John was glaring at Ronon. Well, he was trying to glare while pretending to just be squinting at the unnatural brightness of Atlantis' sun. Sometimes it was great to have someone as terrifyingly physical as Ronon on your team, like, oh say, when you were getting chased around by scary aliens with pulse rifles or needed to interrogate the gibbering idiot of the week, or even when you wanted the last bear-claw at the mess. But it sure as hell sucked when you were trying to show off your manly surfing skills to Mr. Oblivious himself.

"Sheppard, come here, you're going to look like my mother's attempt at meat loaf if you don't put on some sunscreen . . . the woman did not know the meaning of well done. I doubt she even knew edible. That certainly explains my love of airplane food. Anyhow, do you have any idea about the ozone levels of this planet?"

John shook his hair in that way that always seemed to look so good in the movies. Keanu Reeves in Point Break . . . take that.

Rodney just snapped his fingers. "Wasting time. Every second another one of your cells goes melanomic."

"Really?" Because that would actually really suck.

"I don't know, do I look like I practice voodoo? Look, your lifetime exposure to radiation is probably even worse than mine, now, please, come here."

John made a big show of rolling his eyes, but it was actually kind of sweet that Rodney was so concerned about him. He plopped down right on Rodney's blanket, exposing his back to the man.

"Fine, make me do all the work," Rodney grumbled. Teyla looked up from where she appeared to be napping to give him an incredulous look. Damn women and their stupid little womany psychic skills. But it was worth it – Rodney's skilled hands running up and down his back, too firm to be a caress, but with more than enough care to show his concern. John smiled, ordering himself not to get hard, damnit.

"What about him?" John asked, trying not to moan as Rodney's hands ran down his biceps, tickling the hairs on his arms.

"Hm?"

"Mr. Universe." John nodded towards where Ronon was in the middle of doing an actual headstand while on the goddamned board. Do not look at his abs, John told himself, pointlessly. In this case, resistance really was futile.

"He's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

John spun around. "And that makes me . . ."

"A petulant five year old that needs childproofing to keep him from strapping himself to a nuclear warhead and kamikaze-ing his skinny ass every chance he gets. Seriously, trying to keep you alive is harder than multi-variable spatial dynamics . . . not that it's particularly difficult once you . . ."

"I . . ."

"I think what Dr. McKay means to say is ‘thank you, Colonel Sheppard, for saving my life,'" Teyla said with a yawn, rolling over to tan her stomach. Rodney's hands stilled on John's back. Teyla did look absolutely fantastic in a bikini, but seriously, that was no excuse. John glared.

"So . . . um . . . yes, what she said . . ." Rodney mumbled incoherently, a big blob of sunscreen squirted haphazardly between John's shoulders.

"Well, as fun as this was . . ." Not. "I think I'd better be heading back out. Gotta teach Ronon how to hang ten."

"Wait, at least let me finish . . ." Rodney's voice trailed off into the sound of the surf as John snagged his board and dove in.

Thankfully, it was hard to stay angry with the wind in your hair and the sun on your face and a really fucking big wave . . . shit.

John was under before he could even utter the word out loud, tumbling head over heels beneath the surf, blinded by salt and sand and motion. He came up spluttering, disoriented, and gack, was it just him or was this ocean actually saltier than Earth?

But hey, fingers, toes . . . check, and check. He'd catch up on the rest later. Also, where was his board? John tried vainly to get his feet on the ground, but it seemed as though he'd somehow gotten swept . . . well, this wasn't good.

He was heading around the point and further away from the jumper and their little camp by the second. Damned rip tide. Fuck the board. He could use the GPS beacon Rodney'd installed to snatch it with the jumper later. Feeling the stretch in his shoulders (God, was he going to be sore later) he swam toward shore, making marginal headway even as the point flew by. But the going was tough, and he must have pulled something because ow.

But his instincts kicked in and before he knew it, he was stumbling to shore, limp and exhausted, but still alive. He wanted to just collapse there in the surf, but then . . . movement. John forced himself to his feet and into a defensive stance, staggering forward to peak that the glimpse of movement beyond the rock just up the shoreline.

"Hello?" he asked. He really hoped that whatever it was happened to be friendly, because he was seriously hurting, and now really wasn't a good time.

There was a sort of choked screech, and some scrambling and then, before he knew it, he was staring into wide sea-blue eyes. The woman had long auburn hair, wet and clinging to small breasts, leaving the rest pretty much open to speculation.

John cleared his throat, immediately focusing his attention above the neck. Why did this always happen to him? "Um . . . hi . . . I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. And you might be?"

The women opened full pink lips and . . . emitted the most horrible screeching noise John had ever heard. It was rude to cover his ears, so he just winced, trying not to remember his demolitions training and all the lectures about protecting your hearing.

"Okay, okay, calm down," he said, even though she didn't seem all that threatened. If anything, she looked disappointed, eyes roaming casually over his body. Hey, he worked out, there shouldn't be anything to complain about. He looked down to check on his abs. He was having trouble managing his belly these days, though he blamed it all on those damned tava beans.

Finished with her inspection, the woman . . . no, girl – she couldn't be more than sixteen . . . stepped closer, motioning strangely with her hands, pointing to her eyes. And . . . was she trying to mime an airplane? Damn, John was terrible at charades.

"Can I . . . um . . . help you?" John asked. It wasn't like he routinely ran into mute naked girls on alien beaches or anything. He was feeling a little out of his element here.

The girl made another screech, pointing towards the water.

"Um . . . okay, well, how about you just sit tight and . . ." he wasn't wearing his jacket, so he didn't know how to solve this whole nudity thing. Maybe they could just walk back to camp and then figure out where in the hell she came from. The mainland was supposed to be uninhabited, goddamnit.

Then, suddenly, Teyla came barreling around the bend, bouncing just like something straight out of Baywatch. So maybe Rodney was right, after all. "Colonel, thanks to Ancestors you are uninjured. When we saw you ‘wipe out' we feared for the worst."

Teyla paused, seeing the girl and took a step back, body taut and fighting-ready. "Who is this?"

"Don't worry, I don't think she's dangerous," John answered the unasked question.

"That is fortunate. This sun bath wear of yours does not come with a place for the concealment of weapons."

"That's okay, I got it."

John spun around, seeing Ronon dragging his board out of the water, pulling a knife from his hair. He surfed with those? Was he trying to lobotomize himself?

"Hi," John said.

Ronon grunted, looking suspiciously at the girl. She stared back at him curiously, not threatened in the slightest.

"Where'd you get her?" Ronon asked.

The girl's face fell.

"I have no idea," John sighed, letting the tension flow out of him. His team was here now. They'd figure something out. Well, at least they would when Rodney . . .

The sand fluttered up in their faces, causing everyone but Ronon to cover their eyes and squint about. A muffled crash and a large spurt of sand seemed to mark the landing of a puddlejumper.

"McKay," Ronon remarked, knife still out, as Rodney stepped out from the cloaked jumper. "Why's it invisible?"

Rodney looked back, confused. "Oh, well, I must have been thinking about danger, seeing as Colonel hair-spray-for-brains has decided that he hasn't filled his manly-heroics quota for the month and . . ." Rodney turned back around, noticing the startlingly nude addition to their party. "Oh, great!" He threw up his hands in the air. "I don't know how he does it. Sheppard does something stupid and naked women materialize out of thin air. What kind of incentives system is the universe trying to provide anyhow? Almost die of your own stupidity and bimbos fall from the sky; save the day through wit and courage and god-like intelligence and you get what? Pneumonia and hallucinations?" Rodney addressed the sky. "How is that fair?"

John scowled. Of course Rodney would go there. As though John wanted women throwing themselves at him left and right. All he asked for was the ability to fly and a nice fat cock to fuck himself on, but only in a cruel universe like this one would those things be mutually exclusive.

"And of course, you just love risking . . ." Before he knew it, Rodney was darting forward so fast that John twitched, gasping and holding his hand to the muscles he must have pulled in his neck. "Are you okay?" Rodney continued. "Do we need to get a stretcher? Oh my god, you've broken your neck, you . . ."

"I'm fine, McKay," John sighed. Right now all he wanted was an icepack and a nice long nap.

"Are you sure, because . . ."

A loud screeching noise interrupted the usual Rodney-projected-hypochondriac panic-attack.

"What the hell is that noise? I need my ears, for all that useless hearing I do. I mean, not that it normally pays to listen to the things these idiots have to say, but on principle . . ."

He trailed off, making John spin around, despite the sharp twinge of pain in his neck. Of course, his day could always get worse – the girl was staring at Rodney with this look of naked adoration on her face. Just exactly what John didn't need right now.

Before John could say anything, or Ronon could throw any of his varied concealed armaments, the girl was darting forward, pressing her perfect perky little breasts up into Rodney chest and burying her face in his neck.

"Um . . . er . . . hi . . . I . . . you . . . ah . . . you must be cold," Rodney spluttered, patting her awkwardly on the back.

"I think she likes you, McKay," Ronon remarked with a grin.

"It is quite apparent to us all, Ronon," Teyla affirmed.

"Yes, yes, well, I could see . . ." Rodney mumbled, pulling off his shirt to reveal blinding whiteness underneath. Of course he would have just the right amount of hair sprinkled lightly across his chest, and the pink peaked nipples that had already been the focus of many of John's fantasies.

But instead of hanging around, letting John enjoy the view, he helped the girl pull on the shirt, yanking when the synthetic clung to her wet body like a fucking second skin, then putting his arm around her and leading her toward the jumper.

Ronon raised an eyebrow at John, then followed vigilantly, leaving John standing there dumbfounded and a little hurt. Wasn't it always Rodney that wrapped his arm around John's waist and helped him out of a tight spot?

"Are you all right, John?" Teyla asked, moving to his side to guide him gently back towards their craft.

"No," he whispered, but his response was drowned out by Rodney declaring that the girl wouldn't let go of him, so John would have to drive.

More than just his neck twinged when John settled himself in the pilot's seat.

---

John sighed, palming the icepack Beckett had given him and slowly lowering himself down to his bed. He was stiff now, but it'd be worse tomorrow. He couldn't believe there was a time of his life when he'd done this pretty much every day for an entire summer. He didn't remember aches and pains like this.

And Carson was being stingy with the aspirin again. John couldn't decide whether or not it was due to preoccupation with the medical miracle that was their newest visitor or just the fact that Carson hated when John hurt himself ‘unnecessarily.' God, it wasn't as though he liked being so sore that he could barely move.

It was just another frustration to add to the pile – Elizabeth's scowl, the sunburn on his nose, Rodney's rejection, and that . . . girl, curling around Rodney like he was her own personal scratching post.

And she was in perfect health, except overexertion and inability to produce any sort of meaningful sound. But did Rodney scan her under the table? Did he snub her and go behind John's back to try to send her away like he had with Chaya? Of course not. John wasn't allowed to get Rodney and he certainly wasn't allowed to get the girl, but Rodney? Rodney could do anything his desperate little heart desired, including treading all over John's. And he expected John to just stand there and . . .

"Hey," the door to John's quarters slide upon, revealing Rodney standing there, shoulders slumped.

"Hey," John tried to push himself up, but his neck protested and he slid back down.

"Oh, no, just stay there, its okay. Nothing urgent. Here, let me get you some water. I brought you some more aspirin. I've got a stash. The labmonkeys have to fork over a pill every time they make a life-endangering mistake. It'd sicken you to know how much I've got stored up."

"So you don't just make them cry or cower in terror, you extort them for drugs as well."

"Yep, pretty much. Look, I'm sorry I came by so late. It's just she . . . I don't know, the girl. She wouldn't let go of me, and she almost cried every time I tried to leave her. I couldn't . . . . She's asleep though. Carson says her body's been through some sort of system-wide trauma recently. I suppose it has something to do with how she got here. Nobody can figure out that screeching noise."

"Thanks for the update," John mumbled. But then Rodney placed two white tablets in his hand. "And the aspirin."

"You're welcome." Rodney handed him a glass of water, then took it away after he swallowed. "Are you sure you're okay? I heard Carson say something about strains . . . granted she was crying then so I couldn't really hear, but he said you might have to . . ."

"It's not as bad as last time." They'd both try not to remember that one, after Gall and Abrams, that pesky neck brace. "You only get to see me in a collar for a day or so."

"Oh," Rodney said, sitting down on the bed at John's waist. The heat suffused against his side felt good. "Well, a collar would only be good for you if it came along with a leash."

John choked out a chuckle. "Very funny . . . ow." Laughing was too much movement for now.

"Here," Rodney said, "Let me." And then there were warm fingers dancing down his spine, circling, kneading the hard little pebbles of muscle away. John moaned, drifting slowly off to sleep.

His last thought was that it always had to be like this – so close he could feel it, yet so far away. He only vaguely remembered Rodney leaving, warm hands patting his back, "feel better, Colonel."

Always Colonel, never John.

---

Of course, if John thought that the whole massage thing made them closer, he was most definitely wrong. After that, Rodney was never seen out of sight of that . . . that girl. She was young, sure, and maybe Rodney wasn't too much of a pedophile type, but there was only so much adoration and groping a straight guy could take before he submitted and let the little slut seduce him. John knew. He'd been jailbait himself back in the day.

John rolled his eyes as they entered the mess, feeling Teyla kick him lightly beneath the table. "You should be proud of Rodney. He is at least making an effort to take care of our guest." Of course Teyla would also be taken by her. Underneath all that strong warrior-woman stuff, Teyla really did just have a goddamned bleeding heart.

John snorted into his cornflakes.

"I understand you are jealous of her friendship with Dr. McKay, but that is no reason . . ."

"Friendship? Is that what your people call it?" It was Ronon's turn to receive a kick under the table.

"Ronon, you should be ashamed of yourself. It is not Rodney's way to take advantage of . . ."

Rodney strolled over, a bright smile on his face. John gave his scrambled eggs a vicious poke. He hadn't seen Rodney this happy since the chefs figured out how to turn Sip'al fruit into jelly doughnuts. "I was just showing our guest here how to modulate the shielding frequencies. She has quite a knack for it you, know. I think I might just go ahead and let her have the job. It'll allow me to demote Kavanagh to cappuccino-girl duty like I always wanted to. We'll have to find him a hair net, though."

"You know, she probably has a name, McKay," Ronon remarked, spraying a few spare pieces of scrambled eggs when he spoke. John brushed them off his tray, used to it by now.

"Yes, yes, unfortunately she can't actually say it, now can she. Carson said something about brain waves and language function and blah, blah, blah. She understands just fine. Besides, I always wanted a woman who could hold her tongue."

That got Rodney a kick under the table. "What? I didn't say all women should be seen not heard!" Another kick. "Teyla! This has nothing to do with you. Seriously, I'm all for feminists . . . er . . . girlpower . . . um, bra burning . . ."

John rolled his eyes.

"Maybe we can name her. I always liked Marie, but would that be too cliché . . ."

"You will not name her as you would a pet, Rodney!" Teyla was starting to do that mothering thing again. John scooted his shins out of striking distance, just in case.

"And besides, Marie?" Since when was Rodney classy enough to pull off a French girlfriend?

"Maybe we can guess," Ronon offered.

The girl nodded at him, enthusiastically.

"Bertha," John suggested.

"Oh, please. She's much too . . . ah . . . er . . . well, she's very um . . . intelligent. Beautiful . . . she's not a Bertha."

Rodney smiled at the girl. She smiled back. Her teeth were perfect. It made John want to puke.

"Well, how about, Mildred?"

"She looks like a Restalari to me," Ronon said, between bites of jelly doughnut.

"Or perhaps an Ary'l," Teyla put in.

"Good one," Ronon approved.

Huh. Different galaxy, almost infinite combination of names. This was going to be difficult.

Coming to the same conclusion, Rodney frowned, but he soon brightened. "Well, I guess this just means that I'll have to teach you how to write."

"In the meantime, why don't we just call her . . ."

"Ary'l sounds good to me," Ronon declared. And nobody disagreed with Ronon when he declared.

Ary'l seemed pleased. John, on the other hand, was not.

"Oh, that's a good girl," Rodney praised. "Look, unlike some mouth-breathing barbarians, she knows how to use a fork now."

John rolled his eyes. The first time she'd seen it, she'd try to use the thing to brush her hair. How smart could she really be? She probably couldn't get into Mensa.