She was tricky; he’d give her that.

Despite all of the subtle hints that came before, he didn’t even notice until suddenly he was on his back with Sheppard’s cock balls deep in his ass and was completely blindsided by the startling familiarity of it, like riding a bicycle, only he’d never ridden this particular one before.

Rodney saved his freak-out until after he’d shot his brain out through his cock. But once he had Sheppard lying curled up next to him, hair falling down into his eyes, looking adorably young without the tense line of worry that normally tightened his features, he sat chilled and naked, unable to move, to do anything other than think. And since when did his inner monologue include the word adorable, anyway?

It would’ve been simpler if it had been Carson. If the way she had cupped his cheek and groaned on Rodney’s date with Katie Brown had been any sort of indication, she clearly wanted up on the good doctor. But she was clever, if not always subtle. She was too clever to just go right for it. She’d trick Rodney into accidental gayness with Sheppard because Sheppard had clearly wanted it and there was no way Rodney would’ve noticed that on his own. But her . . . she was a woman. She paid attention to those sorts of things.

And it was just all part of her evil plan. After she’d successfully gaydized Rodney and Captain Kirk had gone trotting off to find himself another alien bimbo, she’d move in for the kill. And from there it’d be ridiculous amounts of make-up on off-world missions, and commiserating with Simpson and Japanese-girl-whose-name-he-can-never-remember about the number of handsome but out-of-reach men on the base while they took sneak-peaks at the copy of Cosmo he was sure they were hiding from him in that Ancient incubation device thing that only opened for women.

And this was clearly not acceptable. This was Rodney’s life. She had no right to it. Yes, it had been very heroic, fading into nothingness and all, and he was grateful. She’d even managed to make him feel vaguely guilty, though he’d never admit it to Heightmeyer, even if she did offer to talk about it over dinner. But the whole point of fading into nothing had been to, you know, not be there anymore. Great suicidal acts of mental heroism didn’t entitle her to anything.

Rodney crossed his hands defiantly across his chest. “You can’t make me gay,” he mumbled, a little to her, but mostly to herself.

At that, Sheppard stirred beside him, groping blindly for Rodney’s heat, eyes just barely slitted open. “Can you save your big fat gay freak-out for tomorrow? I’m tired.”

Rodney wanted to point out that he was being perfectly quiet with his freak-out, and that Sheppard was a big boy capable of sleeping without Rodney as a human pillow, but instead he just grumbled and settled down, letting Sheppard curl around him, make little throaty pleased sounds and fall back to sleep.

He was going soft . . . she was making him soft. But there wasn’t anything to do about it until morning and Sheppard was warm and still kind of adorable resting with his cheek on Rodney’s shoulder.

Tomorrow he’d get to the bottom of this and have his big fat gay freak-out and he’d never see this again, so he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

When Rodney woke up there was a cup of coffee, a cookies &cream powerbar and an Athosian doughnut sitting primly on his desk waiting for him, along with a violently pink post-it (inherited from her) proclaiming, ‘Forgot today I was supposed to do an early-morning inspection of the Alpha Site. Please don’t re-think yourself to death while I’m gone. Later, John.’

Rodney didn’t know which was more disturbing, that Sheppard would actually use the pink post-its of doom to leave him a message or that he thought their relationship had progressed to the point that he could sign a note ‘John’ instead of ‘Sheppard’ or ‘Lt. Col. John Sheppard,’ as he was so proud of doing on every single email since his promotion, even the ones asking if Rodney wanted to meet him for lunch. And god, it was such a girly thought – obsessing over signatures.

Rodney drank the coffee (because, hey, coffee!) but ignored the rest, heading instead for the shower. He shouldn’t smell like raunchy gay sex for his examination. God, what was wrong with him?

Well, she was not going to win. Rodney turned the water on then took his morning hard-on in hand.

“See this? This is Mr. Giant Wood and you know what it means? It means I’m a man, and that as hard as you try you’re never going to get that. And you’re not going to able to change it either.”

He gripped himself, feeling vindictive as he pulled, long hard strokes, calling up his favorite fantasy – Samantha Carter in a very short school-girl skirt and an unbuttoned white blouse, bending over a very erect looking ZPM and saying, “Wow, Rodney, it’s so big and powerful. Can you explain to me again how it works?”

Oh yeah.

And then she’d get this sort of dazed look on her face at his explanation, like she couldn’t quite get it, but didn’t care because she was so focused on his voice, eyes slitting closed as she ran a hand up a pale thigh, spreading her legs to show that she wasn’t wearing anything under that skirt and fingering herself, just listening to him.

And then he’d stride up to her and grab her roughly, drawing her face to his for a bruising kiss. Except instead of seeing himself in his mind’s eye, he was seeing a familiar chia-haired figure trying to pretend he was either Johnny Cash or Han Solo, sauntering up to her. She stood provocatively, sliding against the hard body before her and leaning up to kiss him, eyes fixed on Rodney. Then Sheppard drew back from the kiss and winked, just as Rodney was coming and coming and coming, letting the shower wash the evidence away.

“Goddamn you!” he shouted at the ceiling. “I told you I’m not gay!”

Of course, after that, he had to slink out of the shower and look paranoidly around his room to check that no one had heard. Bitch, he thought as loud as he could.

She was smart enough to keep silent.

Carson frowned down at Rodney worriedly.

“What?!” Rodney asked. “I’m dying, aren’t I? You found a tumor? Oh my god, a tumor . . .”

“Relax, relax, Rodney. Setting aside the fact that my magical powers don’t seem to extend to detecting tumors with nothing but a stethoscope and a blood pressure cuff, I’m just a wee bit concerned about your stress levels, that’s all.”

“Well, I’d be less stressed if you threw a few chicken bones and fixed this.”

Carson sighed, but stopped short of his usual eye-roll. “I cannot fix it if you refuse to tell me what it is.”

“Just do an MRI, a CAT scan, whatever you do to check brain activity.”

“I will when you tell me your symptoms. Too many scans aren’t exactly good for you either, you know. I’ll decide whether or not it’s necessary.”

“Oh, it’s definitely necessary.”

“How about we play the game where I’m the doctor and you’re the patient, hm?”

Rodney rolled his eyes and dug in for a fight. “I’m not telling you.”

Carson looked truly concerned now, his eyes blue and bright and intense and . . . wait, he’d never noticed Carson’s eyes before. Oh god, oh god, she was still trying to gay him up until the moment Carson fixed the problem. Next thing he knew she’d have them ‘playing doctor’ in the wait . . . “Were you flirting with me?” Because the doctor/patient scenario did hold some appeal after all.

Carson looked up from the chart on his tablet. “Excuse me?” And then, “Rodney, I care about you as a friend, but . . .”

Oh god. Well, ha. She’d never get Carson, newfound gayness or not. Serve her right. “No, no . . . it’s just that,” he waved his fingers towards his head in a way he thought was rather articulate, then leaned over and whispered. “I don’t think she’s gone.”

Carson looked around, clearly trying to figure out why they were whispering. “Who’s gone?”

“Her.”

“Lieutenant Cadman?”

Rodney nodded.

Carson gripped his shoulder in a way that he probably thought was reassuring. Rodney stepped back. This was probably all part of her evil plan. She’d guilted Carson into it the first time.

“I’m sorry, Rodney. We all did as much as we could. You know that.”

“Yes, yes, I do, but she’s still there, Carson.” Rodney pointed emphatically to his head.

“The scans we did, after she . . . er . . . passed on, were conclusive.”

“Well, maybe she was just sleeping. It’s not like we have a body or anything.”

Carson seemed to consider this for a second. “Would you feel better if we did?”

“What, so you’re Heightmeyer now?” Rodney snapped. “But yes, as a matter of fact, I would. But you taking me seriously and fixing this would also help.”

Carson sighed. “So you’ve heard her, then?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Sleep walking?”

“No, more like . . . “ he winced. “I’ve just caught myself doing some out of character things, that’s all.”

“Oh, er . . . what sort of things?”

He was absolutely not going to say ‘getting sweaty and naked with certain cocky and very male Air Force officers.’ “Well . . . um . . . yesterday I put Tabasco sauce on my eggs and spicy food gives me indigestion. Acid reflux . . . you know.”

“Rodney, the eggs tasted like the inside of someone’s shoe. We all put Tabasco sauce on them.”

“And . . . and I just thought you were flirting with me and I don’t . . . you know, think about stuff like that. But Cadman liked you and . . .”

Carson looked oddly regretful. “I know you miss her, Rodney. But just because you were thinking about her while talking to me doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with your brain.”

“But what about . . . the other day I slept without a shirt on and I rarely even bother taking my pants off. But she . . . she likes to sleep in the buff.”

Carson scratched his head. “Did she make you sleep nude when she was in your body?”

Rodney nodded.

“Maybe subconsciously you realized you liked it better. It’s downright unusual to like sleeping fully clothed.”

“Or maybe she’s still in there kicking around and destroying my life! I can’t go on like this, Carson.”

“Okay, a wee bit dramatic there, Rodney. But if it really bothers you that much, I’ll do the scans.”

Rodney nodded, impatiently.

“But if there’s nothing wrong, you’re going to owe me.”

“Owe you what?”

Carson smiled. Smug bastard. How she could find this quack even remotely attractive, Rodney had no idea. “A favor.”

That was a tough one. Rodney McKay’s oh-so-valuable time was worth a lot and that kind of marker left him vulnerable. Beckett would probably use it on something stupid too, like getting his laptop fixed or to make Rodney stay in the infirmary a completely unnecessary extra day. But then again, his brain could be slowly deteriorating; this newfound gayness was just the first symptom. High heels could be next and they looked damn uncomfortable. He was already getting shin splints from all this running for his life that Sheppard kept making him do.

“Okay.”

As it turned out, there wasn’t anything wrong with him – at least according to the scans. He was sure his brain pattern was a little more bluish than it used to be, but both Beckett and Biro (whom he tracked down later) were adamant that everything was fine.

But it wasn’t. Not only did Rodney have a sarcastic, masochistic, gun-slinging Marine stuck in his head and determined to fuck up his life, but he had an impending appointment with Heightmeyer (Carson’s marker, which he really should have seen coming). This was not leaving a lot of time for his big fat gay freak-out.

In the end, Rodney decided that it was okay. After staring at Zelenka until the flustered Czech finally threw a stylus at him, Rodney determined that he really wasn’t that attracted to men. And catching Parker running by in the hallway and allowing himself a good long stare at her ass did enough to reassure him that he still liked dumb blondes of the curvy feminine variety.

The thing with Sheppard had been a fluke. Sheppard was his friend, so she was able to slip it under his radar easier. It had been natural, sitting together watching Batman Begins, which really was a sorry excuse for a film, despite being slightly less crack-addled than some of the other movies. Rodney had been too taken by surprise to resist Sheppard leaning over to kiss him and after that . . . well, Sheppard was a disarmingly good kisser.

And he wasn’t bad looking. It did feel kind of good to say that he’d bagged Captain Kirk himself (not that he’d actual say that to anyone, no matter how big the ego stroke). If Rodney had to have a gay for a day, he probably would’ve chosen Sheppard . . . or maybe Brad Pitt. He was a blonde, after all. And also, Sheppard had been something Rodney hadn’t truly had in a long time – willing.

So, that slick little opportunist had taken advantage of it. So what? He wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

Rodney smiled. Now all he had to do was avoid Sheppard until he forgot about their little buddy-fuck. Rodney was sure that it wouldn’t be long before the next alien princess of wherever decided that she wanted nothing more that a piece of Sheppard Pie and then he’d be too preoccupied boning her to remember about his and Rodney’s single night of passion.

Unfortunately, Sheppard had already been by the lab twice and Rodney knew that there were only so many times he could get away with diving behind Radek and using his lab-coat for cover before he got more than a pen thrown at him.

He needed to get out of here . . . go somewhere safe . . . somewhere where Sheppard would never think to look for him. Where would that be?

His quarters . . . no. The messhall . . . absolutely not; Sheppard would probably have that staked out. Jumper bay . . . no; that was Sheppard’s territory. And he’d have to avoid Teyla too, because she had a sixth sense about when things were going bad on the team and the ridiculous girl-judgment to think that the best answer was to talk about it.

Rodney didn’t even know he’d decided to go there when the armory doors swished open and . . . there was Sheppard, tablet in hand, staring right past the rows of glistening new P-90s, looking forlorn in that disgustingly young way he sometimes had about him.

But then he looked up at Rodney and the sad pout was gone, replaced by a bright smile. “Rodney! I was beginning to think that you were avoiding me.”

Rodney gulped, the doors closing behind him with what would have been an ominous sound if it weren’t so swishy. “Um . . . of course not. What would give you that idea?”

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. “I dunno, the fact that you trying to hide behind Dr. Zelenka is a lot like an elephant trying to hide behind Barbie’s dream house?”

Rodney scowled. “Sure, that’s the way to hang onto a freaked-out lover . . . compare him to an elephant.”

At that, Sheppard’s grin turned feral. He laid his tablet precariously on a stack of 9-mil clips, penetrating gaze not leaving Rodney for a second. “Lover, huh?”

“Um . . .” Rodney said, backing up against the door, which stubbornly refused to open - stupid Sheppard and his supergene.

Sheppard batted his eyelashes, though somehow managing to make it all very manly. Rodney was really starting to feel bad for all those Bimbos-of-the-week that Kirk seduced. “So what do you recommend I do if I want to hold on to this lover of mine?”

Sheppard had Rodney pressed up against the door now, cupping him through his pants and rubbing lazy circles with his thumb.

Rodney whimpered. There was only so much a guy could take, after all. “I’m not . . . I don’t . . . I’m not gay. This was all a mistake. Big mistake, caused by forces beyond my control . . . won’t happen again.”

Sheppard licked his lips, giving Rodney’s hardening cock a firm squeeze before whispering in his ear. “Then why are you here?”

Good question. Why was he in the armory? He knew Sheppard had to do inventory. It was just his bad luck to stumble upon him here. But Rodney knew a hundred places in the city where Sheppard had never even been . . .

Her! Her file had said that she was a demolitions expert. She’d probably been in charge of some of the inventory duty. He wanted to go somewhere safe and she’d felt safe here . . . oh god.

But, then again, he couldn’t exactly tell Sheppard this. He’d just laugh and tell Rodney to see Heightmeyer. And Rodney really didn’t need both Carson and the colonel hounding him about it.

“Um . . . hiding from you.”

“In the armory?”

“Well you know . . . plain sight and everything.”

Sheppard smirked, not looking convinced in the least. He was still stroking Rodney through his pants. Then he was kissing along Rodney’s jawline, nibbling on his ear.

“What, no witty comeback? No snide remarks?”

Sheppard gave him what seemed to be a playful glare then went back to the kissing, somehow managing to get Rodney’s pants open with one hand, while reaching under Rodney’s shirt to pinch a sensitive nipple with the other. None of the girls Rodney had slept with had paid that much attention to his nipples, but John . . . god, Rodney had no idea he was this responsive. He gasped and banged his head against the door behind him.

He heard a choked laugh from somewhere below. Wait . . . below? And then something hot and wet was closing around the tip of his cock and . . . yes.

Wait . . . no! This was all part of her evil scheme. It was easier for her to take control when he was relaxed or panicked or in a weakened mental state . . . she probably planned to trap his consciousness in his cock (where it all seemed to be stored at the moment) and then take over and do something horrible like . . . lipstick . . . or worse . . . a diet.

But then again, who the hell cared? He was busy getting a blowjob, thank you very much. And then something within him clenched, the coiling heat at the base of his spine tensing then flowering in a near-blinding haze.

His head was still pressed back against the door when he panted down from his orgasm. God, that was good.

Sheppard was still smirking when he pushed himself up, taking his time to slowly lick the come from the side of his mouth. “Snide remark,” he said.

Rodney’s glare probably would have been more serious if his brain wasn’t still voting by mail from his cock.

Then Sheppard kissed Rodney shyly, still smiling, grabbing Rodney’s hand and sticking it down his pants. Sheppard’s cock was hard and long, much like his body. It felt comfortable in Rodney’s hand.

Rodney knew what he should do. If he really intended to stop leading Sheppard on before he kicked that bitch out of his head, then he would have pulled away, said ‘no thank you, but I really am straight. And thanks for the sex and the blowjob by the way.’ But he liked to think that he was a fair man, if not a nice one. And it really wasn’t fair to get a blowjob without something in return, especially between friends.

So Rodney took Sheppard’s cock in hand, saying, “Fine, but I’m still not gay.”

“Sure,” Sheppard breathed between gasps. “Whatever you need to believe, Rodney.”

“Losing Lieutenant Cadman must have been difficult for you, Rodney.”

Rodney scowled. Heightmeyer used to be such a nice girl – when he thought she was just a gorgeous blonde who’d actually take his allergies seriously and show interest in his work and not the base shrink.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Rodney, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

“I don’t need your help. I need Carson’s help. I need to figure out how to get her out of my brain. I swear to god, pretty soon I’m going to be doing push-ups and sleeping naked and watching Meg Ryan movies.”

“You have a problem with sleeping naked?” Of course she would focus on that. Shrinks were all about sex. Sex, sex, sex. It was only a big deal if you weren’t getting it, and right now, Rodney was. It was from an unusual source, but it was still so not Heightmeyer’s business.

“No. Look, why won’t people take me seriously? You’re a shrink. You’re supposed to understand.”

Heightmeyer nodded, blonde ringlets dancing tauntingly. Take that, she-devil - he still liked the way those gorgeous curls framed Heightmeyer’s face. They’d see who’d win in the shower tomorrow morning. “Everyone deals with loss in different ways.”

“I’m not dealing with loss, because she’s not lost! She’s still there! Maybe I don’t hear her voice anymore, but that doesn’t mean she’s gone.”

Heightmeyer looked obscure, doing that shrinky thing where they blanked out so you couldn’t tell what they were really thinking. “All right. If she’s still there, then maybe we can get her to talk to us.” She wrote something down on her tablet then said. “Laura? Can you hear me?”

Rodney snorted. He wasn’t five and they weren’t talking about his invisible friend. “She’s not going to respond to you. She’s smarter than that. If she shows herself now, she’ll never complete her master plan.”

Heightmeyer raised a perfectly-plucked eyebrow. “Which is?”

“To take control of me.”

“Rodney, Laura gave up her existence for you. Why would she try to take over?”

“Because she knew that I was more valuable. She knew that they’d never let a lowly Marine hang on and risk losing the chief scientist. Plus it was my body and there was no way I’d let go. She didn’t have a choice, really.”

Heightmeyer seemed moderately pacified. “Well, if she’s still there we can be happy that she’s still with us.”

Rodney shook his head. “No, it’s not good, because she’s doing things to me. It’s not like before, when we knew who had control. She’s changing me.”

“Is the idea of changing so frightening, Rodney?”

“When it’s forced on me, yes!”

“Rodney . . .”

“Maybe there’s something we can do . . . like . . .” he snapped his fingers. “Like hypnosis. If she’s just sort of lurking in my subconscious maybe that will draw her out.”

An hour later, Heightmeyer knew that when Rodney was eight he’d once tried on his mother’s lipstick and that he said he liked blondes because that’s what he was supposed to like, but he was secretly an ass man.

She hadn’t made him cluck like chicken, but the world’s most meddlesome Marine hadn’t made an appearance either.

And now even his psychiatrist thought he was crazy. Great. The only good news was that he’d managed to keep the whole not-gay-with-Sheppard thing a secret.

Sheppard ended up swinging by his place after dinner, a big smile on his face and the newest Harry Potter movie in hand. And really, how dumb did Sheppard think he was? Just because the kid had the same hair, hero-complex, and tragic genetic destiny as Sheppard, didn’t mean Rodney wanted to watch him fight dragons or whatever. Children’s book meant it was written for a 9-year-old level of intelligence. Multiply that by thirty and it’d be at Rodney’s level.

Rodney sighed. “Look, I had to deal with a session with Heightmeyer, a corruption in the sewage system, a staff meeting with the Biology department, and a machine that glued Zelenka and Kavanagh together for 4 hours. I really just want to sleep.”

Sheppard’s grin faded a little, but he shrugged. “We can sleep.”

Rodney sighed. “I meant alone.”

“Oh,” Sheppard look wounded, like a goddamned kicked puppy. There used to be a time when Rodney ate puppies for breakfast, but now, with this estrogen ODing hysteric running around in his brain, he was actually feeling bad.

Rodney sighed. “Fine, we’ll start the movie, but if I fall asleep, you’re carrying me to bed and then leaving me to my beauty sleep.”

Now Sheppard looked like a happy puppy and that was even worse. Rodney made a ‘sound of great annoyance’ and grabbed the movie from Sheppard, shoving into his DVD drive with a little more force than necessary. Wizards. What the hell did he care about child wizards?

About twenty minutes in, Sheppard was shouting at the screen. “What?! I can’t believe they didn’t show the actual match! It was the Quidditch World Cup, how could they not show the match?”

Rodney looked from the screen to Sheppard and back again. He’d actually kind of been enjoying having Sheppard curled up against him, absently stroking his thigh. He didn’t appreciate the elbow in the stomach he got from Sheppard’s outrage. “You mean you’ve actually read the books?”

Sheppard shrugged. “Needed a break from War and Peace. Besides, flying on nothing but a broomstick. How cool would that be?”

Rodney grumbled but was pacified by Sheppard settling back against him. It was only just before he was about to drift off that he realized that he never used to like cuddling before. It was such a girl thing. And he knew exactly who to blame for that.

Rodney dreamed that he was in the middle of the desert, cracked salt beds extending as far as the eye could see. Cadman was there, wearing Samantha Carter’s schoolgirl outfit. She stood stock still, her mouth the only movement on the dry plane, but Rodney couldn’t hear the words. Her lips moved silently as the thunderclouds rolled on the horizon and finally rain poured down over everything; but Cadman stayed perfectly dry, a wry smile on her lips.

She winked and the storm rolled back and flowers grew out of the dried ground before his eyes. Then John was there, a soft smile on his face. His pants were the same pattern as the skirt had been and his button-down top just as white, but when he pulled it open there was a dusting of dark hair beneath and not a lush red bra. He smirked seductively, grabbing Rodney’s hand and sinking back into the grass, kissing him reverently. Rodney lay between his legs, reaching into the thick earth and looking for purchase. And then . . . he was looking up to find hard stone beneath his fingers.

The grave was for Laura Cadman, may she rest in peace.

Rodney woke up panting and sweaty, half hard and hating himself for it. If Kate Heightmeyer ever found out about this, he’d probably be driven to mass murder.

M3R-787 was hot. It was also dusty and smelly and crowded. But, on the plus side, it had a low incidence of Wraith activity – probably because it was dusty, smelly and crowded. Looking at the historical records, Rodney could easily see a sort of drought cycle. It was the Wraith equivalent of emergency stores, which was creepy in all sorts of ways.

One thing about it, though, was that it reminded Rodney a lot of a dusty smelly version of Earth . . . kind of like New York City. This was why he should have expected to get mugged, of all things. ‘Rob the foreigners’ was beginning to seem like a universal game.

One minute, Rodney was waylaid by an Ancient-looking device being peddled by a street vendor and the next he heard an unmistakably angry growl from around the corner. Something had happened and Ronon was pissed. Rodney drew his weapon and rushed up to the side of the nearest building, pushing back against the crumbling concrete.

“Empty your pockets and hand over your weapons or he dies,” a gruff voice said.

“Do it,” Sheppard commanded.

Ronon made an even more unhappy grunting noise.

But if it was just a mugging, then better to lose their gear than get someone killed in a fight.

Rodney inched his head around the corner. Ronon had dumped his gun, canteen, and blaster in a messy pile in front of him. Teyla was pulling off her vest and Sheppard seemed to be trying very hard not to breathe and further cut himself on the jagged blade held up to his throat.

It was an awfully stupid strategy for a mugger, Rodney thought. This place was crowded so he couldn’t draw the process out, but he couldn’t exactly let Sheppard go in order to collect his loot. It was a clear standoff. Unless it wasn’t a mugging at all.

The mugger nodded to the left, a long street with twisted dried wood forest on one side and derelict old buildings on the other. “Run,” he said.

Ronon and Teyla obvious had no intention of moving, and this guy wasn’t going to let Sheppard just walk away from this.

Rodney didn’t even think as he raised his gun and fired. It was a tricky shot, with the target so close to Sheppard, but Rodney did something he’d never done before – hit the target in the right place with every single shot.

Even though the mysterious would-be mugger was obviously dead, Ronon sprung forward, producing a knife out of thin air, on guard and ready to attack. Teyla was already moving towards Sheppard, concern tugging her soft pink lips into a frown.

“Colonel, are you all right?”

Sheppard had on hand held around his throat and his breaths were gaspy and panicked sounding. “Yeah, shallow cut.”

Teyla opened her tac vest and produced a field dressing anyway.

And then suddenly all the worried tension that Rodney didn’t consciously realize he’d been harboring in his back and shoulders flew out of him and he could breathe again too.

As he joined the group, Sheppard’s eyes met his, full of both relief and a hint of terror. Rodney wasn’t sure if it was due to the ‘almost getting killed’ part or the ‘being saved by the shooting skills of Rodney McKay’ part.

Sheppard reached out to clasp Rodney’s shoulder, squeezing a little longer than necessary. “Thanks, Rodney. Good shooting.”

And that when Rodney realized . . . hey, he couldn’t shoot worth shit. He knew he couldn’t shoot with shit. He never would’ve taken that kind of shot. But he did.

It was hard to stay mad at her after she’d saved Sheppard’s life, but Rodney was still pissed. He decided that today he believed in God, if only so he’d have someone he could be justifiably angry at.

Rodney was trying very hard to resist the newfound gayness, but he’d never been a particularly disciplined person. He was a hedonist, saved from himself only by lack of time and opportunity, and with Sheppard constantly dangling that sexy smile in front of him, sneaking up on him and getting a hand on Rodney’s cock before he could even object, it was hard to resist.

And of course she was helping the whole thing along. Bitch. Rodney probably would have been more upset if he weren’t getting regular sex.

Rodney sighed and tried to concentrate on the Ancient device in front of him. It was a ball, rounded and kind of grenade-shaped. Although the first thing he’d determined was that it wasn’t explosive. Hm . . . Well, there was nothing to do but press the little red button on the top of it.

The second Rodney did, he heard a loud scream behind him and someone shouting, “Duck!” Which he obediently did.

The thing pulsed, letting out a bright burst of energy, blocked from Rodney only by the lab bench.

“What the hell was that?!” he roared.

Zelenka stood from behind the bench next to him, straightening his glasses and looking sour. “Rodney, I told you five minutes ago – device is explosive in nature, I have already analyzed the component elements. You are lucky is just stun grenade.”

Rodney looked down at the device in his hands, and then over at the readouts. Yes, it was perfectly clear, the structure was designed to direct an energy pulse outwards. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t actually set to explode in a conventional sense.

How had Zelenka noticed this and he hadn’t? Oh god, he was going stupid! She was making him stupid! His brain was averaging out their IQs and hers was pulling him down like a stone!

Rodney hadn’t even noticed he’d started hyperventilating until he felt Zelenka’s hand steadying his shoulder. “Rodney, relax. Everything is fine. Here, eat powerbar. There, very good. You will stop breathing like little engine that could and then we go back to work and you pay attention instead of mooning over sexy Air Force Colonels who you’ve somehow managed to trick into having sex with you.”

“What? No . . . that’s not what I was . . . Radek, I think she made me stupid.” It was a difficult concession to make, but really, if he wanted to avoid blowing himself up in the near future, Radek had to know.

“She?”

“You know. . . her.”

“Oh, Lieutenant Cadman? Yes, is a shame to lose such perky breasts, but Rodney, Dr. Beckett says you are fine. You just weren’t focusing. I saw you.”

Rodney shook his head. Why wouldn’t anyone believe him?! He was growing stupider by the minute and they all just wanted to sit there and spouting platitudes and gossiping about him and Colonel Hotlips. Wait a second . . .

“How do you know about me and Sheppard?”

Radek rolled his eyes. “Please, you have been making the goo-goo eyes at each other for months now. It was only a matter of time. And I believe I owe you thanks – I made killing in betting pool.”

“There’s a betting pool?!”

Radek nodded solemnly. “If you are nice, perhaps I share some of my winnings, yes?”

Three hours later, Radek was singing in Czech, one arm over Rodney’s shoulder and a half-empty bottle of Grey Goose in the other, and no matter how many times Rodney poked him in the chest, he still refused to believe that she was still stuck in his head.

“Perhaps what you need is good cry, yes? Men in your society do not allow themselves to express emotion enough. Yes, yes, you must mourn Lieutenant Cadman. We will toast to her breasts and her intelligence and to the fact that she lived but does so no more, and then, we will sing.”

Radek raised his glass, but before they could get to the toasting part, he had passed out, and Rodney had to grab for the bottle of vodka while simultaneously trying to keep Zelenka’s head from falling heavily into his lap.

He didn’t cry, just tucked Radek in and shuffled drunkenly off, only to find a sleepy-eyed colonel lounging in his bed.

She’d clearly taken advantage of the drink to take control, because otherwise, he never would have pounced on Sheppard and proceeded to fuck him as hard and angrily as he could. Not that the man seemed to mind all that much; he was so goddamned unflappable.

She was taking more and more control daily, that much he was sure. He was experiencing all sorts of emotional upheavals. He’d actually almost cried that night with Radek, and he kept catching himself daydreaming about him and Sheppard doing stupid things like having sex in a Ferris wheel and buying a house and those thoughts were just too girly for words. Perhaps it was her time of the month.

But other than the sudden ability to shoot, he didn’t really think any of her strange little habits would prove lethal . . . until the incident in the mess hall.

They were sitting around a table as a team. Teyla and Sheppard were conversing quietly about how it was imperative that Sheppard not wear any of this ‘gel to pleasantly form your hair’ on their upcoming visit to the planet of the fire dancers. The barbarian was shoveling mashed potatoes down his throat at an alarming rate, using chicken bones to scoop them up instead of his fork. In his usual mood, Rodney would have jumped on either of those things as a chance to tease his teammates, but it was hard to concentrate with Sheppard’s hand resting so easily on his thigh like that.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sheppard said, touching his hair experimentally.

“I am speaking of a dance in which the natives will circle your head with . . .”

“I mean, hair gel . . . I don’t . . .”

“Yes, of course. Perhaps Dr. McKay will be willing to remind you,” Teyla said with one of her ‘who me? I’m just an alien here, move along’ smiles.

“Hmm,” Rodney said, reaching out absently and grabbing for Sheppard’s Jell-o.

Then a greasy (eww!) hand shot out and gripped his wrist tightly, and Rodney was looking into Ronon’s big brown eyes, noting a slight tinge of worry there.

“Well, if you wanted it so much, you could’ve asked,” Rodney grumbled.

“The green Jell-o is made of limes, McKay. You’re the one who says that limes will kill you so we must all be extra vigilant.”

Rodney looked down. The Jell-o was in fact green and not blue like he’d thought. “Oh my god! I almost . . . I can’t . . . I didn’t . . . I wouldn’t . . . oh god.”

Sheppard’s warm hand was rubbing comforting circles over his back, and Ronon and Teyla both looked concerned.

“It’s okay, Rodney. We all have slips sometime. It’s okay, relax. We’re all looking out for you. Shhh . . .”

Rodney gulped. Sure, they all had their slips, but Rodney didn’t. He was a genius. He needed them to test his food and ask about ingredients, but he didn’t need them to protect him from poisoning himself with things he already knew were poisonous.

There was only one explanation for this, “Her.”

Sheppard smirked. “The lunch lady is not trying to kill you, Rodney. It was an honest mistake. Come on, let’s get you back to your quarters so you can calm down.”

Rodney barely even noticed the look Ronon and Teyla gave each other when Sheppard helped him up and they made their way back to his quarters.

And really, he’d almost died - that was a perfectly adequate excuse for frenzied life-affirming sex with persons of any gender, right?

“You never did tell me about how Laura died,” Heightmeyer said, lips delicately pursed. She looked a little like Sheppard did when he was trying very hard to look innocent and failing miserably.

“No, I suppose I didn’t.”

“Now would be the perfect opportunity.”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it. Can we talk about something else, please? Did I ever tell you how I used to steal my father’s wedding ring from where he kept it in his coat pocket . . . to see if he noticed, you know? Very Freudian. Maybe you should analyze my dreams, hm?”

Heighmeyer sighed. “I’m not a Freudian, Rodney. Though I would be glad to discuss your dreams at a later date.”

“Oh really? Cause I had a really great one about Lieutenant Ford dressed up as Darth Vader.” Ford, he’d give her Ford. Rodney was still a little broken up about it. Not as bad as Sheppard, but she’d still hop on it, like all good shrinks, he was sure. “There were bunnies . . . you like bunnies, don’t you? You look like the kind of girl who likes . . .”

“Rodney, why are you so determined to avoid talking about Lieutenant Cadman’s death?”

First of all, that was private. It was between the two of them. She’d written her goodbye note. She’d thanked Carson and Heightmeyer and everyone. She’d even told Sheppard that it had been an honor. But her last words had been for him.

He gulped. “Because she’s not dead.”

“Rodney, sometimes we have trouble letting go. It’s especially difficult in cases like these . . . with no body recovered. And the fact that she shared your mind only complicates things.”

Rodney didn’t need more of this. He didn’t need Carson’s pitying gaze or Heightmeyer’s shrinky little hand on his shoulder. He needed someone to fix this damned problem.

“Fine, fine, I’ll tell you.” He’d distract her with this. “After she said her goodbyes to all of you, she told me not to feel guilty. She said that part of what she’d signed up to do was to possibly give her life to protect the civilians in this expedition and that she was prepared to do it. And I . . . I tried to tell her thanks . . . that she didn’t have to do this, but she was so . . . so brave for doing it and that I was sorry. And then she said, ‘Don’t be. Just remember me, okay?’ And then she was gone.”

Heightmeyer nodded in that ‘hmm . . . how very significant’ way all shrinks seemed to have mastered and then pursed her lips. She really wasn’t all that attractive. He’d actually bet that Sheppard was sexier doing that particular expression. She’d still look good naked, though . . .

“Rodney?”

“Hmm?”

“Laura didn’t want you to feel guilty. She didn’t want you to hang on like this. What she wanted was for you to remember her. Perhaps you could think of something. Maybe one of the personal effects she left you?”

What? A memorial of pink post-its? He didn’t even really know her. He hadn’t gotten the chance. Why did Heightmeyer expect him to feel so broken up? It wasn’t like he’d lost his best friend or his puppy or anything. “I don’t think . . .”

“Please, just give this a try, Rodney.”

“Oh yeah, and your advice worked so well last time you asked me to try it,” Rodney snapped. He knew it was a low blow, because really, shrinks had feelings too. But at the same time, if Heightmeyer hadn’t insisted they share in the first place, maybe none of this would’ve ever happened. Rodney still would have had a voice in his head, but at least he’d know what was her and what was him.

Heightmeyer looked out the window, the professional mask cracking just a little (welcome to the Pegasus Galaxy, doctor). “I believe that’s all the time we have, Rodney.”

Rodney grinned.

Rodney McKay: 1. Evil women trying to control his life: 117. He was catching up.

When he kept pushing Carson for tests, that haggis snorting quack had the audacity to ground him until he had ‘reasonable trust in his own decision-making capacity,’ which was ridiculous, of course.

“I’ve never seen you as being lacking in confidence, Rodney,” Sheppard said lazily, reclining back on Rodney’s bed and blatantly staring at Rodney’s nipples as Rodney ranted back at him.

“Oh nice, make fun of the guy with an irreparable brain condition.”

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. “I’ve never heard you admit that there was something wrong with your brain before, either.”

“Yes, well . . . the price of genius. It’s just . . . well, you know . . . how am I supposed to know that she’s really gone?”

Sheppard’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

Rodney glared.

“Oh . . . oh, Cadman?” Sheppard sat up, only to put an arm around Rodney. He was like a furnace, and Rodney leaned into that comforting heat like it was a fire in the dead of winter. “She’s gone, Rodney. I’m sorry, but she’s gone . . .”

“How the hell would you know? Are you in my head, eh? You think that just because we’re . . . we’re doing this thing, you get to tell me what I do and do not think? And then you stare at my nipples, and I really feel sorry for all the women whose breasts I’ve ogled and I would never feel sorry for that ever, and it’s clearly all her trying to turn me into a feminist. And do I look like a feminist? Sure, I don’t shave my armpits, but that has everything to do with me being a man and not . . .”

And why wasn’t Sheppard interrupting this ridiculous rant? In fact he was looking kind of pale and sweaty . . . and pale . . . “Sheppard, are you okay?”

“Um . . . Rodney, I think I’m going to be . . .” And then he was standing and rushing for the bathroom and ugh, was he puking? Yes, definitely the sounds of projectile vomit.

But instead of calling frantically for a hazmat team and making a break for it, Rodney approached cautiously, finding Sheppard kneeling in front of the toilet, looking disturbingly pathetic. Rodney got him a glass of water from the tap and then knelt down and stroked his back as he drank.

“Are you okay?”

Sheppard sighed and leaned his forehead down onto the toilet seat. “I don’t feel so good.”

Rodney levered him up a little, resting his hand on Sheppard’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

Sheppard nodded sickly.

“Okay, do you think you can make it to the infirmary, or should I call Beckett?”

Rodney barely noticed the fingers he was running through Sheppard’s hair until Sheppard closed his eyes and leaned gratefully into the touch. Oh god, Rodney wasn’t just turning into a woman, but he was turning into a mother. He pulled his hand carefully away, under the guise of reaching for his radio.

But then he sat himself down next to Sheppard and let the man rest his disease-infested head on Rodney’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Sheppard rasped.

And by the time Sheppard’s non-contagious-but-potent stomach bug had passed, Rodney had gotten a little used to his new girlyness, holding and comforting and fetching cold cloths and puke-basins.

‘But what if it had been contagious?’ he snapped at the consciousness covertly sharing his head. ‘How many mothers die each year out of maternal stupidity?’

Luckily, they’d all been so worried about Sheppard that Carson forgot his ban on Rodney’s gate travel.

But Sheppard seemed to have forgotten that he’d been doing nothing but lying in bed and throwing up like the pathetic puppydog he was for pretty much a week straight, and therefore had absolutely no right to disturb Rodney by bounding out of bed at six in the morning to get dressed for his morning jog.

Rodney opened his eyes hazily and accused, “Where are you going?”

Sheppard shrugged, like he thought he could actually get away with it. “Just a short run. East pier and back. It’s 3k, max.

Rodney levered himself up into what he hoped was a more intimidating position. “That doesn’t sound like bed rest to me.”

“Come on, Rodney. If I start feeling sick, I’ll stop. God, who knew you’d be so goddamned overprotective?” Rodney opened his mouth to try to respond to that, but Sheppard continued on. “I’ve been doing nothing but sit in bed all week. I need to get out and exercise my muscles. If you’re that worried, you can come with me.”

Rodney hadn’t had his morning coffee yet, so it took him a couple of minutes and Sheppard’s baffled help to get into sweats and running shoes.

They were almost back from the east pier, with Rodney’s calves feeling like they were going to go sailing off in a ball of fire and his asthma acting up when he realized . . . wait . . . him willingly going for a run is like pigs flying and hell freezing over and Wraith singing show tunes.

He stopped. Sheppard ran a few more meters and then doubled back, jogging in place. “You okay, Rodney?”

Rodney sucked in a great gasping breath of air. “No! No, I am not okay! I don’t like running. I hate running! And you fucking bitch, I can’t believe you made me!” He shouted at the ceiling.

“Um, Rodney . . . I’m glad you’re finally embracing the whole gay thing and all, but I don’t think the Marines would really like it if you kept calling me . . .”

“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to her.” Obviously, she wasn’t actually hiding in the ceiling, but he felt it would be rude to yell in Sheppard’s general direction.

“Rodney . . . um . . . I think that maybe you should go see . . .”

“I’ve already talked to Beckett and to Heightmeyer and they’re both completely and utterly useless.”

“You can talk to me, you know?”

Then Sheppard stepped carefully closer, so close that Rodney could smell that sweaty masculine scent, feel the heat of well-exercised muscles cooling down, and see the fine lines that formed in the stubble around his smirk. Sheppard had no right to be this attractive. His hand was not supposed to be that comforting, spread wide on Rodney’s back. He wasn’t some weak little girl who needed the strong soldier to step in and protect him. This was all her doing.

He pushed Sheppard’s arm away, refusing to feel guilty about the hurt look that put on his face.

Rodney crumpled in upon himself, burying his head in his hands. This could not be happening to him. He was Rodney McKay. He could beat people to death with his brain, so why couldn’t he get rid of a pesky little Marine, a would-be Cyrano de Bergerac?

“Rodney?” Sheppard was back beside him, sitting down and pulling Rodney practically into his lap. “Shh . . . hey, Rodney, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I just want to get her out of my head!” he choked, through a not-quite-sob. “I’m tired of this . . . I’m tired of all these feelings. I’m tired of not knowing what’s me and what’s her and . . .”

“Rodney, she’s gone.” Sheppard was rocking him back and forth now. “I’m sorry, Rodney, but she’s gone.”

“No! No, she’s not. Please, Colonel, you of all people should believe me.”

“Rodney, I want to believe you, really, I do. But Beckett says . . .”

“But Beckett can’t explain the carelessness with citrus, the desire to sleep naked, the whole agreeing to go running thing, the sudden desire to mother people. And he most certainly cannot explain the startling gayness.”

“You’re allowed to change, Rodney. Believe it or not, even geniuses are occasionally affected by the actions of other people.” Sheppard sounded bitter now. Rodney knew he should have kept the gayness thing to himself.

“Yeah, crazy meddling Marines with a disturbing obsession with lip-gloss and explosions!”

“I know you’re having a little trouble swallowing the whole gay pill, Rodney, but would it kill you to admit that you actually like being with me? Does everything have to be a reaction to the idiocy of X person, or the crazy situation with Y thing or the monster of the week? Why can’t it just be what it is?”

“What, a suddenly-gay buddyfuck?”

Sheppard stood at that, anger flashing briefly in his eyes. “Get yourself some help, Rodney. We’re off-duty until you do.”

“What? How is that fair? I say something personal you don’t like and you punish me by withholding fieldwork?”

Sheppard turned from where he’d started to run off. “I’m not punishing you. Unlike some people, I don’t need to make crazy excuses for actually caring about someone.”

Huh. Well, now that he thought about it, some of those things could be explained away by him caring about Sheppard. And he really had started to enjoy the sex. He couldn’t really fault her for wanting to have good sex . . . but still.

She was there. She had to be. Maybe her meddling was just the same old playing-cupid routine that she’d done with Katie Brown. Perhaps it wasn’t an evil plot to take him over. But he still wanted her out. He still wanted to know that he was with John for John and not because she wanted him to be. He deserved that much at least.

Rodney had managed to successfully ignore both Carson and Heightmeyer, but he couldn’t avoid Teyla. The thing about Teyla was that other than her ability to crush his nuts with her pinky, she had this expectant innocence about her – you just didn’t want to disappoint her. When you did, she looked so angry and helpless . . . and he really couldn’t handle that. Damn the bitch and all her emotional sensitivity.

“We are worried about you, Rodney. Colonel Sheppard does not appear well rested and even Ronon is becoming anxious.”

“If you’re all so worried, than why are none of you helping me, hm?”

Teyla slid a small hand around his bicep, giving his arm a comforting squeeze. “We have been trying, but it is difficult to help one who does not wish to be helped.”

“Fine,” Rodney snapped. “Fine. I’m listening. I’m here. Help away.”

Teyla gave him that ridiculously pleased grin she reserved for the most insignificant of things. “Accompany me to my quarters so that we might retrieve the necessary materials.”

“Materials?” Teyla was going to try to remove a consciousness from his brain? With what? A big stick?

“The Ceremony of the Taken requires several herbs and symbolic elements. I understand that you do not practice our ways, Rodney, but this can only help you.”

Rodney sighed. Why not? It’d make Teyla happy and it was a surefire way to be able to avoid John for the duration.

Teyla grinned again as they reached her quarters and she opened the large chest at the base of her bed, handing Rodney several bags, a rough woven blanket of various colors depicting monsters and bluish swirls and eyes that could only belong to a Wraith. She herself carried an incense burner and some colorful silken cloths that looked suspiciously like clothing, plus a large wooden staff, caved in the shape of a Wraith stunner.

“Do you have anything of the lieutenant’s? It is not required, but usually a possession that reminds you of the deceased is helpful in calling forth memory.”

Rodney sighed. All she’d left to him had been a pile of pink post-its. Only God knew why.

After they’d retrieved the post-its from Rodney’s quarters, Teyla led them out into the corridors. “Now, somewhere where she felt safe. Perhaps her quarters, if they have not been reassigned?”

“Fine.” If Teyla was just going to chant some and wave incense at him, then it didn’t really matter where she did it, right? But then again . . . “Wait . . . no, the armory. She felt safe in the armory.” He remembered going there to hide from Sheppard.

Teyla nodded, and even managed to convince Sergeant Waterman that he might have a chance at a private stick-fighting lesson if he left them alone there for an hour or so.

It felt weird, donning the sky-blue tunic Teyla had provided for him, sitting on a blanket surrounded by guns and grenades and boxes of C-4, but a part of him did feel safe here. Or maybe he just felt safe with Teyla like this. She wasn’t the brightest apple in the barrel, but he trusted her with his life.

She smiled at him when he nervously tugged at the silk of his collar. “I will explain the meaning of the ritual to you while I set up. You will not understand the words.” She opened a can of some sort of paint and marked Rodney’s forehead once, right in the center between his eyes. “This ceremony is designed for those who have lost their loved ones to the Wraith but cannot let go. It is hard, when there is no body. And yet, few among my people are lucky enough to know the time and place of their death. This helps us to provide closure when none can be found, when for all we know, those we love will outlive us, trapped in storage on a Wraith hive ship long after we have passed on. It is difficult to resign ourselves to this.”

“But she wasn’t taken by the Wraith.”

Teyla shook her head. “But she was. It was they who scooped you up in their dart, who forced this situation upon you. You, at least, know that she did not have to suffer the pain of their feeding.”

Rodney could only nod at that. Trust Teyla to find the silver lining.

“The story says that once there was a pair of lovers. History has forgotten their names, but they were young, promised to be married. On the eve of their wedding day, the Wraith came. They scooped the bride up, leaving the groom to mourn her. But he was one of those with the gift, the gift that I have. He wracked his mind. He walked with thousands upon thousands of Wraith, using his sight to scour their ships, looking for her in the cocoons. He went near mad, looking, seeing, nearly becoming one of them. The villagers had to force him to eat and in the night he wandered through the fields, tracing imaginary corridors. His family mourned him, too, as dead, for he would not speak to them, would not desist. He stayed this way for years, until one day, he stumbled upon her, frozen like a ghost in one of their cocoons, just as beautiful, even with a grotesque hand hovering just above her chest. He knew there was no way he could save her, no way for them to be together, but there was one thing he could do. He took control of the Wraith, used its weapon and rammed it straight through her heart, keeping her from ever being fed upon.”

“Ugh . . . that’s pretty sick for a romance, don’t you think?” Then again, Romeo and Juliet was about poisons and suicide.

Teyla didn’t seem ready to dignify that comment with a direct response. She handed him one of the post-its. “Write her name down here.”

Rodney complied, hands shaking. It was just a name. What was there to be afraid of? There . . . he’d done it – ‘Lieutenant Laura Cadman.’

The incense was burning now, a thick heady smell that relaxed, captured all rational thought, bound it up. Rodney was sure that it was hazardous to his health, but it couldn’t possibly be more hazardous that insulting Teyla’s religious ritual.

The smoke burned and Teyla began to sing. Her voice was melodic, changeable and startlingly clear as it dipped and swooped. He could not understand the words, which were in Ancient, but he could follow the emotion behind Teyla’s eyes as she sung them.

Loss, regret, guilt.

Then he saw her, standing before him, wearing her uniform now, the formal gear he’d seen in one of the pictures on her bedside table. She wasn’t speaking this time, only smiling as Teyla kept singing, her voice high and bright.

The dessert grew flowers in a flash and then died back down to it’s cracked silence , over and over again, like time sprinting past in Wells’ Time Machine. But she was still there, smiling, unchanging.

Rodney felt something in his hands, a smooth peace of wood, a weapon. She was still smiling when he rammed it through her heart, when she fell soundlessly back into a bed of flowers that seemed to swallow her, taking her away, still smiling.

And then, he opened his eyes. The pink post-it was burning in the light of one of Teyla’s candles. He watched the flames dance down, as Teyla reached for him, touching their foreheads together.

“She gave her life for me,” he said, and this time, when the tears came, he had nobody to blame.

Rodney pulled John closer too him, making him collapse down onto Rodney’s chest, cock softening inside of him. John panted a little, making sleepy sort of desperate sounds.

Rodney was just as spent. Normally, he wasn’t the ‘drop immediately off after sex’ type, the way John was. Usually he was filled with a dazzled lazy energy that quite often led to incoherent pillow talk.

But not tonight. Tonight he felt strung out. Their lovemaking had stretched him to his last, brought up so many emotions he could not name them. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the wonky smoke of Teyla’s herbs, but Rodney liked to think that it was because he’d finally let go.

He’d admitted that not only did he like the feeling of John’s cock inside him, but that he wanted John, that he cared for him.

Maybe it was a little bit of Cadman that let him see that. Maybe it was her that let him explore this relationship before completely freaking out and getting out of it. He wasn’t ready to admit that he’d sort of somehow fallen in love with a man, and Cadman had provided an excellent excuse to run with it. It was just another thing he had to thank her for. She was gone, but he was remembering her in the best way possible, by living his life in a way that would have made her proud.

“Thanks,” he whispered into the darkness, even though he knew she couldn’t hear.

‘You’re welcome,’ a sarcastic sigh came back out of nowhere.

Rodney sat up, dislodging John, who groaned and swatted at Rodney inarticulately.

“John, did you hear that?”

“Go back to sleep, Rodney.”

“No . . . no . . . I definitely heard . . .”

John silenced him with a kiss.

THE END