He was not hiding. Most definitely not hiding. He liked this storage closet. It was a friendly storage closet with interesting um... modernist ornamentation (so he hadn't been paying that much attention in his architecture class, so what?). Yeah. It also had some of his favorite medical supplies. Oh, he might as well just grab a tube of that while he was here. Not that there was anyone here to use it with. He pulled at his shirt uncomfortably. Besides, he wasn't sure he was up to that. He was sore all over and his bad knee was acting up again. Maybe it was the weather. It'd dropped a few degrees last night and humidity was up.

Then he here a creek. Shit! He ducked behind a supply container. There was no shame in wanting a little privacy, was there? He was just being... inconspicuous.

And he heard tentative footsteps.

She was here. Oh god, she'd found him. Damn those native spidey senses. And why the hell was he starting to think in bad comic book references? This was all Sheppard's fault. Everything was always Sheppard's fault: from the hiding... er... precautionary vigilance, to the whole war thing, to the hickey just below his shirt collar. God, that itched!

"Rodney?"

That voice was too low for her. He let out a sigh of relief, to late to realize that it didn't mean that the voice was going to be forgiving. He knew the voices' owner and 'forgiveness' was far from his middle name, 'cocky' or 'flyboy' of 'twelve-year-old' or 'boytoy' or 'Tiberius' fit much better.

"Rodney, this is ridiculous. You can't hide all day. Just get the damn training over with and then maybe I'll give you a massage afterwards. And then tomorrow we can go on our trading mission as scheduled. Who knows? They might have coffee."

"Please, John. I don't want to go through the Stargate, anymore." He hoped if he did his best whiny pout, John would submit.

"Nice try, Mr. Puppy Dog eyes." John grabbed his sore bicep, getting a muffled, 'bastard' in response.

He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. "No." If he didn't want to go, there was no way Sheppard could make him. He could be... solid, if he so desired.

"Fine. Then you're not going tommorrow. And it is a weeklong negotation. I might get bored . . . did you notice the way they build thier alien priesteses over there? Maybe I could buy myself one of them. Trade a pair of your Superman boxers for one..."

He rolled his eyes, hiding the hurt John's spacebimbo fascination often caused. "Fine, Kirk. Lead the way."

He had known it was a lost cause to begin with but if getting back through the Stargate meant being manhandled by Teyla, well, who could blame him for trying?.