"I don't think I've ever been happier in my life." I pause listening to the words ring around me, studying their echoes, trying to divine how they transmit meaning through vibration and wondering about emotions and intonations and if there really is something in the frequency of the vibration that can make a person happy or sad, a statement true or false.

"Yeah, it still doesn't quite work for me, does it?" I ask no one in particular. I used to ask my cat. I know this might seem a little nutzo, but if you've spent as much time alone in a lab (or virtually alone in a lab, when you count all those times with idiots and Russians) as I have, it gets to be slightly less nutzo. Reality shifts or something like that. Yeah. All motion is relative. And since I'm the only one here to verify me talking to myself then I say, "Definitely sane."

"You know you're in trouble whenever someone says that," a deep voice booms from behind me, "especially someone like you."

I spin around, sure to hide my grin with an exasperated scowl before he can see it. "Don't you have anything better to do than torment those of us around here that have actual things to do and the considerable brainpower with which to do it?"

He quirks his head to the side a little. "Of course not. Tormenting you is my life's calling." He almost skips over and plants a kiss on my cheek before hopping up ass-first onto my lab bench.

"Hey, careful! You don't know how..."

"...delicate your toys are. I know. I'll be careful." He grins. I'm still thinking about the peck on the cheek. What is he trying to do? It's one thing behind closed doors -though still unquestionably bizarre- and a completely different thing when people could find out! Does he forget that he's military? Or maybe he knows something I don't ... like how to avoid the teasing and the stereotypes and the persecution. John is a man of many secrets, after all.

His hand snakes out for a delicate glass contraption that could be an Ancient pimple-popper or a weapon of mass destruction for all I know. "Ah ah ah! I don't think so, Major." I grab for his hand. He could easily avoid me... pull away. But he doesn't. And I find my hand lingering, gripping his wrist.

I'm captivated by that soft smile. He's been like this for a while now ... ever since he broke his wrist a month ago. I'm pretty convinced it's the drugs, even though a part of me desperately hopes that it's not. Something's changed between us. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something different. First it was lust, then need, and then caring. But now ... I don't know.

"So..." John swings his legs back and forth like a little kid, grinning. "I'm getting my cast off today."

"That's actually pretty frightening, Major." It's been nice recently - no mortal peril, no getting lost, no watching John ogle everything warm-blooded and moving, no getting in trouble with Weir, and tons of time with John bored and all to myself. Actually, despite the fact that I used to wonder if it's humanly possible to have too much sex -especially sex with someone as amazing as John- John's boredom has become increasingly annoying. No one really expects John to do much on his sick leave other than paperwork (which he still hasn't done), but I'm still obligated to accomplish things in the lab. And there are still plenty of warm-blooded and moving things here for John to distract himself with when I'm busy.

"Teyla and I are going to the mainland afterwards," he says, leaning back casually.

I try to stifle my jealousy, focusing on the device in my hands and gritting my teeth. Not that he won't notice - John's very observant when he wants to be, and he gets a perverse satisfaction out of seemingly reading my every thought. "Is that so?"

"It is. Wanna come?"

Yes. I really want to go. I want to spend time with John, despite the fact that his giddiness is grating and I have plenty of other useful things to do. Also, even more importantly, I want to spend time keeping John from spending time alone with Teyla. I'm well aware that he's not an object or a prize or anything like that, but he's mine. We haven't made any promises, I know. And I still have absolutely no idea why he wants to be with me at all, or what I've done to deserve him, but I can't help the proprietary sense of entitlement swelling within me.

Teyla's gorgeous and exotic, and God does she have a wonderful ass. She could have most anyone she wants. I've seen enough people looking - Ford, Stackhouse, Beckett... hell, even Elizabeth's given her the once over. So, of all the people that could make her happy, why does she want John? Why does she want the only person, ever, who's stuck with me this long, who needs me and cares about me and thinks I'm beautiful? It may not be love, and it may not be a scream-out-to-the-whole-world romance, but it's the best I've ever had and, regardless of whether or not I deserve it, I'll fight for it. I'll even take on Teyla, warrior princess, if I have to. And I used to think I wasn't brave...

So I should go with him. I should stop him from cheating on me with that bimbo. She doesn't even know how to read. Of course I know that's not fair, considering the fact that her people are hunter-gatherers long terrorized by the Wraith. They've been too busy trying to survive to develop any sort of permanent system of writing or books. But still... John's too smart for that.

I should go.

John kicks me lightly in the shin. "Whadaya say, Rodney? Fun in the sun... Athosian children... farmers... some of Halling's 'stout' whisktini?" Ford named it. "Quality time with the most handsome guy on the planet." He winks and makes a grab for the flab around my middle.

"Who, Sergeant Bates?"

John kicks me harder. "Why, Rodney, I didn't know he was your type. I don't go for scowling and neanderthalish myself, but whatever floats your boat."

"I have work to do, Major." I don't know why I'm protesting; I really do want to go. Maybe I want to see how badly he wants me. Maybe I want to know if he'll jump at the chance to be alone with Teyla.

"Come on, you party pooper. Time to see the sunshine, smell the roses, get a good tan on those pasty cherub-cheeks of yours. I'll even let you drive." He raises his eyebrows and hops off the bench, pressing himself up against me. "I'll let you drive anything you want."

I burst out laughing. John is about as good at innuendo as he is at explaining Earth customs to Teyla and navigating on the ground. Of course, the overwhelming crappiness of his puns don't stop the images they bring to my head: John sweaty and sated, flushed from alien moonshine with the sun dancing off his hair in a halo; feeling his body move beneath me as the earth moves around me, free from the confines of sneaking and secrecy and the shadows of even the lightest rooms here on Atlantis; just being with him, his laugh wiping memories of labs and Wraith and impending doom from my mind.

He grinds himself into me a little more, his arousal as obvious as mine. "You know you want to."

"I don't need to."

He smirks. "Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

His hand is slipping under my shirt, tweaking a nipple then walking down towards my beltline. "Yes, you really do."

"I..." his hand is slipping into my pants, clamping around me lightly. His fingers are cool, not cold enough for shrinkage, but the contrast is enough to send a bolt of sensation to the pleasure center of my brain. "I don't know. I have a lot of work. We've been having problems with our power output recently. I think we might have to cycle..."

"I think you need to come to the mainland with me." His voice is husky and his eyes are shinning as his breath tickles my ear. I shiver.

"You could stay here... help me." I don't even want to wait for the mainland.

"I could..." his fingers stop teasing and begin to stroke in earnest.

"You could ..." I'm suddenly incoherent. He could ... he could finish what he's doing. Oh god, he's too good at this. That smirk should turn me off. But it doesn't.

"But I won't." And just like that his hand has left my pants and is clasped behind his back - the only military at-ease stance I've ever seen him use. I use it more than he does. Why did his hand leave? Why? I choke down a whimper.

"You asshole. Did anyone ever tell you, you're a cocktease?"

"Yes." He nods, proudly. Smug bastard. "I think you just did."

I roll my eyes. "Why do you want to go to the mainland so badly, anyhow?"

"I've been cooped up here for a month. And I promised the Athosian children I'd teach them football. They were really jealous when Ford told them I broke my wrist teaching some random aliens soccer."

"They wanted you to break your wrist teaching them soccer instead?"

"Exactly."

"Well, you don't need me for that. You've already proven that you can get yourself covered in mud and crack bones all by yourself."

He looks at the floor, suddenly sheepish. "Actually, I kind of do need you."

"Why? Beckett did okay this, right? Because if you want me to lie and tell him you're helping me with scientific research, you can forget it." I don't want him doing anything that could get him hurt. Not that I don't enjoy some of the benefits ... I just miss going out on missions with him. I miss the strong military commando thing he does when we're exploring. I miss watching him caress the controls of the Puddle Jumper like his fingers are playing over my body. I miss walking beside him in the sunshine, hiding our flirtation in verbal banter.

"As much as I appreciate your concern, this actually is because of Beckett. He says I'm not allowed to do anything physical. I figure I can bend that a little with passing and receiving and stuff like that, but if I so much as suggest a tackle, Teyla'll turn me in."

I'd turn him in too. But he obviously doesn't think I care enough to rat him out ... or he thinks he controls me. "Good for her."

"That's why I need you to do the demonstration for me."

That ... I'm not doing - even if he pouts. "No way. I don't even know the rules. Get Ford or Bates or Stackhouse. Hell, you could even take Parker - she's crazy about Football. She gave me a fifteen minute lecture when I said 'it's like when a quarterback scores a goal.'"

"Can't. All military personnel are either running drills on securing the new alpha-site or needed on base." Was there a meeting about this? I must have missed the memo. Or maybe that was the briefing that John spent stroking me with his foot under the table.

"How come you're not going with them?"

He sighs, exasperated. "Elizabeth thinks that, if she allows me anywhere near a war game scenario, I'll get involved and hurt myself again." She's probably right. But I know better than to defend her to John. The tension between the two of them has been high lately - specially when he's bored and has nothing to do but critique her command decisions.

I snort. "And football's not a war game?"

"Yeah ... she doesn't know about that. And you're not going to tell her." He sounds too sure of himself, commanding me in that gritty near-mobster way of his.

"Well, if you don't have a team of grunts, then use Teyla." She can do tackle ... and I'm sure a fair bit of rough and tumble.

"I will. But last time I checked, it takes two to tackle."

"But isn't that kind of unfair? I mean, I might fall on her or something."

He smirks. "That's why she's going to be the one sacking you."

"Are you crazy? That girl is like wonder woman or something. I'm not going to be able to walk for weeks. You want me to stand there and take a hit from her?!" I have to admit, I find Teyla a little scary. Not only could she kick my ass, but she has this incredibly frightening stern-look that makes me want to crawl into a corner and list off the thousand reasons why I'm a horrible person, in alphabetical order.

"Come on, Rodney, for the kiddies?" He's actually whining. And he has the pout turned on full-blast. I try not to look. Must resist...

I roll my eyes rather than meet his. "Yeah, cause we all know how much I love children. As far as I'm concerned all those stupid little midgets can die. We don't need to repopulate the species, not with idiots like them."

"They're kids, of course they're idiots. They don't grow up to be." I raise my eyebrows. "Well, not all of them. Besides, you were young once too, ya know. Or, are you trying to deny that the brilliant Rodney McKay once used to speak nonsense and need his diapers changed?"

"I was never a clingy little brat. I never asked stupid questions. And I knew better than to get in important people's way." Otherwise I might get locked in my room or a slap across the face. People learn through negative feedback, and I'm a very intelligent man - I learned fast.

John rolls his eyes. "Sure, and I'm Luke Skywalker."

"I actually figure you more as Han Solo." Likes to fly fast, likes to joke, the jaded optimist, the boyish smile, the arrogance. But Han Solo never woke up screaming. Han Solo wasn't the one with deep dark secrets and mysterious supernatural abilities.

He leans forward, laughing. "Then you're C3P0."

I snort. "Intelligent, gilded, queer, with an ass like steel, sounds like me."

John comes closer, warm breath tickling my cheek. "Annoying too."

"Hey ..." My voice trails off as he leans in for a steamy kiss.

We break apart. I'm panting and he's smirking. What else is new? "See you in the Jumperbay at 1400." With that he turns and walks away, leaving me alone to regain my breath. Why that little shit... what makes him so sure I'm going to go along with this anyway?

"Who the hell password protects a football game?"

I know I should probably ask him to see if he wants to watch it with me, but that won't be nearly as impressive as me suddenly knowing how to play, so I open up the system to direct lines of code and start hacking. John hasn't used a very clever encryption, the basic windows coverall for casual users - nothing I can't handle. It takes me 3 minutes and 37 seconds (I'm trying to beat a record, okay?). I'm rewarded by, not one, but at least twenty movie clips.

"Hello. What do we have here?"

This is going to be perfect. I'm sure he's planning to humiliate me with my lack of football knowledge. It's not malicious, just one of the many games we play, each trying to one-up the other. Well, this time he's going to lose, because I'm going to learn from the pros... and I absorb information very very fast.

I crack my knuckles and get to work. Which one of these? Some are place names - Hawaii, Guam, San Diego, Denver. And then there are others with dates. And still others with names. 'HailMary,' I recognize. And then there's Broncos, SnowGame, SB84, Linebacker, FuckGreenBay, and some other equally All-American titles. But one catches my eye: 'Positions.' That sounds instructional.

I click on the file and find that it's not football positions at all. It's a slightly out-of-focus photo. There's a Spartan military-issue bed and a familiar figure spread out wantonly across it, eyes sparkling with lust as he looks directly into the camera. Absent are the now-familiar slices across the soft skin of his long back and he looks more comfortable this way, proud to bare all. It's odd seeing him this way when I was just growing accustomed to the scars. His cheeks are smooth and firm as ever and his skin is darker... not blindingly white, though the lighting doesn't do him as much justice as the soft glow of the quarters here on Atlantis. I feel myself growing hard in an instant, even though a part of me is wondering why the hell John would be so vain as to include naked pictures of himself as part of his personal item. I click a button and skip to the next photo. Someone else has joined John. He's bulkier and even more tanned, looking like some Adonis, stepped out of a renaissance painting. John's fit, but whoever-this-is has the body of a goddamn underwear model, and a crop of buzz-cut blond hair. Hitler would've loved the guy, and John seems to as well, they way he's leaning across him for what must be an explosive kiss. I can only take solace in the fact that Mr. Men's Health is not quite as big as I am, and I'm thinking that size does kind of matter in this case. In fact, size is making my pants uncomfortably tight right now. Luckily, I'm alone in my quarters with no one to witness me unzipping but John's iPod and the city.

I click to the next, stroking myself absently. I'm aware I'm grossly violating John's privacy, but I can't help it. Seeing him with another man - one who's light-years away and thus not a threat- is just plain hot.

Then I see Adonis' face. He's not anonymous anymore. And he's definitely a threat - even though he's dead.

"Oh my God." My erection withers.

I recognize that face... the ridiculously dorky grin, though this time he's grinning because he has John's cock firmly in hand. It's... "Lieutenant Jake Taylor." How could I forget that face, standing with an arm around John in front of a chopper? How could I forget that name, stained into my memory along with all the pictures of John bloodied and helpless, the sterile medical reports of such grave trauma?

No wonder John wakes up screaming. No wonder he grips me so tight I think I might choke. No wonder he lied to his superiors about those hours spent trapped in the downed helicopter. And no wonder he's so afraid to get close. Jake Taylor was more than a friend and fellow officer who died - he and John were lovers. I can't imagine how it feels to watch someone whose body you've shared... someone you care about and trust enough to be intimate with even when the risk of getting caught is so great... watching them die... talking to them and comforting them for hours, helpless to do anything to save them. And then holding in all that pain because of the ridiculous rules of Don't Ask, Don't Tell... I'm amazed John let me in at all, even if he still has so many secrets.

I close the file, speechless, and open another in an attempt to clear my mind. 'San Diego,' that must be a football team. But I'm greeted with another one of those idiotic grins on the perfect face with perfect blue eyes and perfectly straight teeth... the guy that looks so perfect with John as they stand in front of a glittering blue ocean, surfboards in hand, arms intimately around each other's waists. So this is a memorial... and judging by the look of adoration on John's face as he turns to look at Jake Taylor, I realize that it's a memorial brought across the universe because this was someone that John loved.

And I'll never be able to live up to that.

I don't know what to say. I know I can't tell him. I've already fucked up and betrayed his trust once. If I do it again, we'll be over. And I couldn't take that. I'm beginning to think that it'd cause him some problems as well. He might not want to admit it, but I do help him sometimes. I don't want to abandon him. I just have to smile and pretend like nothing's the matter. I'll probably give myself away, but I owe it to him to try. I put my head down and speed towards the Jumperbay, where Grodin told me he and Teyla were waiting for me.

My steps slow as I hear his voice. I am paralyzed with apprehension. "Come on, Teyla, I want to prove to Rodney that he's not the only one who can fix a damn jumper." I didn't know that jumper2 was broken. Except I remember John saying he wanted to test something... and I remember telling him that I was busy and would take a look at it later. He must have gotten impatient and screwed something up.

"Dr. McKay clearly believes that Doctors Zelenka and Simpson are also equal to the task." Teyla responds, patiently.

John practically growls. "You know what I mean."

"I do not believe so, Major Sheppard. I see no way in which you climbing on top of the puddle jumper and risking your health while already on medical leave will impress Dr. McKay." On top? Oh shit, he wanted to test the antigravity inversion mechanisms. This is not good. I'll be sorting out his mess for weeks. And I thought three times a day would be enough to keep him distracted and away from the equipment.

"I'm not trying to impress Rodney," John gives a doubtful little chuckle, so dripping in sarcasm and impatience that it covers up its perfect truth: John doesn't have to do a single thing other than be who he already is in order to impress me, and he knows it. "I'm trying to put him in his place. Please, Teyla." I don't need to see his face to know that he's using the infamous Sheppard-pout on her. If she's anything like me, she'll fold.

"All right, Major. But you must promise to be careful."

"I promise. Besides, I have you here to help me."

I pause, my heart racing. I can't move my feet. I should run in there and stop them. I should pop up and announce my presence and pretend that this was all a tease or be really put upon, like I'm only going because John wants me to. And it'll make him smile that wide sunny grin of his - the one he's been letting me see more and more recently. I think I've become addicted to that smile. I should step in there and watch him flush with embarrassment. I should step in there before he breaks his neck.

But I'm afraid. I saw what happened last time he caught me sneaking. I thought it would be hard to pull away then. What about now? That's the stupid thing about addiction... the withdrawal. I used to think it was stupid for societies to allow addicts on the street - 'lock them up in a room until they come down from it and inject them with something that will make it so they die the next time they indulge,' I said. I always was a believer in deterrence. And I didn't want the inefficiencies of people too wrapped up in their own selfish little bubbles to hop on the bandwagon of progress. But now... I'm addicted to John Sheppard and I'll do anything to keep the high, even if it's not the best for either of us.

I hear some scrambling and a loud "Mmmph!" Oh my god. I hope nothing's happened. I hope John hasn't broken his neck. It's too soon. We're finally going somewhere and now he... I sprint around the corner just in time to see John and Teyla standing on top of the
Puddle Jumper, kissing.

I should barge in there and make them stop. I should tell John that I do want our whatever-it-is to be exclusive... that I want him all to myself. I should scream out my betrayal. I should tell him that just because he's the only one of us who has the luxury to be with anyone he pleases, that he can't. It's not right. I knew he was a beautiful person. I knew he was too used to getting his way. I knew this was all wrong and a mistake from the beginning. What right do I have to complain? He never made any promises. I should have expected he'd get bored with someone so geeky and ugly and fussy as me. So I slink off down the hall with my tail tucked between my legs. I don't want to confront him. I don't want to hurt any more than I already do.

I'm lost in thought, stumbling down the hall. It's only moments before I hear the scream ... more a yell, actually. "Help! Major Sheppard is injured! Somebody help!"

I don't even hesitate, heart pounding as I turn around and run back down the hall. My insides are twisted in upon themselves like a wormhole ripped through space. Things seem normal from the outside, but within, something is hollowing me out, passing through me and leaving this painful tightness in its wake. I don't know how I even manage to move towards Teyla's continued shouts. Her yell is loud and deep and not at all hysterical. I find myself jealous of her calm. I hate the fact that she's the one who'll have him and she doesn't even care enough about him to panic.

When I reach the Jumperbay, I see John's unconscious body hanging over the side of the jumper, Teyla just holding on to him by his ankle, but her grip is slipping. If she lets go he'll fall directly on his head. It's not that far, but it could still give him a permanent spinal injury, even kill him.

"Dr. McKay!" Teyla shouts as I rush over, gathering John into my arms. He doesn't stir, even as Teyla lets go of him, causing me to tumble backwards with him in my lap. There's something wrong. His skin is cold and clammy. And his eyes don't open.

"Praise be to the Ancestors that you were here, Dr. McKay," Teyla sighs, opening up the jumper and flipping on the radio. "Infirmary, this is Teyla. We are in need of immediate medical assistance. Major Sheppard is injured."

I've got John's head in my lap now as I run my fingers through his hair. It feels different somehow - different from all those nights pulling him in for a kiss, whether it be sweet or desperate, tender or hungry. Maybe the difference is that now he's unconscious and with Teyla. It's lost all it's intimacy, changed from bidirectional to one-way, because I care just as much, if not more, holding him helpless like this.

"What the hell did you do to him?" I can't help but lash out at Teyla. The little slut was kissing him and then the next minute he's unconscious. I'm not quite egotistical enough to think that I'm so important that any betrayers will be smote by a righteous deity or anything like that. But ... I don't trust Teyla. I mean I trust her with my life ... but I sure as hell don't trust her with John. I've seen the looks she gives him. And even unintentionally, she can hurt him. What if he told her 'no' and in a moment of impassioned indignation she pushed him? But ... he wouldn't tell her no. No man in his right mind would turn down a girl like that. Well, maybe I would, because I'm with John ... but I've never claimed to be in my right mind.

"I do not know." She sounds sad. "We were speaking," yeah right, you little whore, "and then he swayed. His body shook. It was as though he had been possessed by a bad spirit."

"Seizure."

"Is that what your people call it? And then ...when the major fell, he hit his head." She's hovering, touching John - not doing anything, just touching. My fingers clench. I can't take her doing this. She doesn't have the right. She hasn't held him when he wakes up at night confused and shaking. She hasn't played the most perfect symphony with him. She hasn't ... she doesn't ... she can't possibly ... she doesn't love him.

The seconds tick by with Teyla fussing and me sweating, staring intently at John, mapping every feature - the sexy dusting of stubble on across his face, the feel of his hair in my hands, every pore, every unique little quirk - even those strangely-shaped ears that make John moan every time I even blow on them. I don't think he's going to die. I can't, so I just stare at him, mind numb even as Carson bursts in with a med-team.

He's giving orders. Someone's lifting John off my lap. They're telling me it's going to be okay. Teyla is talking. The world is moving by in flashes and shouts and so much motion. But I'm still, gaze locked on the rise and fall of John's chest. Maybe someday later I'll remember this as the moment when I stop believing in time.

"Rodney, don'tyeh make me sedate you. And don't think I won't." Carson's voice is unmovable and his hand gripping my shoulder is firm.

"No." I wrap my legs around the stool tighter. Carson's already tried to kick me out once, but with most of the military personnel off-world he doesn't stand much of a chance. I can be very solid when I want to.

They even tossed Teyla out. But not me - I've been sitting here, watching him sleep for hours now. He looks so peaceful ... and beautiful. But I'm beginning to wonder if there is a situation when I wouldn't find him breathtakingly gorgeous ... even with a different face. I sigh and reach out to grab his hand. It's reassuringly warm.

"Rodney, I'm serious, lad. You need your rest. He'll come out of it eventually. His MRI was clean. I'm positive it's just exhaustion. And I'm going to have two cases on my hands if you don't skedaddle."

"Mmhmm." I don't really hear him. I'm too trapped in my own guilt, chewing on my finger. I shouldn't have let this happen. "Should've been there. Shouldn't have let him ..."

Carson puts a hand on my arm, forcing me to look up at him. "There's nothing you could have done."

"He was going to play football. What the hell was I thinking? And not stopping him from climbing up on that jumper when I'm sure all those pain medications you're giving him cause dizziness ... Teyla couldn't have been expected to know."

"Pain medications?" Carson grinds out, head turning sharply to stare me down.

"You know ... all the stuff you had him on? Made him loopy as William Lyons McKenzie King on acid."

"Who?"

"Ex-PM. You wouldn't know him."

Carson grips my arm. "Rodney ... I haven't been giving Major Sheppard any medication for weeks now."

"Where'd you get your medical degree, University of Clueless City? I saw him pop like five of them last night."

Carson pales, his jaw dropping open just slightly. He actually looks kind of cute like that - when he's not talking. "You're sure."

"Of course I'm sure," I snipe. What does he need? To get run over by the clue bus? I don't coddle people.

"Then we have a problem." He runs his fingers through his hair, looking suddenly very tired.

"No shit. Were you even watching your med supplies? Then again, John can be pretty clever when he wants something badly enough..." But why does he want it? I mean, I know what happened. But John just doesn't seem like the type. He hates being weak. And he would never put the expedition at risk by consuming critical supplies for personal pleasure.

"No, Rodney, I don't. Everyone here is trustworthy ... all personnel have been tested and profiled until the bloody government knows practically their every thought."

"Except John Sheppard." Elizabeth signed him a week before we shipped out. How much digging could they really do in that time?

Carson is tapping his pencil frustratedly, mumbling and off in a world of his own. "... refused morphine... no record of pharmaceuticals... oversight... father... I ... oh bloody hell."

"What?!" I hate it when people leave me out of their thought processes - especially when those thought processes are critical to people I care about.

"It's just ... I can't tell you."

Doctors and their stupid confidentiality rules. I roll my eyes. "Come on, Carson, I've already hacked into his record." I probably shouldn't have admitted to that.

He takes a step back in horror. "You what?! Rodney, you can't go around doing things like that... there are laws... not to mention the ethics of it... and when the major finds out he's going to ..."

"You're the one who told me there's no FDA in Pegasus. And there's no Medical Review Board either. Besides, he already knows."

"And he's okay with that?" Carson sounds doubtful.

I grimace, remembering how that was almost the end of us... the fear... the anger... the way he lost control for the first time I'd seen. "Well, he wasn't really at the time. But we've moved past it." At least, I think we have. "Look, if you don't tell me, I'll find out anyhow."

He sighs. "Did anyone ever tell you you're a pain?"

"All the time."

"Look, the major refused morphine and codeine and all the other painkillers we brought from Earth. When I asked him why, seeing as how he hasn't got an allergy, he simply said, 'Trust me, you don't want me on them.' Now, I figured with his accident and all..." he looks down, ashamed to be telling me this.

"Don't' worry, I know about that."

"He must have been medicated. But in the records... there's nothing - not even a single prescription slip. That's just not possible with the kind of injuries he had. So, I figure he's got a skeleton in the closet and someone with enough power to wipe the slate clean."

"His father." Colonel David Sheppard, the asshole.

"Aye. Given what I know now, I figure it's safe to assume he got addicted... lord knows he must have had enough to form a dependence. But what I gave him... it was a mix I made myself using a plant that grows with abundance on the mainland that resembles a cannabinoid, though you can't smoke it. Teyla's people are familiar with it. And they promised no negative side effects. I did some tests. I was waiting for a human trial when the major came along. But he should have stopped taking it a while ago."

"But pot's not physically addictive." Though it makes food pretty damn addictive.

"I know. That's what worries me."

I suppose John has reasons to depend on it. I mean, I even admit that I like how it makes him. There's a small part of me that relishes in the sappy romantic John even when I profess to hate all that blabbering emotionalism. It's nice to know he cares... that he wants me... that he's willing to take risks for me. It's nice, sitting under the stars curled together like this thing... this relationship, really does mean something. "Psychologically... he definitely has his reasons."

And I know them now. I know them far too well. His lover died as he watched, helpless. He was nearly paralyzed... trapped in a hospital for a year. And then the only way he could still fly... he must have gotten his father to pull a gazillion strings just to stay in the service if he had a history of addiction. How much had that cost him? How much when I know how much he hates that man? He must, considering that he is one of the assholes responsible for 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' when his own son... his own goddamn son, was in love with his copilot. And then John gets shipped off to another galaxy against his will -or so he's implied- and is forced to shoot his CO and take command of an expedition when back on Earth all the shrinks and commanders and even desk-jockeys knew that he wasn't ready to lead a blind donkey, let alone a completely unknown mission against a terrible enemy like this one. I think if that happened to me they'd have to lock me in a padded room. But John's strong. He's so much stronger than all this. I feel my heart swell with pride that he can get through this, that he is getting through it, and I'm helping him.

I reach out to stroke his brow, run my hand down his cheek, feeling that stubble rough but comforting against my palm - just like he is. "You could have told me," I whisper.

"Um ... Rodney?" Carson clears his throat uncertainly. I had completely forgotten he was there. "Is there something going on between the two of you I should know about?" He saw the bite mark on John's shoulder and now I've just given him proof. I've shown too much. I am such a fucking idiot.

"No..." I deny a bit too quickly, stepping back from the bed and crossing my arms protectively across my chest. I realize a bit too late that this is not how you convince someone of your innocence. I look into Carson's eyes, pleading.

"Rodney, you know you can tell me anything, don't you? You need to talk to someone. Whatever's going on with the major is serious and if it involves you too, you need to be strong enough to help him through it."

I almost whimper, lowering my gaze. "I know." I'm not strong. That's the thing. I don't know what to do. I've never been good with people... with giving comfort. But I want to be. John makes me want to change.

"Then tell me: is there something going on between yourself and the major?"

"Nothing except Rodney being nosey and overbearing," comes a weak croak from the bed.

"John!" I rush to his side, but Carson pushes me out of the way, pulling out his penlight and stethoscope and shifting into full doctor-mode.

John is trying to push Carson away as he gets a light shined in his eyes, but Carson will have none of it. "All right, lad, Rodney here's given me a fair idea, but I still need you to tell me what happened to you."

John's voice is still hoarse and shaky even as he flashes one of his 'trust me' grins - a grin that could mold the world. "It was an accident."

But the thing is... it wasn't. Sure, John might not have intended to pass out from too much wannabe-ganja, or hit his head, or have his helicopter shot down and his true love killed. But, then again, he might not have meant to take all those pills, or kiss Teyla, or spend each night in my arms. I mean, I'm sure he did all of those things because of 'accidents.' But he still chose to do them, didn't he?

Maybe everything we ever do is an accident. If an accident is not something unexpected, but unintended, then everything is an accident for somebody. There's never a case in which every single person is one-hundred percent sure something *will* happen. There's an element of chaos in everything... there's nothing we can ever be sure of, no matter what we intend.

Either that, or everything's predetermined and there are no accidents. It's a chaotic system, seemingly random in the moment, yet guided by a set equation, reproducible if the initial conditions are known. There is no free will because at the beginning of the universe it was determined that the velocities and attractions of the cosmic equation would lead every atom in our bodies ... in our brains, to the very place they are now. So, at the beginning of time, it was known (I don't know by whom, but that's a question for philosophers, and. god forbid, priests.) that John's mother and father would mix their genetic code and the atoms that make up that code would divide into John and all the other atoms in the universe would follow their
pre-determined path to create an environment in which John would become who he is now, which includes dead lovers and helicopter crashes and a million other so-called 'accidents' like the fact that I exist and he exists and I love him. And so it was known at the very second of that bang, that trillions of years later, John would kiss a girl from across the galaxy and break my heart.

There's no blame in it. There can't be, because the fact that it's destined doesn't mean there's any reason or significance behind it. It's like what they say about addiction ... hate the sin, but love the sinner. They blame the substance not the addict, because drugs = irresponsible behavior. There's no escaping the laws of causality, the cosmic equals sign. Just like there's no escaping the fact that John's a beautiful person, destined through the happy-arrangement of his atoms to keep hurting me.

But there's no point in mourning what we might have if we could just trust each other. It's all an accident, after all.