I'm not sure who is avoiding whom. Most people would probably assume that I'm avoiding John, seeing as how it's pretty hard to avoid someone when you're trapped in a single room guarded by roguish Scottish doctors and a fascist nursing staff and that someone knows perfectly well that you're there. But I've come to know that you never make assumptions concerning John Sheppard. Well, actually, I probably have made assumptions, but for now I'm calling them hypotheses - I am a scientist, after all.

But the thing is... John isn't talking to anybody. He's not talking to Carson or to Teyla (to my immense satisfaction) and especially not to Heightmeyer. A little birdie told me that he said just enough to Weir to get her off his back and that he gave Ford some orders. But in terms of what the hell's the matter with him, he's clammed up. Not that I don't know what's the matter with him. But he doesn't know that I know and it really hurts that he doesn't feel as though he can tell me.

I know I should be supportive and persistent and all those things people say are virtuous and good, but I can't stand the silence. To tell you the truth, I'm afraid of it. Sometimes I think that I hear voices in it. Not like going-crazy voices telling me to murder people in their sleep and stuff pigs and the like, just echoes - random patterns and waves from radio stations and stars exploding and sun spots and alien distress beacons a billion miles away from civilizations long extinct, waves echoing off each other and finally multiplying into something the odd mix of neurons in my brain will find a familiar pattern in, because that's what brains do - they make connections. And mine is especially good at it - because I'm a genius and a paranoid one at that. It's like all of history is talking to you... because waves never stop - they dissipate, but they go on forever. And you have all that to live up to, because even absolute zero isn't absolute. It's relative zero - there's energy in it all the same, this background of infinite potential just waiting to be unlocked. And I can't stand the energy in the silence - the potential of waiting for something to happen - the voices that know, somehow, what that something is. So I talk, even ramble in my head, to fill the silence. I'm constantly doing, never still, so I don't have to ever stop and face the void that's not empty at all, but actually full.

So I stay away. When I meet Carson getting coffee in the mess, he gives me a long hard scowl, but doesn't say anything. I take this to mean that John hasn't asked for me - hasn't acknowledged anyone but the people he needs to pay lip service to in order to wiggle out of this. And he will. He's charming - too charming for his own good. Elizabeth will have her doubts, and then he'll make promises, and eventually she'll relent, even if she knows it's not good for him, because she needs him and she needs him now, not at some time in the possible future when all the little patches he keeps putting on the problem break down and he falls apart. What did I say about beautiful people always getting what they want?

I sigh. And there's nothing I could do. I just don't have the power over him, regardless of what Beckett says. You need mass to exert force... you need to have weight. Even electrical fields rely on power... and that's the one thing I don't have. I'm surrounded by it - a city of technology and weapons so powerful we can barely fathom it, an ocean with so much subtle power beneath its deceptively calm surface that it could wipe this very city from existence, a sun so bright that it lights the sky a disgusting shade of pastel, warmth burning straight through me, not enough to warm, not enough to transfer that cosmic power of fusion to my miserable little corpse.

"Hey, Rodney. What's up?" It's too casual to be anything but forced - forced in the same way that I force my muscles to relax and turn me around so I face John Sheppard, smiling shyly as he walks up beside me to the railing.

"Nothing... you know... thinking at speeds you couldn't even begin to imagine... the usual." When I don't know what to say I default to arrogant and prickly.

"Ah... I see." He sounds skeptical. "I just wanted to let you know that Beckett let me out of his evil clutches."

"Well, obviously. You're here, aren't you?"

"There wasn't any... I didn't experience withdrawal." He's ashamed, that much I can tell. It would have been easier if it proved to be physically addictive, wouldn't it? Then he'd have a good excuse. I know this is the point where I should be a good friend and ask him why he was taking those pills, but I know that if I do, I won't be able to keep myself in check. If I do, I'll let him know that I was snooping. He looks at me expectantly, but when I don't question him he plows onwards. "Look, Rodney, I'm sorry. I haven't really been on my game recently." Understatement of the century. But, it's more than I was expecting from John 'I make mistakes, but even those are right' Sheppard. "And you've been dealing with the brunt of it."

I try to smile sympathetically, but he's too right. It would be a lie to contradict him, so instead I say. "Well, you weren't the nicest to the Sheppard Fan Club either. But I think it just made the idiots want you more." Elizabeth speaking with me with quiet concern, righteousness shining in her eyes... Teyla and Ford stopping by every day with Ford joking awkwardly and Teyla touching, always touching... and the nursing staff, I won't even go into that... he's got everyone eating out of his palm.

He smiles at my assessment. "It's the wrist. Girls love to cuddle small helpless things."

"Hah. Then paraplegic midgets would be getting all the action."

"I don't know about you, but all the paraplegic midgets I know are more sexed-up than a college football team.

"But not more sexed-up than you," I grumble, destroying the playful mood. I shouldn't be doing this now. Even as I know that Carson warned me about his 'fragile mental state' or whatever, I charge ahead, jealousy and raw emotion getting the better of me yet again. I'm just not meant for this kind of stuff. Even when I really do care about someone -and I care about John a lot- I don't know what to do... how to make them feel better. I'm just a selfish asshole, and I can't help it - force of habit.

"So I'm just the base bicycle: everyone's taken a ride." He nods to himself, stretching his head out over the edge of the balcony so I can't read his eyes. Still, I can hear both that he accepts the statement, as though he could see why I might think it, and that slightly surprised hurt that says he expected better of me.

I hang my head in shame, "I'm sorry, all right?" I have never been very good at apologies. "I just... I see good looking people... like you..."

"Well at least you think I'm good looking."

I ignore his sarcasm. Can't he see how hard this is for me? I know I'm not usually one to hold my insecurities back when we encounter a dangerous situation, but I still have trouble believing he wants me. I don't want him to see what a neurotic unconfident mess I really am. Every moment I keep him in the dark is another moment I get to spend with him. But I guess, if I lie now, he might leave anyway. "I see beautiful people... and... and I assume... I mean, you get along so well with everybody... you flirt... and it doesn't help that there about a thousand pools over who you're boinking at the moment, and I'm never on the list."

"A thousand? Boinking?" At least he's not upset enough to stop teasing me.

"You know what I mean... Elizabeth..."

". . . is a very nice lady. Misguided, but nice."

"Ford."

He seems mildly disgusted. "Not my type. He's like the little wiener dog that's always trying to hump your leg. And he doesn't swing that way anyway." I didn't know that.

"That nurse?"

"You, of all people, should know that it pays to be nice to the medical staff. Of course, you have a natural talent for sticking your foot in your mouth when it comes to helping yourself, so maybe not."

Of course, I haven't hit on the real threat yet. John is being incredibly casual about all these, but her... I grimace. I don't know if I can say it without giving away that I was sneaking, but somehow I manage. "You and Teyla..."

"She's showed a little interest, but we're just friends... and the Athosians have some seriously screwed-up dating rules anyway." He is dismissive, too much so. I saw them kissing, I know it's all a lie.

I raise my eyes up to look at him timidly. "And if they didn't?"

"We'd still be just friends, no matter how attractive she is." He smiles in a way he must think is conspiratorial, but it sets a chill up my spine.

I knew it. He's attracted to her... she's beautiful. They'd look good together... have beautiful children with his boyish features and her stunning complexion... they'd have children, and he'd be wonderful with them, instead of trying to construct a childproof cell to hold them like I would. "So you're attracted to her."

"Aren't you?" So I don't really mind when she wears that form-fitting blue shirt with the hint of bondage in the lace up front... and walking behind her... well, I've never been happier to be the slowest.

But I won't let him get the better of me. "That's not the point." The point is that he's attracted to her and she to him, and the only thing keeping them apart is cultural difference.

"No, I think it is." He's so annoying when he thinks he's right. "You're mad at me because you find her attractive. I may not have a PhD in astrophysics, but I still think I'm qualified to say that makes no sense."

"I'm just saying that the two of you seem better together than you and I."

"Don't I get a say in 'you and I' and what's better? Or am I just the dumb grunt you fuck because you can't score with any of the ladies?"

"Of course not, John. Don't be ridiculous." How can he even begin to think that? He has to know I'm desperate for him. People like him... they have no cause for questioning?

"Ridiculous? I'm ridiculous? You're pissed because you saw Teyla kicking my ass at hand-to-hand and you call me ridiculous?!"

"Hey... I... how... that's not what I'm talking about." I look down, ashamed that I don't even have the courage to call him on it. But I guess this is telling him, in my own way, because he can read me seemingly without effort.

"You saw her kiss me." He accuses, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I... no... John, I wasn't spying on you," I blurt out.

"Sure you weren't." He scowls, but then the hard line of his features seems to crack, leaving him tired and confused, rubbing his face in his hands. "I should have told you right away, Rodney. I'm sorry." He reaches out for me and I step back. He looks so hurt I think it must be causing a mild heart murmur deep in my chest - I'm too concerned for him, damnit. Then the small lost look melts into a scowl. "But what were you doing anyway? Spying on me?"

"I was... I was coming to meet you and I walked in at the wrong moment, okay?"

"If you'd stayed you would have seen that I turned her down. You can even ask her."

"Yeah, because she's really going to tell me the truth if the two of you are together behind my back." I scowl and cross my arms over my chest. I can't help the natural paranoia and distrust. Logic... dictates that all self-interested actors will do what's best for them, and that includes lying. It's trust that's illogical. It's trust that's unreliable. The only thing you can trust is that people won't hurt you when they have nothing to gain by it. But someone always has something to gain... "Besides, what am I supposed to do, walk up to the girl who could crush my nuts with her pinky and accuse her of being a dirty little slut?"

He shrugs, but it's uptight and pointed, not nonchalant. "You could always try trusting me." His eyes are wide and imploring, almost pained. God, I want so badly to trust him, but rationality kicks in, as always. Sometimes I wish I were stupid. I would be so much happier. Cows are happy, sheep are happy, because they don't know that one day, when they accrue enough happiness in the form of fat, they're going to get their heads chopped off and stuck through a meat-grinder. But until then... ignorance is bliss.

For instance, if I was a sheep, I'd probably fall victim to his charm, the deep sincere-appearing desire in his eyes. But I'm a scientist, a man well trained in the art of empiricism - a hypothesis isn't true until proven. In fact, it can never be proven, because a million trillion gazillion experimental trials will never be representative of the infinity of time and the universe. That's what I love about science - that there's always room for questioning... for progress. There are no absolutes. But that's its failing as well: you can have proof and knowledge, but ultimate truth is still a matter of philosophy... of religion, and perhaps something everyone needs. God is dead and we're left grasping at probable certainties, filled with doubts "Even if that is the case, that doesn't explain..." I clamp my mouth shut before I can say more, but it's too late. He's already glaring at me, eyes narrowed.

"Explain what?" he barks, stepping closer, intimidating.

"Nothing."

"Rodney..." He's giving me a warning glare.

"I heard... back in Antarctica."

He doesn't snap, or try to deny it, or even give me a lecture about rumor-mongering, which I know he hates. He just lets his head roll back in a gigantic sigh. "I knew you'd find out about me and Daniel somehow."

"You... you... you and Dr. Jackson?" I gulp. I always thought the man looked like a hot fuck... for an archaeologist. "I thought he and the general..."

He shrugs. "Daniel asked me to."

I knew John was a slut -he just looks like one- but I didn't know how big of a slut. "You... you had a..."

"Ménage a trois? Long story." He has on his 'I don't want to talk about it' face.

"Colonel Carter?" I squeak, closing my eyes and bracing myself for the answer.

"Never met her." At least I have that one sweet solace, because if he had met her, they'd probably have ended up in bed together too. Boy, that would've been awkward. Not that it still isn't, considering the fact that I may have fantasized about both O'Neill and Jackson as well.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but is there anybody else I should know about?"

The length of the pause as he stares off into space, eyes clouded as he seems to review faces, and perhaps names, is disturbing, to say the least. Were there really that many? "None that I can think of... you don't know a Riley Finn in some weird sub-terrestrial special ops unit, do you?"

I shake my head.

"Hmm... seems like the kind of thing you might've had a hand in. So, I guess, there's nobody."

"That's still a pretty large number for 'nobody.'" When did I start sounding so resentful... so possessive? Oh wait, I forgot, I was born this way. With intelligence comes a sense of entitlement.

He's angry, almost defensive. "I never tried to hide it from you."

"You didn't make an effort to tell me, either," I grumble.

"Because I knew you'd be unreasonable, just like this!"

"I'm a reasonable man." Very very reasonable.

"Yeah, right." He rolls his eyes. "Besides, what was I supposed to say? 'Hey, Rodney, getting any funny energy readings? Oh, and by the way, I fucked the general and his lover and... wow, was I a big slut... powerbar?'" I snort in laughter, but he fixes me with a frighteningly forceful look - like the calm intensity that drops down over his face during battle. "But I've changed."

I think back to that first blowjob in my lab, the natural way John slid to his knees, the skill of his mouth, the way he worked so hard to keep it from becoming mutual, how there's still so much that I don't know about him even when I think I know more of him than anyone else here, maybe anyone in two galaxies. "Have you? Because the way you act... the Captain Kirk routine... the way you flirt... how you and I..."

"I am what I am, Rodney. We all have a past, and I did some things I'm not proud of. After... well, I probably shouldn't have even stayed in the service, but I needed to fly. This is how I am, take it or leave it, because I'm not going to apologize for it. I promised General O'Neill, that I would reform myself in Pegasus, and I've kept that promise. If you want to judge me, Rodney, fucking judge me, but judge me for how I've treated you and how I've behaved towards you not on what happened a long time ago in a galaxy far far away."

"The Empire struck back?" I ask, and he chuckles, trying to look confused. "You are such a dork, you know that?" I can't resist it, trying to keep myself from grinning. He just has that effect on me, but I'm quick to snap the frown back on.

But he's not giving up. He grins. "That's why you love me." The words hang there in the air, floating like water vapor, air particles, swirling around us as time marches forward, temperature differentials propelling them to new heights. I am suddenly cold. Does he know?

I scowl. "So you're with me because General O'Neill told you to shape up or ship out."

"Actually, he told me to shape up and ship out, and that the fact that I was in a whole other galaxy wouldn't deter him from kicking my ass in the least. Besides, sleeping around in this fishbowl would have been pretty damn dumb, especially as the ranking military officer." I open my mouth to fire another accusation, but he plows right on. "But that's not the only reason why. That's not why... I was hurting Rodney." He looks suddenly so serious. "You have to understand... I was hurting so badly. You have to understand..." He takes in a great gulp of air and sighs, lip quirking just slightly. "This shouldn't be all that hard, should it? Jake... he..." I see the pain on his face, the tears waiting to spill. He's going to tell me. He's going to do it and I'm going to get away with looking through his files and seeing his most sacred, private secrets without his permission. He's not going to break up with me. But the pain of telling me... I can't take that look on his face, the way he's nearly shaking with effort.

"The two of you were lovers." Oh shit, what have I done? I've given myself away. I am so stupid. Why can't I just learn to control myself?

"Yes we were..." he seems lost for a second, staring so clearly into the past as the wind blows in his hair and he shudders with it, like he's a part of the open sky he loves so much - free. "How'd you know?"

"I... um..." I guess I owe him the truth. Isn't that the first part of this trust thing? Honesty? "I didn't mean to, John. Honestly, it was a mistake, an accident. I wanted to learn how to play football, to impress you, you know? So I plugged in your iPod. I was just gonna re-watch your Hail Mary game. I didn't do anything wrong." But I did. I violated his privacy. I violated him when he's already been through so much.

But he doesn't explode, the way I expected him to. He scowls for a moment then sighs. And when he looks back at me his eyes are clear and smiling. "You opened the 'Positions' file, didn't you?"

"I... I... ah..." I'm doing a fair impression of a fish out of water.

"You did, didn't you?" He's laughing now, bright cascading chuckles that make me wonder if he wasn't lying when he said he wasn't on anything. "You like what you saw?" He waggles his eyebrows.

I shrug and turn away. "I was kind of hot, until I figured out that it was like necrophilia or something."

"He wasn't dead when I was actually doing him." He's trying his best to make it sound snarky and lighthearted, but fails miserably, a tear glinting at the edge of one eye, but not falling.

"So... you're not mad?" He's gone mad. I violated his trust yet again... his privacy. He should be screaming at me right now. He should be dumping me out on my nosey immoral ass, but he's not.

"I probably should be." He grimaces. "But what good is that going to do us? It wasn't as though you were purposefully spying on me. Were you?"

I gulp. "No."

He reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Then what's the problem? Unless you want me to be mad."

"Are you sure you're okay?" John's not exactly Mr. Understanding. He has a temper, and a cold furious one. So why's he smiling?

"Look, Rodney. I'm tired of fighting with you. Fighting's my day-job... I don't need to bring it home with me, okay? I want you to trust me. I think I've done enough to deserve your trust, and I realize that means that I have to trust you back."

I bite my lower lip, doubts crowding around me, making me claustrophobic, like all the air is about to be sucked out of the room - explosive decompression. Can I trust him? Is this just another way of charming his way out of things? I've seen him do it enough. And he hasn't exactly treated me well. I tell myself I don't blame him. And I don't. But, not blaming someone for bad actions doesn't mean that you're going to trust them not to do it again... they've already proven a statistical capacity for it, after all. Once a slut, always a slut. A beautiful person... surrounded by temptation. What are the chances... the statistical probability that he really will cheat on me or snap and hit me or just break my heart because it's made of glass and he fumbles that pass?

"Stop overthinking!" He shouts, startling me out of my little cave of doubts.

"Sorry."

"You have questions."

"I always have questions, John."

"Ask me." It's two simple words, really, but I feel it like the floodgates opening, letting the emotions roll past in a tumultuous cloud. He's letting me in, I realize. He's letting the barriers down and giving me an invitation to finally know him, let the secrets bare. He's giving me the power to hurt him, letting me see that his heart is made of glass as well, and then that he's handing it to me. I hope I don't trip and fall. It's not about sex or love or romance - it's about trust, and it's almost more intimate somehow.

"Did you love him?" It's almost a whisper.

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"What you mean, 'you don't know?' What's there not to know?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

"Um... er..." I'm not about to say that I'm in love with him, and the truth about that is really that, "I don't know." Does it have to be mutual for it to be love?

"So there ya go. I mean... I loved him, sure." He looks up, almost straight at the sun, closing his eyes and taking in the rich life-giving rays, drawing power from them. "We practically grew up together. When we were kids we used to talk about missions together, rescuing people, killing commies, flying to the moon. Then I moved away. But when I came back, he was my first... um... experiment. We had girls and men and fucking foreign countries in-between, but... he was the fallback guy. We were each other's fallback guys - whenever things got tough, we always had each other. Serving together was great. We were always goofing around.. , and it was the most time we'd ever seriously spent together. Flying, sleeping, eating... I think... I obviously don't know 'cause he's dead, but I think it was starting to become something more than pals that fuck when they feel like it. But I don't know if my memories are distorted by how much it hurt to see him die and that pain combined with all the physical pain I was in. Or maybe how much I'd grown to love him as a friend. I don't want to idolize him just because he died. I've always hated that about the service: people die doing stupid things and they call them heroes, but you do the right thing and survive and you get sent on a fucking suicide-mission." He laughs half-heartedly. "God, I tried really damn hard not to get this bitter."

"You lost three friends and spent nearly a year in the hospital - you have the right to feel bitter."

"That doesn't mean I have to be. I should be happy... I should be over this. I've been given the fattest second chance a guy could hope for: a new life, a new galaxy, people who don't know what a mess I am, the fastest damn ships I could ever hope to fly, a chance to make my own rules, constant distractions, a man who... " His voice trails off and he looks away shyly. I try not to look too anxious. He doesn't have to finish if he doesn't want to. So we melt into an awkward stillness, staring across this vast sea and into a too-pastel sky, the sun way too bright for the weight of our words. He clears his throat. "Anything else you want to know? Before you break every encryption on this damn base?" There's just the tiniest edge of accusation there, but he keeps it to a minimum, which makes me smile.

"You... you and Daniel?" Dr. Jackson didn't seem like the type for one-night stands.

"I was really fucked up at the time, Rodney. You honestly don't want to hear the details. I thought that moving from one bed to another was moving on with my life. I didn't get that I was depressed, wouldn't admit it... that I was just digging myself deeper into my own little hell." He closes his eyes, harsh lines finding their ways somehow onto his face. I can see how much the admission costs him. John Sheppard seems to get through even the worst of scrapes simply by believing that he's invincible. To admit weakness... "Daniel used to call me Tiresias." He opens his eyes to find the confusion in mine. "The wise man Odysseus found in Hades." Anthropologists and their weird kinks... Though I find I'm more disturbed by the idea the John and Daniel seemed to have an actual relationship than I do the idea of John as a slut, which I guess I suspected all along.

He seems to catch on. "We were never together. You... you're the first person I've really been with since the accident. Daniel... well, you know what they say about the people who find each other in the darkest hour."

"No I don't."

His lips quirks up just slightly. "Neither do I. But I think that they should say something about the bonds you form with them - not love or friendship. In each other we found something we needed, and we were so desperate that we didn't hesitate to take it."

"And you and I?"

"We need each other, sure. But... not... There's nobody else, Rodney. I promise."

I curse myself the moment I say it, but I just can't help it. I need answers. Unanswered questions give me indigestion. "Why me?"

He doesn't answer right away. "I like you."

"That's pretty damn obvious, John." I brush his arms away, despite how warm they feel in the cool breeze blowing in off the sea. "But you could have anybody and everybody on this base..."

"Maybe I don't want anybody or everybody. Have you ever thought of that?" He says petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest. I notice how he pointedly avoids adding the clichéd 'I want you.' Maybe he doesn't. Want me, that is.

Even with all these questions answered, the air is still heavy... too heavy for the two of us. I chuckle in an attempt to lighten it, moving closer to wrap my arms around him. "Make up sex?"

He grimaces. I'm not that bad, am I? "Yeah, about that... I'm still not feeling all that great. When I fell I smacked my back pretty good." Then his face lights up. "Wanna see my bruise?"

I roll my eyes to hide the smile of relief. "Do you think you could actually be any less mature if you tried?"

"Is that a challenge?" He has that devilish grin on his face again, the one that promises complete and utter chaos.

"No... no... never mind. Mercy!"

But it's too late - he's already made for the sensitive flesh on my sides. He knows I'm ticklish and, despite the benefits in the throes of passion, letting someone like John know where you're vulnerable is a very dangerous thing indeed. I crumple into a fit of giggles, body betraying me. "I said 'mercy,' you bastard."

"Yup, that's me." I don't need to see his face to know the smug grin's there. " Why brand they us With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?

Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take more composition and fierce quality than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, got 'tween asleep and wake?"

He releases me and begins strutting around the balcony gesturing grandly with his arms.

"Shakespeare?" I curl protectively into myself despite his distraction. "You asshole."

"Thank you." He bows. And we stand together, arms wrapped casually around each other, staring at the baby blue sky and the harsh white of the sun. Except it's not harsh. It can't be when it contains within it all the colors of the rainbow, all the colors that paint life onto the universe, label objects, emotions, patterns. It's everything and it's there for us to take - to absorb at our will. I think about the particles deep in the core, so tiny and seemingly insignificant until they merge, atomic barriers breaking down to become larger and more impressive particles, sacrificing individuality to build something new and so astounding that it sends off waves of energy like pleasure to once-barren rocks like this one so we might have color and texture and life in all its complexity. And I think that perhaps it is not so large a sacrifice.

It's been a week since we spoke out on the balcony. Carson is cautiously clearing John for light duty, despite the fact that he still refuses to see a shrink. Of course, I am kind of guilty of telling Carson that John has been talking to me. Carson, for his part, is doing his best to taunt me with his new realization about the extent of our relationship by throwing in as much innuendo as he can at every turn. Everything feels ridiculously... normal: John's death grip as he curls around me every night... the subtle touches and stolen kisses he seems to favor more and more these days, without the conspicuous sap of doped-up John.

We're working in my lab in companionable silence. Or rather, I'm working. John is sitting on a lab bench waiting for me to tell him to touch something. He's swinging his feet creating a grating series of thumps as he kicks a stool. "Will you stop that?" I snap, but not really maliciously.

"I'm bored."

"Why don't you try doing your paperwork?"

"You ever heard of adding insult to injury?" John smirks.

"Well, if you want to make yourself useful, you could always go get me lunch."

He hops down, looking mildly perturbed and also relieved to have some purpose that's not paperwork-related. He then proceeds to look around quickly before giving me a quick peck on the cheek. "Yes, dear. Maybe later I'll do your ironing for you."

I snicker, blushing and trying to clamp down on this warmth spreading throughout my belly. It's just... this past week has made me so happy. Just being together - really being together without jealousy and mistrust and game-playing and all our secrets and insecurities getting in the way... it's nothing special, yet at the same time so joyous even my considerable intellect cannot fathom it. And I didn't even flinch when Elizabeth almost caught us 'playing' in the 'organ room' again, looking John over covetously or when Teyla begged us to go swimming with her, which Athosians apparently do nude, or when John stripped in front of her and then pulled me in - clothes on. Hell, I didn't even give a damn that Teyla saw all my extra padding, because I didn't need to impress her - I already had John. And not even naked and miraculously completely-golden Teyla could change that fact. Besides... when we did get around to that make-up sex, it proved well worth the wait.

John smiles at me over his shoulder as he walks out, giving me a wink as he wiggles his ass. I can't stop the warmth flowing through me - like the purifying rays of the sun, although we're indoors. The power of it has stolen my will, hijacked my tongue along with my individuality.

"I love you." I say it like a confession, coughed into my shirt collar.

He pauses, but doesn't turn. His response isn't sarcastic, or patronizing, or even hesitant. "I love you too."

I turn away, hiding the rather undignified grin that I have about as much chance of keeping from my features as I do of changing the magnetic pole of this planet. There are no violins, or falling rose petals, or sparkling lights, though things do seem somehow brighter. The smile persists as I pretend to fiddle with a device which I have no clue if I'm even holding right side up. The odd thing about love is, I don't need to look at him to know that, as far as the grin goes, John's doing the same.

EL FIN