“Clearly, you can’t possibly comprehend the implications of this . . .” Rodney began. It was more reflex than anything else.

“I clearly cannot comprehend that with this device we could essentially have direct access to the entire Ancient database in an instant?” Hermiod responded dryly.

Rodney grimaced. ‘Do not insult the little grey men that give us shields and hyperdrives,’ he reminded himself. Oh well, it didn’t seem as though Hermiod was offended. He decided to take that flat boinging tone to mean smugly amused. Smug bastard. If Rodney channeled most of his bodyweight to his head and lived a couple thousand more years, he’d be smarter than God, so really, Hermiod didn’t have that much to be smug about.

“Well, then you clearly comprehend how valuable this is and that we have to work on the repairing the chair interface.”

“I do not dispute the potential gains, Doctor McKay. But I am not sure you will be willing to pay the price.”

“The price?”

“It is understandable, as you are not a biologist . . .”

“There’s a little too much anatomy. I’m sure I could, if they didn’t . . .” He used to be kind of a hypochondriac, after all.

“Yes, but the human body is not yet evolved to the same level as the Ancients. You cannot just plug yourself in and expect . . .”

“We’ll just use Sheppard, then. It’ll go to that big fluffy head of his, I’m sure, but he can operate the chair just fine.”

“Even Colonel Sheppard would not be able to operate the interface. His body is sufficiently advanced, but he does not possess the mental discipline nor the capacity to truly interface with the database.”

Even if Sheppard was a grunt, he wasn’t stupid. Rodney felt insulted somehow. “And you do?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Rodney hated the Asgard; really, he did. Blunt. Too blunt. Completely lacking in all sarcasm and wit. Had they given it up along with sex? “Then what do we do, hm? I’m not a biologist, as you so eloquently pointed out, but couldn’t we just give you the gene therapy?”

“ Asgard physiology, while highly advanced, is entirely incompatible with the associated protein markers that would allow the gene to be activated.”

“Well, we’re stuck then,” Rodney threw up his hands in exasperation. They were this close and stopped because the Asgard got cold feet. “Are you sure Sheppard couldn’t try it? He’s smarter than he looks. Which admittedly, isn’t all that smart, but you know . . . couldn’t romance space bimbos if he wasn’t.”

“I did not believe you would endanger the life of someone you cared so deeply about, Dr. McKay.” Was that scorn or surprise? He could never tell. Or was this one of those ‘read between the lines’ things? Because he was bad at that. Did Hermiod know? Could Hermiod tell enough of human emotions to pick up the slight crush he’d developed on Sheppard? The man was gorgeous, after all. But what did little grey aliens with laryngitis and grasshopper eyes know about beauty?

“Well . . . no . . . wait, endanger?”

“He would be risking permanent brain damage.”

So that was a ‘no’ then. “All right, I get it, I get it, ‘no’ for Sheppard, but what do you propose we do about it? Find us a living breathing Ancient? Because Chaya and I didn’t get on so well . . .”

“I wonder why,” Hermiod said dryly. So maybe they did have a sense of sarcasm after all. “No. Leave now. I must think.”

“But . . . what . . . aren’t we going to keep up . . .”

Hermiod just blinked widely at him.

“Oh, fine. I’m going, I’m going.” He stormed out. Stupid little naked aliens. He was beginning to agree with Sheppard – they were creepy.

“It’s a . . . it’s a reasonable compromise.” Rodney tried to say it like he meant it. It was hard with Sheppard glaring at him like that. Memories of what had happened to Sheppard and Elizabeth with those two fighter pilots was still fresh in everybody’s memory. Nobody wanted to do this . . . but they all knew it was necessary. Even Sheppard knew.

“It’s so far from a reasonable compromise . . . it’s a completely unreasonable . . . disgusting . . . No! Okay? Just . . . NO!” Sheppard yelled.

“John, I know this is hard for you. And you have every right to say ‘no.’”

“Well, I’m saying it, Elizabeth!”

“If Rodney’s not exaggerating the importance of this study, which I trust he isn’t . . .” Elizabeth fixed him with a warning glare.

‘What?’ he mouthed. He didn’t exaggerate that much . . . most of the time.

“Then, I would appreciate it if you calmed down . . .”

“Oh, I’m calm!” Sheppard shouted.

This was not going as well as Rodney had hoped.

“Your heart-rate appears be elevated, Colonel, and your breathing is erratic. This would indicate . . .”

All in the room glared at Hermiod.

“I do not want that . . . thing walking around wearing my skin!” Sheppard yelled. And he got to pull diplomatic duty, how? Even Rodney had more tact in front of their most valuable allies.

Hermiod blinked, but Rodney could tell it was an annoyed-blink.

“I think it would be best if we all took some time to think this through,” Elizabeth said, subtly placing herself between Sheppard and the little gray man, leading Hermiod out.

Rodney was left alone in the conference room with Sheppard, who was slumped back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, fuming.

“Traitor,” Sheppard said.

“Me? What’d I do?”

“I dunno . . . Mr. ‘Reasonable Compromise.’ It’s my body. Just because the arrogant little sonofabitch thinks he’s smarter than me and therefore entitled to my fucking DNA, you side with him?” Sheppard sounded wounded, betrayed. Rodney hated hearing him like that.

“I’m not siding with anybody! We need that information. You know we need that information. I can’t even begin to imagine the kinds of things the Ancients would put in a database that can only be accessed by a super-intelligent Ancient brain.”

“And new toys to play with are worth more than my rights to . . . well, my rights to me?”

“You won’t even be affected! He’s going to have his own Sheppard-body and you’ll have yours. You can go about your daily life . . . do whatever it is you do.” Rodney was convinced Sheppard never did any actual work when they weren’t in the field. “And Hermiod and I will unlock the Ancient treasure trove. You won’t even have to see him if you don’t want to.”

“Just because I still get to be me doesn’t mean it’s any more wrong having someone else’s consciousness using my body.”

Rodney nodded. He wasn’t going to get anywhere by antagonizing Sheppard, especially not in his stubborn defensive state. And, frankly, he could sympathize. It was creepy – an Asgard running around in Sheppard’s body. “I know, it’s not exactly right, but I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think it was our only option.”

Sheppard looked up at, eyes pained. “I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to even know he’s there.”

“Thanks,” Rodney said, sadly, patting Sheppard’s arm, proud that it was slightly less awkward that it’d been in the past.

“And you owe me one.”

Rodney nodded.

But it wasn’t like this was going to be exactly easy for him either – that arrogant humorless alien with Sheppard’s face. Would he be able to keep them separate if they looked identical? Of course he would – he was a genius.

It was Rodney’s last off-world mission for a while (seeing as how he’d be needed on the database project fulltime once Hermiod got himself a new body). And being sort of like his last hurrah, of course it couldn’t go according to plan.

Actually, the trade negotiations had been rather pleasant – Teyla did most of the talking. Rodney and Ronon stuffed themselves with these ridiculously good ceremonial pat-nah cakes and Sheppard paced around nervously.

Rodney knew he was nervous about the cloning, even though there was no way it could possibly hurt him. But Rodney could understand. Sheppard hadn’t worked closely with the Asgard, like Rodney had learned to. He was uncomfortable around them, and he was uncomfortable letting one of them use his body. Sheppard was the control-freak of all control-freaks, though he tried to hide it beneath a laid-back laconic exterior. And the one time he’d let go . . . the one time he submitted to letting someone else’s feelings overwhelm him, he’d been shot, almost killed, forced to betray those he cared about most.

Rodney’s own ‘Body Snatchers’ experience hadn’t been half as terrifying, but he’d been freaked-out by it nonetheless. He could be sympathetic. Really, he could. Well, he could try. He was about to abandon the last of the pat-nah cakes to Ronon and try to talk to Sheppard about it when the Wraith showed up.

Ronon got in a few shots without even having to stop chewing his food, and took out two of the faceless-hulk bodyguards. The leader went right for Sheppard – as usual, and before he knew it, Rodney had his hand firmly on Sheppard’s inner thigh, trying to hold him over his shoulder as he ran for both their lives.

Teyla and Ronon took out the remainder of the Wraith with their usual soldierly ease, and everyone made it back in one piece. It was just another reminder of all the reasons Rodney and Hermiod really needed to unlock the secrets of the Ancient database. It was only a matter of time before the Wraith found out about them – about Atlantis.

Rodney sighed. His back twinged at the action. Sheppard was not as light as he looked.

He was stuck between the urge to soothe the muscles with a warm shower and the urge to fall face-first into bed and conk out when the door chimed its annoying little happy-chime. It figured that 10,000 hippies would create doors with Douglas Adams’ same sick sense of humor.

He glared. “Come in!”

The door opened to reveal Sheppard, pale-looking but otherwise intact.

“Feeling better?” Rodney asked, looking longingly at his bed. He hoped Sheppard hadn’t picked now to talk about the whole cloning thing – Rodney was inarticulate and insensitive even when not bone-weary and aching.

Sheppard shrugged, beating Rodney to the whole ‘collapse on the bed’ thing. “You know – pins and needles.”

“Ah . . . never gets old, does it?”

“Not to the Wraith, at least,” Sheppard harrumphed, covering his face with one of his arms. “This sucks.”

“Which part? The getting shot at? The little grey naked guys wanting your body? This awful twinge in my lower back?”

“All of it. Though there’s not really a choice, is there? Once you know about the whole race of evil soul-suckers wanting to eat us, you can’t just un-know it, can you?”

“No. No choice. But there are perks. Cool technology, hot spacebabes – even though they idiotically seem to prefer you, practical theoretical astrophysics no longer being an oxymoron, friends . . .”

Rodney met Sheppard’s eyes shyly. This wasn’t the first of their close calls, nor was it their worst. But for some reason, Rodney felt like tonight, he needed more than just one of those beautiful but horribly cryptic smiles and a pat on the back. Maybe it was just the fact that he knew he wasn’t going to get to spend much time with Sheppard in the coming weeks, at least not professionally. He needed confirmation that they’d still be friends through that – that he was more than just Sheppard’s annoying geeky teammate that he was nice to because he had to be.

“Yeah. And don’t forget the fast ships.” Sheppard smirked. “And thanks. You did good today, Rodney.”

“You’re welcome, though I’m sending you all future chiropractic bills – how can you be so damned skinny and still weigh so much?” Maybe Sheppard had his own gravitational field or something. It would explain why Rodney was still so damned attracted to him, even though he knew he was straight.

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. “It hurt that bad?”

“Of course it hurts! Would I be complaining about it if it wasn’t?”

Sheppard gave him a pointed look.

“”Fine, don’t answer that. Yes, it really does hurt, and the fascist nursing staff would only give me Tylenol.”

Sheppard frowned a little to himself. It was his ‘thinking’ expression. It was hot. Too bad he didn’t actually seem to think more. “Come here.”

“What?!”

“Come here, and we’ll see what we can do about it. It’ll be one less thing that sucks about today.” Sheppard sat up, looking ridiculously earnest.

Rodney sighed, standing. His neck pinched. He collapsed onto the bed, grasping it. “Ow, ow, ow!”

Then there were warm hands pulling his away, sinking rough fingers deep into his aching muscles – soothing the spasms just as they came.

Sheppard’s breath was warm against Rodney’s neck, and his fingers skilled, rhythmic. Rodney moaned.

“Good?” Sheppard chuckled to himself.

Then the surrealness of it struck him - Sheppard giving him a massage. Maybe not as straight as he’d originally thought then. Rodney’s cock leapt. His shoulder’s tensed.

“Hey . . . hey . . . relax. Here, take your shirt off.”

Rodney obliged, letting Sheppard run his long fingers down Rodney’s back, finding each little knot and working it with single-minded determination. Rodney’s cock was having a lot of fun imagining what sort of use Sheppard could put that focus to in the future.

But, amazingly, his back was actually overriding his cock on this one, letting Sheppard continue until he was ready to melt into a great big puddle at the man’s feet.

“I think I love you,” Rodney said. Did he just say that? Oh god, oh god . . . he didn’t mean that. He didn’t . . . or did he?

Before he could decide, he heard Sheppard’s soft chuckle behind him. “Yeah, I’ve been told I’m pretty good at that.” On of his hands gave Rodney’s shoulder a soft pat. “It’s the least I could do . . . seeing as how you hurt it saving me.”

Rodney turned around, wanting to see Sheppard, see what he looked like, so open and earnest in the soft light of Rodney’s quarters. He imagined he’d look radiant.

Sheppard didn’t disappoint. His hair was mussed and he was still pale, but a soft flush had returned to his cheeks. His eyes were wide, scrutinizing Rodney carefully, considering. And at this very moment, in this kind gaze, Rodney held all of Sheppard’s focus, all his being, staring concernedly at each other, so close they could touch.

Rodney kept his eyes looked with Sheppard’s.

“Thanks again,” Sheppard said, reaching out to grip Rodney’s arm.

Rodney sagged into the touch. He’d needed this, he didn’t know how much, and he could tell Sheppard needed it too, so he reached up to cup Sheppard’s cheek and give him a soft lingering kiss.

Sheppard’s lips were unmoving against his, but he didn’t push Rodney away. Rodney kept the kiss up for several beats longer than he knew he should have when Sheppard didn’t respond.

Rodney knew what Sheppard was going to say – he’d been on the other end of this speech a fair number of times, though he didn’t know how many of those times were lies.

Sheppard pulled back and his eyes were sad. “I’m sorry, Rodney. I made you think . . . I’m sorry.”

Rodney’s first instinct would have been to jump back, to put some distance in between them, so they could pretend this had never happened in the morning, but he was frozen by the emotion in Sheppard’s voice, the sadness.

Sheppard looked down at his hands. “You’re a great guy. You’re a really great guy. And I’m sorry if I led you on. But I’m straight.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. Sheppard wasn’t straight. Straight Air Force colonels didn’t give other guys back massages in dimmed quarters. “You don’t have to lie. If you think I’m fat or ugly or just unlikable or whatever, you can tell me. You don’t have to . . .”

“But I don’t! I really like you, Rodney! You’re my best friend! And you’re not unattractive. I’m not attracted to guys, but I don’t think you’re ugly or anything. I almost wish I was gay, because I do feel a connection with you . . . that’s . . . damnit, Rodney, I’ve never met anyone like you . . . anyone who could get under my skin the way you do, make me want to trust them, take care of them the way you do, but even if whatever it is between us might be more than friendship, it’s just not . . . I’m straight. I can’t do anything to change that.”

Sheppard said it with such conviction that Rodney had to believe it. They had a connection. He’d felt it. Aside from the good looks and easy charm, he’d always felt a deeper attraction to Sheppard. But even if it was more than friendship, it still left him empty and wanting.

“How come you’re not freaking out more?”

Sheppard shrugged. “When you’re in the military and look like I do . . . let’s just say this isn’t the first time.”

“Oh.” Rodney didn’t know how he felt about that. Was this a routine? No . . . Sheppard really did care about him.

“And what’s with the back massages anyhow?”

“You were hurt. I don’t like to see you hurt.” Sheppard gave him one of his quirky little smiles. Rodney couldn’t tell if this one was a deflection or not.

“Oh.”

Sheppard slapped Rodney with an all-too-manly pat on the shoulder. “We cool?”

Rodney sighed. “Yeah.”

“Great.” Sheppard grinned. Rodney hated that grin. It was the grin that got him, every single time.

Sheppard came out of it gasping. Beckett and Biro were busy in the corner oohing and awing at the body forming in the clean-room, noses practically pressed up against the glass like kids at the zoo. Rodney didn’t have any desire to be that intimately acquainted with the human body, thank you very much.

And, besides, somebody needed to be there when Sheppard woke, disoriented and panting. Rodney grabbed his shoulder and gave it what he hoped was a reassuring pat. “It’s okay. Everything’s fine. It wasn’t anything more than a little beam of light. You’re fine.”

Sheppard nodded, still looking choked up and shaken. “I saw . . . I kept . . . it was like being back there . .” Sheppard shook briefly before all the masks came back on and he took in two deep breaths and looked at Rodney with distant eyes. “I’m okay.”

He wasn’t okay. Rodney rounded on Hermiod. “What’d you do to him?!” he accused.

“It was necessary to determine the proper balance between mental and physical capacity and compatibility with the technology. I performed a brief mental imaging scan to determine the level of neural decay over time and the physical stimuli that increase the production of the proteins needed to connect with the technology.”

“What?” Rodney asked. Sheppard didn’t even seem to really be listening.

Beckett turned. “He means that he wanted to find the right age to make the body, and if there were any things in the colonel’s past that increased his ability to use the technology. We’ve been trying similar things . . . though I’m afraid they’re much more rudimentary . . .”

Then Biro, still looking through the glass, gasped. Beckett turned. Rodney rushed up beside them, just in time to see Sheppard’s naked body buck and shake, like a seizure.

He whirled back around to look at Hermiod, who blinked at him. “Electric shock is one of this body’s triggers.”

Objectively, Rodney knew that this would eventually help the experiment, but that didn’t stop it from being Sheppard’s body that was shaking, his skin pale, his hair standing on end. He couldn’t stand the sight. “What the hell do you think you’re . . .”

Hermiod cut him off. “There is no consciousness inside that body, Dr. McKay. It does not feel anything.”

Rodney was just gearing himself up for a rant of how wrong, wrong, wrong that was, even if he didn’t have a particularly good reason why, when he looked over at Sheppard. His friend looked pale, sweating, hands fisting and unfisting.

“Colonel?” Rodney asked, going to him.

Sheppard threw up, just missing Rodney’s shoes.

Beckett was there, and Biro, helping him up, demanding that they examine him for ill-effects of Hermiod’s treatment. But Rodney looked at the naked body, so vulnerable, still shaking, and he knew exactly what had made Sheppard so sick.

“I don’t want to see it, Rodney. I don’t want any part of that goddamned thing. Ever.”

Rodney nodded, rubbing Sheppard’s back as Beckett and Biro fussed over medical equipment. “You won’t, John. I promise.”

Rodney spilled his very precious coffee about five times the first day. Every time he looked up – it was Sheppard standing there at the console, moving wires, entering data, sitting down in the chair and closing his eyes in concentration. But it wasn’t Sheppard.

When Rodney snapped his fingers at him, he didn’t get a sarcastic comeback about indentured servitude - just a blank stare. When he started to explain something in terms an intelligent layman could understand, he got a contemptuous glare. When he expected Sheppard’s laid back sprawl, he found a stance more formal that he’d imagine Sheppard at parade rest.

“If you would please recalibrate the data entry protocol, I could enter the schematics directly,” Hermiod said, Sheppard’s voice sounding so flat . . . like a robot.

Rodney put down his laptop with a sigh. He couldn’t take anymore of this. He needed a break. “I’m going to the mess. You want anything?”

Hermiod looked at him strangely, experimenting in making Sheppard’s head tilt to the side just slightly. “I have some nutritional cubes here if you would like one.”

Rodney snorts. Samantha Carter had warned him about those things. Yes, he liked plane food and MREs, but a man had to draw the line somewhere. “God, no. You’ve got a mouth big enough to fit a spoon now, why don’t you try living it up, hm? The not-chocolate brownies are pretty good, I hear.”

“Then it would be most agreeable if you were to return with one while I continue to work in your absence.” Rodney had always thought that Hermiod was being patronizing with comments like that, but with the way his voice tilted up in question, he realized it was something else entirely. It was jealousy.

“Um . . . well . . . if you . . . if you . . . um, wanted to come with me . . . I can show you around the world of Earth’s finest cafeteria cuisine.”

Hermiod smiled. It was Sheppard’s most dazzling grin – the one Rodney had only really seen once or twice. “I would enjoy that.”

Rodney turned away quickly. “Yes . . . erm . . . well, a man has to eat, doesn’t he? And I’m on my way so . . .”

“And I have heard that you are most expert on the subject of food.”

Rodney turned back to find Hermiod smirking at him. It was exactly Sheppard’s smirk, but it was . . . it was like a revelation. Beneath that seemingly cold exterior – the alien that could only express himself through a series of increasingly annoyed blinks - there was a person just as complex and real as any human being, a person trapped by his body’s inability to communicate, not his lack of emotion.

“And what is this one, Dr. McKay? It is such an interesting shade of green.”

“Ah . . . that one is jell-o. It’s amusing and jiggly, but really . . . can’t beat the chocolate.”

“I can not imagine anything more savory than that . . . macaroni and cheese.”

Rodney laughed. “And you haven’t even had real food yet. Just wait till they serve steak . . . or pizza. It’s nothing compared to Earth, but it’s still . . . there’s nothing like it.” He sighed, sliding a plate of mystery-meat across to Hermiod. It was what Ford used to call Bifken - Beefy Chicken.

Hermiod speared the Bifken enthusiastically, giving Rodney a small smile. Hermiod was very generous with John’s smiles.

“Oh . . . no, you don’t use your fork on that. You have to slice the meat first. Here . . .” Rodney reached across the table, helping position Hermiod’s hands on the knife and fork. They were warm. They were Sheppard’s hands, allowing intimate touches that Sheppard never allowed. Rodney pulled back guiltily. “Here, watch me.”

The first piece came out a bit ragged, but Hermiod got the hang of cutting quickly after that.

“What did you say that this was again? I find myself most enamored,” Hermiod asked through a mouthful.

“Sqatapa-something, from P2A-889. Just don’t call it Bifken.”

“Bifken?”

“Horrible, horrible name. You can never go wrong with Mystery Meat #4.” Actually, Bifken had its own, rather idiotic charm. Rodney’d just learned to avoid the word, for the sad distant look it always managed to provoke in Sheppard’s eyes. Rodney hated what had happened to Ford, but he didn’t harbor the same kind of guilt over it that Sheppard did. Rodney missed him, but kid had been annoying while he was around and Rodney didn’t see the need to be sentimental about it.

Hermiod tried out a shrug. “This is a gesture of indifference, yes?”

Rodney nodded. “A little less enthusiastic next time . . . you should watch Colonel . . .” No, Hermiod wasn’t allowed to watch Sheppard do anything. “You’ll see people.”

Hermiod nodded. “I have been observing.”

Rodney pushed over some not-chocolate cake. “Here try this. No, you’ve been doing a pretty good job. You just need to . . . relax a little. You’re going to get back spasms if you keep standing and sitting the way you do.”

“How should I stand, then? Oh . . . this not-chocolate is so very flavorful.”

“Doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing. You see . . . you have to let your shoulders hang a little. Maybe rest your elbows on the table sometimes. Sheppard has perfect vision, so there’s no need to squint. And don’t put your hands on your hips the way he does . . . it doesn’t make him look like Han Solo with his gun-belt like he thinks it does.”

Hermiod nodded, taking this all in. Then he stood, giving Rodney a perfect image of Sheppard’s almost-slouch, without the hands on the hips and the jaunty grin.

“Perfect.”

Hermiod smiled. “Is this an appropriate expression?”

“Just do it whenever you’re happy about something.”

Hermiod smiled again. Rodney wished Sheppard would smile this much – it looked good on him.

By the time Rodney had deposited Hermiod back in the lab with the complaint of his stomach feeling ‘tight,’ he was both sated and tired. He hadn’t slept much the night before, as he’d spent the time in Sheppard’s quarters having a ‘Firefly’ marathon and steadfastly ignoring the elephant in the corner. Hermiod, however, wanted to finish up some calibrations, but said that Rodney could go, thanking him and smiling again.

Rodney decided he’d check in on Sheppard – make sure that he hadn’t seen he and Hermiod in the mess, as they’d stayed longer than they’d planned to. He found the man in his room, sprawled on his bed, shirtless and sweaty-looking, obviously just returned from a workout or a run. Rodney gulped. He’d seen Sheppard naked for the first time, as Atlantis was not equipped with group showers. And, like the knowledge of the Wraith, it wasn’t something he could just un-see.

Sheppard sat up and smiled, a forced smile, so different from Hermiod’s generous open ones. “Hey, Rodney. How was a day of experimenting with the robot that stole my body?”

Rodney shrugged. There was no way he was going to admit that towards the end he’d actually sort-of been enjoying Hermiod’s company. “It’s creepy. Though I did find the answer to one of the great mysteries of the universe.”

Sheppard raised his eyebrows.

“You do use hair gel to get it like that.”

“Or maybe he uses hair gel to flatten it.”

Rodney scoffed. “Please . . . he’d probably try to eat it before he’d think to put some strange goop in his hair.”

Sheppard shrugged – the perfect shrug. “So I guess my cover’s blown. Other than that . . . how was it . . . I mean . . . did the interface work?”

Rodney settled himself down on Sheppard’s bed next to him, forcing himself to ignore the smooth white skin and the trail of hair slipping down Sheppard’s stomach and beneath his beltline. “Yes, it worked. But there’s an incredible amount of information.
Only some off it will be immediately useful. I’m calling a staff meeting tomorrow to hand out immediately relevant info and reassign people, but in the end, we need a whole new database for this stuff, for when it’ll be useful in the future.”

Sheppard turned his head, face just inches from Rodney’s, eyes imploring. “So he’s going to have to stay until you’re able to connect to it indefinitely?” His voice almost squeaked.

Rodney shook his head. “No, of course not. I’m sure Hermiod doesn’t even want to . . . I mean, first of all, you’re way hairier than he’s used to . . .”

Sheppard laughed. It was a soft chuckle. Rodney had never heard him really laugh. “So what are you going to do then?”

“We’re trying to figure out a way for Hermiod to transfer the data to non-coded parts of the mainframe, but it’s looking as though he might have to unlock each and every item individually.”

Sheppard bit his lip. “How long’s that gonna take?”

Rodney sighed. “At least a month. Maybe two.”

Sheppard groaned. “Fucking-A.”

“Yeah, well, the good news is that I probably won’t be needed for most of it. It’ll just be him alone with the Chair.”

“So you’ll be back with the team?” Sheppard actually sounded excited by the prospect.

“Sadly, no. Sorting the data and reorganizing the lab is still going to take much of my oh-so-valuable time. You’ll have to get shot at with some other scientist.”

Sheppard sighed. “You couldn’t make Zelenka do it?”

“Zelenka planning something? Ha . . . maybe when the Easter bunny lays me a big fat ZedPM-filled egg.”

Sheppard smiled. This time it was the small, regretful smile. “Well, somehow we’ll manage without your unequaled brilliance.”

Rodney came back to the lab in the morning to find Hermiod waiting for him there. He was surrounded by coffee cups and had that pinched, drained look about him that Sheppard got when he was either sick or completely and utterly exhausted, eyes red-rimmed and wide, skin pale and sallow-looking. The only difference was that Hermiod didn’t look like he’d spent a considerable amount of time running his hands nervously through his hair.

“Did you stay up all night?!” That wasn’t good. Sheppard wasn’t one for the all-nighters. He could easily go on an hour of very light sleep, but if he didn’t get that, he was always oddly wired and jumpy.

Hermiod looked up from his current lost-looking stare. “Yes? Dr. McKay, did you say something?”

“Did. You. Stay. Up. All. Night?”

“This coffee substance produces a most peculiar feeling,” Hermiod noted. This was also bad. Hermiod’s new body had absolutely no caffeine-tolerance.

“You shouldn’t drink all that.” Even though the one . . . two . . . twelve cups really were a normal day for Rodney. “It’ll stunt your growth.”

Hermiod tilted his head in confusion.

“And you shouldn’t pull all-nighters when you don’t have to. You can get away with five or six hours of sleep a night – at least Sheppard does.”

“Yes, I had thought I had been feeling what you humans describe as tiredness, but each time I drank a cup of this coffee, the feeling disappeared.”

Rodney sighed. “Okay, let’s get you to bed. Coffee’s a stimulant. You shouldn’t drink more than a couple of cups a day.”

“But you . . .”

“. . . have built this tolerance since childhood. You, on the other hand . . .”

“Yes, Dr. McKay, I will endeavor to be more cautious in the future. It has just been a long time since I experienced such feelings. We have evolved to require very little sleep.”

“So you do know what it feels like to be truly tired.”

“Indeed, I do. I was once not much different from you. Our race was quite close to those you call the Ancients. We too had reached a similar level of advancement where a great deal of our society was dedicated to the prolonging of life. While your ancestors chose to abandon their bodies, we sought to maintain ours. Cloning was relatively simple. But we soon found that the accumulated experience of so many different lives required increasingly larger and more sophisticated brains to maintain the consciousness for any extended period of time. Genetic manipulation was the next step. But the genome is complex. You cannot just add on without affecting other functions. In our rush to increase brain size before the next necessary transfer, we made many concessions, sexual reproduction among them.”

“And taste? And fatigue? And physical expression?”

Hermiod nodded. “I often wonder if it was worth it. And now . . . so many amazing tastes and touches . . . pleasures I had forgotten. It seems as though I have been living a thousand years of a shadow-life.”

Rodney couldn’t imagine giving that up. Food and sex and sensual touches . . . those were a lot of the things that made life worth living. “Why would you do that?”

“You do not fear death? You would allow the wisdom and intelligence garnered in your life slip away with every transfer?” Hermiod asked, not accusing, simply curious.

It was a deal with the devil, but Rodney wasn’t sure it was one he wouldn’t make. After his return from the planet time forgot, Sheppard had told him he didn’t want to Ascend – that infinity wasn’t worth the price of not being able to act. Rodney had asserted that there were a lot of good things about infinity – like the whole not-dying part. Infinite wisdom was pretty good too. Hermiod had a point. Perhaps they had far more in common than he’d originally believed. Rodney wanted his intellect to live on.

Work went smoothly the next few days. Hermiod stopped drinking coffee altogether but continued to share meals with Rodney. Of course that meant he was seeing the real Sheppard less . . . but he’d almost stopped noticing.

He taught Hermiod more about living in a human body than just food. Yes, they were supposed to be working all the time. In fact, Hermiod wanted to, but when Rodney heard that Hermiod hadn’t even been outside since, well . . . since forever, he insisted that they take the afternoon off and go to the mainland.

He was nervous at the controls of the Jumper. “Erm . . . so . . . I’m . . . er . . . well, I’m not the best pilot, but I mean we can’t all be brilliant at everything, hm? I am a genius.”

“I am positive that you will exceed my expectations,” Hermiod said dryly.

Rodney stole a glance to find him grinning. It was more brilliant that Sheppard’s usual shit-eating grin.

He sighed. “Go ahead . . . say it.”

“My expectations, admittedly, are not incredibly high.”

“I hate you,” Rodney said. It was something he said to Sheppard quite routinely.

Hermiod turned to blink at him, a lost look in his eyes. Rodney had rarely seen that look on Sheppard’s face, but when he had, it was memorable. Project Arcturus was still painful in both their memories.

Rodney dropped the Jumper controls like they burned. “Oh, no, come on. Of course I don’t really hate you. I just . . .”

“You say things you do not mean?”

“It’s a term of endearment . . . if you want to see how I treat someone I actually hate – talk to Kavanagh.”

“I have already had the displeasure.” Hermiod grimaced.

Rodney couldn’t help but laugh at his expression – that about summed up his feelings on Kavanagh.

Rodney’s flying was still nervous and slightly erratic as it would have been if it had been Sheppard sitting next to him. Rodney rarely flew with others and when he did, they were usually about to die or something like that, so he didn’t have time to be this nervous about the actual flying.

Hermiod sat calmly with his hands folded in his lap, both unlike Sheppard’s usual slouch and his ramrod straight posture whenever he let Rodney fly. Rodney was sure he was using imaginary controls beneath the dash.

“So . . . what else have you completely failed to indulge in since being granted the gift of an honest-to-god body?” Rodney asked, when they were safely over the ocean, where he didn’t have to worry about flying in an exactly straight line.

“I had a body before,” Hermiod pointed out.

“Sure, you could call it that, I guess. But seriously . . . other than little things like sunlight, what do you want to do?”

Hermiod seemed to consider it. His ‘thinking’ expression was different than Sheppard’s. Instead of a worried frown, his face when completely and utterly blank – like thinking was his natural state and everything else was just a brief departure from that. “I have not yet copulated, which you humans seem to believe . . .”

Rodney gasped and spluttered.

“Perhaps it is incorrect of me to assume, but does flying these particular vessels not require keeping your hands on the flight controls?”

“Oh . . . yes . .. er . . . right.” Rodney gripped the controls madly, jerking them sharply to the left – thank god for inertial dampeners. “But you can’t just say things like that!”

“Excuse me. I was not aware that your culture was still so . . . rigid about such things. One would think that for beings who seem to require it almost as much as they do basic nutritional requirements, it would be a much more easily-researched topic.”

“You researched it?!”

“I made an attempt, but your ‘anthropologists’ are so very obscure.”

That was as good a change of topic as any. “Yes . . . well, that’s because it’s not a real academic discipline. What is culture? It’s an utterly useless PhD. That’s what it is.”

“Indeed, I had thought that people who make a study of human behavioral patterns would be much more informative about them.”

Rodney was about to launch into the long-version of why all anthropologists should be shot (except for Dr. Jackson because, well . . . archaeologist . . . and hot) when he realized that they were near land . . . which meant that he had to think about landing. “Shut up, I’m concentrating,” he said.

“I was not . . .”

“Shut up!” Rodney squeaked.

The landing wasn’t that bad . . . those few trees didn’t appear particularly important to the local ecology or anything. The Athosians wouldn’t miss them.

Hermiod tried to narrow his eyes at Rodney, but he just ended up squinting.

“So what? I’m going to have to give you glaring lessons now, too?”

“It is an art in which I hear you are most practiced.”

Rodney glowered.

“Yes, I believe that is what I must learn.”

Now Hermiod was just fucking with him. He’d never been able to tell on the smooth gray face, but Rodney knew Sheppard’s expression of irreverent innocence well enough to recognize a ghost of it in the small smile tugging at Hermiod’s lips.

Rodney pulled out a tin of sun block – his own specially brewed brand, of course. He rubbed some on his nose, handing it to Hermiod. Normally, Rodney’d go with the standard-issue stuff for a short trip to the mainland like this, but Hermiod’s new skin had never been exposed to sunlight before, so it was better safe than sorry.

Hermiod poked the block as Rodney shut things down and opened the rear hatch.

“Go ahead,” Rodney encouraged.

Hermiod complied, slowly, sticking his finger in and out of the block, sniffing it and smiling. In Sheppard’s body, he looked like a giant cat prodding something with its paw.

“That’s cocoa butter,” Rodney pointed out proudly.

Hermiod spread it on his face, but not well enough. Knowing Rodney’s luck the Athosians would think it was warpaint or something stupid like that and he’d have to do another one of those stupid apology ceremonies.

Rodney took a deep breath, preparing to step outside when . . . “Dr. McKay, Dr. McKay! Colonel Sheppard!”

Rodney grimaced, turning . . . kids. He hated kids. Why in the hell did this galaxy have to be full of them? On Earth they were so much easier to avoid – contained in places like Disneyland and McDonalds. Rodney could escape them for the most part. But here . . . they actively searched for him. They were actually delusional enough to believe that they liked him.

“Dr. McKay, please, tell us another one of your stories of hockey!” the fat little squirt said . . . what was his name? Rodney could never remember. They all looked the same.

“Dr. McKay, I broke my father’s seeding device. Do you think you could fix it?”

“Dr. McKay, piggly-back . . .” oh, that was the worst – the small little toothless girl that Sheppard had corrupted into thinking that Rodney was a horse. Did he look like a four-legged pack animal?

And then they caught a glimpse of Hermiod. “Colonel Sheppard! Would you like to play another game of football? We could retrieve it for you, the skin of the pig.”

Hermiod was staring at Jinto like he had no idea what this creature even was. “Excuse me?” he blinked.

“Was that not correct, Colonel Sheppard?” Jinto looked highly concerned. Why the kids looked up to Sheppard so much would have confused Rodney, if he didn’t admire the man so much himself.

Rodney stepped in to help him, as Hermiod leaned back in his chair, obviously freaked-out. “That’s . . . erm . . . that’s not Colonel Sheppard.”

“What do you mean, Dr. McKay? This is not the story of the Friday that was freaky. That was not real!” Oddly, completely unfazed by Freddy Krueger and Alien and all the other stories Sheppard tried to scare the kids with, they were most upset by ‘Freaky Friday.’

Rodney sighed. “No, Colonel Sheppard is still in his own body back on Atlantis. This is Hermiod . . . he’s doing an experiment in looking exactly like Colonel Sheppard.”

“Cool!” Jinto said – stupid Sheppard, teaching the poor kids slang. “I want to look like Colonel Sheppard too.”

“Me as well!” the chubby one said.

“Unfortunately the conscious transfer process . . .” Hermiod began.

“You’re too young,” Rodney interrupted.

Fat-kid and Jinto pouted. The little girl just said, “Piggly-back, Dr. McKay.”

After the kids were safely sent off to play that mockery of true sport that Americans called football, Rodney was sitting in the back of the Jumper with Hermiod, who looked tired – that sweat-slicked but happy look Sheppard got on his face after a long run. He was a masochist.

They hadn’t spent the day soaking up sun on the beach like Rodney’d planned. It was what he usually did with Sheppard – saw the kids for a little while before Sheppard went off surfing and Rodney watched him from the shore, all hard sleek muscles and ocean-wet hair.

Hermiod, however, had wanted to spend all available time with the kids. “They are most amazing, Dr, McKay. To me, you are all so young, and yet . . . I had forgotten that there are those still with this sort of innocence and wonder left in their lives. It is exhilarating to be able to touch that, is it not?”

Rodney sighed. “It could also be called annoying.” The man who’d invented the concept of ‘piggly back’ deserved to be strangled with Rodney’s bare hands. His back ached.

“You enjoyed it. I could see it in your eyes.” Hermiod gave him one of Sheppard’s sly, knowing smiles, the one that in Rodney’s fantasy world, Sheppard would always turn on him after Rodney came out to him – he’d say he knew . . . that he understood, because he was too.

Then Hermiod stood, walking over to Rodney and gripping his hand loosely, a light brush of fingers against skin, eyes so wide, so unguarded, so unlike Sheppard in so many ways, and yet . . . everything that Sheppard should be at the same time.

“Thank you, for this,” Hermiod said.

And for a second, one glorious second, Rodney leaned closer, taking full advantage of this touch, being able to lean in and smell the rich scent that was Sheppard, feeling his hand in an oddly intimate touch, look into his eyes when he was finally no-longer hiding anything. But it wasn’t Sheppard staring back at him. It was Hermiod.

Rodney cleared his throat. “So . . . erm . . . I need to . . . yes, well . . . start up . . .”

“It has occurred to me, Dr. McKay, that I am also in possession of the ATA gene and am therefore capable of a perhaps . . . smoother return ride?”

Rodney nodded, hand still burning from the touch of this man who wasn’t quite Sheppard.

It was a few days later when Rodney dragged Hermiod back to his quarters to present him with a present. The Daedalus had returned a few days ago, along with the monthly supply of honest-to-god chocolate. Rodney smiled. Hermiod was going to love this. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his face – so joyful, almost orgasmic.

“What is it that you wanted to show me, Dr. McKay?”

“Please . . . please, call me Rodney.” He still hated how stiff ‘Dr. McKay’ sounded on Sheppard’s tongue the few times in a blue moon that he actually chose to use it. Hermiod somehow managed to make it sound even stiffer.

“Rodney, then. For what did you bring me here?”

“For this!” Rodney pulled out one of his newly arrived packages of Godiva chocolate.

He hand it to Hermiod, who broke off a chunk rather mechanically and put it in his mouth. His gaze was not transcendent as Rodney had expected it to be. If anything, it was a little disappointed.

“What? You don’t like it?” What kind of person didn’t like chocolate?

Hermiod was rapidly learning his own deflective looks with Sheppard’s face. They were rudimentary versions of the way Shepard could fold in on himself to hide, but they seemed strange on Hermiod nonetheless. “It is simply that I had heard from Dr. Simpson that chocolate could be better than sex. To me, it tastes much like Asgard ration cubes.” Rodney’d have to remember to try one of those one day. “Yet, I have nothing to compare it to, so perhaps it is indeed superior.”

Rodney scoffed. “Dr. Simpson is just saying that because she’s not getting laid. I’m as big a fan of eating as the next guy, but even I know that there’s no way chocolate can even hold a candle to . . .”

Rodney turned mid-rant to find Hermiod standing beside him, eyes wide, looking at him with such adoration – a look Sheppard had never graced him with. Hermiod’s hands were on Rodney’s shoulders, running softly down his arms, sending a tingle through Rodney’s entire world. Oh, god, this was wrong.

But the Hermiod said. “I would appreciate it if you would help me to prove Dr. Simpson wrong.” Hermiod was panting now, eyes lust-filled and dark. It was another one of Sheppard’s expressions that Rodney would never see – and it was so much better than he’d imagined.

He couldn’t stop himself – fantasy was melting together with reality – Sheppard, so open, so vulnerable, so beautiful and asking for Rodney, needing him like Sheppard never seemed to need anybody. The kiss was soft and desperate, playful and doomed and perfect in so many ways. It was Sheppard’s mouth, sweet and soft, but it was Hermiod who reached up with Sheppard’s long perfect fingers to feed Rodney a bite of chocolate, Hermiod who ran those fingers over every inch of Rodney’s body, memorizing it, worshiping it, finding wonder where Rodney didn’t even know wonder lay.

It was Rodney’s fantasy to take Sheppard, the blushing virgin, to feel him clench, so tight around him, to hear him screaming his name, drowning in pleasure. It was Sheppard’s face he saw, split and shaken by orgasm. It was this fantasy of Sheppard Rodney saw when they fucked, but it was Hermiod that lay wrapped around him afterwards.

The next morning Rodney awake to the strangest sound – a halting rubbing . . . chaffing. He opened his eyes slowly, smiling at the mop of dark hair and the broad shoulders and the stubbled cheek before him. Except then . . . what was Hermiod doing?

“What are you doing so early in the morning?” Rodney groaned, checking his watch.

“Itching,” Hermiod replied.

“Itching?” Rodney pulled back the blankets to reveal angry red welts, a rash tracing itself up Hermiod’s naked chest, down his arm, around his legs, even in more . . . intimate places. “What the hell happened? Oh my god . . . we have to get you to Beckett. Here . . .” Rodney jumped out of bed and looked around for his softest pair of sweats and a t-shirt, tossing them to Hermiod, who just kept scratching. “No, no . . . stop that. You’ll just make it worse.”

Rodney panicked all the way to the infirmary, where Carson, professionally ignoring the stench of sex and the mussed look both of them were sporting, immediately asked, “What did you eat, lad?”

Hermiod looked to Rodney, sheepishly. “4 pineapple rings, some jell-o, a turkey sandwich, tea, and some . . . chocolate . . .”

Beckett pulled out a chart – it was thick . . . too thick for someone as young as Sheppard . . . someone who’d suffered far more injuries than he deserved. Becket clucked a few times then nodded. “Well, that explains it, then. Colonel Sheppard is allergic to chocolate.”

“He what?! He’s never told me that! That bastard . . . I swear to god . . . all the show he makes of submitting to trade me favors for his goddamned chocolate powerbars or his slice of cake or . . . I’m so going to kill him. Why didn’t he tell me?”

Beckett chuckled. “It’s too bad he didn’t, especially for this lad here. Come with me, Hermiod, and we’ll get you some antihistamines and a nice medicinal bath . . .”

Rodney groaned. He should have seen this coming . . . should’ve known when Hermiod had said it tasted like the cubes – a metallic taste was a sign of allergy, Rodney knew it well from the first glass of lemonade he’d ever tried. And Rodney had known the cubes tasted like metal – Colonel Carter had told him.

After passing Hermiod off to the nurse, Beckett came back to Rodney. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing here, Rodney? I mean, I know it’s none of my business, but I don’t think the colonel would take kindly to you, um . . . gaining intimate knowledge of him that way.”

Rodney nodded. He knew it was wrong, and yet, like Eve in the proverbial garden, he’d been unable to resist temptation. This was the same reason he could never seem to diet – he was big believer in the pleasure principle, a dedicated hedonist. And regardless of his feelings for Sheppard, his body was too much of an apple of temptation for Rodney – too beautiful to be denied. Rodney didn’t care about Hermiod the way he did Sheppard. He didn’t want Hermiod that way. He could keep them separated . . . he really could.

“And Hermiod . . . the man is confused . . . he . . . “

“You’ve got that right.” They both turned at the lazy drawl, finding Sheppard grinning at them. “Nurse Barry called me. Something you wanted to talk about, Doc?”

“Yes, lad. About your allergy to chocolate – how bad is it, exactly?”

Sheppard shrugged. “I break out in hives. I know the first time was pretty bad – after the first night I was allowed out trick-or-treating. According to my mother, I spent a week practically in the bath, crying from the itch. Only really tried it once after that, a little when I was twelve. It tasted gross and I spit it out before it could do any real damage.”

Beckett nodded. “Thanks, lad.”

Sheppard nodded. “So . . . Hermiod?” Sheppard said the name with disgust.

“Yes, Hermiod. I was showing him chocolate. He likes eating so much. I thought he’d like it. And then . . . and then . . .” and then the worry, the terrible fear that he’d done something wrong . . . and the need to fix it, the need to protect. “You! Why didn’t you tell me you were allergic to chocolate? Why didn’t you tell him! I know allergic reactions. They suck . . . you shouldn’t have.”

Sheppard defused the rant with a single touch, a firm hand resting on Rodney’s shoulder, a touch so much more solid and real than the furtive touches those same hands had played the night before. “I know, Rodney. I’m sorry.”

And then Sheppard’s lips quirked up in another one of his subtle deflections, and it banished all the openness of the night before as well. Rodney couldn’t afford to think of Sheppard as the innocent creature he’d seen then. If he wasn’t careful, Sheppard would break his heart without even knowing it.

Hermiod’s response to the whole chocolate fiasco, other than the realization that bodies like these were also sometimes a gigantic pain in the ass, was simply to determine that Dr. Simpson was very wrong and that he much preferred sex to chocolate.

Rodney actually laughed at that one, surprised when Hermiod laughed with him – a deep, genuine belly laugh, a laugh of someone who’d been in pain, but laid it all out anyway. It was a laugh he’d never heard from Sheppard.

But then, Rodney had to wonder. He had to wonder if Hermiod could want him so easily, be with him so easily, even in a body that was supposedly straight. Then wasn’t it possible for Sheppard to want him too? Wasn’t it possible, if Sheppard really did care for him deeply enough, for him to find attraction there just like Hermiod did?

But then, he was beginning to wonder if that mattered at all. He was beginning to wonder if he didn’t prefer Hermiod’s clueless but open smiles, his easy devotion over the constant battle that was trying to figure out what it was that Sheppard was really thinking.

Sheppard cared, but Hermiod loved. He loved everything from pineapples to the sunlight to Rodney. He was more passionate about the strange new flowers Dr. Brown had found on the mainland than Sheppard was about anything, even when he was willing to die for it.

“You taste much like chocolate,” Hermiod said contemplatively, after his latest experiment in blow-jobs, a task he’d taken to with the same clinical enthusiasm that Rodney had come to expect from him. It was glorious, the things he did with Sheppard’s mouth . . . the things Sheppard himself would never do.

Rodney laughed. “Yeah, so it’s not much to taste. That’s why you swallow quickly.”

“Oh. I had thought . . . that it would taste better . . .”

Rodney sat up, still boneless but curious now. “Better than what?”

“Better than a woman.”

“You’ve . . . you’ve tasted a woman?” Rodney didn’t know why he was jealous, but he was. It wasn’t like they had anything exclusive. It wasn’t like they were dating.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Simpson. Women are very aesthetically pleasing . . . and they taste sweet. Not as good as these . . . turkey sandwiches of yours, but they taste fine. You, on the other hand . . .” Hermiod made a face.

Rodney laughed. “But taste isn’t the point, now is it?”

Hermiod rolled over, settling himself so he was straddling Rodney, eyes so open, smile so wide. “No, it is not the point.”

Rodney leaned up to kiss him, wondering when it was he’d fallen so hard, wondering if this hadn’t started with loving Sheppard, and if it had, why that mattered. But then, Hermiod liked turkey sandwiches, which just happened to be Sheppard’s favorite food. He liked the taste of women. He liked flying, too. He liked so many things that Sheppard did. He even liked Rodney. Perhaps the question he should be asking himself wasn’t if his own feelings for Hermiod were mixed up in his feelings for Sheppard, but if Hermiod’s feelings for Rodney were mixed up in Sheppard’s natural inclination to like him?

“Back when you were . . . when you had your own body like this . . . were you attracted to men?”

Hermiod thought about it for a second, flopping down on top of Rodney, using his whole body like a pillow, the way he was prone to after sex. Rodney found that he enjoyed it, the feeling that every inch of his skin was somehow precious.

“I suppose that I was indeed more attracted to men. It was not unusual at the time . . . one of the reasons we were so willing to forgo the ability to reproduce sexually. For many of us, we were never going to anyway.”

“But to give up the organs?”

“After many years, devoted to the same person, it becomes less necessary.”

“But you enjoy it now?”

“It is strange, so many things that I had forgotten to even miss. But in this body, they feel as necessary to me as breathing.”

With that, he leaned over to kiss Rodney, deep and passionate, and absolutely as necessary as breathing. Rodney sighed into the kiss, into lips that belonged to a being so strange and alien, and yet so very human. Hermiod was willing to let himself need, to let himself feel in a way most humans were now beginning to deny. Rodney wondered if it was possible that human beings, too, might one day begin to lose some of their most basic joys in favor of intellect, in favor of coldness, of emotional protection. Rodney might have counted himself among them, before he met Hermiod and saw all it was that he was missing.

“Do that again,” Rodney commanded.

“Do what again?”

“Smile.”

Hermiod complied without complaint.

“You’re amazing,” Rodney said, leaning down to kiss him. “I want to fuck you.”

“Please. Would you like me to be on my back or on my stomach?”

Rodney grinned. Hermiod was so flexible, happy in every position, happy to just be with Rodney. “How about sitting?”

“Sitting?” Hermiod seemed puzzled.

“Sitting. I’ll lie down on my back and you sort of . . . sit down on me.” Rodney waved his hands in what he hoped was an accurate description of what he wanted, though it was awful hard to do with Hermiod stripping like that.

“That seems feasible. Perhaps rather enjoyable.”

Hermiod moved deliberately, pulling his shirt carefully over his head, not even ruffling his hair.

“Slower,” Rodney commanded.

“Excuse me?”

“Strip slower. And smile. Do . . .” Rodney made a sort of twirling motion with his hands. “Add a little flair to it.”

Hermiod nodded, turning around so Rodney could see the muscles of his back as he slipped off his undershirt. Hermiod liked clothes so much that he always made sure to wear a lot of them. The first time though, he’d worn the white wife-beater as an overshirt. He smiled at Rodney, looking intensely down at his pants as he slowly unzipped the fly, stepping closer, shimmying out of them.

He was a natural. Rodney was so hard he thought he was going to explode his genius-sized brains all over the damned room. Oh, god. Hermiod was looking down at his dick, wetting his lips.

“Would it be best if I stripped you now?”

Oh, yeah. He was still clothed, straining against the rough fabric of his trousers. “That would . . . that would be perfect.”

Hermiod smiled again. It wasn’t a lusty lascivious grin – probably because Hermiod hadn’t really seen one. He only knew big smile and little smile, and they were both brilliant. He was learning though – always watching.

But, honestly, if he was going to run his fingers over Rodney’s nipples like that, he could smile however the hell he wanted to – it was just icing on the cake.

The first time they’d had sex, Rodney had been thinking about Sheppard. Now, it was Hermiod. It was all Hermiod – the perfect lover, willing and able to please, so passionate, so . . . eager. Even Sheppard himself probably could never be this good. He was too closed off. Probably either demanding and set in his ways, or completely distant, wanting to please, but not enjoying it.

But Hermiod was enjoying it all right. “Your nipples are so responsive. They are fascinating.” He rubbed them again, distracted from the stripping mission.

Rodney took him by the hips, pulling him in and sucking a flat rosy nipple into his mouth. “Yours are responsive too. They just need the right kind of attention.”

He loved the sounds Hermiod made – still smiling, gasping as Rodney licked and sucked and nibbled, finally sliding off the bed to his knees, pulling down the standard military-issue boxers that his lover sported. He kissed at the soft flesh on the inner thigh, circling and circling, even as Hermiod strained.

“Please . . . please . . .” he whimpered.

Rodney smiled, showing Hermiod the proper lust-filed smile, hoping that he’d catch on. “I bet you taste good.”

Hermiod nodded.

“Really good,” Rodney amended, taking a tiny lick.

Hermiod squirmed. “This is . . . this is incredible. I cannot believe how much I had forgotten. You have shown me so much, Dr. McKay.”

And while, ordinarily, Rodney would’ve objected to such formal address in the bedroom, he found that his cock twitched at the term ‘Doctor.’ It was oddly appropriate. He was the professor and Hermiod was the student.

“But there’s more to see,” Rodney said, taking him all the way into his mouth.

Hermiod didn’t last long. A few strokes and he was coming down Rodney’s throat. Idly, Rodney wondered if this was what Sheppard tasted like – if he’d be able to tell the difference.

“Want to taste yourself?” Rodney asked.

“Yes. It would be interesting.”

Rodney stood, giving Hermiod a long deep kiss, a kiss made for the big screen. After their first tentative time, Rodney had trained Hermiod to kiss like a porn star.

After the both pulled back, panting, Hermiod frowned. “I taste like chocolate too.”

Rodney laughed at that, tackling him onto the bed. Sleeping with Hermiod also held the advantage of the fact that he seemed to need close to no recovery time. No wonder Sheppard had a girl in every port. Or maybe it was just Asgard mental discipline. Rodney would never know. He wasn’t about to ask either of them about it.

“You are still unaccounted for,” Hermiod said as Rodney showered him with light kisses.

“Hm. Imagine that. What are you going to do about it?”

“Remove your pants and then sit on you.”

Rodney had to laugh again at that, even as Hermiod made quick work of the rest of is clothing.

“While I do enjoy the many different colors and textures of human dress, I find it to be a hindrance in situations like these.”

“Yes, well . . . it has it’s uses . . . like that strip show you put on earlier.”

“Indeed.” Hermiod leaned down for another kiss before reaching over Rodney for the lube. He slicked Rodney up quickly and didn’t take long on himself.

Rodney was paralyzed by lust, just laying back, watching this. Rodney’d had his fair share of lovers. Probably not the same amount as Colonel John Tiberius Hotpants, but still, a fair number. And while many of them were attentive lovers, putty in Rodney’s skilled hands, none had done things like this for him – put themselves completely in his service.

Hermiod looked over him, studying the physics of the situation for a second before finally impaling himself on Rodney’s cock. A thick bar of pleasure stabbed through him, from his head to his toes. This was so perfect, Hermiod riding him like this, clenching and unclenching. Sitting there and waiting, holding Rodney inside him while he calmed before speeding up again. It was spectacular.

It was perfect.

“I think I love you,” Rodney gasped, right before he came.

Even as they made progress on the data transfer, having secured most of the valuable security-based data, Rodney found himself driving himself and Hermiod to new levels of distraction. They had everything they needed, and now they were living on borrowed time. When they finished the work with the chair, Hermiod would have no reason to stay in this body. He’d leave and Rodney would be alone again – an alone he no longer thought he could stand.

It was getting harder to keep their hands off each other too. They were alone in the chair room for most of the day, free to steal kisses and small touches whenever they pleased, but as Rodney settled into the comfortable domesticity of sharing meals and sharing a bed, it grew harder to remember that they couldn’t touch all the time – they couldn’t live inside each other’s skin.

They were walking down the corridor towards Rodney’s quarters when Hermiod stopped, looking at Rodney cajolingly, mischievously.

“What?” Rodney said, concerned. That look was dangerous.

Hermiod’s eyes darted around, then he grabbed Rodney and pulled him back into a small alcove, covering his face and neck with the smallest kisses, hands gripping Rodney’s waist, hair tickling against his chin as he sucked that place on Rodney’s neck that always made him shudder and moan.

“What’s that for?” Rodney asked, breathless.

“I felt like it,” Hermiod said. This is where Sheppard would give one of his patented indifferent shrugs. Instead, Rodney felt himself being reeled in for another kiss. “It is good . . . to be free to do this.”

Rodney smiled, knowing that it was dangerous – something they shouldn’t be doing at all. But he found himself willing to take that risk, willing to put it out there because, like Hermiod, he was finally allowing himself the freedom to feel, to let go and do what his body wanted to instead of falling back on doubts and game-playing and useless attempts at seduction.

He had everything he needed right here in his arms: passion, intelligence, strength. Hermiod . . . he was what Rodney had always wanted – someone who appreciated and shared his own intelligence, but also someone with wonder too, someone who was willing to push Rodney to his limits, to make him see things from a different angle, someone who was willing to give Rodney his all.

Just as he was really getting into the kiss, hands straying up broad shoulders, dick hardening, he felt strong hands on his collar, dragging him back.

Rodney looked, bewildered, into green eyes, darkened with anger, not passion.

“Go!” Sheppard barked at Hermiod, who slinked away guiltily.

Rodney wondered what it was that Hermiod had to feel guilty for. It was Sheppard that was interrupting their moment, not the other way around.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, McKay?!” Sheppard shouted, as close as Hermiod and practically vibrating in anger. He held tight to the collar of Rodney’s jacket, but it wasn’t frightening. No matter how angry, Rodney knew Sheppard would never hurt him.

“Um . . . well . . . we were kissing. You’d think Captain Kirk himself would recognize it when he sees it.” He gave a sheepish smile, hoping Sheppard would calm at the joke.

Instead, he glared. “You can’t just . . . you have no right! You can’t do that with my body.”

“But it’s not your body. You’re in your body right now. I wasn’t doing anything with you. I was doing something with Hermiod!”

“But it is my body. Weren’t you the one bitching to me about Cadman violating your personal space . . . making you kiss Beckett? It’s the same thing only . . . worse . . ”

“It’s not the same thing. With Cadman, I felt everything she did. She went out running and I was stuck tired and sore. Whatever Hermiod does to it . . . he feels the consequences, not you. What he does with it doesn’t affect you.”

“Maybe, if he had it a million miles away with people he’s never met . . . but with you . . . with you and he . . . what? Having sex? It’s like you having sex with me!”

Sheppard’s grip was suddenly too close, too intimate, cloying. Rodney pushed him away, but his dick, still fresh with the memory of Hermiod’s lips on his, was not softening. “Last time I checked, I was screaming out Hermiod’s name, not yours.”

“You shouldn’t be getting to scream Hermiod’s name when he comes with my dick! Just because I turned you down doesn’t mean you can just settle for fucking me with someone else experiencing it.”

“Maybe I like him for who he is . . . maybe it has nothing to do with you!” Though Rodney still wasn’t sure of that. If he hadn’t been attracted to Sheppard to begin with, would he ever be in this situation?

“You hated him before this whole thing!”

“I didn’t know him very well. In a real body . . . it’s different . . .”

“And if it were Kavanagh’s body? Or Elizabeth’s? Or Michael Moore’s?”

Eww . . . Michael Moore? Rodney grimaced.

“See? It is about physical attraction. It is about the fact that you want to fuck me and you’re taking what you can get . . . I can’t believe you!”

Sheppard was panting and flushed and in his anger, still managed to look the way Rodney knew he’d look panting down from an orgasm . . . the way Hermiod looked. Rodney looked away.

“I’m sorry, okay? Would it change things if I say he started it?”

“No! It doesn’t! He’s a weird little naked alien who’s just found himself with a dick after centuries upon centuries . . . I can’t blame him for going for whatever was handy . . . but you. You’re supposed to be my friend. You knew how I felt about this . . .”

Sheppard’s eyes were so bright and vibrant, his chest heaving. Oh, God, having felt that chest rising up against him, he couldn’t stop it. Even the guilt couldn’t kill the goddamn erection.

Sheppard stepped closer, hand reaching out to cup Rodney through his pants. “You said I couldn’t feel the consequences . . . but I can feel them pretty damned well.”

He squeezed, just hard enough to pass through pleasure and into pain, then turned and walked away.

Rodney looked after him sadly, already knowing that he and Hermiod weren’t going to stop.

After that, Hermiod did his best to differentiate himself from Sheppard. He started wearing Athosian clothing or Rodney’s blue science team t-shirts. One day he even came back, Sheppard’s dark mop of hair died bleached-blonde. Sheppard was beautiful, but as a blonde, Hermiod was gorgeous.

Rodney couldn’t help but want to touch him, to reach out and comb his fingers through that hair, every hour of every day. But even as Rodney was falling deeper and deeper in love with him, Hermiod seemed to be pulling away.

He still kissed Rodney deeply, passionately. He still made him laugh, still taunted him playfully with his intellectual brilliance, but something was wrong. Hermiod was growing into Sheppard’s little deflections, into his far-away stare. He’d go for long walks around the city, to god knows where, or suddenly leap up from the chair interface to ‘go to the bathroom’ and not come back for half and hour. Rodney knew he should chase after him, find out what was wrong, but there was a part of him that didn’t want to know.

Hermiod was entitled to his own life, after all. Rodney wanted him to have his own life, so after the data transfer was complete, he’d have something to do while Rodney went out into the field again. He was going to ask Hermiod to stay. He needed him to stay.

But then, the night after they finished their work with the chair, Rodney came out of the shower to find his room filled with candlelight and soft music and alien flower petals. Hermiod was sitting in the middle of the bed, looking gorgeous in a dark silky robe. He smiled warmly at Rodney. “Dr. Simpson told me that this was considered romantic.”

Rodney grinned. “Yes, for teenaged girls and old married women trying to celebrate an anniversary the universe doesn’t care about.”

Hermiod pouted. “You do not like it, then?”

Rodney shrugged. “You look good in candlelight. And this robe . . .” he pulled Hermiod close, stroking his hands over the silky fabric, running through his hands like water, even as he felt the hardened muscle, all heat and power, beneath it.

Hermiod smiled, his widest, most genuine smile, leaning over to kiss Rodney. The classical music, too, sounded wonderful in the background, slowing and speeding the kiss, making it seem as inevitable as it perhaps was. Maybe all those silly girls who imagined true love would be like this didn’t have it so wrong after all.

Rodney wanted to speak, to ask Hermiod to stay with him like this forever, but he couldn’t. His mouth was captured by soft lips, by a fixed gaze, still as open as before, and as loving. No one had ever wanted Rodney this much and he felt it all the way down to his toes. It wasn’t until Hermiod was above him, sinking down onto him with long slow strokes, eyes closed as he took in every minute, that Rodney realized what this really was – it was goodbye.

The moonlight had faded into the first rays of daylight, and Hermiod had collapsed on top of him, as usual, warmth filling both of them, dancing between them with every breath that fluttered over the sensitive place near Rodney’s collarbone. He hadn’t slept . . . couldn’t sleep until he thought up the perfect thing to say – the thing that would make Hermiod stay.

And that’s when he saw it, the pinched look on Hermiod’s face, the way he whimpered and curled tighter around Rodney in his sleep. He could almost see the exact spot where the pain originated, like a red-hot poker to the temple, just bellow a wayward tuft of blonde hair. Rodney reached out tentatively to massage it, wanting more than anything to make it go away, and to take back the knowledge that this was why Hermiod was saying goodbye, not duty, or fear or things that could be overcome.

Green eyes opened in a flash, looking up at him as Hermiod tried to push away. Rodney held him there tight, still massaging away. Hermiod sighed, relaxing into it.

Once the pain seemed to have subsided, Rodney said the thing he’d planned all night. The situation was different now, but he still felt that if he spoke it with enough conviction, they’d find a way to make it work. “Stay,” he pleaded.

Hermiod smiled sadly at him. “I can’t. You know I would love to, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“My mind is not made for this body. The body is deteriorating . . .”

“Then we’ll make you another.”

“That would require cloning your friend again.”

“So we’ll clone him again! Please, I need you. You can’t go.”

“I do not think he will agree to be cloned again, and even so, it would not last forever.”

Rodney sighed. Sheppard was against it, but he still cared about Rodney. He’d do it. He’d have to do it. “I’ll talk to him.”

Hermiod looked doubtful, but he didn’t say anything, just snuggled closer to Rodney, kissing all worry and tension away.

“No!” Sheppard shouted.

“Why not?”

“I agreed to let you do it for the good of Atlantis. When it was scientific work, I could stand it. But I’m not going to just keep letting you clone me so you can keep your little blow-up doll version of me around as a sex toy.”

“It’s not like that! I already told you, it’s not like that!”

Sheppard crossed his hands over his chest, annoyed and defensive. “Then tell me how it is.”

“I love him! I love the way he thinks – the way he’s the only person that can be a step ahead of me. I love the way he refuses to take shit from me – the knowing look in his eyes. I love the way he laughs – how the most inconsequential things make him smile. I love the way he is with me – how he’s fascinated by every touch, the way, for him, every moment is a gift.”

Sheppard was deflecting again. For a second, Rodney thought he looked hurt, maybe even jealous, but that look was so fleeting that Rodney couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it. “But, Rodney. That knowing look, that’s my look. That laugh – my laugh, my lips. The smile . . . the touches . . . the body . . . they’re all mine.”

“But you never laugh like that. You’ve never touched me the way he does. You never would! When you look at me, I don’t see that kind of love or lust or need. That’s all him. It doesn’t matter what package it comes in!”

“Then you won’t mind if it comes in a little grey alien package, then,” Sheppard said, his voice as apologetic as it was angry.

“John,” Rodney said, making this a personal plea for one of the rare times he dared think he was close enough to Sheppard to demand that. “Please, don’t do this. Please don’t make us . . . you know there are things you can’t do with an Asgard body.”

Sheppard sighed, not meeting Rodney’s gaze. “I can’t, Rodney. I just can’t.”

And then Rodney looked at Sheppard for the first time he had in weeks, really looked. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. His skin looked almost bruised, sallow. He was on edge, every movement tense, a current of nervousness running beneath everything. He was thinner, skittish.

Rodney reached out, grabbing Sheppard’s hand. He was still Rodney’s friend, even after everything. It still hurt to see him like this. He hadn’t known what this was doing to Sheppard. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to. But now he did, and there was no way for him to un-know it. “It’s okay, John. I understand.”

Sheppard nodded, eyes grateful, but still closed. Rodney pulled him deep into a hug. The broad shoulders and the wiry muscles were familiar, as was the scent, but Rodney had never hugged Hermiod like this before – like a friend comforting a friend in need.

Rodney stared. Obsidian black eyes stared back at him, unfazed.

“So,” Rodney said, rocking a little nervously. He forded himself sit down on the bed so he’d stop fidgeting. Hermiod was still the same person inside. The same person inside, but he just . . . he couldn’t. Hermiod’s mouth was too small to kiss, and without expressive lips to move against his, how could he?

“Perhaps, a game of chess?” Hermiod asked calmly, already moving spindly legs to walk over to where he knew Rodney kept the chessboard.

“Yes . . . yes . . . chess . . . chess is good . . . I’m always a fan of chess,” Rodney gulped.

This was where Hermiod should have smiled. Instead he turned to look at Rodney and blinked.

The game did not go well. Rodney couldn’t look at Hermiod. When they’d played before, he’d done nothing but stare, licking his lips as he watched Hermiod purposefully pull down the zipper on his t-shirt or smile at him for no reason other than the fact that Rodney liked it when he did.

“So . . . erm . . . how did Colonel Caldwell treat the Daedalus in your absence?” Rodney asked, wringing his hands.

“As well as can be expected.”

“Oh . . . that’s good.”

Hermiod’s eyes narrowed. “It is not.”

“Yes . . . well, they’re incompetent morons . . . all of them. Especially Caldwell. And he thinks he can do Sheppard’s job? Ha! And Novak . . . I don’t know how she expects to get anything done hiccupping like that all the time.”

“I believe she only hiccups when she is nervous.” Hermiod tilted his head to the side, blinking.

“Oh. Hmm . . . well, at least it’s not crying. Emerson used to do that all the time. Maybe someone’ll beat it out of her.”

“Indeed. She is not the worst I have worked with, however.”

“Kavanagh?”

“Of course.”

They let the silence sit for a minute. It was harder to be silent and not look at Hermiod at the same time, especially when he knew those bug-like eyes were fixed on him.

“So . . . that Kavanagh . . . really is an asshole, isn’t he?” Rodney babbled. He knew he was babbling, and the accusatory blink that Hermiod gave him said that he knew too. “Sorry,” he hiccupped.

“Dr. McKay, if my presence now makes you uncomfortable . . .”

“No . . . No!” Rodney looked up, panicked. “It’s not that . . . it’s just a change. It’s a surprise. I’m sure . . . I mean, the feelings I have for you can’t just go away, can they?”

He thought . . . he thought that if he really loved someone, it wouldn’t matter what they looked like. In all his fantasies about Sheppard, he’d say that. He’d tell Rodney that he didn’t care that he didn’t look like the five thousand alien bimbos jumping in line to impale themselves on his genetically-superior cock. He’d say that it was what was inside that he wanted . . . that the connection between them overwhelmed anything looks could offer. But, maybe Rodney was way more shallow than fantasy-Sheppard. Granted, he wasn’t exactly a naked grey alien, but still . . . he should be better than this.

Brains. Brains were a turn on. They were supposed to be a turn on. And who had a bigger brain than the guy who’d evolved 10,000 years to have one? And he had felt a connection to Hermiod. He had loved him.

Unless he’d mistaken that love. Maybe love wasn’t separated from body at all. Maybe it didn’t matter what kind of emotional connection you felt to someone if you weren’t attracted to them. Wasn’t that what Sheppard felt for Rodney himself?

Or perhaps he hadn’t been in love with Hermiod, just in love with Sheppard. In love with a fantasy Sheppard who did everything that real-Sheppard wouldn’t. He didn’t know. But he wanted to.

“It’s just going to take some getting used to, that’s all. We can still be together. I mean . . . what’s a little body-swapping got to do with it, right?”

Hermiod stood, practically gliding over to Rodney. Long finger’s traced his cheek but they were cold, light . . . insubstantial. Rodney suppressed a shudder.

“I cannot feel anything. Just pressure. I cannot even touch you, Rodney. How do you expect this to work?”

Rodney was absolutely not thinking about those cold thin fingers inside of him. He stood, Hermiod’s fingers falling away like petals on the wind.

“Well . . . you said that there were relationships among your people that spanned centuries. You said that for people in love, bodies didn’t matter, right?”

Hermiod blinked at him curiously. “You and I do not have that kind of relationship.”

Rodney was indignant. What? So he wasn’t someone you’d want to spend infinity with? “How do you know that? I told you . . . I told Sheppard that I was in love with you. I need you. I . . .”

“I know because I have spent 10,237 years with the same person. And you are nothing like them.”

“You mean . . . you already . . . but you cheated . . . you never told me!” Rodney sat back down heavily. He’d read this so wrong.

“I told you. It had been a long time since I had indulged in such physical pleasures, and I enjoyed them greatly. For that, I will be forever in your debt. But those things have grown meaningless to us now. Thor would not care what I did while in a human body. Our relationship has gone far beyond that.”

“You . . . you and . . . you and Thor?” Rodney had never actually met Thor, but he’d heard a lot about him. How could Hermiod fall for someone who thought General O’Neill was the paragon of human civilization?

Hermiod narrowed his eyes. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No . . . no, just difficult to picture . . . but, I’ve never met him. I’m sure he’s a very . . . dashing . . . um . . . intelligent guy.”

“Indeed he is. And I must return to him now. He had trusted me with the job of tending to the humans, whom he cares so much about, but I am afraid that my presence here has only complicated things for you, Rodney. I am sorry. I can honestly say that I meant you no harm.”

Rodney nodded, a tight feeling in his chest. He was still unsure whether it was heartbreak or just plain confusion. “So you’re leaving me? Saying goodbye?”

“I’m afraid I am. But you must remember what I have learned. Human life is so ephemeral, and so is human passion, but that is what makes it great. For the brief time I spent in that body, I felt my entire existence narrowed to you. I needed you with every cell of my body. That kind of passion was a gift.”

“But you’re leaving.”

“If it were not so brief, do you think it would be as great?”

“And what you have with Thor? Is it better?”

“No. It is different. And I hope that you too might find a way to experience it. But it cannot be with me.”

“But how can I . . .”

“You will find a way.”

And with that, he was gone, swept up in a blaze of light.

“Goodbye,” Rodney said to the empty air.

His bed was empty. It was as cold as those long weightless fingers. He couldn’t sleep. And yet he could barely drag himself out of bed in the morning. How had he been so wrong? So confused? Beckett was right . . . he never should have played with fire the way he had. But he was right for all the wrong reasons. It wasn’t his friendship with Sheppard that was in danger, it was himself. He couldn’t . . . he didn’t. Even if it wasn’t love, it still hurt.

Rodney had been in relationships before. But they were, as Hermiod said, ephemeral. He had thanked god for the bouts of amazing and regular sex, but he’d never grown too attached to anyone. He’d never focused his existence on anyone, because frankly, they never seemed to focus their existence on him. They both always seemed to have better things to do.

But now . . . Hermiod had been so right for him. He completed Rodney’s every need in a way he’d never found before. Maybe it wasn’t love so much as it was covet. Now that he knew that, he couldn’t just give it up. He lamented its passing. He mourned it like he would mourn a lost love. Heartbreak . . . no, loss . . . yes.

Rodney tossed and turned, unable, for the fifth night in a row, to really fall asleep. And then the door opened. A familiar figure was standing in the doorway. His figure was tall and lean, graceful like Hermiod had been . . . but the hair was spiked up, a glowing halo against the light of the corridor.

“Sheppard?”

“Hey, Rodney.”

“What are you doing here?”

The door closed and he felt a depression on the side of his bed. “I know the Daedalus left. And a little birdie tells me that you haven’t been sleeping.”

Rodney sighed. “I miss him.”

Sheppard reached out, hands feeling up Rodney’s chest to find his hand. Rodney gasped at the touches, too firm to be the caresses of a lover, but the hands were so familiar anyway, so real, even as they clasped his in the darkness. “I know you do.”

“I miss his little jokes . . . sometime insults, really. I miss his smiles. I miss him sleeping beside me.”

Rodney was not going to cry, he decided. Love was a sufficient excuse. But it hadn’t been love. It had been attraction, caring, desire. But then he found himself giving a desperate little chuckle, a sob almost.

Sheppard stretched out beside him, wrapping his arms around him in a firm hug. Of all the embraces he’d had with Hermiod, none of them had felt like this. He felt buoyed up by Sheppard’s confidence, by this little calming whispers into Rodney’s ears. Hermiod had lain on top of him; Sheppard enveloped him.

Rodney sunk into the embrace, calming himself, lulled by the deep, steady in-and-out of Sheppard’s breathing. He couldn’t see Sheppard’s eyes in the darkness, but when he finally pulled back, he could see the outline of his features, so close . . . so touchable. He’d touched these very features before, kissed these lips. Sheppard said he wasn’t gay, but Hermiod hadn’t had a problem in his same body. If there wasn’t the capacity to be attracted to men (as biologists liked to claim was part of human sexuality), then Hermiod wouldn’t have been able to get hard for him, no matter how much he’d liked Rodney’s mind.

Rodney didn’t think, he just let his lips glide forward, pressing up against Sheppard’s. It wasn’t like any of the kisses he’d shared with Hermiod. There had been soft and rough and passionate and even porn-star, but there had never been this. Sheppard’s lips seemed rougher, stiff. They moved against Rodney’s subtly, no tongue, just a slight response. It was how Sheppard had described their relationship – more than friends, less than lovers.

Sheppard pulled back. His body hadn’t tensed. He rolled onto his side, Rodney’s arms still gripping him. He didn’t want Sheppard to leave. He just wanted to stay like this, spooned up against him. “Are you going to leave me too?” Rodney asked, both tentative and sour.

Sheppard sighed. “No. I won’t leave.” Sheppard didn’t sprawl like Hermiod had, clinging, but his breathing was deep and relaxed. He was comfortable here. “I love you, Rodney, but this is all I can give you.”

Rodney didn’t know what had happened to Sheppard that made him unable to do the same things that Hermiod had with the same body, but he didn’t care.
He could stay like this forever.

FIN