen to shower and shave after his run and his hair was still damp when he sat down at the table, smelling of clean skin and shampoo. A shaft of sunlight threw a tiny ridge of tissue along his neck into high relief and Rodney thought to himself, I know that scar.

John opened his mouth to speak, seemed to think better of it and began to tackle the food on his plate with more effort than enthusiasm instead.

"Good run?" Rodney said conversationally.

John set his fork down with a sharp rattle.

"What?" Rodney asked. "I can't talk to you now?"

John just glared at him. "Just don't, okay? Don't do the small chit-chat thing. It's not you." He picked up his fork and began to stab at his eggs.

"Fine." Rodney's hands went on to say, 'my, aren't we touchy today?'. "I guess you don't want to hear what I've been up to while you were running."

John looked up from his plate warily. "Okay, I'll bite. What have you been up to this morning?"

"Yes, you do bite," Rodney said matter-of-factly, which caused John's eyebrows to jump towards his hairline. "Today, I bought a horse."

"You what?" John paused with his fork half-way to his mouth.

Rodney opened the manila folder by his plate and pushed a sheet of paper in John's direction. "Yep. There's the bill of sale, if you want proof. I actually got two horses, to be precise. Dave wanted an outrageous sum for the Moose until I pointed out that he'd have a hard time selling her for the price he wanted with her history of having had colic surgery. And then I made him give me that homely little chestnut gelding in the main barn as well."

"You bought the Moose?" John sounded understandably confused as he put down his fork and reached for the paper. "And Whimsy?"

"We have a rapport," Rodney said primly. "And besides, technically, I bought you the Moose."

John glanced over the ownership paper and then looked up at Rodney. "Rodney, that doesn't make any sense. Why would you do that? It's not like I'm going to be able to ride her."

"Well, maybe not now," Rodney agreed. "But she's young and who knows? The Atlantis expedition might not last forever. We could get our funding pulled next year. And PJ needs a buddy to hang out with in the fields. I thought he and Whimsy made a good pair."

John just stared at him blankly. Rodney continued on with his explanation. "I wondered why your father would spend the money on an unproven horse for a risky surgery like that. And then it hit me. He had this fantasy that someday you'd come back to ride her. And I know Jim wants very badly to keep training her. So this way, she stays all in the family, so to speak." Rodney broke off here to smile smugly at John over the brim of his coffee cup.

"Rodney," John said in a sort of strained manner, laying aside the sheet of paper. "She should go to a home where someone will love her, ride her and appreciate her. She shouldn't be wasted on...someone who isn't even in the same galaxy."

"Which is why you're going to lease her to Nancy in your absence," Rodney produced a second sheet of paper with a flourish. "I understand that horses are expensive to own, so she's going to have to earn her keep. Not that it would be a problem if she didn't. I mean, I get paid very well and I haven't spent a penny of it, except for the time I bought Jeannie that Prius, in nearly five years." Rodney paused to make a face about Jeannie's extortion of the Prius before continuing. "Jim says Nancy is looking for a replacement for her current horse, who is ready to retire. This way, everyone is happy."

John looked down at the papers again and then back up at Rodney, an unhappy expression pulling at his mouth. "I don't get it, why would you do this, Rodney?"

Rodney leaned forward and tapped the tabletop as he spoke. "Because you are the person I turned to in the middle of the night when I was forgetting everything else, John. You. Not Jennifer. And what I remember most about that evening was the fact that you refused to give up on me, you refused to say goodbye. And," he paused to smirk at John, "that I made you spit beer." He held up a hand to forestall any protest. "I know, I know. You can't offer me any more than the here and now, than what we had last night. I'm trying to tell you, I don't need any more, okay? You got it? I'm okay with things, with you, exactly as they are."

"I don't know what to say," John said slowly.

"You could try, 'Rodney, you are not only the smartest man in two galaxies, but also the most magnanimous man as well'. I wouldn't disagree with that."

****

Rodney stepped through the gate back into Atlantis and sighed with relief on seeing the familiar gateroom. He paused to appreciate the view. He looked up at the control center where people moved about, doing their jobs. Woolsey appeared at the rail, his expression pinched as always, as though his shoes were too tight and Rodney just knew that there was a whole clipboard of things that Woolsey was panting to call to the attention of both John and himself right away.

John walked in through the gate and Rodney could see the rigidity ooze out of his spine. By his third stride, he was back to his usual loose-limbed gait, sardonic smile and all his shields in place.

Rodney glanced back behind him where sunlight streamed in through the patterned glass windows that always reminded him of Frank Lloyd Wright and precision clocks. The Gate stood as the room's centerpiece, reinforcing the imagery. It was a beautiful room. It was a beautiful city. He was glad to be back. Good old Atlantis, he thought with a sense of coming home.

The light and warmth in the room seemed to intensify briefly. John suddenly looked sharply over at Rodney. "Did you feel that?"

"Don't be silly," Rodney said in a superior tone, "the sun just came out from behind the clouds." But he knew he was grinning like a loon, just the same.

****

"Did you miss me, my lovely imbeciles?" Rodney swept into the lab carrying several paper bags. "Blow up anything in my absence?"

Radek muttered something not very nice in Czech. Rodney could tell it was not nice by the tone; Radek had started mumbling his complaints ever since Rodney had found a Czech to English translation algorithm that was halfway decent.

"Now before you all get your knickers in a twist, look what Uncle Rodney has brought you." He went over to the nearest empty workstation and began unpacking the bags.

"Starbucks House brand and Famously Fabulous Fudge," Radek read aloud from the labels as the rest of the scientists present began to drift over to see what was going on. "Somehow I think this is for you and not us, Rodney." Radek's voice was dry.

"If McKay's not happy, ain't nobody happy," Rodney quipped, continuing to stack containers on the tabletop.

"You have a point," Radek conceded, taking a piece of fudge and passing the box to Miko. "You will please go on vacation more often."

****

"Rodney," Teyla's voice behind him was warm with pleasure and he halted his headlong plunge down the hallway to wait for her to catch up with him.

"Welcome back. You are looking well. Did you have a nice time on your vacation?" Teyla looked like she really wanted to know.

Teyla was looking good, really good, herself. She seemed well-rested for a change, which Rodney knew wasn't all that easy with the baby right now and there was a glow to her skin and hair. Being outdoors and among her people must have agreed with her.

Rodney smiled at her, motioning over his shoulder. "I'm just on my way down to the lab. Did you and Kanaan have a good time?"

"Yes," Teyla smiled in a subtly feline fashion. Huh. A very good time, then.

"Well, ah, that's good, that's nice I mean. Well, I'd love to stand here and chat with you and hear all about it, but I really do have to run. Maybe I'll catch up with you later? In the mess?"

Rodney bolted.

****

"McKay. You're back. How was the vacation?" Ronon gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder that made him wince.

"Not too shabby," he frowned, rubbing his arm.

"You got laid," Ronon grinned.

"What?" Rodney gaped, open-mouthed at him. "What the hell makes you say that?"

"You have it written all over you. Trust me, I'm a tracker. I know these things."

Rodney felt his face flame with sudden embarrassment. "Next thing we know you're going to tell us that being a tracker allows you to identify what foods I had for breakfast and when I last had a bowel movement."

"Well," Ronon began teasingly and then he suddenly cocked his head. "Oh." He was quiet a moment. He lifted an eyebrow. "Things okay between you and Sheppard?"

"We're fine, Ronon, fine," Rodney sputtered. "I even bought him a horse. Happy now?"

"Oh." After a pause, Ronon grinned. "When's the wedding?"

****

John was standing in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck, when Rodney answered the chime. He looked momentarily startled, as though Rodney had surprised him, which was ludicrous since he was the one who'd come looking for Rodney in the first place.

He held up a homemade DVD in a paper cover. "Bootlegged copy of Galaxy Quest," he said, by way of inviting himself in. It would have taken a bigger man than Rodney not to feel a little vindication in the fact that John looked nervous.

John entered the room, turning the DVD over idly in his hands while Rodney set up the laptop on the table. "One of us can have the chair," Rodney said when he'd arranged the table and opened the laptop. "The other can take the bed."

John continued restlessly to flip the DVD back and forth.

Rodney crossed his arms. "Was that just an excuse to get you in the door so we could talk some more or are we really going to watch it? Because, to be honest, I'd rather watch the movie."

John stiffened briefly and then suddenly stuck out his tongue, tossing the DVD at Rodney and laughing when he dropped it.

"Oh-ho, very mature. What? You didn't bring any popcorn? What kind of self-invited guest are you?" He went over to the laptop and placed the disc in the DVD drive.

"The kind that knows you have plenty of junk food stashed away in here somewhere since your return. Fork it up, McKay." John helped himself to the bed with a flourish, landing with a slight bounce with his legs stretched out in front of him, feet crossed at the ankles.

"Whoa!" Rodney huffed indignantly. "Boots off."

"Yes, mum," John said sarcastically as he undid the laces and toed the boots off his feet, where they fell to the floor in a haphazard pile.

Rodney tossed him a bag of unopened chips and went to the mini-fridge for some soda and a jar of salsa. "No double-dipping," he said sternly as he passed John the salsa and a drink.

They arranged themselves comfortably so that food and drink were within easy reach and then Rodney started the movie. Before Tim Allen's character had signed his first autograph, Rodney had said, "Shove over," and pushed John to one side to make room for him on the bed.

They chanted "Gerignak!" with the little aliens and quoted 'By Grabthar's hammer, by the suns of Warvan, you shall be avenged,' every time the line came up, arguing whether it was 'suns' or 'sons'. Rodney vowed to look it up as soon as the movie was over and John caved. By the time the credits rolled up, Rodney was feeling full of chips, salsa and bonhomie.

"This is why Ronon won't watch movies with us that we know by heart," John sighed, idly scratching his belly with one hand under his t-shirt. "I don't know why we can't ever find anything useful on our missions, like a beryllium sphere. On the first planet they came to, no less."

Rodney studiously looked away from the belly scratching and said with a sigh, "I'd settle for one of those self-destruct timers that always stopped on the last second. You know, I can really sympathize with Sigourney on that chomper scene. Sometimes when we're having a particularly bad week, I want to ask somebody 'who writes this stuff?'"

"Yeah," John snickered. "Give me the name of the person I can call and complain. I'd ask them, 'do you even watch your own show?'"

"The inconsistencies in logic are mind-boggling."

"Yeah." John seemed content to lie on his back, resting his hand underneath his shirt, still on his abdomen.

Rodney rolled on his side to face John, propping his head on his hand. "If I were writing this scene, I'd fade to black now and then there'd be some horrific near-death experience." His free hand mimed an explosion. "And then you'd come to your senses."

John raised a worried looking eyebrow. "Can we skip that part? As you've so rightly pointed out, I've spent more than my fair share of time in the infirmary lately."

"Might not be you this time. Could be me. I'm overdue."

There was a long silence while John appeared to be digesting that. "You're overlooking a different plot device, I think."

Rodney narrowed his eyes. What the hell was John playing at? As Rodney continued to assess him, John's expression grew slightly embarrassed.

Rodney suddenly got it. "You've been talking to Teyla," he crowed, poking John in the stomach.

"Hey, watch it," John curled up a little protectively for a second. "Maybe."

"I ran away from her," Rodney said without thinking and then felt his face flush hotly.

John began to laugh, just a chuckle at first but then louder until Rodney was laughing as well.

"Aren't we just the pair?" Rodney snorted.

"Yes. I think we are," John said simply. He pulled his hand out from under his shirt and ran it down Rodney's shoulder, pausing at his bicep to give Rodney a squeeze.

Rodney felt his emotions bunch at the gate and come pushing their way across his face, all his hopes and fears rushing to be the one in front. He waited it out.

John's eyes flicked away from Rodney's face, though he retained his grip on Rodney's arm, his thumb moving in small circles against Rodney's skin. "I always thought you wanted the smiling blonde wife, the picket fence and the 2.5 children. I can't do any of that, Rodney."

"You can't even come abysmally close," Rodney agreed. "For starters, you're not blonde and frankly, I think it would be a little creepy if you were. And I can just forget about any public displays of affection, which kind of defeats, just a little, the purpose of being with the hottest guy in the galaxy because no one can ever know. I mean, we'll have to do all this sneaking around and you're emotionally stunted and..."

He never got to finish his sentence. John rolled him suddenly, flattening his shoulders to the bed as he pinned Rodney with his body, trapping Rodney's wrists beside his head.

"I'm emotionally stunted?" He said in a mock-threatening tone. "Shut up, McKay. Talk, talk, talk. That's all you ever want to do."

"Well, not all," Rodney argued as he kissed him.

~fin~