Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Is this where you thought you’d end up when you were a kid?”

Rodney blinks down at the pencil in his hand, the equation in his notebook blurring to nothing as his mind spirals from thought to thought through his memory. Not that he’s interested in the question or its answer. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s spent most of his life ignoring it. But now he’s got a misplaced Air Force pilot kicking his heels up in his lab in Antarctica and his mind is stuck back at age ten.

“Of course not,” Rodney hears himself say. He refuses to look up at Sheppard out of spite. “I was supposed to be a concert pianist. Or—or getting my Nobel while my hot wife and our two-point-five kids look on. Studying alien artifacts in Antarctica didn’t exactly feature heavily in my understanding of the universe at the time.”

“You didn’t want to be an astronaut? Explore space?”

“I haven’t exactly turned down the opportunity, have I?”

Sheppard makes a noise that could be an affirmation or a dismissal and Rodney glares down at his notebook, willing the equation to life again. Then Sheppard asks, “Why not?”

“Why are you here?” Rodney snaps, turning his glare up at Sheppard.

Completely uncowed, Sheppard says, “General O’Neill told me to stick with you. He said I was safer here—that I couldn’t get into any more trouble.”

Scoffing, Rodney drops his pencil onto his notebook. He’s not getting anything done, anyway. “General O’Neill has a sick sense of humor,” he says, swiveling his stool to face Sheppard full on. “And he doesn’t know everything.”

“But you do?” Sheppard asks, not missing a beat.

Rodney rolls his eyes, feels the strain of it because god damn he hates the Air Force. “As far as you’re concerned? Yes. I know everything.”

Sheppard smirks like he’s won something, but Rodney’s pretty sure he hasn’t agreed to any sort of competition here. “So,” Sheppard drawls, slick and slow. “Why did you accept a one-way ticket to another galaxy? Seems like a bad place to play the piano—or start a family, for that matter.”

There’s a reason Rodney doesn’t like this line of questioning, the weight of uncertainty and failure settling uncomfortably in his gut. He has a hard enough time talking to his therapist about it, let alone a stranger whose only credentials for being in his lab at all are funny genes and a knack for being in the wrong place at the right time.

So he deflects. “Didn’t you ever want to explore space as a kid?”

“Of course,” Sheppard says, and it’s unfair that he looks so comfortable. “But this seems pretty dangerous, even for an astronaut—which you’re not.”

“Well,” Rodney says, swallowing down his discomfort. “Life’s not without risk, or so I’ve been told. What better way is there for me to get my Nobel than by doing something literally no one else is qualified for? New technology, the potential for the biggest scientific discoveries and advancements of our time—”

“Saving planet Earth,” Sheppard adds, still smirking.

“—Yeah. Sure,” Rodney allows, because that would certainly make it harder for people to argue with his Nobel. “Take your pick. They’ll all get me my Nobel and thus two of three childhood goals. I’m pretty sure once I’m that famous, no woman would consider turning down the opportunity to have my kids.”

Sheppard quirks an eyebrow at that. “I sure hope your future wife has more depth than that.”

“Please,” Rodney says, because that’s somehow more obnoxious than anything else Sheppard has said. “Don’t tell me you’re a romantic. You kill people for a living.”

“I fly choppers in Antarctica,” Sheppard says. At least he’s frowning now. “And I’m good enough at it that even the local birds are safe.”

“While I’m sure that extra thick folder with your name on it that Elizabeth’s been waving around is overflowing with your humanitarian efforts, Major, she sure as hell didn’t invite you to join the Expedition to protect extraterrestrial bird populations.”

Sheppard crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze turning cold. It’s the first time Rodney’s seen him be anything besides confused or charming, and he’s annoyed to feel arousal tingling down his spine at the sight.

It’s not as if he’s been unaware that Sheppard’s more attractive than 90% of the people on base, but it’s been more of an abstract—just an observable fact that has no real bearing on Rodney’s life whatsoever. He’d really rather keep it that way, too. He can’t say it often enough that he hates the US Air Force.

Fortunately for him, Sheppard backtracks and asks, “What about your family? How do they factor into your decision to forego fame for space exploration?”

And isn’t that a punch to the face.

Somehow, in the course of five minutes, Sheppard has managed to find each of Rodney’s weak points. It’s infuriating and intriguing and Rodney hates him a little for it—maybe as much as he’s starting to like him. It’s a shame Sheppard seems completely uninterested in joining up.

“Is that why you haven’t said yes to Elizabeth yet?” Rodney asks. It’s the reason most people have turned down offers for the Atlantis Expedition, in any case. “Worried about what your wife will have to say?”

“Divorced,” Sheppard says offhandedly, like it doesn’t bother him in the least. Maybe it doesn’t.

“Sorry,” Rodney says, because that’s what you're supposed to say about something like that.

Sheppard smirks again, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes, and Rodney is sure that whatever caused his divorce was driven by that fact—that he’s a trained killer.

After a moment, Sheppard shrugs, grabbing up a few loose nuts and bolts from the workbench beside him. “And your family is just fine with all of this?” he asks, gesturing around the lab.

Of course, in shifting the conversation away from one awkward subject, Sheppard has barrelled right back into another.

“All of this,” Rodney says, mimicking Sheppard’s gesture around the lab, “is way more important than anything like that.”

They sit together in silence, Rodney trying in vain to reconnect with his equation and Sheppard fumbling together pieces of Earth and Ancient hardware.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Sheppard asks, just when the silence is getting too heavy. When Rodney checks, Sheppard’s face has shifted again, his jaw set and his eyes focused and intense.

The question twists uncomfortably through Rodney and he almost says, obviously because only an idiot wouldn’t be. But Sheppard has left him a little raw and a lot curious and it feels just as honest to say, “Aren’t you?”

This time, Sheppard’s smile is soft and wry. “Obviously.”

Something deep in Rodney’s chest goes tight at that. He stopped looking for honesty in the Stargate Program long ago, and Sheppard handing it to him so simply makes it impossible to ignore that he wants more.

“Stop messing with those,” he snaps, tossing his pencil at Sheppard. “If you want to be useful, get your ass back to the chair.”

-

“None of the cool kids want to sit with you?” Rodney asks, dropping into the seat opposite Sheppard.

It’s noon two days before their scheduled dial out and none of the scientists will go get him lunch. None of the military grunts around will, either.

That puts Rodney in the unfortunate position of having to actually enter the mess at the SGC, a place he would really prefer never to enter again. Everyone hates him because of the incident with Teal’c—not that it was Rodney’s fault, but none of the SGC personnel will let it go. It’s like being back in school.

The only open seat is with Sheppard, who’s somehow managed to grab a table for four and keep it empty except for himself.

Sheppard shrugs and says, “Must’ve heard about all those humanitarian efforts in my file.”

Rodney squints at him, taking in the tense slope of Sheppard’s shoulders, the hard edge in his gaze, and decides he doesn’t want to know. He can’t really complain, either. It’s not as if he cares about the opinions of anyone at the SGC.

They eat in silence for a while, Rodney poking at his tablet and Sheppard building a little wall of coffee creamers. It’s not bad. In fact, it might be the most pleasant meal Rodney’s ever had at the SGC.

At least it’s pleasant until Elizabeth stops by.

She puts her hand on Sheppard’s shoulder and starts talking about something, something Rodney can’t focus on because he’s transfixed by the way Sheppard has gone completely stiff at Elizabeth’s touch. His shoulders are up and he’s gripping tightly at one of his little coffee creamers—hard enough that Rodney thinks it might pop open sometime soon.

But that’s not what has Rodney’s mind spiraling. No, the real problem here is that Sheppard is so clearly, deeply uncomfortable, but he’s still smiling up at Elizabeth, turning up the charm factor like he hadn’t for Rodney. Elizabeth is smiling back—and of course Sheppard’s got her wrapped around his little finger.

When Elizabeth leaves, Sheppard glances back at him, his fake little smile turning confused. “What?” Sheppard asks. “What?”

“Laying it on a little thick there, Major Charmer,” Rodney says, inexplicably and irrationally annoyed by Sheppard’s flirtations.

Sheppard stares at him, his hands finally going still. “She’s our boss, McKay. Can’t hurt to be friendly.”

Rodney shrugs. “Being friendly isn’t the point. Friendliness is irrelevant when it comes to the Atlantis Expedition. What matters here is the power of the human brain.”

For a moment, he thinks Sheppard might get it. A completely different kind of smile slides over his features, one that’s oddly soft, crinkling the corners of his eyes attractively. But Sheppard’s looking over Rodney’s shoulder—over Rodney’s shoulder at Sam Carter, who’s standing in line and looking as hot and idiotic as always as she waves at Sheppard across the room.

Rodney looks between them, horrified by what he sees. Sheppard gives Sam a little salute and tips an eyebrow so that his smile becomes downright dirty and Sam is actually blushing as she flips him off in return.

“Sam?” Rodney asks, his hands coming down on the table. He kind of wants to flip it, send his tray and John’s stupid little tower of coffee creamers to the floor because it’s not fair. “You and Sam?”

Sheppard’s attention slides easily back over to Rodney. “Who?” he asks. “Oh—Carter. Yeah. We have some mutual friends.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” Rodney asks before he thinks better of it. The fact that Sheppard and Sam have a history shouldn’t surprise him—it certainly shouldn’t bother him, shouldn’t have frustration itching under his skin.

Across from him, Sheppard’s face twists up in confusion, like he’s trying to play innocent, which is infuriating.

Grabbing up his tray, Rodney stands. “I’m leaving,” he says.

Beautiful people flock together. It’s a fact that beauty wins out over other, more important qualities almost every single time. Rodney knows this. He knows the world isn’t fair, but this is a little more than he can bear.

To think he’d actually been starting to like Sheppard—he’d actually been glad Sheppard’s decided to join up.

Sheppard doesn’t say anything, just continues to look confused, his eyes narrowing a bit, taking on a look that would be more at home on a kicked puppy than someone trained in Black Ops. That isn’t fair, either. Rodney shouldn’t have to feel guilty at all.

“Stop that,” he snaps, kicking his chair back under the table. “I have things to do. Unlike you, my role here is essential at every level.”

Rodney tries hard not to notice that Sam doesn’t take up his vacant seat. He tries not to notice that Sheppard is still sitting alone at the table once he’s disposed of his tray. He succeeds, for the most part, but righteous frustration about the world’s inequalities only gets him so far.

-

Despite the fact that he’s determined to stay away from the Mountain for his last 24 hours of freedom, Rodney finds himself in the armory there anyway.

It isn’t particularly late, but Rodney doesn’t know where else to go.

He’s called the landlord and the energy company and the bank to get himself squared away. He’s already dropped off Spot with the girl upstairs. He’d had to do it immediately after arranging it with her, like ripping off a bandaid. And sitting around in his empty apartment, his bags already packed and waiting for him on base had felt too lonely.

Not that the firing range deep in the basement of Cheyenne Mountain is a particularly social place to be, but Rodney could use the practice time—and with everyone on the Expedition off base, and the rest of the SGC personnel running all hands on deck to prepare for the Expedition’s departure, there’s no one around to make fun of him.

No one, except Major Sheppard.

“Don’t you have something better to be doing right now?” Rodney asks, annoyed as Sheppard steps up a few spots down from him.

Sheppard shrugs. “Don’t you?”

Touché. “Of course I do,” Rodney snaps, his fingers feeling clumsy and useless on his gun now that he has company. “We’ve all been ordered to stand down for the night, though. Dr. Lee locked my badge out of the lab. And, well, this is better than the gym.”

Sheppard grimaces. “Good choice,” he says. “The gym is full of Russians.”

“I don’t know about good,” Rodney says, conscious that he’s not actually doing anything with his gun. “Definitely a better one, though.”

“Sorry about Carter,” Sheppard says suddenly, seemingly fascinated with his P90.

“What are you talking about?” Rodney asks, because he can’t find the bridge between Sam and Russians and the few hours they have left on Earth.

Sheppard pulls a face, something almost like a wince. “I’m not gonna get in your way or anything,” he says. “If you wanted to spend your last night on Earth with her.”

Rodney stares at him, almost forgetting to keep his gun pointed down and away as he turns. He’s never been on this side of the conversation before, never had a guy step aside for him when it comes to women. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do.

“Yeah, well,” he says, aware of just how easy it is for him to start babbling when he’s nervous. “It would never work between us, anyway. I mean—she’s hot, don’t get me wrong, and she’s definitely into me, but no way.”

Sheppard keeps fiddling with his P90, looking as uncomfortable as Rodney feels.

“You could call her, though,” Rodney says, setting his gun aside. He’d been close, earlier. Close to calling Sam, or that lab tech from Area 51 who gave great head. Or his old roommate from college. “She’d probably be understanding about a last minute booty call before a one-way trip to another galaxy. She’s probably still on base, too.”

“Booty call?” Sheppard says, almost laughing.

“What?” Rodney asks, trying not to be offended. He doesn’t know what he’s missing, here. They’re supposed to be connecting with their lives tonight, getting one last taste of anything they’re going to miss when they step through the gate. “Isn’t that what this is about? Getting your last taste of Earth?”

Sheppard sighs, something deep that Rodney can see in his shoulders. “I’m good,” he says, tapping his fingers on the casing of his P90.

The unspoken, What about you? hangs in the air between them.

Rodney turns his attention back to his gun. “I’ve already done what I need to do,” he says, thinking about his attorney and Jeannie and her kid and how they’re going to get everything in his will.

“McKay,” Sheppard says, and Rodney thinks for a moment that he might’ve read everything wrong.

Sheppard licks his lips, quick but mesmerizing, and holds Rodney’s gaze for a beat too long. This is where Rodney’s supposed to move in, kiss the invitation on those lips, invite Sheppard back to his place, something, but Sheppard ducks his head and fumbles his P90 around on the table in front of him.

“I could teach you some tricks,” he says, snapping on his ear protection.

“Tricks with that thing?” Rodney asks, incredulous. “What’s the point?”

Sheppard is quick, pulling the P90 up with one hand, checking it over and making a clean shot that hits the target’s neck.

“Pretty cool, right?” he says, sounding amused even to Rodney’s ringing ears.

Later, when they’re checking their guns back in and arguing about grenades, Rodney doesn’t feel lonely at all.

-

Two things click that first banquet night with the Athosians on Atlantis, when they’re all celebrating being alive and having allies despite their impending doom by Wraith.

The first thing dawns slowly, while Rodney’s busy with his food, revelling in the new flavors of a completely different galaxy—which is still fucking awesome. Carson sighs next to him, wistful. He’s watching Major Sheppard and Teyla across the room where they’re leaning together and almost intimate.

That’s when it sinks in—the way Sheppard goes tense whenever people get close, even beautiful, friendly, smiling women—how his eyes don’t wander, even when there’s miles of curves and skin on display. Teyla is gorgeous, but Sheppard doesn’t seem to notice.

It’s not just politeness, although that may be part of it. Rodney might be lacking in that regard, but he’s seen Sheppard and the word just doesn’t fit.

Carson’s complaining about it next to him, lamenting the lack of romance in his own life and Rodney doesn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Now that Rodney sees it, he can’t unsee it, can’t figure out how exactly Carson’s missing it. Rodney is nowhere near an expert on human behavior and he’s shit at relationships, but even he knows there’s no way Sheppard’s interested in Teyla—or any other woman Rodney’s seen him with, for that matter.

There’s absolutely nothing to be envious about in the display before them—at least not until he starts thinking about what it might feel like to have Sheppard’s shoulders under his own hands, how his muscles might lose that tension and go liquid with enough force.

A hundred thoughts buzz through Rodney’s mind, how Sheppard might react to the right touch, how responsive he’d be, what kind of sounds he’d make, the color his skin might take on, flushed and aroused. He’d seen a little of it, that night in the armory, the way Sheppard had smiled and ducked his head, the way his ears had gone red when he caught Rodney looking.

Which is when Rodney has his second revelation, sudden and irrevocable: he’s in well over his head on this one.

It doesn’t matter that it’s a stupid, useless crush. Sheppard’s not broadcasting on any wavelength Rodney’s been aware of—or Carson, his doctor, for that matter—and Rodney has no patience for men who keep themselves in the closet. Whatever their reasons, they’re not worth Rodney’s time.

If Sheppard wants something, he’s going to have to man up and ask for it.

-

“Sheppard,” Rodney says, snapping his fingers behind him in the general direction Sheppard usually lounges.

“McKay,” comes the dry response from across the room.

“Come hold this for me.”

Sheppard sidles up to him at the bench, arms crossed over his chest and decidedly not taking the flashlight Rodney thrusts at him. “You know I don’t actually work in the labs.”

Rodney waves the flashlight under Sheppard’s nose—he needs to get to the guts of this device before the next crisis hits. It’s been at least ninety minutes since he put out the literal fire in Lab 3, so he doesn’t have any time to spare. “Just take the flashlight. You’re right there and you’re not doing anything important. Nothing more important than assisting me, anyway.”

“My job is to keep you and your minions alive,” Sheppard says, but he grabs the flashlight out of Rodney’s hand and only flashes it in Rodney’s face for a second before holding it over the device on Rodney’s bench. “What are we looking at?”

“What about this situation makes you think I know what this is?” Rodney snaps, grabbing up his needle nose pliers and pulling back the casing of the device. “I certainly wouldn’t be standing around listening to stupid questions if I knew what everything here was for.”

Sheppard shrugs next to him, the beam of the flashlight bobbing annoyingly with the movement. “Just thought you might have some idea of what something does before you’d go sticking your fingers in it.”

Doing his best to ignore the undertone of sarcasm in Sheppard’s voice, Rodney says, “Of course I know it’s not going to cut off my fingers or explode. We run everything through the city’s database, but that only gives us a vague idea of what things do.”

“So, can you give me a vague idea of what this thing does?” Sheppard asks, the beam of light briefly flicking back up in Rodney’s face.

“Very mature,” Rodney mutters. It might be faster to just hold the damn light himself.

“You’re the one who asked for help. What if I had something better to do?”

Rodney pulls out a tiny crystal that is completely fried and tosses it down on the bench. They don’t have any replacements in that size yet. “What—you were just hanging out here, neglecting your oh-so-important duties for the past hour?”

Sheppard shrugs again, settling himself into a careful lean on the bench. This time, the beam of the flashlight stays steady, even as Sheppard adjusts his posture. Because he’s an absolute bastard, apparently. “You have the coolest toys.”

“So it has nothing to do with Elizabeth’s mission to get me to participate in team building exercises and join a field team?” Rodney asks. He already knows the answer. Elizabeth has not been subtle about it.

Flicking the flashlight up into Rodney’s eyes again, and then to the ceiling, Sheppard says, “I would never waste anyone’s valuable time on something as unimportant as that.”

Rodney doesn’t smirk. He’s not about to be charmed by Sheppard. “How about this?” He snatches the flashlight out of Sheppard’s hand, just in case Sheppard decides to fuck with his retinas again. “I’ll call you if I find something cooler than a busted desalination pump.”

Ten hours and one gene-altering shot later, Rodney’s turning the personal shielding device over and over in his hand. They’ve run it through the database twice and spent too long on the translation, but he’s grabbing for his radio before he even realizes what he’s doing.

Sheppard’s bright eyes and wide grin when Rodney shows him how the shield works are worth every second of wasted time.

It’s really not fair at all that by week two Sheppard is so ingrained in his routine that Rodney’s seriously considering joining his team—that he’s starting to care if Sheppard thinks he’s a coward, even if it’s always served him well enough in the past.

Except Sheppard just kind of smirks at him and ignores the way the others are talking about him. When Sheppard says it, “McKay fainted” sounds a whole lot less like “McKay would rather starve to death than take a personal risk” and a whole lot more like “McKay would work himself to the bone for this city.” Rodney’s nearly bursting at the seams—he wants more of it, could do anything for it.

Anything—like walk into a dark energy monster and save the whole goddamn city all on his own.

When he wakes up, Sheppard is leaning over him, beaming like anything. Rodney feels a stab of heat when he catches what Sheppard’s saying to Teyla—comparing him to his beloved football, showering praise all over him. He ignores it, ignores Teyla’s smirk and Elizabeth and the whole just-walked-into-an-energy-monster thing in favor of complaining to the medics.

But that smile, Rodney thinks, might be worth more than he’s ever risked before.

-

There aren’t very many things that leave Rodney questioning his view of the world—he’s had a pretty solid handle on that since age 8. But watching a giant bug slowly kill his maybe-friend, kind-of-commanding officer definitely leaves Rodney reeling. His vision narrows down to armored blue legs wrapped around increasingly irritated skin and he thinks maybe his life is flashing before his eyes.

Or maybe multiple different versions of his life—the one where Sheppard lives and the one where he doesn’t.

Evening strolls along an open pier, or sleepless nights in front of his computer; an extra pair of hands in the lab, or accepting his Nobel to the sound of perfectly impersonal applause; growing old with laughter around every corner, or growing increasingly resentful of the carefree joy of children.

“McKay,” Ford barks, close to his ear and angry—desperate with command now in his young hands.

It’s absurd, really. Rodney has no business pinning his future to Sheppard, no business feeling his heart in his throat at the pained sounds Sheppard is making. It would be stupid to fall in love. Careful detachment is easier and Rodney plans to keep things as simple as possible.

He finds himself back in the infirmary with Sheppard once they’re back on Atlantis anyway.

“You better have food with you,” Sheppard says, not opening his eyes where he’s pillowed back on his cot.

“I’m not a delivery service,” Rodney says, dropping into the chair next to Sheppard’s bed. He’s spent most of the day here already, working on his tablet and ignoring Carson’s pointed looks.

He can’t bring himself to leave, though. Not for more than an hour at a time—just enough for a shower or a meal or a quick check-in with the most important labs. Sheppard’s alive—they’re all alive—because Rodney had fixed it. He’d been fast enough. He’d gotten it done this time, hadn’t given up on anyone, not even when the whole deck was stacked against them. And maybe that team thing isn’t as much bullshit as it is an absolute, capital-T Truth.

“If you really cared, you would’ve brought me a sandwich,” Sheppard drawls, tipping his head towards Rodney and glaring. It’s softened a bit by his smile.

And—despite every single alarm sounding in his head—Rodney really, really cares.

Rodney leans in and kisses Sheppard, a quick press of his lips to Sheppard’s forehead before he pulls back.

Clearing his throat, Rodney adjusts Sheppard’s pillows. Sheppard’s watching him, his eyes narrowed and thoughtful, and Rodney can feel the flush creeping up his neck at the scrutiny. There’s no way Sheppard can miss it, there’s no way he’s going to forget this, no writing it off.

“McKay,” Sheppard says, and his voice is soft now, drawing Rodney in. It’s the kind of voice that reminds Rodney of late night conversations in the dark or whispering in the quiet of the early morning. It’s too intimate, like Sheppard actually understands what’s happened to Rodney. It’s terrifying.

“Stop complaining,” Rodney says, sharp, settling himself back in his chair. They can’t do this. The kiss was a mistake, and he’s not letting it happen again. “Carson might be a blood-sucking torturer, but he’s not about to let you starve.”

Sheppard squints at him, but doesn’t push. Just like everything, the moment seems to roll off him like water.

-

Waiting is too much for Rodney to bear. He’s distracted and the lingering tingle of the stunner in his fingers won’t go away, even if Carson and Sheppard and Kate all insist that he’s imagining it at this point. If that’s true, it must be something else creeping under his skin, making him jumpy and unfocused. It isn’t hard to figure out exactly what it might be, either.

“Sheppard,” he says, catching Sheppard by the living quarters. It’s now or never, and Rodney can’t wait.

Sheppard stops, giving him an amused look. “You headed to the gym, too?” he asks, hefting his duffel higher on his shoulder.

“What?” Rodney asks, trying his best not to be distracted by the way the duffel is pulling Sheppard’s shirt down his shoulder, the pale strip of skin near his neck it reveals. “No, of course not. It’s just—about the other day. In the infirmary.”

“Hey,” Sheppard says, stopping so they’re just out of view of the main corridor. “Don’t worry about it. Just a thing that happened—adrenaline and spur of the moment stuff. It can have that kind of effect.”

Rodney almost jumps when Sheppard reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, solid and warm and squeezing just enough that it leaves Rodney with an ache in the pit of his stomach.

“It won’t happen again,” Sheppard says, like saying something like that will make it true.

As Sheppard takes off down the corridor, Rodney wants to reach back in time and shake whoever it was that shoved that speech down Sheppard’s throat—because that’s what it was, a rote speech Sheppard has heard or repeated enough to memorize, internalize.

He’s so angry with the mystery of Sheppard’s past that he almost forgets to be angry with Sheppard for talking over him instead of letting him explain.

-

“You know, he’s way too young for you,” Rodney says, because his filter is inadequate at the best of times and has now been completely swallowed up by overexposure to children and excessive jogging. He’d run all the way back to the jumper from the ZPM to stop everyone from shooting each other and then he’d had to practically drag Sheppard away to get an escort back for another check on the ZPM.

“Oh, please,” Sheppard says lightly, but his shoulders are up, defensive. “As if you haven’t tried to make it with every young lab assistant you’ve ever encountered.”

That’s really not his thing, but it’s not like his reputation could be any lower. Of course, there have been young lab assistants who have tried to sleep with him before, but it’s never been genuine. As nice as sex like that can be, Rodney can’t deny the fact that it’s completely different from this. Rodney’s never had someone follow him around with hearts in their eyes the way Keras does with Sheppard.

Rodney shrugs. “That’s not a denial.”

Sheppard picks up the pace because he’s a vindictive little shit. “Neither was that.”

“I’m just saying,” Rodney says, winded from keeping up. “You should probably keep your eyes off the pretty young things.”

Sheppard doesn’t look at him, but Rodney can imagine the eye roll that’s meant for him. “He was about to kill himself. I was trying to help.”

“I’m sure it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous and honorable and honest-to-god panting after you from the get-go.”

There’s a shift then, a hitch in Sheppard’s step, a catch to his breathing. It’s fleeting, smoothed over completely as Sheppard says, “He was not panting after me. He’s just a kid looking for a role model.”

The fact that Sheppard can’t even admit that another man found him attractive is ridiculous. He’s so steeped in denial that Rodney almost feels bad for him.

Trying a little vulnerability himself, Rodney says, “You know, I’d totally go to town on Keras, but he won’t even give me the time of day.”

That has Sheppard’s whole neck going red. Rodney can see the color rising up out of Sheppard’s collar as he struggles to keep up. It’s more of a reaction than he’s gotten before which makes it a goddamn victory.

“Whatever you say, McKay,” Sheppard says, giving Rodney absolutely nothing to work with.

-

“You know I don’t care, right?” Sheppard says out of nowhere. He doesn’t even look up from his book. “I don’t care if you’re gay, or whatever.”

Rodney almost drops his laptop.

“Excuse me?” he asks, staring across the room at Sheppard, who looks completely normal, not a hair out of place where he sits on his bed.

Sheppard squints down at his book, shifting his weight. “You keep—I don’t know,” he says, and at least he’s uncomfortable. “Dropping hints.”

Which is wild, because, yes, Rodney has been dropping hints—hints that he’s interested in Sheppard, not that he’s interested in coming out. He’s been pretty clear about that part.

“And you, what?” Rodney asks, leaning over the top of his laptop. “You thought I was looking for support?”

Setting his book aside, Sheppard glares at him across the room. “Did I get it wrong?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. It shouldn’t be as attractive as it is, but it makes his arms bulge just right, puffs out the little zipper of his shirt and now is exactly the wrong time for that line of thought.

“Yes,” Rodney snaps. Closing his laptop, he’s on his feet before he realizes.

Sheppard watches him, wary but unmoving on the bed. “Sorry,” he says, and it’s just as unexpected as his initial breach on the subject. “I guess I’m not any good at this.”

Rodney bites his lip because Sheppard looks miserable and he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch the frown on Sheppard’s lips, kiss the crease between his brow.

“You’re doing fine,” Rodney says. “I just wasn’t expecting that—not from you—not after—” Sheppard runs a hand over his face and Rodney winces. So, the kiss is definitely still a no-go. “I’m not uninterested in women, you know. Just not only. And, well, thank you.”

One hand up in his hair, the other fiddling with the cover of his book, Sheppard nods.

Rodney’s never had this kind of conversation before—not with anyone, and certainly not with a man as painfully closeted as Sheppard.

“And,” Rodney says, not quite believing it even as the words are coming out of his mouth. “And if you ever need to, you know, talk...” He waves a hand between them, awkward because he doesn’t know what to say.

He doesn’t wait to hear Sheppard’s response, just sees himself to the door.

-

In a radioactive Genii bunker, Rodney’s sure he’s figured it out.

For the time being, they’ve been left alone. There’s just one guard by the door, looking so bored he might fall asleep. Sheppard isn’t moving, though, hasn’t given any indication that he’s planning an escape, and Rodney’s more than happy to follow his lead.

Rodney smooths his hands over the table, stretching his fingers wide because they’ve taken every single piece of equipment he could fidget with.

Beside him, Sheppard’s fingers twitch and curl on the table, and Sheppard pulls his hands back and settles them gently in his lap. When Rodney looks, Sheppard is staring at Rodney’s hands, his entire focus zeroed in as he bites at his lip.

If they’d been alone—or maybe if Sheppard had been just the tiniest bit more comfortable in his own skin—Rodney’s sure that Sheppard would have reached over and laced their fingers together.

Sheppard looks up, his eyes shining in the almost-fluorescent lighting of the bunker, and Rodney can’t look away. Sheppard’s lip is a little red, shiny from where he’s been worrying it, perfect for kissing—a goddamn invitation, if Rodney’s ever seen one. But Sheppard gives him a funny half smile when he notices Rodney staring.

For a moment, Rodney worries that Sheppard will call him out on it this time, because this time he’s been caught staring, too. But Sheppard just shrugs and shifts lower in his chair, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling as he starts whistling off-key.

He’s almost upset at Sheppard’s inaction. Except it’s none of his business. No straight boys—no one deep in the closet—no one who’s just going to ignore him and burn their bridges at the first sign of danger.

This time, though, he lets himself imagine, because it’s still a shock that someone like Sheppard would be interested in him.

-

Rodney startles awake to find Sheppard sitting next to him at the conference table. They’re close—close enough that the arms of their chairs are touching. That’s probably what woke him, his mind registers belatedly.

Squinting through the dimly lit briefing room, he manages, “How long have I been asleep?”

“Maybe an hour,” Sheppard says, tipping his chair back. The armrest knocks against Rodney’s. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

That’s a useless sentiment, since Rodney’s brain is already kicking into gear, wakefulness settling in his limbs. “Well then, maybe you should’ve chosen somewhere else to sit down,” he snaps, rubbing at his eyes. “It’s not like there are ten other chairs for you to choose from, or anything.”

Sheppard sighs and says, “Ford’s watching the gate. Go back to sleep.”

“There’s no way I’ll be getting any sleep now,” Rodney complains. To make up for the loss of sleep, he’s going to need coffee—a lot of it—and calories, too. “I can’t believe I fell asleep in the first place. Lightning all over the city and flood reports coming in and Carson hasn’t even been able to look at my arm—who knows what kind of diseases are already starting to fester inside it.”

Pushing himself back from the table, Rodney stands up. He has to sit down immediately though, the resulting headrush leaving him with spotty vision and a wave of nausea. “Fuck.”

“McKay,” Sheppard snaps—and Rodney can almost hear the Major Team Leader speech coming his way. It’ll be something about how they made it and they’re going to be fine and they just need to keep it together for a little bit longer. Maybe there’ll be a reprimand about caving under pressure. Maybe there’ll be some mild, backhanded praise in there about a job well done.

“You did good today,” Sheppard says simply. “Thanks.”

Rodney’s staring, he knows he is. His mouth is open and everything. He’s still not used to it, people being grateful for his work—grateful for him. He’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, the ridicule and sarcasm and veiled threats.

But Sheppard just lets out a breath that’s shaky and raw—his eyebrows creased as he studies Rodney. It’s intense and Rodney feels the heat of it sparking across his skin.

This makes sense, too, for all that it’s unexpected. Everyone has a breaking point, no matter their resolve—and Sheppard’s clearly reached his.

It’s dangerous and stupid, goes against every boundary Rodney’s set, but he knows that if Sheppard goes for it, if he tries to kiss him or fuck him, he’ll let it happen. It’ll be the start of something disastrous and unstoppable and Rodney’s so fucking ready for it he’s already leaning over in his seat, drawn to Sheppard like a moth to flame.

Sheppard hesitates—he always hesitates. His hand comes up, hovering, like he wants to touch—and Rodney wants him to, wants it more than he can stand. But then Sheppard closes his eyes, his hand dropping back down, curling around the armrest.

“We pulled some MREs out of the jumper bay before the kids went to sleep,” Sheppard says, his attention back on the table in front of them, the moment completely lost.

Rodney wants to be angry about it—he is, for the thirty seconds it takes his brain to catch up and remind him of what he’s always known. Sheppard is in the closet and there’s absolutely nothing Rodney can do about it. It’s not his job to deal with that and he wouldn’t want the burden anyway.

-

Lowering the shield on the jumper takes a matter of seconds. By the time Ford and his team land, Rodney’s already cursing the Wraith all over again for messing with the systems inside the jumper.

There’s some sort of hubbub outside, Sheppard meeting the rescue party and catching them up on the situation. Rodney doesn’t care. They have to get the jumper running again and he doesn’t have energy to focus on anything besides that. Every time he stops to take a breath, he remembers Abrams laughing at him on the ride out or Gall’s gasping breaths in the hive or the sight of Sheppard sprawled out on the ground beneath the Wraith.

If there wasn’t anything to focus on, Rodney’s sure he’d be puking up his guts outside the jumper, making a fool of himself in front of everyone.

“Ford’s taking the team up to the hiveship to recover the bodies,” Sheppard says, clanging up the rear hatch and getting right in Rodney’s space. “How are repairs coming?”

It has Rodney’s hair on end, standing so close. He backs away a bit, leaving the crystals he’s been recalibrating hanging open. “They’d be going better if I could work without interruption,” he snaps.

Sheppard takes a step back, holding his hands up in easy surrender. Too easy. “Maybe you should take a break. It’s been a long day.”

Rodney’s laughter startles even him, but he can’t stop. “Hell yes, it’s been a long day. A long fucking day. Gall killed himself, Major—and all because I’ve developed some sort of compulsion towards putting myself in dangerous situations. It’s like your entire thing has rubbed off on me and—”

“My thing?” Sheppard barks, like that’s the worst part of what Rodney’s said.

“Yes! That thing where you run headfirst into danger and maybe take it at a sprint when you think you can save someone’s life. Because Gall was right. I wanted to be out there with you—fighting the Wraith with you. It’s all—it’s just—

“Shit,” Rodney has to stop for a full second when he glances down. He’s hard. That’s his dick and it’s tenting the front of his pants clear as day—no denying it at all. When he thinks about it, he feels a little light headed and a lot horny, like if Sheppard offered, Rodney wouldn’t be able to last more than a minute horny. “That’s my dick. Oh my god. I’m a sick fuck and I’m actually getting off on this.”

Sheppard is staring at his dick now too and that does absolutely nothing to help the situation. Especially not with the way he’s kind of open-mouthed and intent. Rodney can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that.

Rodney swallows, looks back down at himself and lets out a sound that’s almost too pathetic, but maybe perfectly captures his utter humiliation. “Is this what it is to be an adrenaline junkie? Is this what it’s like for you all the time?”

That snaps something in Sheppard, his eyes jumping up to meet Rodney’s, sparking and hot. “I don’t—” he starts, but his glare softens almost immediately into something warm and maybe kind, if it were on anyone other than Sheppard. Then, because it’s apparently old hat for him, Sheppard’s pulling his speech out again. “It’s natural, buddy. Don’t worry about it.”

“Gall and Abrams are dead, Major. We were almost killed by a ten-thousand-year-old super Wraith and then almost blown up by friendly fire and somehow I’ve still got a raging boner and you’re telling me not to worry about it? Really?”

Sheppard’s face twists with good-natured concern, the way he gets around the younger Marines or maybe those kids on M7G-677 and Rodney hates it. Except he really doesn’t, especially not when Sheppard reaches out a hand to pat his shoulder but stops himself short. It’s like a goddamn teen drama or something else just as shitty and inane.

“Enough of the bullshit,” Rodney snaps, because really, now that he’s thinking about it, the boner thing is wearing on him. “Either you touch me and we do this for real or you get yourself out of my space and we go back to fixing the jumper like this entire thing didn’t happen. I’m fine either way—I mean, I’m sure there will be a great deal of discomfort, but it’s fine. I can handle it.”

Sheppard doesn’t do anything, just stands there frozen, with his hand hovering inches from Rodney’s shoulder.

Rodney kisses him. It’s the only thing to do. He’s been thinking about it for weeks—months, if he’s honest. And now, in the back of a jumper after an incredibly traumatic day, he’s horny and Sheppard is there and he hasn’t said no. He’s hesitated just enough to indicate that he maybe, probably wants to say yes.

Sheppard still doesn’t move, though, not even when Rodney leans into the kiss, opens his mouth against Sheppard’s, runs his hands up Sheppard’s arms to his shoulders, careful of the bandage, to his neck, running his thumbs up over Sheppard’s cheeks. Sheppard doesn’t react at all.

Which is definitely odd. Sheppard’s standing completely still, letting the kiss happen instead of participating. Rodney knows it’s a hint—he’s overstepped some boundary and he should stop, but just when he’s going to, Sheppard loosens up a bit.

His hands brush over Rodney’s stomach, his side, resting at his hips, and he leans into the kiss a bit. But it’s not quite right. Rodney hadn’t really expected that Sheppard would be a sex god or anything—okay, maybe he had fantasized about that—but he also hadn’t expected him to be bad at kissing.

It’s definitely not good, though—stiff and awkward, but Sheppard’s fingers are twisting into the fabric of Rodney’s shirt now, holding on tightly. The combination has Rodney’s dick rapt and expectant.

“Okay,” Sheppard breathes out, warm against Rodney’s cheek. Then he says it again. And again. It’s an odd pep-talk and Rodney thinks that he should maybe, just maybe, stop this right here, but mostly he’s interested in finding out what exactly Sheppard’s talked himself into.

When he turns it over in his mind, he finds it almost endearing that Sheppard appears to be nervous. That’s one he never really considered before.

Instead of returning to the kiss, Sheppard presses his face into the space between Rodney’s neck and shoulder, his nose a soft contrast to the scrape of stubble. His hands drop, too, pulling clumsily at the fastenings of Rodney’s pants, slipping inside and pulling at Rodney’s dick. And that’s enough to have Rodney’s brain spiraling.

It doesn’t take long, even if it’s too dry and Sheppard doesn’t seem to know quite what to do with his free hand—or sometimes even with the hand wrapped around Rodney’s dick. But really, Rodney comes almost embarrassingly fast, high on the adrenaline of the day and the feel of John Sheppard’s mouth against his shoulder.

When it’s over and Sheppard is wiping his hand off on Rodney’s shirt, Rodney’s brain kicks into gear again. He jumps from the stiff kiss to the clumsy handjob to Sheppard’s military career and comes to the conclusion that Sheppard is so far in the closet he’s never actually even done this with a man before.

Which is an absolute damn shame—one that Rodney intends on rectifying immediately. Repeatedly.

Except when Rodney reaches out to reciprocate, to get his hands into Sheppard’s pants, Sheppard almost throws himself backward, swatting at Rodney’s hands as he gathers himself back up into his little Sheppard-sphere.

“You don’t have to,” he says. His voice is low and rough and Rodney wants to hear more of it.

“I know I don’t have to,” Rodney snaps, afterglow slipping from his grasp. “I want to. Maybe you didn’t notice there, but you kinda do it for me, and I’m definitely open to anything else I can get.”

Sheppard’s honest-to-god blushing now, his face bright red as he looks anywhere but at Rodney. “I was just—helping out.”

Maybe that’s where Sheppard’s little speech comes from—his years in the Air Force. Sheppard’s just one of the guys in a weird brothers-in-arms culture and helping a friend out after combat is just par for the course. Maybe nothing that’s happened between them has ever meant anything more.

As soon as he thinks it, Rodney hates it, hates the way it twists through him like a knife.

His throat closes up at the thought, tight and angry around every single piece of affection and attraction he has for Sheppard. Whatever this is with Sheppard, it’s not just about adrenaline and uncontrollable physiological responses to stress for him. Somewhere along the way, Rodney’s heart has gotten in the mix.

“Thanks,” Rodney manages to say. He feels more like he’s spitting it out than anything else.

Sheppard runs a hand through his hair—the hand that’s been very recently wrapped around Rodney’s dick—fuck—and he has the nerve to look hurt.

“Look, I—” Sheppard starts to say, but Rodney doesn’t want to hear it.

He doesn't want to hear it the same way he doesn't want to think about how close Sheppard had been—how he can still feel the dampness of his shirt where Sheppard's mouth had been, intimate and intense. Not only has Sheppard put him through this, he's put him through it badly. He’s made it personal when it didn't have to be.

“It’s fine,” Rodney says, turning away to get himself tidied up in relative privacy. “We don’t have to talk about it. Just one more weird-ass military ritual I’ve been forced to endure. I’ll live.”

Behind him, he thinks Sheppard might make a noise, something short and frustrated, but before he can name it, before he can even wrap his head around it, Sheppard’s stalking back out of the jumper, boots heavy on the hatch.

-

Rodney has to reevaluate everything when he opens the door to his quarters to find Sheppard standing in the hall, his eyes a little wild despite his relaxed posture.

“Hey, McKay,” he says. His voice is rough again in a way that tingles down Rodney’s spine.

Newest conclusion: Sheppard’s a repressed asshole, but definitely interested.

“Get in here,” Rodney growls, tugging Sheppard’s arm until he stumbles forward into the room. Rodney’s wrung out, the adrenaline high of not dying from the nanovirus having worn off hours ago. Sheppard’s still being reckless, though, still stepping across boundaries of his own design, and Rodney wants all of it.

Once inside, Sheppard lingers near the door, almost hesitant despite the fact that he’s the one who sought Rodney out. Vaguely, Rodney remembers thinking that Sheppard’s shyness was endearing. Now it’s rubbing him a little raw.

“Need someone to help you out, Major?” he asks, sitting back on his bed. He’s exhausted, too tired to keep up any real pretense.

Sheppard stops fidgeting, goes completely still as he stares at Rodney across the room. “I thought you were going to die,” he says, almost like an accusation.

Rodney doesn’t say anything about riding naquadah bombs into action. He does say, “I thought I was going to die.”

Something breaks—it must, because suddenly Sheppard’s across the room, not hesitating at all to push Rodney back on the bed, to lay himself out on top of him so they’re almost cuddling over the sheets.

It’s not that Rodney’s against cuddling, or anything. It’s just that he’d been so sure this was a physical thing—that Sheppard was here for some sort of payback or reciprocation from the last time. But Sheppard seems content enough to just scoot them up the bed and lie there, breathing deep as he curls his fingers into Rodney’s shirt.

It’s almost bizarre.

“You’re not radioactive or anything, right?” Rodney asks, then feels completely helpless when Sheppard laughs into his chest.

“Not radioactive,” Sheppard murmurs, pressing his forehead into Rodney’s sternum. He levers himself up on one elbow so he can push his other hand into Rodney’s sweats.

He’s awkward again, going from zero to one-hundred with his hand around Rodney’s dick in seconds, but it’s not bad. Definitely not bad, Rodney thinks, unable to stop himself from grabbing at Sheppard’s arm, holding on for the ride.

Sheppard’s breath is hot against Rodney’s chest, damp through his shirt, but he’s not doing anything with his mouth, not licking or kissing or pushing up Rodney’s shirt to get at his skin. He’s just breathing, like he’s completely focused on his hand. Which is hot, too—really hot—but Rodney wishes he’d pick his head up, look him in the eye, kiss him again, like in the jumper.

“Sheppard,” Rodney says, almost doesn’t recognize the rasp in his voice. “Look at me.”

Bad choice of words, Rodney decides, because Sheppard freezes, his fingers going loose and still. Everything stops for a second—ten—until Rodney’s pushing up against Sheppard again and whining, “Shit, Sheppard. I didn’t mean stop. Don’t stop.”

Finally, Sheppard gets the picture and he’s back at it. This time he sits up a bit, just enough that he can tip his head up to look at Rodney.

There’s something guarded on his face, something Rodney can’t quite identify, definitely not when Sheppard twists his hand like that—but there’s something almost curious, too. Playful, even.

That’s it. When Sheppard gives him a little smirk, Rodney loses it, pushing his hips up into Sheppard’s grip and coming all over his t-shirt and Sheppard’s hand.

“Cool,” Sheppard is saying a moment later, wiping his hand off on Rodney’s shirt and tucking him back in.

When Rodney squints up at him, Sheppard’s grinning, sitting back on his heels over Rodney’s knees and completely smug.

“Did you just call my dick cool?” Rodney asks, letting his head fall back on the pillows. He lazily accommodates when Sheppard tugs at his ruined shirt, pulling it off and tossing it away.

Sheppard’s probably still smiling, the asshole, but he’s also settling himself back down over Rodney, tucking his face against Rodney’s neck. “I called your orgasm cool, actually,” he says, his lips chapped and catching against Rodney’s skin.

Rodney shivers, his dick twitching pathetically in his pants. “Oh,” Rodney says, wrapping his arms around Sheppard without really thinking about it. “I think orgasms are pretty cool, too. I guess. Mutual ones, especially.”

Sheppard’s at least got a semi, Rodney can feel it pressed against him through the layers of their clothes. He lets his hand run down Sheppard’s back to brush against the top of his sweats.

Sheppard shakes his head. “I have to go,” he says, rolling himself up and out of bed.

While Sheppard stops off in the bathroom, the sound of the faucet echoing loudly around the room, Rodney presses his hands into his eyes. He wants to argue, but it already feels useless. Defeat sits heavy on his chest, weighing him down when the tap turns off, making it impossible to look up.

Sheppard lingers by the bed for a moment, his presence heavy and uncomfortable.

It’s almost a relief when he leaves.

-

“Do you not want him to find happiness?” Teyla asks, tipping her head at him. She doesn’t understand. She couldn’t possibly.

“This won’t make him happy,” Rodney says. He can’t stop what he’s doing, can’t stop analyzing the data they’ve collected on Chaya and her people.

Teyla sighs, the sound itching its way across Rodney’s skin. “You cannot know that.”

Rodney thinks about the feel of Sheppard’s hands on his skin, the curve of his mouth as he smiles against his shoulder. He does know and it’s infuriating. “Can’t you just accept that I know more than anyone else here? I know that there’s something going on. I know Chaya isn’t who she says she is. I know that we should be stopping Sheppard before he does something stupid. I know this isn’t going to end well for him.”

It’s probably not going to end well for Rodney, either. Getting involved with Sheppard was never a good idea, but Rodney’s desperate for it not to be over—desperate to salvage what they have.

“You should trust him,” Teyla says, like Rodney hasn’t just insulted her. He likes her. He really does. Almost enough to regret snapping at her. But she’s wrong.

In the end, they all know Rodney’s right. Chaya’s an Ancient, but she’s not going to help them. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a victory. Not with the way Sheppard’s face twists up like he’s been physically injured, not when Sheppard disappears through the gate alone.

Afterward, Sheppard ignores him.

Rodney’s sure Sheppard would be happy to ignore him for the rest of their lives, but Sheppard is full of surprises.

“I panicked,” Sheppard says, standing just inside the door to Rodney’s quarters. “I panicked, but you don’t need to be an asshole about it.”

“I’m the asshole?” Rodney says, because only one of them has been sleeping around and it isn’t him.

Sheppard rolls his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest like Rodney’s being unreasonable. “It’s just—I thought—” but something catches, Sheppard’s whole face shuttering up.

Setting his laptop carefully on his bedside table, Rodney stands up. He wants to go to Sheppard, wants to feel him and kiss him and put it behind them. But this is the problem. This is why he doesn’t do this, not with people like Sheppard.

They need to clear it up.

“Call it off,” Rodney says, preparing himself for it. “Tell me you’re straight. Tell me this was a mistake.”

Sheppard just stares at him, pulling at the fabric of his jacket. “Everything is different with you. It’s—” He stops, but the look on his face tells Rodney a million things—it’s good, better, perfect, right—so Rodney can forgive him.

Rodney wants to forgive him. It’s dangerous, the hope rising in his chest. They should be done—Sheppard’s already sucking him into whatever hangups he’s got. But Rodney feels it, too. Being with Sheppard is good-better-perfect. It’s right, and he can’t be the one to end it.

“Alright,” Rodney says, across the room before he realizes what he’s doing, right up against Sheppard.

Sheppard leans into him. It’s almost a hug—full body contact, Sheppard’s breath warm on his neck—but his arms stay firmly pressed against his chest.

“We’re good?” Sheppard asks, lips dragging against Rodney’s skin.

Of course, Rodney doesn’t say, because that would be giving away too much. “Yeah,” he says, running his hands up Sheppard’s back and holding on.

That’s probably giving away too much, too.

-

Rodney finds Sheppard flipping through a magazine in the mess, quiet and nearly empty at this hour. It’s well past midnight, but the memory’s been eating at him and he can’t take it anymore.

“I saw you with the old Weir earlier,” he says, ignoring the question in Sheppard’s raised eyebrow. “I think you should tell someone.”

He really can’t stop thinking about it, the way Weir had been holding Sheppard’s hand when she’d said it, made it sound so easy—I’m glad you and Rodney have each other—the way Sheppard’s expression had softened, his smile turning private and tender, not something Rodney or anyone else was meant to see.

Sheppard regards him for a moment, still and stony, before he looks back down at the glossy page of his magazine. “I told you,” he says.

“No, you really didn’t,” Rodney says, waving off the way Sheppard tries to argue, because Sheppard hasn’t put anything in words, but that’s not what Rodney’s here to talk about, not really. “That’s not the point. The point is, I saw you. Having someone who knows—someone you don’t have to put on an act for, someone you can trust like that—it helps. Keeping it quiet all the time, pretending it’s not there, that fucks with your head—with my head, too. I mean, I know the whole military thing is a factor, but that Weir, she knew and she didn’t care. Or she did, but in the way you’d want someone to care.”

Carefully, like he’s picking his way through a minefield, Sheppard says, “It’s not just the military thing for me.”

Of course there are dozens of things that could be holding him back—hundreds, even. Frat parties and locker rooms and church sanctuaries, some places Rodney knows intimately and others only a guess.

Sheppard sucks in a breath, plunging on ahead in a way Rodney hadn’t anticipated, not here in the mess, not anywhere so public. “Sometimes it’s like I’m not—” He frowns, sinking a little lower in his chair and running a hand up through his hair, nervous. “It’s like there’s nothing—” This time his mouth snaps shut, like he can’t bring himself to say it.

“Sorry,” Rodney says, filling in the silence Sheppard’s left hanging. He feels almost like he’s suffocating in it, the weight of whatever it is Sheppard can’t say pulling him down. “I didn’t mean—” Now. Me. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s really not any of my business. You should do what you think is right.”

“McKay,” Sheppard says, and Rodney almost doesn’t hear it for how quiet it is. The conversation’s gotten away from him, turned into something vulnerable, too fragile for him to handle. He can’t bring himself to look up, afraid of what he’ll find on Sheppard’s face.

“Just think about it,” Rodney says, not looking back as he excuses himself.

-

“How did I not know about the Mensa thing?” Rodney asks, following Sheppard back to his quarters.

They’re both covered in dirt and sweat and grit, having gone straight from the infirmary to their debrief without the chance for a cleanup, but it doesn’t matter. The dirt doesn’t matter. The Genii don’t matter. Not even the Wraith ships bearing down on them matter because Rodney can’t remember being as turned on by anyone as he had been by Sheppard in that god-forsaken pit.

Sheppard had lit up back there, all smiles and glow and math even with the Genii’s guns at his head.

“It’s not a big deal,” Sheppard says lightly, the door to his quarters sliding open for him easily. “You guys want me for my genes, not my brain.”

“Fuck that.” Rodney doesn’t quite recognize the rumble in his chest as he says it. He doesn’t have time to think about that, though. He’s too busy pushing Sheppard up against the door, fumbling Sheppard’s dusty shirt up and over his head.

Sheppard lets himself be manhandled, just leans back against the door and watches Rodney as he works, a flush settling bright on his cheeks.

When Rodney gets to Sheppard’s pants, though, hooks his fingers into the fastenings, Sheppard’s there, both of his hands resting gently over Rodney’s. He doesn’t push him away, but he’s definitely not letting things go further.

“Come on,” Rodney says. He doesn’t care that he’s whining. “Just let me get you off this time. I don’t care if you’re really straight or whatever—I mean, I care and I think it’s pretty clear you aren’t—but it doesn’t matter. I just want to touch you this time. I want to make you feel good—so good. Please.”

Sheppard presses a kiss to Rodney’s temple and buries his face in Rodney’s shoulder. “You say the sweetest things,” he murmurs, deep enough that Rodney can feel it echoing through him. Fuck.

“I’ll say whatever you want,” Rodney continues, because it’s urgent—he needs this. He pushes his shoulder up against Sheppard, leans against him and the door.

Sheppard’s pushing back, holding him up. “Think I could make you come if I was just talking about math?”

And fuck—“Fuck,” Rodney breathes, twists his hand around to thread his fingers with Sheppard’s, needing something to hold on to. “It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Sheppard drops out of sight and it takes Rodney’s brain an embarrassing second too long to figure out that Sheppard sliding to his knees means that Sheppard’s probably going to blow him and rather than talk him into an orgasm.

“Sheppard—shit,” Rodney says, bracing himself against the door because his knees are already going weak. “I don’t want to be presumptuous, but—how are you going to show off your ridiculous IQ with your mouth full.”

Sheppard shivers, Rodney can see it in his shoulders, feel it as Sheppard presses his face into Rodney’s thigh. Maybe he’s gathering himself, maybe his nerves are resurfacing, maybe he’s got a thing for uniforms—Rodney really doesn’t care as long as Sheppard does something soon.

“We’ve got plenty of time,” Sheppard says finally, pulling at the fastenings of Rodney’s pants.

This time when Sheppard hesitates, Rodney is certain it’s because he’s never done this before. He’s fine at first, jacking Rodney’s already hard dick a few times and smirking up at him for a moment. When he leans forward, breathes across the head of Rodney’s dick, it’s all Rodney can do to keep his hips still. Because Sheppard looks like a man on a mission, psyching himself up with a few deep breaths before taking the plunge.

“It’s the same principle as going down on a woman,” Rodney says, grasping at the stray thought in a bid to make this easier for Sheppard.

Sheppard blinks at his dick for a second before glancing back up to give Rodney a carefully dubious look, raised eyebrow included.

“Okay, fine. You're right. Well—it’s the same principle in that the idea is to get someone off with your mouth—but yeah, yes. You’re right. Completely different skills involved. It’s—just think of how it feels getting one and—oh. Would that help? I could do you first—refresh your memory, as it were. Although I’m not sure how long I’d last after—but maybe later—”

“Rodney, I’ve got it,” Sheppard says, and he’s almost laughing, which would be absolutely mortifying, except then Sheppard’s practically nuzzling his dick, his nose soft and gentle—the curve of his smile even better.

It’s not great. Sheppard tries for too much at first, has to pull off almost immediately, gagging. But he rallies fast, spends more time trailing his tongue and lips around Rodney’s dick and less time trying to suck him down and in the end, it doesn’t really matter. Rodney never stood a chance against the sight of Sheppard on his knees, tipping his head up and experimenting with his dick.

Rodney can’t stop himself from threading his fingers through Sheppard’s hair, but he doesn’t mean to pull. Sheppard gasps, drawing in a sharp breath against Rodney’s dick and twisting his fingers tight as he pulls. And that’s it. Rodney’s seeing white, pressing his forehead into the door for support.

“I should’ve warned you,” Rodney says when he can think again. “Wasn’t thinking.” He’s running his fingers gently through Sheppard’s hair, but he can see the way Sheppard is breathing heavily, unevenly where he’s still kneeling between Rodney’s legs.

So much for courtesy.

“Is that right?” Sheppard asks, turning his face into Rodney’s thigh. “I made the great Doctor Rodney McKay lose his train of thought?”

“Fuck you,” Rodney mutters, magnanimous in his afterglow. He sinks down to join Sheppard on the floor. “I bet I can make you lose your mind faster.”

They’re eye-to-eye now, and Rodney kisses Sheppard, tasting himself at the corner of Sheppard’s mouth.

Sheppard’s more relaxed this time, loose in a way he hasn’t been, but he’s still clumsy about the kiss, his hands coming up to rest at Rodney’s throat. After a moment, Rodney realizes that Sheppard’s mimicking him, following every move of Rodney’s lips and tongue as a perfect mirror, and it makes Rodney’s chest ache.

Rodney wants to show him everything, wants to figure out why the fuck John Sheppard has decided to take this risk with him, something he’s clearly held himself back from until now. He wants to give Sheppard every pleasure he can imagine.

When he runs his fingers down the front of Sheppard’s pants, Sheppard snaps back, his head thunking against the door.

Pushing Rodney’s hands away, Sheppard gives him a smile that’s too easy not to be forced. “It’s fine. I’m good,” he stutters, and his blush goes all the way down his chest.

Rodney conjures up fifteen terrible explanations for that in the second it takes Sheppard to lean in again, to kiss him softly, his thumbs brushing up under the sides of Rodney’s shirt—and Rodney forgets to be worried.

If Sheppard can come in his pants just from giving a blowjob, Rodney’s not going to complain.

-

With the Wraith heading towards Atlantis, there’s barely any time.

Sheppard whispers praise about the compression file into his ear in a supply closet, but their radios chirp before it can go further than that.

They see each other off in the armory when Elizabeth sends them off on Plans A and C, their fingers twitching at their sides while Ford and Miller look on.

Rodney thinks he remembers Sheppard slipping into his bed at some point after the Daedalus arrives during the siege, but when he wakes, he’s alone.

Once they’ve successfully cloaked the city, hidden themselves from the Wraith for good, Rodney heads back to his quarters for some well-deserved rest.

Sheppard follows him, which isn’t the worst interruption to sleep Rodney’s ever had. Especially not when Sheppard follows him to bed, curls up against him on top of the blankets.

“You did it,” Sheppard says, already burying his face in Rodney’s chest, hiding whatever he’s feeling there just like always.

“You’re alive,” Rodney returns, running his hands up and down Sheppard’s back, every hitch in his breath another reassurance that they made it.

Shifting over, Sheppard slides a hand down Rodney’s chest, tucking his fingers into the waistband of Rodney’s boxers. It’s light and playful, already raising the hair on Rodney’s arms in anticipation. But he stops, sighing out a gust of air that leaves Rodney shivering.

“Can we just—” Sheppard starts, but shakes his head. “Would you mind if we—” that doesn’t do it for him either. “I’m tired.”

Rodney can empathize, not that his dick would really complain about some bedroom action, but it’s not necessary. Now that the adrenaline of the past few weeks is fading, Rodney feels exhaustion in his bones.

“Me too,” he says, already drifting.

-

On Earth, Rodney manages to get his hand down Sheppard’s pants.

Sheppard shudders and pulls away fast. He stumbles up and out of bed, but before he gets anywhere, he stops and sinks slowly back down to sit on the edge of the bed.

“It’s this place,” he says, voice tight as he tips his head to indicate the cement walls of his quarters at SGC. He doesn’t say, It’s Earth. He doesn’t have to.

Rodney knows the military’s unlikely to send Sheppard back, and even less likely to keep him in charge if they do. No new military commander would want the former commander there undermining him, even if Sheppard never tried—which, it’s Sheppard. Of course he would undermine a new commanding officer.

“You need to get out of here,” Rodney says, trying not to take it personally. It’s just bad timing. It has nothing to do with the fact that Sheppard’s getting cold feet, that he might end it, that Rodney’s not good enough. “Come with me to my apartment.”

Sheppard shakes his head. “I’m not leaving,” he says. He doesn’t say, Not until they make me.

Slowly, carefully, Sheppard reaches out, unwinding himself to get his hands on Rodney. “I could still,” he says, making a rather obscene gesture with his hand that Rodney would pay good money to see again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rodney says, pushing Sheppard back against the sheets, running his hand up through Sheppard’s hair. He likes the way that makes Sheppard’s eyes flutter closed, the way he tips his head into it. “This place is kind of a mood killer, anyway.”

Sheppard curls around him, holding on tight until they’re called away to their next round of meetings.

-

The table is covered in personnel files and the whiteboards behind him are a mess of half-finished thoughts. The list of new equipment he and Radek agreed upon has its own board, already heavily negotiated with the IOA—too many items crossed off.

They leave in four days and Rodney isn’t ready. He’s not even close.

“They promoted me,” Sheppard says, leaning in the doorway of the conference room Rodney’s taken over. “Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard—has a nice ring to it.”

“And they complain about my ego,” Rodney says, pitching another file into the Assholes-Who-Are-Too-Incompetent-For-My-Time pile. He grabs the next file, hiding his smile behind it. It’s about damn time the IOA got its head out of its ass.

Sheppard fidgets, glances over his shoulder like some grunt coming down the hall is more dangerous than the cameras in the corners of the room. “I thought maybe you’d like to celebrate,” he says, too casual.

Squinting at the name on his new folder, Rodney doesn’t even open it before tossing it in the Assholes-Who-Have-Slandered-Me pile. “Do I look like I have time to celebrate?”

The silence after that goes on a little too long, but when Rodney glances up again, Sheppard is still there, leaning in the doorway.

When he catches Rodney looking at him, Sheppard glances back out in the hall. The tension in the air is so awkward it’s almost laughable.

“I guess I’ll find a nice bar and celebrate on my own, then,” Sheppard says, already whining the way he does when things aren’t going his way.

It’s definitely not cute and Rodney’s definitely not warm all over at the thought of Sheppard sulking over him.

“Hey,” Rodney says, scribbling out his address on a loose piece of paper, adding, Key’s under the mat. He waves it in Sheppard’s direction, not about to get up. “This is a nice place I know of. You could get yourself a drink there to celebrate.”

Which is how he ends up at his apartment for the first time since leaving Earth. It’s dusty, but otherwise exactly how he’d left it. Except Sheppard—Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard—is sprawled out on his couch, sleeping deeply enough that he doesn’t wake when Rodney comes in.

Setting the pizza and beer on the coffee table, Rodney heads to the kitchen. He makes as much noise as possible, partly because he doesn’t want to have to shake Sheppard awake—a dangerous enough task back on Atlantis—and partly because annoying Sheppard is fun.

Plates and paper towels in hand, he heads back to the living room.

Sheppard is sitting up now, looking ruffled and blinking sleepily at the pizza box. Rodney’s stomach does a funny little twist at the sight, his heart jumping up into his throat. He’s in way too deep.

“Is that pizza?” Sheppard asks, slurring the words a bit, his voice still soft with sleep.

“It better be,” Rodney says, dropping down beside Sheppard on the couch. “I paid for a pizza and now my living room smells like greasy cardboard. So if it’s not pizza, we’re both screwed.”

When he glances up, he finds Sheppard staring at the pizza, his eyes only a little more focused now, still looking sleepy and surprised. Which has him panicking, because maybe this was a terrible idea. Inviting Sheppard to his apartment, buying him dinner—it’s more like a date than anything they’ve ever even talked about before.

So Rodney talks, the words spilling out of him like they always do. Panic never seems to choke him off the way it does others. It’s the release valve. “I thought, what better way to celebrate than pizza, you know? Celebrate your promotion—right. I mean, that’s not right. I first thought about steak dinner with mashed potatoes but that doesn’t really travel well, so I wouldn’t have been able to bring it home. Pizza though, that’s nice and simple. It’s easy to put in a car. Which I had to do. I wasn’t sure if the phone still worked here. But they gave us phones back at the SGC. I guess I could’ve ordered delivery.”

“McKay,” Sheppard says. Maybe he’s said it a couple times. He’s squinting at him, but there’s something like a smile on his face, so maybe everything is just fine.

“So, anyway,” Rodney says, looking back at the pizza box in front of them. “Congratulations.”

Then Sheppard’s leaning into him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss into the side of his face. He’s loose and grinning. He doesn’t fully dislodge himself from Rodney as he gathers up a bottle of beer and a slice of pizza. Rodney finds himself relaxing, too.

It’s easy to lean into Sheppard, easy to steal pepperonis off his pizza and grease up his shirt when they lose their napkins. It’s easier still to let his fingers wander up Sheppard’s thigh to distract him from the last piece of pizza. Sheppard tries to steal bites of the pizza, his fingers gentle where they rest against the skin of Rodney’s neck.

“Winner takes all,” Sheppard says while Rodney swallows the last of the pizza.

Rodney has no idea what they’re betting with, but Sheppard’s already booting up an old racing game and sliding easily back into his place at Rodney’s side. One thing Rodney does know is that he’ll win.

Forty-five minutes later Sheppard drops his controller on the floor and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m just out of practice,” he says for the twentieth time, an absolute rotten loser.

“What do I win?” Rodney asks, sliding low on the couch to set his remote on the floor more gently.

Sheppard’s gaze snaps over to him, but he still looks grouchy.

“I mean,” Rodney tries again, feeling at a loss. “You said, winner takes all.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard says, breathing deep. “Yeah, I did.”

Then Sheppard is reaching over, his hand groping at Rodney’s dick through his pants.

“Fuck,” Rodney gasps, grabbing at Sheppard’s wrist because he needs something to hold on to.

“Okay,” Sheppard agrees, the carefree lilt back in his voice. He’s sliding to the floor and making himself comfortable between Rodney’s splayed legs, hiding his face against Rodney’s hip.

Which is wonderful. It feels fucking fantastic, but Rodney pushes at Sheppard’s shoulder to stop him. “I brought you to my apartment,” he says, but that doesn't exactly make sense. “There’s a real bed just down the hall. Orthopedic mattress. No cameras.”

That isn’t actually any more clear, but Sheppard nods anyway, rolling himself to his feet and dragging Rodney up with him.

Rodney struggles with his clothes as they go, nearly ripping his shirt in his haste and tripping over his pants where he leaves them in the hall. He’s naked by the time they make it to the bed, and it takes a moment for him to register that Sheppard hasn’t touched his own clothes yet.

“You too,” he says, pulling at Sheppard’s pizza stained t-shirt. “Get this off.”

Sheppard laughs and shucks the shirt. Pushing Rodney back onto the bed, he crawls in after him. All Rodney gets is a quick kiss before Sheppard’s back to business, lips warm on Rodney’s dick in a matter of seconds.

This time, Sheppard’s a little more relaxed with the blowjob, eases himself into taking Rodney down. He’s taking his time with it, still clumsy and unpracticed, but Rodney doesn’t care. It feels amazing, and it’s not until he’s squeezing at Sheppard’s shoulders with his thighs, twisting his fingers into the sheets to keep them from shoving Sheppard down, that he realizes—

“Fuck, Sheppard. This is supposed to be about you. Stop. Let me.”

Sheppard shakes his head, swallowing around Rodney’s dick without a hint of gagging this time before pulling back. “It’s okay,” he says, voice rough, too low and ragged to be real. He doesn’t look up. “This is fine.”

This is fine.

“Stop—stop,” Rodney tries again, sitting up, dislodging Sheppard as he does. Rodney must be a little crazy, stopping a blowjob in progress. But—“What the hell.”

Sheppard makes a noise Rodney can’t interpret and pushes himself up, sitting at the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor.

This is exactly where Rodney hadn’t wanted to be—stuck in bed with Sheppard, his heart twisted up about him already, and Sheppard won’t even look at him.

Before Rodney can protest, though, Sheppard surprises him again by speaking first. “It’s just—I’m new at this,” he says, too loud for the quiet of the room. “I’m not—I don’t know—comfortable with it yet.”

“That’s an understatement,” Rodney spits, feeling vindictive. His anger dries up though when Sheppard’s breath catches, when he actually winces.

“Look,” Rodney says, surprised that Sheppard glances back at him. Holding Sheppard’s gaze in the dim light of the room feels almost more intimate than Sheppard’s lips on his skin. “I know I’m selfish, but I don’t like feeling that way in bed.”

Sheppard squints at him a bit, like he’s seeing all the way through to Rodney’s core and Rodney glares back. “Fine. I like being selfish in bed—but I like knowing that my partner’s getting off on it, too.”

“Such a romantic,” Sheppard says. The smile pulling at his lips has Rodney’s stomach tying itself in knots.

“If you could have one thing from me tonight, what would it be?” Rodney would give Sheppard anything at this point—which is stupid and dangerous, but there’s no stopping it now.

Sheppard glances down at Rodney’s softening dick and back up to his face, then shrugs, eyes back on his toes.

“Come on,” Rodney snaps. “What can I do for you? What’s a comfortable starting point?”

Tripping over the words, Sheppard says, “I really like—sleeping. With you. Being able to touch you. And tonight—there’s nothing. No obligations. You know?”

Rodney does know. It’s why he’d invited Sheppard over from the start. Except—just sleeping.

“Okay,” he says, shuffling around to get under the blankets. “We can sleep tonight.”

Sheppard places a hand on Rodnye’s hip and Rodney freezes.

“McKay,” he says, a smile pulling at his lips. “I’d also like to finish what I started.”

Rodney doesn’t resist this time, just lies back and runs his fingers through Sheppard’s hair when he goes down.

Maybe this is really what Sheppard needs—it gives him a certain degree of control, even if he’s quick to follow each twitch and pull of Rodney’s hand. While the other closeted men Rodney’s been with had loved fucking Rodney’s face or his ass, they always balked at the reciprocal. Sheppard’s sighing gently around his dick, though, flushed and pliant and Rodney doesn’t know what to think anymore.

When Sheppard takes him down and swallows, Rodney decides thinking is overrated.

-

“I haven’t even seen you naked,” Rodney says into the dark.

Above him, he can hear Sheppard shifting around on his bunk. “We’ve shared too many showers for that to possibly be true.”

Rodney rolls his eyes. “Scrubbing down after a mission doesn’t count. There are way too many bugs and germs and smells for me to even begin thinking about your skinny ass.”

“Hey,” Sheppard whines. “Leave my skinny ass out of this.”

“Fine. I’ve never had the opportunity to properly ogle your dick.” Rodney can’t stop smiling. It’s stupid. They’re alone, their miniscule bunks stacked on top of each other in their miniscule quarters on the Daedalus, but Rodney can’t stop himself.

“I’d suck you off in the shower,” he adds, because he can. Because it’s true.

Because he’s a bastard, Sheppard asks, “In the decon showers?”

Rodney kicks at the underside of Sheppard’s bunk in retaliation. “In a nice, private shower. Your room, my room, unassigned quarters. Doesn’t matter. Hot water. I’d push you up against the wall and kiss you stupid. It wouldn’t take much. You’re already halfway there. And then I’d—I like being on my knees and sucking someone off. It’s one of the only activities that makes residual soreness worth it. I’m sure it’d be better with you. With your hands all over my neck and shoulders, avoiding my hair because you’re a goddamn gentleman.”

He has to stop, sucking in air that’s suddenly too thin and cold and empty.

“You’re turning yourself on, aren’t you?” Sheppard asks after a minute, leaning over the side of his bunk.

The emergency lights are just bright enough that Rodney can see Sheppard’s grin. “Shut up.” Because really, it was supposed to turn Sheppard on, too.

Sheppard disappears again, the bunks shifting and knocking into the wall lightly as he makes himself comfortable again. When he says, “I could come down and give you a hand,” Rodney’s pretty sure he means it.

He can imagine it, too. Sheppard sliding off the top bunk because he has no bones in his body, tucking himself in over Rodney and reaching into his boxers, easy as that. Rodney shivers at the thought, at the prospect. But it’s missing something.

“Would you let me return the favor?” Rodney knows what Sheppard’s response will be as soon as he asks.

The silence is still painful, leaves him feeling hollow and small in a way he hates.

“I’m—” Sheppard says, almost too soft to hear. “I’m trying.”

It doesn’t feel anywhere close to enough.

-

Everyone’s in a shitty mood when they come back without Ford. Caldwell’s pissy that Ford might still be alive and in the hands of the Wraith; Elizabeth’s frustrated that Caldwell’s breathing down her neck; Teyla’s angry enough that they’ve lost Ford again to scare people out of the gym. Rodney’s furious that Sheppard stuck him with Lorne, that he’d been dragged around by Ford, that he’d had to shoot Ford.

And Sheppard—Sheppard’s going to break with it. He’s shouldering all of that like it’s his job and his alone and it’s so stupid Rodney can’t stand it.

When he shows up to tell Sheppard just where he can stuff his solitary man complex, Sheppard grabs a six pack and drags them off to the southeast pier.

“Caldwell wants my job,” Sheppard says, twisting the beer can around in his hands.

Rodney feels terrible when his first thought is that this would be a whole lot easier if they shipped Sheppard back to Earth. It’s petty and angry and Rodney immediately regrets thinking it.

The truth of the matter is that Atlantis under Caldwell’s command would be unthinkable—without Sheppard it would be unbearable.

“He thinks I’m too emotional—that it’s compromising my ability to make command decisions.” Sheppard’s sneering out at the ocean, his eyes bright with anger.

“Well,” Rodney says, anxiety cold and heavy in his stomach. Sheppard is emotional most of the time, but that doesn’t make him bad at his job. In fact, Rodney’s pretty sure they’d all be dead ten times over if Sheppard had as much control over his emotions as he pretends he has. “Elizabeth won’t let it happen.”

Sheppard makes a noise somewhere deep in his chest, something between a laugh and a growl. “You don’t get it,” Sheppard spits. “Elizabeth’s already played every card she has for me. If I do one thing wrong—if I step one foot over a line Caldwell’s drawn, I’m gone.”

That’s when it clicks. “So you want to end—this.” There’s not a word for what they have. They’ve never spent any time trying to name it or define it or put boundaries on it.

“What?” Sheppard snaps, turning his glare on Rodney. “No. That’s not—no.”

“It makes sense,” Rodney says, finishing off his beer. “You’re in a tight spot. Sucking dick with the head of science can’t possibly be something Caldwell would approve of. I can’t imagine how that change of events is fucking with the closet issues you already have.”

“McKay,” Sheppard starts, the heat gone from his voice. He sounds almost desperate now, and Rodney hates the way that has him hooked in. “That’s not what I meant.”

Pushing up to his feet, Rodney starts pacing—he can’t sit still for this. “I don’t do this with people who are in the closet. At least I didn’t. It was a rule and I was good at following it. It’s fucked up, even if you have a good reason. I mean, it gets me fucked up. I know the military thing is a different sort of wrench in the bigger picture, but you can’t even be honest with yourself, let alone me.” He knows he’s said it before, but Sheppard still isn’t getting it. “You can’t even let yourself want me.”

Sheppard doesn’t say anything, isn’t even looking at him anymore. He’s just staring out at the ocean, his back rigid, fingers curled over the lip of the pier.

No denials, no reassurances, no confessions.

Silence.

When Sheppard pushes himself to his feet and stalks away, Rodney feels the end sinking like a stone, settling low and heavy in his stomach.

“You have to say it, you asshole,” Rodney shouts after him, trailing behind a few steps before he stops. That’s a big enough opening for even someone as emotionally hung up as Sheppard. It could be anything—it’s over, it wasn’t ever anything, I’m sorry, I do want you—even an invitation to breakfast in the morning would work.

But Sheppard just keeps walking.

Breakups suck—they always do, for everyone. It should be a comforting thought, or rather, it always has been in the past. This shouldn’t be any different.

-

Sheppard brings him coffee in the lab the next morning and it’s really the strangest morning after a breakup Rodney’s ever had. No one just gives away the good stuff, not when it’s brewed strong and mixed with real creamer.

“Got anything interesting planned for today?” Sheppard asks, leaning one hip against Rodney’s workbench.

“Oh, sure,” Rodney says, sipping his coffee. “I know how fascinating you find Ancient air ducts.”

The smirk Sheppard gives him is so normal it takes Rodney’s breath away. “You’re fixing the air conditioning?” Sheppard asks, as if yesterday evening never happened.

“God forbid you and your Marines should break a sweat on the job,” Rodney says.

Sheppard’s smile goes a little soft and it’s wrong. “I’ll see if I can get them to write you a thank you card.”

It’s like the whole thing’s gone sideways—like a parody of normal, and nothing like they were before.

After a moment, Sheppard says, “I—uh, I’m free for a bit—if you could use a spare set of hands.”

And that’s so weird. What the hell. But Rodney doesn’t say that. Instead he finds himself awkwardly tripping over, “No, we’ve got it. I’m sure you have other things to do.”

After Sheppard leaves, Zelenka shoots Rodney a look across the lab. “What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything. Why would you think I was responsible for that disaster?” Because really, it’s Sheppard’s fault. The man can’t even properly break up with someone.

-

The problem is, Sheppard keeps on acting like things are normal and Rodney isn’t sure they have broken up.

He’s still running through it all, the breakup on the pier—their conversation in the lab, the way that Sheppard had knocked knees with him under the table at lunch—when one of the botanists stops him in the hallway.

“Dr. McKay,” she says. She’s smiling, but her gaze is down, away—nervous in that annoying way the lesser scientists get when they want something from him that he’s probably not going to give them.

“Yes, yes,” he snaps, waving for her to continue.

She tilts her head a bit and Rodney thinks her name is Brown, maybe. He can’t really keep the plant people straight, even the cute ones. “Well,” she says slowly, and Rodney considers dismissing whatever she’s got to say out of hand for wasting so much time getting to the point. “I was wondering if you would maybe like to have dinner with me.”

Rodney blinks at her, his mind grinding to a sudden and complete halt.

“You,” he starts, nearly dropping his tablet. “You—with me?”

“Yes,” she says, and now she’s actually looking him in the face and she really is cute. More importantly, she’s asking him.

Tucking his tablet under his arm, Rodney tries to set his thoughts in order. “Look, Dr. Brown,” he starts.

She cuts him off. “Katie.”

“Katie,” Rodney concedes. “I really don’t know if now is a good time for a dinner—” seeing as he has whatever the hell it is with Sheppard—“and I’m technically your boss, which isn’t particularly ethical, even if it’s not really against the rules here.”

She looks a little crestfallen, a cute little pout pulling her mouth down, like Rodney saying no is actually disappointing. Like she actually wants to go out with him.

The whole thing has Rodney a little lightheaded. “But I guess,” he finds himself saying, his heart racing. “Yeah. Sure. Dinner. Friday?”

Guilt eats at him the rest of the afternoon, but Sheppard doesn’t show up in the lab again, and Rodney doesn’t go to the mess for dinner. It’s just dinner with a colleague, anyway.

-

Rodney wakes up in the infirmary after sharing his brain with Cadman, his mind blissfully empty of any thoughts but his own. It’s a relief, too, to see Cadman waving at him from the next bed over. She’s a pain in the ass, but he never wanted her to die.

Later, once Teyla has come and gone, Sheppard’s absence is a painful weight on Rodney’s chest. He’d been there at first, but he’d only hung around long enough to find out that it worked, that Rodney was alive. There are no extra cups of jello, no sudoku books on the chair by the bed, and Rodney knows that’s it. It’s more clear than anything Sheppard could’ve said, anyway.

The next morning, Katie stops by, giving Rodney a small wave before she sits gently next to him.

“So,” she says, holding Rodney’s hand. Her fingers are small and there’s dirt under her nails, and it’s not fair that all Rodney can think of is how different they are from Sheppard’s. “I thought you might like a do-over.”

Rodney lets out a breath, leaning back against the pillows. This is it, now. This is his chance. Here’s Katie, someone who still wants him, even after that disaster of a first date. Someone so different from Sheppard, who kept coming back, too, but isn’t here now. Not when it matters. Not in any way that matters.

“I’d like that.”

-

“We need to talk,” Rodney says. They’ve been back from Olesia for barely a day, but he can’t take it anymore. He can’t even be sorry for the way that it makes Sheppard wilt a little over his sandwich.

Sheppard follows him when he leaves the mess, the slope of his shoulders too casual, the way he gets on missions when his spidey senses are tingling. Rodney doesn’t know when he figured Sheppard out, and thinking about it—how well he knows him, how close they are—makes him feel a little sick.

In Rodney’s quarters, they talk. It’s the kind of nothing small talk of co-workers at the end of a long day, empty and meaningless until they lapse into silence. Rodney knows what’s coming.

“It’s not about the military or being in the closet,” Sheppard says eventually, the words stiff and awkward in his mouth. “When I’m with you it’s—”

Rodney cuts him off. He doesn’t want to hear it. He’s tired of this back and forth, of not knowing what to believe—Sheppard’s words or his actions. “I went on a date with Katie Brown.” Once he’s said it and seen the way Sheppard’s jaw snaps shut, it’s easier. “It was awful, but she asked me out again. I said yes.”

“Okay.” Sheppard clips the word short, his jaw tense. He’s staring at his hands, at the healing abrasions on his wrists.

“She just—she wants to be with me.” It’s a relief to say it. It feels fantastic even as Sheppard’s eyes fall closed, another barrier up between them. “She knows it and I know it and that’s—it’s good.”

This time, it’s a little shakier and way too quiet. “Okay.”

Rodney feels like an asshole, even if it’s a huge weight off his shoulders. He still cares—that’s the entire problem. He cares way too fucking much. “If you need—” but no, he’s not going there, not now. “I hope you work through whatever your problem is. But I can’t wait for that to happen.”

“Okay.” Sheppard’s glaring at him now, eyes bright. That’s really more of what Rodney expected. He deserves that anger.

He doesn’t like it, though, doesn’t really want it to end like this. “Sheppard—”

“It’s fine,” Sheppard snaps, and it clearly isn’t. He’s still tense, still standing there by the door because Rodney hadn’t even really invited him in, hadn’t even been kind enough to offer him a seat. “We’ll just—I’ll see you at the briefing tomorrow morning.”

And that’s it. Sheppard’s gone, the door sliding quietly shut behind him.