If Rodney has to receive a dressing down, it’s always better when Sheppard is getting the same, mostly because Sheppard tends to take on the brunt of the blame as though it’s his alone, and with a cool accepting slouch that says he doesn’t mind at all. And Sheppard is better at dealing with Colonel Carter—far better than he’d dealt with Elizabeth, with those troublesome layers of diplomacy between them—which comes in handy when they have to explain things like why they’ve lost a jumper or started a small war or, like today, broken the most basic protocol.

Rodney pulls up his readings from the mission on his handheld while Sheppard and Carter face off, a back-and-forth exchange of information that ends only when Carter sinks into her seat and says, “I’m still not sure how you thought it was all right to bring unauthorized personnel onto Atlantis, Colonel.”

“I told you, they were about to be culled,” Sheppard says, as impatience finally eats through his tight control. Rodney hears the bite beneath his words, and looks up from his work.

“It’s true; there were darts everywhere,” he puts in, a favor for Sheppard, because it’s been a long day, and they’ve both been stretched past their limits, starting with the first sign of the Wraith and ending with the minister’s insistence that they take her youngest son to safety.

“Fine, fine!” Rodney had shouted above the whispering darts, and they had both signed their assent while Ronon had paced angry circles around the doorway, Teyla’s fingers curled into Rodney’s sleeve the whole while. We must go, she had repeated—always quietly, but he knows her tones as well as he knows Sheppard’s, and the urgency had sent hot rivulets of panic down the back of his neck.

“He’s harmless,” Sheppard says, glancing toward the window, where they can all see Rory’s face through the glass, pale and anxious, and Major Lorne standing guard.

“He may very well be,” Carter says. “But did you read this contract before you signed?”

“Enough to get the gist of it,” Sheppard says.

“Yes. Forgive us for not reading the fine print, but they had a P-90 to Sheppard’s back and did we mention the culling? We did what we had to.”

“What you did was give your word,” Carter says. “And after looking over this contract, I’m skeptical about your willingness to follow through.”

Rodney sputters, and Sheppard says, “We’ll follow through,” like he feels it as every bit the insult that Rodney does. Still, there’s something about Carter’s expression, the way she looks as though she’s about to call checkmate, that has him frantically backtracking through everything the Demerian minister had said.

Our brightest student, she had said, and he must not be wasted so young. Take him, she’d begged, care for him as your own. With the city’s many resources—and a gun to Sheppard’s back—why would Rodney have refused?

“Right,” Carter says, just as Dr. Keller comes in with a file.

“We’ve got him in the system now, but I thought you might want a hard copy to look over,” she tells Carter as she hands it over. She leaves right away, but Rodney feels her eyes on him the whole while.

“What,” he snaps, just as he catches a glimpse of the block lettering on the edge of the folder: Rory McKay-Sheppard, and then his question doesn’t seem nearly as important as undoing whatever’s taken place between the first debriefing and this private meeting. “What’s that?” he manages to say over the aggressive swell of horror in his throat.

“Rory’s file,” Carter says, skimming through the pages.

“I see that, but why is it grossly mislabeled?”

“Mm,” she says, her face smooth and prim and still so pretty it distracts him at times, but without the tight feeling in his gut that had taken forever to fade into a warm appreciation. She keeps reading, then adds, “I was getting to that. Like I was saying, the contract you and the Colonel signed was pretty specific. You both agreed to take guardianship for Rory.”

“But, the folder,” Rodney says weakly. He can’t look away from the words that are half-covered by Carter’s index finger.

“Relax, McKay. Apparently the Demerians don’t have surnames, so the medical staff just-“ She smiles at Rodney. “-did the logical thing to make him fit into our system.”

“The logical thing? The logical thing is for, for somebody to find him some quarters or get him settled on the mainland; Sheppard, say something!” he demands, but Sheppard just sits back with a slight frown.

“Maybe we’d better take a look at that contract,” he says mildly.

“Good idea.” Carter slides the contract over to Sheppard and shuts the medical file. “And he’s been given a clean bill of health, so that’s good news.”

“Of course he’s healthy; he’s twenty-two years old. And while we’re on the subject, he’s twenty two years old, which means this little adoption scenario you’ve all concocted is completely pointless.” He cranes his neck to get a look at the contract, while Sheppard holds it out of view just to be difficult.

“Oh,” Sheppard says a few minutes later, and this time he lets Rodney snatch it away without a fight. “Well, crap.”

**

Rodney has to hand it to Sheppard; he asks all the right questions, which means he wants out of it even if he would never actively try to weasel out of it. It makes Rodney feel better about his own unwillingness to follow through, because there’s no reason a twenty-two year old shouldn’t be considered a capable adult, and the idea of being responsible for this guy for three more years—science, they’d said he was a student of science, and Rodney knows what that means—is something he doesn’t have time for.

“So, how are we going to do this?” Sheppard asks, jogging to catch up after the meeting. Rory is getting moved into his new quarters, but they’re supposed to visit him later.

“Oh, good, thank god, yes. What do you think; we just explain that while we’re very happy to have him here, we’re also very busy?”

Sheppard’s hand closes around his arm and pulls him to a gentle stop at the end of the corridor. “Hold up there, McKay. I don’t think that’s going to cut it. At least, not for now.”

‘For now’ sounds so promising that Rodney lets Sheppard hold him there, close enough for Rodney to smell sweat and gun oil and a faint trace of smoke, reminders of the culling they’d barely escaped.

“Sure. I mean, we help him get settled in, show him the ropes, and before you know it, he’s getting by just fine on his own.”

“I guess he did have a pretty bad day,” Rodney concedes, suddenly generous when he thinks of his city intact, his team safe, and Sheppard, who’d had a P-90 jammed between his shoulders just a few hours earlier, crowded close for privacy and smiling, after all that.

“There you go,” Sheppard says, still smiling with the corners of his eyes.

“But, wait. What are we going to do about—you know,” he says, and there’s no reason this should feel so embarrassing, but it is, and Rodney can’t be the only one to understand all the implications. “The name thing. It’s—he can’t go around like that.”

Sheppard leans back against the wall and shrugs, looking Rodney over carefully. “We put our names on the agreement, Rodney,” he says. “Besides, it’s only for our records. His people don’t even have surnames, remember?”

“Right,” he hedges, but nothing ever ends up being that simple. “So...you’ll probably stop in later to make sure he’s good?”

“If by ‘you’ you mean us, then yes.”

“But if you’re already—“

“—I’ll swing by in an hour,” Sheppard says, and steps into the transporter.

**

If it’s annoying that Rory is suddenly and painfully bashful when they stop by his quarters, Sheppard’s “here for you, buddy” routine is even harder to take.

Not that Rodney has any ideas on how to fulfill their supposed commitments. He stands near the window and watches while Sheppard sits down next to Rory on the narrow bed.

“You’re very kind,” Rory keeps saying, his face half hidden by his long, curling hair, hands working nervously on his lap. “Thank you, Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay.” He’s been given some military boots, and they scrape across the floor, clunky on his thin, spindly legs. There’s something a little sad about the picture he makes, a twist of discomfort in Rodney’s chest that loosens when Sheppard gives Rory’s arm an awkward pat.

“We’ll go back tomorrow and see if there were any survivors,” Sheppard says, and Rory shakes his head.

“There won’t be any. There were already so few.” He leans into Sheppard’s touch, and Rodney feels like the awkward one now, distanced and useless against the wall while Sheppard does his best to make good on their promise.

“Maybe not,” Sheppard says, but when he looks at Rodney over the top of Rory’s head, his expression is bleak. “Let’s just wait and see, all right? Now, how about something to eat? We don’t want to keep Rodney waiting. He gets cranky,” he adds, as though it’s a secret between the two of them.

Rory follows close to Sheppard’s side all the way to the mess, and mimics everything from the food Sheppard puts on his tray to the way he eats it, peas stirred into mashed potatoes and spooned leisurely into his mouth as though he’s got all the time in the world.

“What are you all bent out of shape about?” Sheppard asks halfway through the meal, one eyebrow raised in a warning, not that Rodney needs one. He’s perfectly aware that Rory is taking in every word they say, which is part of the problem—he wants out from under that scrutiny, but doesn’t know how far his duties extend.

“Nothing,” he snaps, “I’d just like to get to the lab at some point today.”

“A science lab?” Rory sits up straight. “My studies are in science, I can—“

“No, you can’t,” Rodney says quickly, ignoring the way Sheppard stares with intent, his lips pressed together in what he probably thinks is a covert communication of his displeasure. “I- we’re working on very delicate calibrations today, and I barely have time to babysit my own staff, much less a virtual novice.”

“Tomorrow, then?” Rory asks, looking from Sheppard to Rodney, and finally back to Sheppard. “I want to work.”

“There’s plenty to do,” Rodney assures him. “In fact, there are a lot of things that just can’t wait, so if you’ll excuse me…”

“Yeah, sure,” Sheppard says, and when he gives a halfhearted wave, Rory’s hand raises in the same gesture.

**

“He knows you’re avoiding him.” Sheppard doesn’t even bother ringing at Rodney’s door; just glides on in while Rodney is simultaneously brushing his teeth and reading email.

“Do you mind?” he demands through a mouthful of toothpaste, and ducks into the bathroom to rinse. “And if you’re talking about Rory, I just saw him yesterday.”

It’s more or less true. He’d done a double-take when he’d seen the kid, because it’s only been a few weeks since they’ve learned that the Demeria world had been culled to extinction, and Rory’s light brown hair has already been cropped military-short, and he’s been put in a uniform just like anyone else in the city. If it hadn’t been for the way he’d trailed so closely behind Sheppard, Rodney might not have even recognized him.

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Sheppard says from the other room. “You see him and he sees you, but then you don’t stop to say hi and he gets all…you know.”

Rodney glances down at his bare legs and decides that if Sheppard comes to see him at bedtime, then he can deal with Rodney’s boxers. “No, I don’t know.”

Sheppard waves his hand and sits in the empty seat next to Rodney’s bed. “Disappointed,” he says, and draws the word out with enough emphasis that his point is impossible to miss.

“Please. His entire family was culled and I’m what disappoints him?”

“Apparently, yes.”

“Oh, come on! I helped get him off that planet alive; you’d think he’d be a little grateful. And okay, I’m not as hands-on as you’ve been, but he’s better off with you, learning to be useful and whatnot.”

Sheppard just shrugs, a bit sheepish—or he could be faking; he does that sometimes, which is ridiculous, because he’s a grown man and should just say what he wants—and looks over Rodney’s neatly folded covers before shrugging again. “He’s bored,” he says, and glances back up at Rodney. “He can’t just fire the weapons; he wants to know how they work; he can’t just ride in the transporter without wanting to get inside the control panel. It gets a little old.”

“Then have Lorne take care of it.”

“I can’t, McKay, we’re supposed to be his, his-“

“Don’t say it! Do not say it,” Rodney warns, because he knows exactly where Sheppard is going with this, and they’re not.

“Well, like it or not, we’re at least his guardians, and you need to start doing your part. He thinks you don’t like him.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Sheppard doesn’t show any sign of leaving, so Rodney gets into bed and pulls the covers up to his chin. “I’d like to help you, but I just don’t have time.”

“What if we got him the gene therapy?”

Rodney stares at the ceiling, searching for a reason to say no. He doesn’t mind the kid; it’s the scrutiny he can’t stomach. Maybe it’s because Rory is permanently attached to Sheppard, maybe it’s because of the name typed onto that folder, but people are obsessed with speculation about him, and Rodney has good reason to distance himself from that. “It might help,” he admits.

“Cool,” Sheppard says. “So I’ll just send him to your lab tomorrow?”

“If the gene therapy works,” he adds. “And shut off the lights on your way out.”

*

Of course the gene therapy works. Sheppard personally escorts Rory to the lab and hands him off like some foreign diplomat rather than an annoyance, but he takes the kid without complaint—what can he do, with everyone watching so avidly—and shows him how to access the ancient database. They can’t always afford to waste good personnel on research, so as far as Rodney is concerned it’s a win-win-win situation, with Sheppard naturally getting the most out of it, what with the jaunty wave of freedom he gives Rodney on his way out.

Except, he comes back.

It makes no sense, because he’d been home free, but only four hours later, Sheppard comes back, thumbs hooked through his belt loops and an expression that Rodney can’t quite place.

“He’s over there,” Rodney says without looking up from his screen, and motions toward the other side of the room, but Sheppard loiters until the figures in Rodney’s head start to slip maddeningly out of place.

“Yes?”

Sheppard jerks his head toward the door, and Rodney grudgingly follows him into the corridor. When they’ve reached what Sheppard has apparently judged a safe distance from whatever breach of privacy that’s got him worried, he crosses his arms over his chest and gives Rodney a hard look. “So, how’s he doing?”

“What? Oh, Rory? He’s fine. Pretty good for a beginner; I’m sure I can find some use for him.”

“So he’s picking things up…”

“Quickly enough, yes.”

And as Sheppard leans back, pleased, and Rodney suddenly recognizes that new expression for what it is--pride; he’s proud of Rory, wants him to do well and wants Rodney to praise him.

Rodney frowns at the confusion that rises up out of nowhere and makes a mess of what he’d originally planned to say, which had been something like now if you’re finished bothering me, some of us have actual work to do, because is he supposed to be proud, too? When he looks at Rory, he doesn’t feel anything other than grateful for an errand-boy who doesn’t talk back, and a touch of lingering annoyance over the gun in Sheppard’s back.

“Look, Sheppard,” he says uneasily. “We’re managing just fine, so you’re free to go hit Ronon with some sticks, or something. I’ll make sure Rory gets to bed at a decent hour, or whatever it is you do.”

*


Part of it is Rory’s appearance. The short haircut emphasizes his large dark eyes and solemn features, reminds people of everything that he has lost, and he still hasn’t grown into his limbs—not that Rodney had, at this age—which gives him the appearance of clumsiness when, as Rodney finds out eventually, his hands and mind are both quite capable.

It’s not like Rodney has asked Rory how he’s feeling these days, but he seems happy enough. He doesn’t need the pitying glances the other scientists send his way while he’s bent over his work; or the gifts of sweets and gadgets, and he definitely doesn’t need Sheppard checking in a thousand times a day to make sure he’s getting on okay.

“Rory. When you finish-“

“I finished,” Rory interrupts, then withdraws, shooting Rodney a worried glance over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I just—began cross-referencing those schematics with the ones I pulled yesterday.”

Rodney pauses long enough to look at Rory, whose slim shoulders move ever so slightly as he continues to punch information into the console. “That’s…very good,” he says.

Now, this isn’t so bad. If he’d been given an assistant a few years ago, who knows what he might have accomplished. Sheppard had been right; Rory is far more useful here than he’d ever been doing patrols in remote sections of the city.

Sheppard had been right, but he’s Sheppard, so of course he can’t leave well enough alone.

“So, what do you think about Rory going on an away mission?” Sheppard asks over dinner that night. They’re eating later than usual, nearly bedtime, and it’s one of those evenings when everyone has put away their weapons and tac vests for comfort, put away the day’s pressing issues for their own private projects, a luxury they don’t always have. Sheppard is in his black t-shirt and uniform pants, his hair soft and wild, as though all the product has worn off.

“What? Why?”

“You know,” Sheppard says, chewing on a carrot stick. “Field training. I’m not talking about boarding a hive ship. Something simple: reconnaissance, trading, that sort of thing. Why not?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just surprised you’re not worried he might fall and skin his knee, or something.”

Ronon snorts out a laugh at that. Sheppard scowls.

“Well, excuse me for trying to do the right thing. I happen to think he’s got a lot of potential, and he needs to know how to get around in this galaxy.”

Ronon nods. “He’s got a point.”

“We have promised to deliver medical supplies to the Talgari people the day after tomorrow. It is usually an overnight stay,” Teyla says.

“Yeah, those guys with the mud baths. We like that place,” Sheppard points out.

“I know we like it. And fine,” Rodney says. “Let him come. But if he gets an arrow in the ass, don’t blame it on me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Sheppard says, and taps his headset. “Pack a bag, kid; we’re going off world.”


**

The Talgari people aren’t sophisticated, but they have more intel than any of Atlantis’ other allies, so the team makes frequent visits. Once they’ve gotten settled into the guesthouse, Rodney wanders out to the porch where Rory is already waiting, his eyes hidden by a pair of obnoxious sunglasses exactly like Sheppard’s.

“She is lovely,” Rory says, and Rodney follows his gaze to a young woman across the street in a blue wrap dress, all dark hair and dark eyes and everything all the old songs warn men about.

“Yes, she’s very attractive.”

“I want to talk to her,” Rory says. His cheeks are slightly pink, which is new—if you don’t count how ridiculously flushed he gets when he earns praise from Sheppard. “What should I do?”

“I don’t know.” Rodney looks over at the girl, who appears to be waiting for someone. “Why don’t you ask Sheppard; he’s the expert.”

Rory sighs, but it’s not contrary, just resigned. “Sheppard says you’re the one I can learn the most from.”

“Oh, he—he does?”

“Yes. Twice, now. And that you’re the best man in Atlantis.”

Rodney looks over toward where Sheppard and Ronon are having a playful scuffle in front of the two-story medical building, and allows himself a small swell of pleasure. It’s possible that Sheppard had been trying to pawn Rory off on him, but no, Sheppard can’t seem to get enough of the kid, so maybe it’s true. Maybe Sheppard doesn’t mind that Rodney won’t tumble around with him in a headlock the way he’s doing with Ronon right now, only Rodney still can’t figure out why Sheppard would say those things to Rory, when he could keep all that wide-eyed hero-worship for himself.

“Be that as it may, when it comes to women, Sheppard’s the one you want.”

“Never mind. I don’t want to bother him,” Rory says softly, and folds his sunglasses into his pocket as the sun slips low.

“Okay, okay, fine.” Rodney crosses his arms and squints at the girl, still alone, still beautiful. “Just go up and say hello. Even I know that much.”

The evening is warm and dry, and Rodney watches the dust stir and rise at Rory’s ankles as he crosses the street to the place where the girl stands under a wide awning. Who knows; maybe they’ll actually hit it off. Maybe Rory will fall in love, and maybe he’ll move to Talgar, live with this leggy brunette and have a normal life.

Rodney leans with his elbows on the railing and watches as Rory says something to the girl—and okay, maybe Rodney had underestimated how bad someone else could be with women, but he’s never seen a woman just flick a knife out of her belt and stick it in a guy’s chest for being creepy, or coming on too strong, or, oh God, whatever Rory’s done. Clumsy with panic, his feet skid on the loose dirt and pebbles, but he still manages to get across the street just before Rory staggers backward.

“Get him!” He hears Sheppard shout from down the street; breathlessly, as though he’s running too, and the sting of annoyance—of course he’s going to get him—is eclipsed by the heft of catching a grown man’s weight. It tears at his shoulders and brings him to his knees, but he gets Rory in time, his arms wedged tightly beneath Rory’s armpits as Sheppard arrives in a cloud of dust. “What the hell is going on here?” he bellows, and the girl has the nerve to grimace as she wipes her blade on a cloth and slips it back into its sheath.

Rodney lowers Rory onto the ground and snaps his fingers toward the cloth. “Colonel,” he says, and Sheppard snatches it from her, his eyes angry and his breath coming hard as he presses it to Rory’s chest.

Rory lets out a ragged gasp.

“He’ll be okay. It didn’t go deep,” Ronon says from behind Rodney.

“Deep enough,” Sheppard mutters. To Rory, he peers down and says, “Hey, buddy. You’re okay; just lie still until we get you fixed up, okay?”

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Rodney says. “I can’t—did you see that? He was just going to say hello, and she—what is wrong with you?” he demands, but the girl just gives Rory a dispassionate once-over and slips away.

By now, a crowd has gathered. Someone has brought the doctor, who wants to move him to the infirmary, but Sheppard is maddeningly difficult, stubborn in his refusal to move Rory until Keller can get there, or to let go of the dressing.

The doctor tries to get to the wound, but Sheppard just holds to the dressing with a desperate focus that tempers Rodney’s impatience and gentles his hands as he pushes Sheppard’s hands away and replaces them with his own. “Easy,” he coaxes, as their hands slide together, warm and sticky-wet with Rory’s blood. “Why don’t you go get the jumper, Colonel.”

At first he doesn’t think Sheppard is going to let him do it, but then Sheppard falls back on his heels and huffs out a relieved sound as he watches Rodney take over.

“On the count of three,” the doctor says, and with Ronon’s help, they heave Rory off the ground.

*

“He’s going to be fine.”

Sheppard nods, his hands resting lightly on his hips. “Looks like it.”

They’re in the clear; Sheppard ought to be relaxing with a cup of coffee right now, not lingering just outside the infirmary, where he’s been ever since they brought Rory back to Atlantis.

“You were good today,” Sheppard says. “With Rory.”

“The doctor would’ve been good with him, too.”

Sheppard shrugs.

“Look, don’t you think you’re being a little overbearing?” Rodney bursts out. It’s not what he’d planned to say, but he can’t stop thinking about the way Sheppard had fought the doctor, as though he and Rodney were the only two people who could possibly help. “I get that he’s our responsibility, but he’s not—he’s not ours, or whatever it is that’s got you so…”

Sheppard crosses his arms over his chest and lifts a careful eyebrow. “I’m just trying to hold up my end of the deal.”

“I know, I know, and that’s good. But as far as I’m concerned, we fulfilled our end of the bargain when we brought Rory to Atlantis.”

“That’s not where you left it, though.”

“No, because he’s a good worker, and spare hands don’t usually just fall into my lap.”

“That’s all?” The question holds a note of disappointment.

“Isn’t that enough? I like him, I don’t want him to be stabbed, but right now that’s all I’m capable of, so excuse me if I don’t go around fawning over his wounded-soul persona like the rest of this base.”

“Fine,” Sheppard says mulishly, and when Rodney comes back with a “Fine” of his own, the matter feels more unsettled than it had to begin with.

*

Someone tapes a piece of paper to Rory’s workstation that reads, “Rory McKay-Sheppard,” which is predictably disruptive. Everyone keeps smiling at him as though he’s got a friendly puppy tucked under his arm, and Rodney intends to tear it down as soon as possible, but then he catches Rory smoothing down the edge with a careful finger, and after that it just feels mean.

*

Rodney can’t help but wonder if Sheppard’s best man in Atlantis phase is over now, and if so, whether it had been based on Sheppard’s conviction that they’re some kind of crack parenting team. It’d been surprising to learn that Sheppard thinks about things like that, and that he might let an arbitrary bond—just his signature on a piece of paper—influence his affections at all, but Rodney has been watching Sheppard with Rory for two months now, and it’s definitely affection he sees when Sheppard claps a hand onto Rory’s shoulder or smiles at Rory’s first tentative attempts at humor.

Not that he’s judging Sheppard for caring. Watching Sheppard with Rory appeals to a quiet, thoughtful place that Rodney doesn’t like to dwell on—partly because there’s no time, but mostly because it feels too voyeuristic, taking pleasure in a warmth that exists between two other people and has nothing to do with himself. So he puts up with Sheppard’s overly enthusiastic evaluations of Rory’s job performance, and pretends not to notice when Rory hangs around waiting for the same thing from him.

“They have apologized many times over,” Teyla says at their next staff meeting. “The woman is not well, and she had wandered from her family’s care.”

Rory is well on his way to recovery, already back to work, but Sheppard is unmoved by the apology. “So some nuts are supposed to make up for it?”

Teyla tips her head, frowning slightly at Sheppard. “Fifty bushels of cashina nuts, their dearest crop. I would say their regret is great for them to offer such amends.”

“That sounds fantastic,” Rodney says. Ronon had brought some back the first time they’d visited, nuts with a salty shell and a sweet crunchy center. “When’s the pickup?”

“I have you scheduled to go back tomorrow,” Sam says, every bit as pleased as everyone else. Everyone but Sheppard, who remains slouched unhappily in his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh, and Rory wants to come along,” Rodney says. He’s mentioned it at least ten times in the past two days, and Rodney figures if his big sad eyes work in Atlantis, they’ll work just as well in Talgar, and can maybe swing an extra couple pity-bushels.

“Private McKay-Sheppard is welcome to come along” Carter says with a smile, far too casual to actually be casual, and Rodney goes hot all over before he realizes that she’s kidding. Probably. It’s not like Sheppard has the authority to just sign someone up for the military, after all, not even for Rory, but just to be sure, he catches up with Sheppard after the meeting.

“Hey, she was kidding about that Private thing, right?” he asks. Sheppard just stops in the hallway and presses his mouth into a flat line. “What, are you still upset about the nuts? The damage is done; I say let them make it up to us as much as they want.”

“I’m not upset,” Sheppard says, but he looks the way he always does when he doesn’t get his way. “I’m annoyed, all right? And if you must know, I wanted to get out of there before you could freak out. Yes, Carter was messing with you. No, you’re not stuck holding his hand, or whatever you’re afraid of.”

Rodney almost protests, but it’s obvious that this is just going to be a repeat of their last argument—or whatever it had been—so he just says “Thanks,” and heads back to his lab.

*


“Darts,” Sheppard says, his face lifted to the sky. “Just one so far.”

“I thought they were recently culled!” Rodney shouts, and it’s Demeria all over again, the rush for safety, the pushing crowds, and above it all, the screaming. Rodney hates the screaming the most, so many people falling apart, and then the quiet in the jumper once they’re back in orbit.

“Guess the pickings are slim,” Sheppard says, and then into his radio, “Teyla, how close are you?”

The silence goes on so long Rodney’s heart gives a startling thump that has nothing to do with running, but then Ronon comes on, loud and clear.

“We’re in the jumper,” he says, but when they arrive, Ronon is strapping an unconscious Teyla into her seat.

“Where’s Rory?” Sheppard asks, glancing around, not nearly as cool as he’d been during their last culling.

“Gone,” Ronon says, grabbing Rodney’s pack and stowing it in a rear compartment. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Rodney swallows hard, a little sick. “Culled?”

Ronon shrugs and meets Sheppard’s eyes. “He took out Teyla from behind and ran. Right into the dart’s path, like he wanted to go.”

Sheppard just stands there, his face blank, and Rodney wants to do the same, but he’s on autopilot as he moves to the front of the jumper, powers up, enables the cloak, and shuts the cargo door.

Sheppard still hasn’t said anything. Rodney tugs the P-90 from under his arm and stows it away with his own, before he gives him a little push toward the front. “We can figure it out on the way,” he says, “but it would be idiotic to stay here if Rory is really gone.”

“He was waiting for that dart,” Ronon says. “That’s why he wanted to go to the park.”

“Because he wanted to get culled,” Sheppard says slowly, the sarcasm bleeding out halfway through the statement, and the sick feeling spreads from Rodney’s belly up into his chest, tight and queasy.

“Not culled; picked up,” Rodney mutters as he straps himself in. “Atlantis, come in, this is jumper two.”

“McKay,” Sam says right away. “We have bad news.”

“Let me guess,” he says, glancing over at Sheppard, who still has that shell-shocked expression. At least his hands are finally moving over the controls, bringing them into orbit the way he has a hundred times. “Atlantis has been compromised, and you suspect Rory.”

“More than suspect.” Radek’s voice comes over the radio. “He has been using your authorization codes to access all systems. If he gives this data to the Wraith...”

“I know,” Rodney says, and this time he can’t look at Sheppard. “We can’t let him give it to the Wraith.”

Sam comes back on. “Let us know when you catch up to the dart,” she says, and Rodney knows what that means, but he’s not sure Sheppard understands, because Sheppard, who loves to chirp nonsense over the radio like it’s his favorite toy, still hasn’t said a word.

Ronon leans up toward the front seats. “We have to shoot it down.”

“I know that,” Rodney snaps, and it’s remarkably easy to push it into the familiar shape of a life-and-death situation: destroy the dart, save Atlantis. The dots on the console move in recognizable patterns, the smaller one a reassuring distance from the larger one, and this is just like any mission, he tells himself, because the alternative is too hideous to contemplate.

He notifies Sam when they reach the dart, which is nearing the hive ship. It’s going to be close, but they can do it. “Make sure you take it out with the first shot,” Sam says. “We can’t afford even a partial transmission.”

“Roger that,” Sheppard says in a tone Rodney has never heard, hoarse with pain and not even bothering—or unable—to hide it. Time stretches and slows, the dots blinking alarmingly close now, and despite his grip on the drone trigger, Sheppard doesn’t make any move to fire.

“What’s your status?” Sam asks, and Rodney snaps, “Just a minute, we’re just, uh, we’re almost ready,” but Sheppard will never be ready; Rodney can see it in the helpless grasp of his hand, nowhere near the fire command.

“We don’t have much time, it has to be now, John,” he says, knowing that it’s an open channel, that Sam can hear everything.

“Colonel Sheppard,” she cuts in, because of course she’s figured out what’s behind the dangerous delay, “Shoot down the dart; that’s an order.”

Sheppard nods, slowly and to himself, but the dart gets that much closer to the hive ship, and still nothing.

And Rodney knows that Sheppard has done hard things in his life, has killed and broken loyalties and probably broken hearts, but he’s suddenly certain that Sheppard can’t do this, and that he shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t have to live with it, and before he can even make a conscious decision, Rodney is yanking his seat belt open and shoving Sheppard to the side, his own hands taking the controls—still warm from Sheppard’s skin—and Sam’s voice in the background the whole while. From there it’s just a matter of concentration, a click of his thumb and the flash of light when the drone finds its target, Rodney’s target, the target that Sheppard doesn’t see because his head is bent to his chest, and he hadn’t fought Rodney at all.

*

“Not now,” Sheppard mutters under his breath. Rodney, back in his own seat, looks up just in time to see the Aurora-class ship just off to their right.

“What’s that?” Rodney asks as he feels a tractor beam clamp onto the jumper. “Oh, we’re not. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Take it easy, it’s just Larrin,” Sheppard says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s taking it easy. He sounds like he could happily set off a dozen drones and watch them blast the ship to smithereens. “She just likes to do things her way.”

“Well, I’d like to do things my way for a change,” Rodney says, but their course remains steady right up though the cargo bay doors.

*

Apparently, Larrin’s way is to drag Rodney to the ship’s power console and present him with a list of desired upgrades.

“Have you ever thought of just asking for help?” Rodney asks, the second time she shoves her weapon into his back. “This is not a good time, all right?”

“If I worked on other people’s timetables, I’d never get anything done,” she says bloodlessly. “Besides, I promise you will receive something in exchange.”

Rodney can’t think of anything someone living on this patched-together mess might possibly have to offer, but he reaches for the tool box all the same. There isn’t any other choice. He works until his hands are shaking and his vision is blurry, and finally, when the second set of guards are doing their shift-change, Larrin returns.

“Ready for a break?” She motions with her gun for him to get up, while he eyes it with resentment.

She leads him to a heavily-guarded room where Sheppard is bound to a chair in the middle of the room. Tight, too; Rodney can see the way they bite into his skin. But she’d been right, because Sheppard is prone to escape. When they come in, he jerks his head up and scowls. “Larrin. Do we really have to do this every time?”

“And here I thought you enjoyed our times together,” she says, strolling lightly over to Sheppard trailing her fingers over the back of his neck, while Rodney tries to breathe calmly through the burn of fury that simmers beneath his skin, hot at the back of his own neck, across his cheeks and under his arms. She has no right.

“Where’s the rest of my team?” Sheppard growls.

“Right, your team. Are you referring to the unconscious pregnant woman we found strapped into the back of your jumper? I expected more from you, Sheppard. But don’t worry; she’s right where you left her. We had to stun her guard dog, though; he’s the type to chew right though his leash, and I don’t want any trouble.”

“You could’ve fooled me,” Rodney says. He wants to get near Sheppard, talk in private, but Larrin is making that impossible, the way she keeps circling him, touching, appraising Sheppard as though he’s her favorite toy.

“Look who’s talking,” she says, and shoots him a look of amusement, as though he couldn’t possibly pose any threat. “I can see your brain working even from here, wondering if you can take me down…which I’d say is doubtful, if you’re nearly the gentleman Sheppard is.”

“I’m not,” Rodney snaps. “Look, we can come back later, but we were kind of in the middle of something before you-“ He struggles for words that can begin to describe what she’s done, how hard she’s making things.

“I know,” she says, and walks back to where Rodney has settled. Her limbs move as easily as Sheppard’s, sleek in gleaming leather. “I heard you got taken in by a stray, Sheppard.” There’s a hint of a laugh beneath the words, which suffuses Rodney with more of that slow-burning resentment. She nudges Rodney with her shoulder, legs crossed like a lady. “I’m not surprised, though. Sheppard’s always been a sucker for that big helpless ‘will you be my hero’ routine, hasn’t he?”

Rodney jerks away, his stomach rolling, his eyes on the floor. He doesn’t want to see Sheppard’s response to that.

“But he’s not much use to me now. I’m not looking for a hero,” Larrin says, and normally Rodney would be in a flurry of panic over a woman leaning this close, her breasts and hair and perfume-smell in his space, but every press of her body against his is just another way of being cruel to Sheppard, to taunt him with…well, Rodney isn’t sure what. Taunting him with a hand that drags idly across Rodney’s thigh while the other holds the stunner steady. “Something tells me you’ve got skills Sheppard can only dream about.”

The surprise is in the way Sheppard struggles and yells, “Don’t you touch him, Larrin!”

“I was talking about his engineering skills, Sheppard,” she says, but it’s too late. She’s already looking at Rodney with new interest, as though it honestly hadn’t occurred to her that he might be anything more than a tool, a means to a more efficient power grid. “But I don’t see why it would matter to you if Rodney and I made nice the same way you like to do.”

It figures. Rodney’s gaze drifts down to her soft lips and deep cleavage. Of course Sheppard has had her; it makes sense, really, the kind of sense it doesn’t make when Larrin licks across Rodney’s lips until he can’t help but kiss her back, hot pushy strokes of tongue against his own, and the occasional noise of approval, probably for Sheppard’s benefit. When she pulls away, barely ruffled, Sheppard is pressed ruthlessly against his bonds, and tight-lipped with anger.

“I give you a beating, I get nothing. I insult you, I get nothing. This is what it takes to get a reaction?” Larrin snorts.

“Is that what you’re after? I thought you wanted your ship worked on.”

She shrugs as her hand marks a slow path up Rodney’s chest. “I don’t see why I can’t have both.”

“No. No, you can’t. Why don’t we just see about the ship thing first,” Rodney says, and leaps up before she can touch him anywhere he wouldn’t touch himself in public. “I changed my mind; I want to get it over with. I, I feel much better, now. Spry and peppy, all that.”

“You’d better hope he does a good job, because this is it. I’d say you’ve pretty much used up our good will,” Sheppard spits out, and Rodney notices how damp his face is with exertion, how chafed he is at the wrists. There are so many things wrong right now: Teyla, hurt and alone, Sheppard’s helplessness, and like a storm sky billowing out from every direction, Rory, which is something Rodney can’t think about without clenching up all over.

“I don’t need your good will; I just need your scientist.”

For once, Sheppard doesn’t take the bait, but Larrin has already shifted her attention to her radio, which she taps and barks, “I’m on my way.” Before she leaves, she gives Rodney a long, measuring look. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Don’t do anything to piss me off, and you’ll be compensated for your work,” she tells Rodney.

“Oh, we can’t wait. What are you going to give us, a burnt out generator?”

“You’d be surprised,” she says with a smile that makes him even more nervous than her roaming hands. “I make a fair deal.”

“I could untie you,” Rodney tells Sheppard, once she’s gone. “But she’d just tie you back up when she got back. And probably manhandle me some more—which, by the way, Sheppard, you can stop going crazy about because I am not trying to steal your psychotic girlfriend.” As he talks, he gets behind Sheppard and loosens his knots as gently as possible. “What I said about wanting to be taken hostage by the sexy alien? I take it all back, so relax, before you hurt yourself and render yourself unable to get us out of this.”

Sheppard just looks at him like he’s the one who’s crazy.

“What?” Rodney crosses his arms over his chest.

“She’s not my girlfriend, and it would be hard to mistake all that for an attempt to steal her,” Sheppard says. “Now come on, loosen these a little more, so I can get free when you’re gone.” His thighs strain against the tubing that binds his legs to the chair.

“Fine! I just wanted you to know. Because it’s been- it’s been a bad day, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“Yes, it has, Rodney.” Sheppard’s eyes fall shut for a moment, his mouth still set into a grim line. “Which is why I really want to get out of here. How long do you think it’ll take to do her upgrades?”

It’s going to take far longer than Rodney thinks they can make it, but he doesn’t want to say so, and then when the doors fly open and Teyla steps over the fallen guards, P-90 in hand, he doesn’t have to say anything at all.

“I am very tired,” Teyla says in a voice so cold Rodney feels the chill from across the room. She glances around with heavy eyes. “I would like to go home.”

“Just as soon as McKay unties me,” Sheppard says, and Rodney feels as weak as Teyla looks, but he somehow makes it over.
 

*

“A concussion,” Dr. Keller says, when they’re back in Atlantis and Teyla is tucked beneath clean cotton blankets. “Nothing to worry about, but I’ll be keeping her for a couple days just to be safe.”

“They said Rory did it. Is that true?” she asks as though she can’t believe it, and she can just get in line, because on some level Rodney is aware of everything that happened, but the events are rolled up tightly like a map, just waiting to unfold, and he still needs someone to explain it to him.

“It’s true,” Ronon says. “Surprised me, too.”

Keller’s hand is soft and sweet on Rodney’s sleeve. “I’m sorry. He was a real nice kid,” she says, and she seems so small, like a bird that’s lighted on his arm, that he can’t bring himself to brush her aside.

*

Carter is alone in her office, which is disappointing because Sheppard had trudged out of the jumper bay and muttered something about reporting in. He steps halfway into Carter’s office, undecided on whether he wants to check in or just go straight to bed. “Where’s Sheppard?”

She looks up and smiles as much as she can manage. They’re all tired.

“He’s probably in his quarters, packing,” she says, and motions for him to come in.

“What? Why?”

“Because he’s taking some leave, McKay.”

Rodney glowers at her. It’s not her fault, but it feels like her fault. Sheppard hadn’t said anything at all.

“You know, it wouldn’t be out of the question for you to take some time off, too,” she says.

“Me? Why on earth would I want to do that?”

She gives him a gentle look—just like Keller had—and that’s never good. “Your relationship with Rory entitles you to some personal time.”

It’s not that he doesn’t remember what had happened, but he hasn’t let himself think about it yet, so he’s not prepared for the sudden plummet in his belly when he flashes back on such a small moment, Sheppard’s hands on the console, trembling with indecision. “Completely unnecessary,” he says tightly. “We had a working relationship, and I certainly don’t make a habit of taking time off whenever one of my colleagues…” But he can’t finish; he’s sick with what he’d been about to say, so instead he turns to go.

“At least think about it,” Sam says, still with that softness that he wishes people would just stop already. “Maybe not for yourself, but Colonel Sheppard might want some company. Someone who understands,” she adds.

“I really don’t think so,” he says on his way out.

*

Sheppard’s quarters are dim. Rodney remembers that from the few other times he’s been here, that Sheppard likes drawn curtains and candlelight and quiet reading. He wonders if anyone else knows this; it’s not something you could guess just from knowing Sheppard. Now that Rodney thinks about it, there’s not a lot you can guess from just knowing Sheppard. Not unless he wants you to.

Sheppard takes a second to look at Rodney with a vague expression as though he’s trying to remember something, and then returns to his packing with single-minded attention.

“I thought I’d see how you were doing,” he says, but Sheppard just zips his bathroom kit and tosses it into his duffel bag. Next are his socks, rolled into neat pairs.

“Okay, what, you’re not talking to me?” Rodney’s head throbs with frustration. He’s filthy from fleeing the wraith; his back and knees hurt from Larrin’s demands; all he wants to verify that Sheppard is all right and then fall into bed.

“Just busy,” Sheppard says lightly.

“Right.” Rodney sits down on the narrow bed and watches Sheppard rifle through his drawers. There’s a reason he’d needed to check in; it’s the same reason he’s had this tight feeling in the back of his throat for going on nine hours now, and can’t stop thinking about the feel of the drones firing under his hands. He’d done what Sheppard had found unjustifiable, had made Sheppard look utterly broken, and it can’t be undone. Sheppard has every reason to hate him.

“Look, if you’re pissed off at me, just say so. But if you’re still mad about the kiss-“

He knows it wasn’t the kiss.

“Will you stop it?” Sheppard interrupts, only a bit testy. “I mean, the kissing was a little inappropriate, yeah, but I’m over it.”

“Oh. Good. Then…you’re okay?” Of course it’s not that simple, but this is how they do things, in half-conversations with meaning layered between the rest of it.

Sheppard snorts, a small sad sound. “I’m taking leave. I’m due at the SGC tomorrow, 0900.”

“Sam told me,” Rodney admits. “But she didn’t tell me much.”

Sheppard pushes Rodney’s knees aside with a light slap as he walks past. “There’s not much to tell. I’m just going to take a little vacation while they decide what to do about my failure to act.” With the last few words, he stuffs his sneakers into the bag.

“Your failure to act,” Rodney says slowly, and Sheppard nods, his eyes on the duffel’s zipper.

“That’s what they said.”

“Decide, as in…”

“Formal discipline,” Sheppard says. His hands are folded gently around the strap, steady now, capable in a way they hadn’t been when it had mattered. “What, you thought they’d be able to let that kind of thing go? Maybe if it was just Carter, but there were a half dozen officers on the line, and the IOA is watching everything we do.”

Discipline, all because Sheppard hadn’t been able to kill someone he cared about. That sounds about typical for the day they’d had. “But there were extenuating circumstances, surely they’ll have to allow for that.”

“They probably won’t see it that way, but Carter’s going to push for a nice quiet non-judiciary punishment,” Sheppard says, and Rodney can see exactly how he feels about it from the humorless set of his mouth.

“Do you have to, uh, do anything?”

“Just sit and wait.”

“Which you intend to do on Earth.”

Sheppard shrugs, his head bent, hands petting restlessly along the smooth strap of his duffel. “I want to spend some time alone, that’s all. It’s not like I can get that here.”

“I should come with you, then,” Rodney blurts, and when Sheppard finally looks at him, it’s from beneath a dark slant of suspicion. “I mean, because they’ll need me, of course. To answer questions about what happened, and, and because I obviously need to take leave, too.”

“You do?”

“Sure. As a matter of fact, I just finished talking about it with Sam.” It’s technically true—true enough, and that’s good enough for Rodney, because right now he can’t think of anything worse than Sheppard going back to Earth alone and grieving all by himself.

“Rodney…” Sheppard’s mouth moves in indecision, his tongue sliding across his lower lip before it slips behind his teeth, but no protest emerges. Finally, he drops his hands to his hips, a sign of assent that eases that tight feeling between Rodney’s shoulders. “Where are you staying?”

“Where are you staying?”

“Not on base.”

“Of course not. Well, we don’t have to decide right now. See you at 0900?”

“Yeah,” Sheppard says slowly, and Rodney forces himself to smile, or something like it. There’s no reason Sheppard should ever look so pathetically hopeful, and certainly not over Rodney. Never mind what he’d said to Sam; of course he needs to go with Sheppard. It’s obvious now, that Sheppard shouldn’t be alone.

“I’ll just go, then,” Rodney says, and heads off to find Sam.

*
*

“They think we were idiots,” Sheppard says in the cab, when they’re finally driving away from a day of interrogation at Cheyenne Mountain. The driver takes the exits too quickly on his route to their hotel, and Sheppard’s hands are braced against the seat on both sides, pressed into the worn vinyl. “They think the whole thing was obvious from the start.”

“What? No,” Rodney says. It takes a second to sort through the rant that bubbles up all at once, but no, no. “No one could have known. You can’t fake a culling, and not even General Landry would have seen that culling and thought, ‘oh, they’re sacrificing their own people just so we’ll accept this traitor into our loving bosom.’ Even Carter didn’t know, and she’s had way more experience with alien races. Did you mention that?”

“It didn’t come up.”

“Didn’t come up. Right,” Rodney says tightly, and this is where Sheppard’s best trait is also his biggest fault: he’s far too willing to take the bullet while everyone else runs for cover.

*
*

The hotel is like pretty much every other hotel where Rodney’s ever stayed. Upholstery stretched over everything, all rich textured fabrics, the floor soft and springy beneath his feet, and the smell of food permeating the lobby. It’s the opposite of Atlantis, but there’s still an undeniable comfort in being here, like a bathrobe on a cold morning. There’s nothing wrong with wanting comfort every once in a while, and they deserve it, Rodney decides as he hands over his credit card. Sheppard deserves to relax without looking over his shoulder, to spend a few nights without a hundred soldiers to think about—without an entire galaxy to think about.

Sheppard wanders around the lobby with his duffel bag while Rodney gets the room. He’s always laid back, but it’s not like him to be this easy about everything. He doesn’t even make an attempt to get a room of his own, so Rodney assumes that they’re sharing and gets a suite.

When they get up to the room, Sheppard changes into a pair of blue sweatpants and stretches out on the bed with the remote in hand. The scene is startlingly foreign, intimate in a way nothing in Atlantis has been for Rodney, no matter how much he’s wanted it.

“Where did you get those pants?”

Sheppard glances down at his legs. “I don’t know. It was last time we were here on Earth, but I can’t really wear them in Atlantis. Ronon thinks they’re underwear.”

“Like he’s one to make fashion judgments.”

“Yeah. He thought it was funny to pull them down.” Sheppard looks pleased, which sums up his entire relationship with Ronon as far as Rodney is concerned, all rough handling and unspoken bonds.

Rodney, on the other hand, has never been good at unspoken. Not even right now, when Sheppard is going through something here, and Rodney still isn’t sure what to do about it. To make things worse, he can feel the slow tick of the clock, as though if he doesn’t do something soon, Sheppard might give up on whatever he’s looking for.

They should probably talk, but the timing doesn’t feel right, so he slides in next to Sheppard and grabs the menu. “I’m going to order room service.”

“See if they have fries.”

“Sure,” Rodney says, and spares him a sidelong glance. He’s not used to Sheppard admitting to needing anything, much less wanting anything. Everything he’s ever seen Sheppard eat or drink has been accepted as though it doesn’t matter one way or the other, and the same goes for every creature comfort Pegasus has afforded: sleep, downtime, warmth, even women.

Maybe that’s it, Rodney realizes as he reaches for the phone. Maybe the reason they’re here isn’t complicated at all, and Sheppard is just looking for comfort. But after he orders and hangs up, he sits at the bed’s edge feeling hideously awkward, unsure what to do with his knees and elbows, because it turns out that knowing what Sheppard wants doesn’t really change anything.

Comfort, he thinks desperately; it sounds so easy, but there’s a huge gap between what he feels when he watches Sheppard hug the hotel pillow to his chest—sadness and loyalty and beneath that, the inexplicable ache of tenderness—and doing something about that feeling. He looks so beaten down that Rodney can’t help but scoot nearer, shoulder to shoulder, and when Sheppard relaxes against him and lets Rodney shoulder some of his weight, that same unexpected tenderness expands until it hurts.

“Are you all right?” he asks. “Because under the circumstances, it would be perfectly understandable if you weren’t.”

“You know, I’ve been played before,” Sheppard says softly, and tosses the remote onto the bed. “And this doesn’t feel like that. It’s like I keep waiting to find out what happened, like it’s all some big misunderstanding, because it can’t possibly be what everyone thinks.”

Rodney grasps for something to say that won’t hurt, but it’s too late for that. He settles for, “It’s not a misunderstanding,” and is surprised by the sound of his own voice, so rough with regret that he doesn’t need to add that he’s sorry. It’s all right there.

“I know. But they’re right; I should’ve known. It was too good to be true.”

“What was?”

Sheppard makes a bitter sound and squeezes the pillow in both hands. “Rory. The timing of it all. You’ve got this great thing with Jeannie and Madison, and Teyla’s having this baby.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Maybe I took advantage of the situation, I don’t know.” Sheppard shrugs miserably. “I liked having Rory there, teaching him stuff. People always asked after him, like we had this connection. And I liked that he counted on me, how’s that for vanity?”

“A lot of people count on you.”

“It was different with him.”

“I know,” Rodney says, because he remembers the way Sheppard had led the kid around like it were the most natural thing in the world. He’d been good at it, at being family, the same way he ends up being good at everything. And then there had been Rodney’s own avoidance of those same entanglements, and the way Sheppard had pushed him to do more; to feel more, while he’d fought the entire time against Sheppard’s idea of family, which hadn’t been what Rodney had meant at all.

“John, you were- I wish you’d told me.”

“No, you were right.”

“I wasn’t right! I didn’t suspect anything. I just didn’t care much,” he admits.

Sheppard stiffens just enough to shift his weight from Rodney’s side. “Oh,” he says slowly, “Then I guess you were still right,” and Rodney can feel him shutting down, retracting everything he’d put out for Rodney to see.

“Look,” Rodney hurries on, and Sheppard doesn’t like talking about feelings, but right now, things feel different enough that Rodney doesn’t think he’ll mind. “I may not have had this deep relationship with Rory, or whatever, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate the two of you together. It was- it was nice.”

Sheppard presses his face into the pillow he’s holding, his arms flexed tightly, as though he’s afraid it might fly away.

For a terrible moment, Rodney thinks crying, oh God. He’s seen it a lot since he came to Atlantis: grown soldiers reporting to Sheppard after a bad mission, talking through an unstoppable flow of tears while Sheppard pretends not to notice. Rodney’s own colleagues tend toward spectacular breakdowns under the guise of pure scientific frustration, but Sheppard isn’t like that. When he lifts his face and rasps, “I messed up,” his eyes are dry, and only then does Rodney understand that for Sheppard this is Simpson’s messy sobbing, or Lorne’s silent rolling tears. This is why he he’d insisted on leaving Atlantis: because he’s a private person, and this, what he’s going through next to Rodney on this bed, is private.

“You didn’t mess up any more than the rest of us,” Rodney says. “Carter had to authorize everything, and I’m the one who let him look over my shoulder all day long.”

Sheppard kneads the pillow with both hands. The effect is hypnotic; billowy folds of white with the occasional glimpse of his knuckles. “That’s really nice of you to say, Rodney, but there’s a reason I might not be going back to Atlantis.”

“What? That’s, that’s, no. It’s been firmly established that you’re the only one who can handle Atlantis. Well, the only one who can help me handle it.”

“Look, I get that you’re trying to be nice, but you don’t get it. I deserve anything they throw at me, including a reassignment.”

“You deserve some time off because something awful happened,” Rodney argues, and immediately regrets it because of the fury that passes over Sheppard’s face, as though he could strike Rodney for saying so.

“You’re right, something awful did happen,” Sheppard concedes, his gaze leveled on Rodney, and something cruelly reckless in the slant of his posture. “I risked Atlantis and everyone in it just so I could get closer to you, and then when it was time for me to undo my mistake, I choked.”

“You- you did not. And besides, that makes no sense! We spend almost all our time together as it is; there’s no way we could possibly be any closer,” he manages to say, even though his brain has already supplied one way they could, a bold neon sign that burns away everything but a stream of words that emerge as a nervous stammer. And beneath the flustered surface, Sheppard’s words have hit their mark, a delicious stroke across his ego, because he’s seen dozens of people bend over backwards to get close to Sheppard, and it never works.

He can do closer. Since he’s been in Atlantis, his entire life has been a straight path toward closer with Sheppard. At first he’d been suspicious, held Sheppard at arm’s length, but Sheppard is always looking for him, to him, and at him, and after all this time, Rodney has learned to look back.

*

He wakes up in the middle of the night, a cocoon of darkness and Sheppard’s low moan in his ear. Rodney fights through the thick layers of jet lag until he regains some sense of direction and can roll over to shake Sheppard’s shoulder. “Quiet down,” he gripes, while his brain runs uneasy circles around what Sheppard might be dreaming. He can tell when Sheppard jerks awake, because he lifts up onto his elbows, his breathing thunderous in the late-night quiet.

After a moment, he lies back down. “Sorry about that,” he whispers. Despite the space between them, Rodney can feel the stiff set of Sheppard’s body, motionless beneath the covers.

“Relax. We’re on Earth,” he whispers back. “Sleep in tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” A few minutes pass, just enough for Rodney to drift toward sleep, before Sheppard rolls onto his side and pulls him back again.

“Rodney.”

“What.”

A long pause, and then, “Thanks. For what you did.”

Rodney takes a shaky breath. Ever since it had happened, a knot of fear has been sitting at the back of Rodney’s throat, just waiting for Sheppard to realize what Rodney has done. Sheppard isn’t someone you want to tangle with, and Rodney has been braced for resentment or outright blame, but not for Sheppard to thank him. Thanks for what, for killing the one person Sheppard had cared for on a meaningful level?

“It was my job,” Sheppard continues, his voice low and tired. “You really pulled us out of that one, Rodney.”

Right, his job. But Rodney hadn’t done it for Atlantis. They would’ve found a way out, the same way they always did. He hadn’t done it because of Sam’s frantic commands or for the sake of Sheppard’s career. “I know you would’ve fired,” he says, up into the dark. “It’s just, you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

And maybe Sheppard hadn’t expected that, because he’s quiet for a while. “You shouldn’t, either. I know you liked him.”

“I did,” Rodney says, so relieved that he’s weak with it. “I did, I did. And I wouldn’t want you to think it was easy, but it was easier than watching you do it.”

“Thanks,” Sheppard says, and Rodney means to answer, but he’s two galaxies worth of tired, and it all catches up with him at once.

*

He wakes again just before dawn. The newspaper wakes him as it slides under the door, and he instantly knows that Sheppard isn’t in bed. It’s not like he can doze off, knowing what’s ahead of them, so Rodney gives up on sleep. There’s a coffeemaker over on the desk, but when he passes the bathroom the door is wide open, Sheppard standing at the counter and staring sightlessly at his bathroom kit.

It’s the utter stillness that gets Rodney’s attention. Sheppard isn’t between tasks; he isn’t doing anything, and just as Rodney is about to say something- hey, how early do you have to get started on that hair?- Sheppard’s eyes lift to his own reflection, and the despair Rodney sees there is like taking a stunner to the chest. There’s no reason in the world for John Sheppard to look at himself that way, as though he doesn’t like what he sees, but is too exhausted to do anything about it. “What are you-“ Rodney steps into the bathroom without thinking.

Sheppard’s back tightens, muscles bunched beneath his t-shirt.

Comfort, Rodney thinks again, and this is the kind of job that falls to Teyla or even Ronon, but they’re not here right now.

“Are we close enough for this?” he asks, turning him with a tug to the wrist, and Sheppard’s answer is in the way he bends his head to Rodney’s shoulder like it’s where he’s wanted to be all along. Then Sheppard’s arms are sliding around his waist, and there’s nothing left to do but fold his arms around Sheppard and hold on. It’s funny; he handles volatile equipment on a daily basis, but the spread of his hand across Sheppard’s back feels like the most delicate place he’s been in a while. Not fragile; he can feel the strength that lives beneath Sheppard’s skin; but uncertain, fraught with all kinds of dangers that Rodney hasn’t even considered before.

For instance, the possibility that Sheppard will get spooked—or worse, that he’ll stay here, breathing into Rodney’s shoulder and holding on as though he believes that Rodney can actually do something to ease whatever it is he’s going through.

Rodney breathes out slowly and rubs Sheppard’s back a little. Here we are, he thinks helplessly, and Sheppard wants to be closer. At least he smells good at the nape of his neck; familiar, like the bed they’d shared last night. With a little more confidence, Rodney slides his hand up to cup that place, warm and smooth beneath the soft edge of his hairline. There are a dozen apologies rolling around on his tongue, but it’s too late for that.

When he finally speaks, his own voice sounds strange, like the pressure of Larrin’s mouth when he’d finally given in, which is an odd thing to think about right now. “If you want to go in early, they’re working on new anti-replicator weapons in the top-level labs.”

He feels Sheppard’s smile even as the hands that had been bunched in his t-shirt slowly begin to loosen, and then a smooth stroke of thumb on his lower back. “That sounds pretty good,” Sheppard says, as a thin shiver unspools across Rodney’s skin.

“Okay,” Rodney says, beginning to slowly untangle himself from Sheppard’s grasp, “We should-“ He breaks off abruptly. There’s something in Sheppard’s face as they pull apart; still tired, yes, but with a spark of expectation, and suddenly the possibility of what Sheppard had meant about being closer is colliding with everything he knows about Sheppard, about himself, and about their tumultuous friendship.

We should get ready, he wants to say, and finish things here before something completely senseless happens, like Sheppard giving him goosebumps with his thumb, or worse, actually talking about the understanding that’s spinning out of control in his head. They’re both on the same page, only Rodney doesn’t know how they got there.

And then Sheppard smiles; a soft, close-mouthed smile that coincides with a quick squeeze to Rodney’s hand. Rodney reciprocates; Sheppard’s palm feels warm and strong against his own, and when Sheppard slips away, Rodney is left wanting to hold on just a bit longer.

*

“You don’t have to be here,” Sheppard says, just before they start.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No, do what you want.”

Rodney rolls his eyes. “I’ll stay.”

“Great.”

“Yes, it’s great. That’s why you look more freaked out than any of the times I’ve seen you board a hive ship.”

“I think I’d rather be on a hive ship,” Sheppard whispers as people begin to file in, General Landry, an assortment of clerical-looking officers, and Woolsey.

Rodney bounces his knee under the table while they make their initial introductions, and the small talk is blessedly brief. After about two minutes, Landry clears his throat and says, “Here’s the deal. You messed up in a big, public way. You put Earth and Atlantis at risk when you disobeyed that order, and with your record, that doesn’t leave us a lot of options, do you see what I’m saying?”

“Yes, sir,” Sheppard says. Rodney wants to smash something.

“But we like to avoid big messy court martials, especially for those who’ve done good work in the Stargate program. I will accept your resignation as soon as you have a draft.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So that’s it?” Rodney demands. “Never mind the special circumstances, he’s just out?”

General Landry folds his hands onto the table. “Special circumstances?”

“Yes. Such as the fact that John and I had signed legally binding documents that made us, for all intents and purposes, Rory’s parents. What he was ordered to do wasn’t that simple.”

“Yet you, in the same position, were able to follow that order,” Landry points out.

“Oh, very good, what are you, a lawyer?” Rodney snaps, and keeps his eyes on the general because he can’t bear to see Sheppard’s face after that enlightening observation.

“If you would let me finish, Dr. McKay, I would tell you that while we understand that special circumstances do occur, the UCMJ doesn’t allow for exceptions. However, the IOA doesn’t see things the same way, and there’s been some resistance to our decision. They want you in Atlantis, Colonel, and most of us here at the SGC are of the same mind.”

“You want me to stay, but you want to resign.”

“We want you on board regardless of your affiliation,” Woolsey interrupts, as though it’s been killing him to keep quiet this long. “You can pilot, and you’ve got the gene, field experience and four years worth of contacts in the Pegasus galaxy. Your status may change, but we don’t want your job to change. In fact, they—we—insist on it.”

“The details are still being negotiated,” Landry says. “But first things first. Will you be handing in your resignation later today?”

“Yes, sir,” Sheppard says, but his eyes are on Rodney, wide and startled and full of the same recognition that had sprung up this morning with the sweep of Sheppard’s thumb against back. It’s all right there on his face; despite this overwhelming news, Sheppard is somehow right there with him.

A flushed, giddy wave of terror crashes over Rodney while the others proceed with their discussion, an endless parade of suggestions and nods and finally, handshakes all around. Rodney only gets to his feet when he notices that everyone else is doing so, and thank god it’s over so that he can go off somewhere and let off steam by giving Sheppard a detailed account of the fifty things about this situation that are unfathomably wrong--except that Sheppard moves so quickly that Rodney doesn’t catch up with him until he’s down the corridor and halfway through the men’s room door.

“Hey,” Rodney says, his nerves beginning to fuse with annoyance into a prickling mass of anxiety. “Is everything all right?”

It’s a ridiculous question. Luckily, Sheppard doesn’t seem to notice.

“I didn’t think they’d let me out. That they’d just let me go like that,” Sheppard says, still a little wild-eyed with shock, his back rigid against the wall. Rodney recognizes the look, but it’s something he’s used to seeing when they’ve just come out of mortal danger.

“They’re keeping you,” Rodney reminds him.

“I guess they are.” Sheppard slowly begins to relax, his shoulders loosening against the white concrete wall. “And I’m a civilian,” he says slowly, as though he’s trying it on for size. “I’m…Rodney,” he says, and there’s that glimmer of recognition that rises up again and hangs between them, poised on the last syllable of Rodney’s name. The word is an admonition even though Rodney hasn’t done anything at all—or maybe that’s what he’s getting at.

God forbid Sheppard would ever just say what he wants—a skill that’s served Rodney well his entire life—but there’s a plea for understanding in the shape of his mouth, soft and half-open with reluctant hope. His body, as always, is held back with restraint.

Rodney glances around at the empty bathroom, and frantically replays all the moments he’s ever shared with Sheppard that resemble this one. There’s only one conclusion, one logical outcome, but Rodney is always wrong about these things. He takes a few tentative steps toward Sheppard, who is still pinned against the wall, breathing hard through his nose, and watching Rodney like he’s about to solve the most complex equation of his life.

“John, why am I here? Are we- do you want…” He waits for one desperate beat and then reaches out, strokes his hand down Sheppard’s arm, smoothing the dark hair until he ends with his fingers on Sheppard’s wrist.

When Sheppard says, “Yes,” Rodney doesn’t know if it’s in response to his question or his touch. But either way, the meaning is the same: yes, and Sheppard owes him big time for being the one to put himself out there, to walk out on that limb and stroke his fingers over Sheppard’s palm. The skin there is hot and damp, the only outward sign that Sheppard’s cool doesn’t extend beyond the surface, for which Rodney is ridiculously grateful.

“I really hope this is what you meant by ‘closer,’” he says, and settles his mouth over the curve of Sheppard’s lower lip. Rodney leaves a hesitant kiss there, another along his top lip, and finds Sheppard’s mouth predictably sensual, soft and sweet and edged with stubble.

There’s an unshakable element of danger in being this far into Sheppard’s space. Even as he slowly tastes Sheppard, his warm breath spreading between them, Rodney still isn’t convinced of Sheppard’s complicity until there’s a hand sliding across the back of his neck and another up to his jaw: finally an outright admission of what Sheppard wants. It’s all happening so fast; Rodney is vaguely aware that he’s getting hard, but there’s more to it than that; there’s the way Sheppard gives himself away with rough uneven gasps, and how Rodney has to stifle every grievance--why didn’t you tell me, we could have had this, why can’t you just ask?—so they can have more.

“Not here,” Sheppard says, jerking a little as Rodney works his way underneath his t-shirt to stroke all the soft vulnerable places he’s seen in brief glimpses, but never had permission to touch. “Easy, McKay,” he says, but he sounds impressed. “I think we should get out of here.”

In the cab, there are more kisses; Sheppard tastes him long and slow and with just enough aggression to graze Rodney with the quick blade of lust, a surge of heat in his blood, a flood of it across his skin. The most he dares in return is to pet Sheppard’s thigh where it rests on the seat, occasionally venturing a bare centimeter higher, and pretending the whole while not to notice the way Sheppard strains up toward him, legs splayed apart for the taking. They’re not alone yet, and Rodney isn’t the most disciplined person in the world, but he knows what a bad idea it would be to start something he can’t finish.

Getting out of the cab is uncomfortable because he wants to come so badly his balls are aching, and exciting all over again because Sheppard is wrecked; tousled and red-mouthed and trying to hide the dark wet patch he’s leaked onto the front of his jeans.

They stand close in the elevator, but once they get back to the room, Rodney’s head has started to cool. “I can, um, you can use my laptop to write up your resignation,” he says, standing at the dresser, one hand pressed to the smooth surface, the other stuffed unnaturally into his pocket. “I can get it set up for you now; it’s no trouble at all.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Sheppard has already kicked out of his shoes and begun to tug open his fly.

“…Giving you an out?”

Sheppard’s face twists with annoyance. “I don’t want an out. Jeez, Rodney, I thought it was pretty obvious what I want. Look, do you want an out?”

“No! Of course I don’t.”

Sheppard just arches an eyebrow at him until Rodney pushes himself off the dresser and crawls onto the bed. He just wants back into Sheppard’s mouth, back into that warm pocket of heat they’d created, without any small talk or fumbling first moves. “Fine. Can’t you just come down here and…”

“Sure,” Sheppard says, and just like that, he’s climbing on top of Rodney. “This okay?” He taps at Rodney’s belt and begins to ease it out of the loops.

“Yes,” Rodney says, a little breathless, because he’s been suffused with envy ever since he’d realized that Sheppard is free of zippers and unforgiving waistbands, his erection cradled in the snug fit of his black cotton briefs. Rodney, on the other hand, is crammed into jeans that had seemed comfortable that morning, but are now a minefield of ill-placed seams and fortress-like fabric.

Maybe it should be unnerving to let Sheppard undress him, but it feels more like relief. And it’s obvious how much Sheppard wants it, the desperate clutch of his hands as he pushes down Rodney’s boxers, and how they manage to dip between Rodney’s thighs at every opportunity. His finger pads drag lightly across Rodney’s balls, and he’s got to notice how tightly they’re drawn up, because Rodney is dripping with it—he feels the smear of slick every time Sheppard shifts against him—and he’s already close, sidling up to that wall of tension, ready for Sheppard to push him through.

At least Sheppard is just as eager. His mouth is relentless, as though he’s storing up for a long dry spell. It reminds Rodney of the way they’d kissed in the cab. Sheppard had surprised him then, too.

“You would have,” Rodney says between kisses, on a slow slide across Sheppard’s bottom lip. “In the cab, you would’ve just-“

Sheppard’s reply is a low moan as he mouths his way up Rodney’s throat. “Yeah. I wanted- I still want-“ and he sounds so frustrated that Rodney slides his hand over the front of Sheppard’s underwear and squeezes. “Yeah, that, get your hand on me,” he pants into Rodney’s ear. “Like that,” he says, with an edge to it, as though he’s trying to suppress something, which is kind of flattering because Rodney is so undone by Sheppard’s mouth on his ear and all the bare skin under his hands that he hasn’t been able to give Sheppard more than a few rough strokes through his briefs.

“Rodney,” Sheppard breathes sharply against Rodney’s skin, and, “I’m gonna come.” Rodney shoves his hand into Sheppard’s underwear just in time to feel the wet throb of Sheppard’s dick against his palm. When he gets his hand around it, Sheppard pushes messily into his fist with a silent, shuddering response that reminds Rodney of the way he does pushups; quiet and determined as his face flushes and his biceps quake.

Rodney has never been the quiet type. He can’t help the sounds that rise up as he rubs himself against Sheppard’s thigh; he’s close; it’s not going to take much more than this, with Sheppard still sucking slow kisses into his neck. And then Sheppard is slipping away, his waistband snapping back into place as Rodney’s hand falls away.

“What do you want?” he asks, and it should be impossible that John Sheppard is looking at his cock and asking what he wants, but he gets it now; Sheppard wants him, wants to be closer, and Rodney is stunned by how much he wants the same thing.

And what he wants is Sheppard’s mouth, but that seems like a lot to ask for, so soon. He should probably take it slow, let Sheppard get him off with a few easy strokes, but then Sheppard wets his lips and Rodney blurts, “Yes, that. If you don’t mind,” he says, and trails off before he can make his case because Sheppard gives head the same way he kisses, the same way he forces intel from the enemy, thorough and relentless as he burrows between Rodney’s legs.

It’s not just suction on his cock, but a hot tongue beneath the gentle gliding friction, and the sound of satisfaction from deep in Sheppard’s throat as he cups Rodney’s balls and tugs lightly. “Yes, yes, yes,” Rodney breathes as his orgasm builds. He presses his hips into the mattress as Sheppard goes down on him even further, and then there’s nowhere to move but up, Sheppard’s tongue dragging a ruthless path across his cockhead on every downstroke. He comes with his hands twisted in the covers and Sheppard’s hand spread across his belly, which somehow feels more intimate than what he’s doing with his mouth.

“That was amazing,” he says, as Sheppard crawls up beside him. “I can’t believe we can do this all the time, now.”

“You want to do this all the time?” Sheppard says after a few seconds, and it’s wrong that he sounds so guarded after all this.

“Of course I do. Don’t you?”

Sheppard rolls onto his side and slides his hand over the side of Rodney’s neck. “I guess I’m still getting used to the idea,” he says, a smile at the corners of his eyes, “but yeah, Rodney. I wouldn’t mind a lot more of…you,” and Rodney isn’t prepared for that last word or for the way it makes his chest clench with regret. All Sheppard had needed to do was ask--except he had been asking, in his own way, and Rodney had never noticed.

“That’s definitely doable,” Rodney says, and then sets about proving himself right.

*

Sheppard finishes his resignation and hands it over in an exchange with such uncomfortable undercurrents that even Rodney can feel it. Luckily, the meeting is cut short when a skittish-looking Captain interrupts with a message from Atlantis. “Dr. McKay and Colonel Sheppard are supposed to watch this feed,” he explains, all apologies, and sends it to the video conference screen.

Whatever it is, it can’t be good, but Rodney doesn’t expect what he sees on the screen: the bridge of Larrin’s ship, and Rory’s pale, harried face peering into the camera. “I just want to talk to Colonel Sheppard,” he pleads.

Colonel Carter’s voice informs Rory that Sheppard is off world, and the kid all but wrings his hands, glancing behind him every few seconds. “I just wanted to explain,” he says. A P-90 is strapped awkwardly across his chest, and Sheppard had really gotten it right when he’d reassigned him to science, because apparently he’s a wizard with computers—Rodney glowers through some residual bitterness—and crap with the soldier routine.

“I never wanted to betray you,” Rory begins, on and on about his intentions and duties to his people, more interjections from Carter, and then in the next frame Rodney has to completely rethink his conclusions about where Rory’s talents lie, because when Rory turns around for the hundredth time, they both get a good look at what he’s been looking at: Larrin, and this time she’s tied with her own restraints.

“I just wanted to come home!” Rory bursts out, his eyes huge and wild, fixed on the camera. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, and now I don’t know what to do.”

“Sheppard!” Larrin says from the background, reasonably calm for someone in her position. “You’d better come get this runt or your ass is mine the next time me meet. I swear to God this is the last time I ever try to do you a favor.”

Carter says, “Favor?” and Larrin glares.

“We got the drop on the Demarians’ big deal with the Wraith, and everyone in the galaxy knows the kid is Sheppard’s pet project, so we picked up the kid and planned to send him back to Sheppard in return for some repairs.”

“Until Teyla killed two of her men,” Rory says. “Then she decided to keep me like some kind of servant! So I was forced to hack into her system and…well.” He squirms, apparently groping for a way to admit that he’s commandeered the entire ship.

“Oh, I’m glad we could provide him with the necessary hacking experience for this little adventure,” Rodney says resentfully.

Rory goes back and forth with Carter a few times, and then the message cuts out without any resolution.

Rodney looks at Sheppard, who is still staring at the blank screen.

“Colonel Carter is waiting for your decision on what to do, sir,” the Captain says.

Sheppard shifts where he’s standing, hands on his hips. “Then you’d better let her know I’m not wearing rank anymore,” he says flatly. He doesn’t seem very pleased about it.

“We’ve already notified Atlantis of your situation,” General Landry says. “And Colonel Carter is waiting for your word, whenever you’re ready.”

Sheppard doesn’t say anything.

“Can we have a minute, here?” Rodney snaps, because they’re all staring at Sheppard like the moronic paper-pushers they are, oblivious to what it means to find out that Rory is alive and trying to return home.

They leave Rodney with Sheppard, who is replaying the message and watching with narrowed eyes, looking for anything he might have missed the first time around. When it’s over, he sits down at the table and slumps into his seat. “He took out Larrin,” he says, incredulous. “But he’s scared out of his mind.”

Rodney thinks it over. “I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes right now.”

Sheppard snorts, and they smile at each other just a little from across the table. “Staying with Larrin would definitely teach him a lesson.”

“Spare the rod, and whatnot.”

“It’s not like she wouldn’t get anything out of it,” Sheppard points out. “He’s got skills.”

“Hmph.” Rodney isn’t touching that one.

“And we’d be able to keep tabs on both of them.”

“Or he’ll grow up to be the lesser half of an evil power-couple.”

“He runs that risk no matter what we do with him. I think it’s best if he sits tight with Larrin for a while.”

“At least they have the sense to let you decide. This is good; you do realize that, right?” Rodney says carefully. “You still get to do your job, you still get Atlantis.”

“I’m trying not to think about it too much.”

“Liar,” Rodney says, but he knows the word is dripping with fondness. “It’s all you’re thinking about.”

Sheppard’s smile stretches across his face without showing any teeth, sly and deceptively sweet. “I’m thinking of a few other things, too.”

Rodney wants to play it cool, but he’s only a few hours past the new knowledge that Sheppard loves to kiss with tongue, so he’s susceptible to the unpredictable shocks of heat that roll through his belly. “Oh, uh, really?”

Sheppard just raises an eyebrow.

“Well, for all I know, you’re still plotting revenge against Larrin for trying to have her way with me.”

“You weren’t exactly fighting her off, Rodney. But when we get back it wouldn’t be a bad idea to pay her a visit, make sure she hasn’t got Rory strung up in irons somewhere.”

“And what about right now?”

“Right now…” Sheppard smiles as though he can read Rodney’s mind. “I think we’re done here, and if they need anything else, they know where to find us.”

Rodney thinks of their hotel bed, straightened by maid service, with new sheets and fluffy pillows. Room service. “Another good call,” he says, and follows Sheppard out the door.

*