FIC: 10,000 Pieces

[blueraccoon]

Title: 10,000 Pieces
Author: rebecca
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Pieces and patterns, edges and shapes.
Notes: With many, many thanks to skripka for holding my hand, sandersyager for pointing out the flaws and making me fix them, wolfshark for smacking me and telling me to finish it, and seperis for the final read-through before I posted. This was the second story I started in SGA and it's been the hardest to write. I really hope you enjoy...

11,400 words.

Part 1: Corners

Making love with Rodney, John often thought, was rather like trying to assemble a jigsaw puzzle. A big one, one of the 5,000 or 10,000 piece things, with repeating patterns everywhere and no picture on the box. It required intense concentration, a little bit of luck, and a lot of patience. And then, of course, there was the elation when a piece finally fell into place.

It wasn't the physical aspect that was so difficult. That had never been a problem, even at the beginning when they'd still been trying to figure out who liked what and how and oh God, if Rodney got any better at giving head John was going to die. But that was okay because Rodney squirmed and writhed when John fucked him, his hands grasping uncontrollably in the sheets or John's shoulders as he whispered John's name over and over again, his eyes closed tight as if looking at John would be too much.

Even thinking about it was enough to make John's pants uncomfortable, so he didn't, except when he did and he had to start thinking about the Wraith, about the Genii, about anything and everything that was most decidedly not Rodney.

Except that it kept coming back to Rodney, somehow, always, and John didn't quite know what to do about that.

John wasn't even entirely certain how it had started, truth be told. He and Rodney had been walking down the hall toward his quarters, arguing over something. It hadn't been serious, just the usual bickering, something John had come to count on since arriving in Atlantis. Aliens could show up, a ten-thousand year old partially sentient city could decide to act on its own, or any number of things, but Rodney would still be Rodney. That same arrogance, the same brusque lack of social graces--corners, pieces John knew.

They'd been coming around the corner, just in front of John's quarters, and Rodney had said something--John couldn't even remember what. And John, rather than counter with some sort of comeback, some comment, had grabbed Rodney's shoulders and kissed him. John wasn't even sure why he'd done it, only that he'd had to, that he couldn't not.

Rodney's mouth had been warm under his, lips parted in surprise. He'd frozen, every muscle taut against John's body, and his hands had come up to rest on John's arms, fingers flexing almost instinctively. John had let him go, had pulled back, waiting for Rodney to hit him, snap at him, something.

But Rodney hadn't. He'd stared at John, speechless, and his hands had tightened on John's arms, and then he'd leaned forward and kissed John, hard and fast, scared and determined all at once.

John had barely had time to think Thank God before they were in his quarters, all over each other, kissing frantically, hands everywhere, falling onto the bed in a graceless heap of limbs and clothes, rubbing against each other like crazed adolescents. John had been so surprised and so turned on that he'd come in his pants for the first time since he was sixteen and pretty Betty Rodriguez had let him put his hand up her skirt.

Rodney had fled, after, muttering something incoherent and grabbing his jacket and running out the door before John could even say goodbye. And John had thought that would be it, that they'd chalk this up to be a one-time thing and never say another word about it and go on with life as usual.

Except...Rodney hadn't thought so. Rodney had shown up at John's quarters the next night, and he hadn't said anything, he'd just gone to his knees and unfastened John's pants and sucked him down, and when John had finished coming so hard he nearly fell down, he'd shoved Rodney onto the bed and gotten his clothes off and wrapped his hand around Rodney's cock and jerked him off, watching as Rodney's eyes squeezed shut and the color rose in his face until he gasped and shook and came.

"So," John had said. "Your place or mine next time?"

Attitude and arrogance. Brilliance and desire. Corners, foundations, things John could reach out and touch.

He knew what Rodney pretended to be. He knew the face Rodney showed to the world. What he didn't know was the rest of it, the missing pieces; why Rodney had kissed him back. How Rodney felt.

Who Rodney really was, under it all.

Part 2: Edges

He had a starting point. Now he had to find out the rest, find the pieces and make them fit into place. John didn't think anyone else had ever tried, and he wasn't sure if what someone else saw would be what he saw. He wasn't even sure what he was going to find.

But he had to try. Rodney...there was just something about him, something that got under John's skin. Something that made him itch, that made him want to know. Maybe it was Atlantis, maybe it was the fucked up situation they were in, but John didn't care what it was. He just wanted--needed--to solve the puzzle.

He was contemplating this one night in his quarters, when he and Rodney were lying next to each other, Rodney staring at the ceiling and John staring at him, sweaty and sated--for the moment--and trying to decide whether the almost-hidden look on Rodney's face was more of a smirk or just a pleased smile.

"What?" Rodney asked, turning to look at him. "You've been staring at me for six minutes now, and while I do admit that I can be rather interesting to look at it can't be worth six minutes of silent looking, so would you please tell me what the hell is on your mind?"

John had to laugh, because the truth was he had absolutely no idea, but the smile was gone and replaced by Rodney's normal irritable scowl and the only thing John could really do was kiss it away. Rodney shifted closer and kissed him back and then his hand was on John's dick, only--"Wait," John said, breaking away. "Wait, that's not--I don't--"

And another piece fell into place at the flash of alarm in Rodney's eyes. "You don't want--"

"No, you idiot, I don't want your hand on my dick." John waited just long enough to see the alarm start to change to a little fear before he leaned in and kissed Rodney, hard. "I want you to fuck me," he said against Rodney's mouth.

"Oh," Rodney said, and he kissed John again and rolled him onto his back and knelt between his legs. John handed him the lube and watched as Rodney stretched him open, carefully, because they didn't do this often and then Rodney pushed into him and John gasped and grabbed for Rodney's shoulders just to have something to hold on to.

Rodney closed his eyes, mouth half-open, but John couldn't--he needed to see Rodney, to see his face, his eyes, and he dug his fingers into Rodney's shoulders. "Look at me," he whispered, ragged and needy, and Rodney opened his eyes and the look in them was wild and terrified and desperate and John shuddered, knowing this was important, knowing this was a middle piece, something he'd need to know later. Only he couldn't think, he couldn't remember anything, because Rodney was fucking him, thrusting into him strong and sure, and anything John had ever thought or known was gone, and it didn't matter because this was Rodney, this was what John needed, so badly it made him ache.

"Rodney, God, Rodney, I--" John had no idea what he was saying, and he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, and Rodney kissed him hard, messy, one hand wrapped around his cock, pulling hard, and John cried out into Rodney's mouth and came all over them both.

"Oh God," Rodney moaned, shuddering, and he kissed John again and again, groaning as he came. He nearly collapsed on John, and John had to roll them onto their sides to keep from being crushed by Rodney's not insubstantial weight.

They disentangled, slowly; John hissed a little when Rodney pulled out of him. "Gonna feel that for a day or two," he commented, settling on his side.

"Did I hurt you--are you okay?" Rodney asked, looking concerned.

John grinned, because here was another piece, an edge piece, and he even knew how it connected. "I'm fine, Rodney, just a little sore. In the good way."

"Oh. Okay. Right." Rodney nodded. "Right."

"It's fine." John moved to settle against Rodney, draping one arm over Rodney's stomach. "Go to sleep," he said, punctuating his words with a kiss to Rodney's collarbone. "You don't have to leave for a while yet."

Maybe it was true and maybe it wasn't, but either way Rodney sighed and relaxed and his hand ran slowly up and down John's back until the soft sound of his snoring told John that he was asleep.

In the morning, he was gone, and John didn't see him until it was time to leave for the mission to some planet he couldn't remember, only that they were going because an orbit of the planet had picked up some unusual energy readings and Rodney wanted to check them out.

So they went, and neither of them said a word, and John pretended his ass wasn't sore when he sat down and Rodney pretended not to notice the way John brushed past him as they hiked through the grass.

And as always, it didn't go according to plan, only this time it wasn't the Wraith, or the Genii, or even other hostile natives who wanted to kill them. The energy fluctuations were being caused by some weird seismic activity and when they got too close, they triggered a rockslide. Teyla sprained her shoulder diving out of the way and Rodney got cut over the left eye from a flying chip. They hobbled back to the jumper, and John bandaged the cut over Rodney's eye--with surprisingly little bitching from Rodney, and if his fingers lingered a bit too long smoothing the tape down, no one noticed except Rodney, who wouldn't look at John until after they landed.

John didn't wait for Rodney to come to him that night; he slipped into Rodney's quarters before the man returned from his lab and waited. When Rodney walked in the door, John saw the flash of emotion on his face before Rodney pushed it away. Quick, complicated, and too many things for John to sort out right now.

He tucked it aside for later.

"Spending much time in my quarters?" Rodney asked, but his voice lacked its usual bite. He pulled off his boots and socks, looking at John as he straightened up.

"I haven't been here long. Figured I'd wait for you." John grinned and leaned back on his elbows, wiggling his bare toes at Rodney. "Miss me?"

Rodney rolled his eyes and pulled off his shirt and his T-shirt, folding them and setting them aside neatly. "I can't miss you if you won't go away," he pointed out, beginning to work on the fastenings of his pants. "And if you were in my quarters waiting for me, why are you still dressed?"

"Because," John said, getting to his feet and walking over to Rodney, "I thought maybe we could spend some time together that didn't involve getting naked and sweaty as soon as humanly possible." He rested his hands on Rodney's warm waist and leaned in to kiss him gently. "You know. Hang out. Like people do." Like he wanted them to be able to do, so this wasn't all about sex, so this was something more. It was fucked up, but it was them, and John wanted it to be them, not just him and Rodney and a bed.

Rodney looked confused, and John filed that away for later and kissed him again. "You have Trek on your laptop, right?"

"Yes," Rodney said, still looking a little off-balance. "The original. It's really the only one truly worth watching, although--"

"Right. I thought we could watch some." John ran his hands up Rodney's arms to his shoulders, scratching blunt nails over Rodney's skin the way he knew Rodney liked. "You think?"

Rodney seemed to consider this, and then he nodded. "Okay. Sure."

They settled on Rodney's bed, John curled behind Rodney, and put on the show. John slipped an arm around Rodney's waist, absently nuzzling his shoulder as they watched, and was pleased to see Rodney slowly relax back against him, resting his head on John's shoulder, probably not even paying attention to the distress Kirk and Spock were in.

Two episodes later, Rodney closed the laptop and turned to John, kissing him, settling into John's arms. "Can we have sex now?" he asked, nipping and licking John's lip. "Because, you know, as entertaining as this has been, I'd really like you to fuck me, and I can't do that with William Shatner overacting in the background."

John grinned and kissed him back, long and deep, teasing Rodney's tongue with his own. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think we can."

He kissed Rodney until Rodney was warm and pliant and squirming in his arms, and he stroked Rodney's skin as he finished undressing Rodney. And then he let Rodney help undress him--help, as Rodney's fingers were clumsy and fumbling against his skin, and John made a note of that for later and pushed Rodney down on his back, pressing kisses to his collarbone, his throat. Only Rodney shook his head and rolled over, settling on his hands and knees, and so John stretched him open and slid into him and listened to him moan and felt him push back into it. Rodney was panting, short little breaths that caught in his throat, and when John shifted and pulled Rodney up so he was straddling John's lap, he groaned and shuddered and let his head drop back to rest on John's shoulder. John wrapped a hand around Rodney's cock, jerking him off, fucking him and fisting him in the same hard rhythm, and Rodney gasped and cried out and came with a sound that might have been John's name, in some incomprehensible language.

John bit Rodney's shoulder when he came, hard enough to leave a mark, not hard enough to hurt him, and when they lay next to each other afterwards, having cleaned off haphazardly with tissues, John saw Rodney raise one hand to his shoulder, almost absently.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, knowing he hadn't, knowing that if he had Rodney would be bitching at him.

"No. I'm just not used to being marked by my lovers," Rodney said, and then he froze, like he hadn't meant to say something, like he hadn't meant--

Bingo. Nice big edge piece, fitting right between the corners of "Rodney wants me" and "Insecure". John ignored the hesitation, ignored Rodney's obvious embarrassment, and pulled him close and kissed the mark he'd made.

His mark. His lover.

John grinned as he drifted off to sleep.

It was his turn to get up at four the next morning, his turn to kiss Rodney softly as he slipped out of Rodney's quarters and back to his own to try and sleep for a few hours in his empty bed before getting up and going on with the day. And although he knew he was going to be running on little sleep and have to be extra-cautious with what he said and did as a result, and although he knew Rodney was going to avoid him as much as possible...John settled into his own bed with a smile.

Sure enough, Rodney spent the day closeted in his lab, working on some project he didn't even bother trying to explain to anyone else. Any time John went near him, he seemed to hunch over a little more, and when John rested a friendly hand on his shoulder--the marked shoulder, of course--Rodney nearly jumped, glaring at him so fiercely John wondered if his eyebrows caught fire. "I'll see you tonight?" he murmured when they were alone in the lab.

"I--don't think that would be advisable," Rodney said in his best clipped "fuck off and die" tone, the one John found alternately endearing and aggravating. At the moment, it made him want to kiss Rodney, so he squeezed Rodney's shoulder gently, making sure his thumb was right over the mark.

"Trek. My quarters, tonight, 2200 hours. Okay?" John gave him an innocent grin, and Rodney glared back, but after a few moments of standoff Rodney dropped his eyes and nodded.

"Okay," he muttered.

"Great." John grinned and headed off to get beaten up by Teyla with the sticks.

He didn't see Rodney the rest of the day, which didn't surprise him. That piece was one he'd gotten early on, back at the beginning. John knew Rodney would show up that night; the question was whether John would be able to make him relax. But those were pieces too, and John knew that somewhere between Rodney's genius and Rodney's inability to stop working were muscles tight as steel, and a body that sometimes just needed to rest more than its mind would let it. And when he'd started wanting to take care of Rodney he wasn't sure, but the fact was that he did, and he would so long as Rodney let him.

If someone had asked him what he'd done the rest of the day, John could honestly admit he had no idea. It didn't really matter; no missions, nothing insanely urgent going on, and he ended up ferrying Teyla to the mainland for a few hours, which ate up most of his afternoon.

And around 2130, he changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt and made sure the little bottle he needed was tucked under the pillow and pulled out War and Peace and didn't read for half an hour.

At 2203, Rodney walked into John's quarters, his laptop under one arm, looking a little defensive and a little uncomfortable. "I brought--"

"Yeah, cool. Just put it down over here, okay? Take off your shoes, get comfortable." John grinned. "I'm not about to jump your bones. Unless you want me to." He gave Rodney a decided leer, but Rodney just put his laptop down and took off his jacket and his boots and took off his shirt, leaving him in his T-shirt and pants.

"I queued it up to start where we left off," Rodney said briskly, sitting on the bed and opening the laptop. "All right?"

John settled behind him, just like last night, and rested his chin on Rodney's shoulder and nodded against Rodney's skin. "Engage," he said cheerfully, and was pleased to hear Rodney's "oh god, you are such a complete moron" laugh before the show began.

Halfway through the first episode, John moved, settling Rodney between his legs and beginning to rub out his shoulders. "God, you're tight," he murmured, dropping a kiss on the back of Rodney's neck as he worked. "Do you ever take a break?"

"In case you've forgotten, John, there are a million things going on in this city and as the head scientist, I tend to be responsible for all of them, not to mention that no one else has the breadth and depth of knowledge that I do. Not to mention going out on all those missions, and--"

"Shh," John murmured. "Take it easy, Rodney. I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt you to take ten minutes once or twice a day and just go outside. Take a walk." He kissed Rodney's neck again. "That's all I'm saying."

Rodney didn't respond, but his body began to relax under John's hands, the muscles slowly loosening, knots undoing themselves. John reached around Rodney and closed the laptop, setting it off to the side. "Hey, c'mon," he said, tugging Rodney's T-shirt off. "Lie down."

"I'm fine," Rodney said irritably.

"I know you are. Lie down." John kissed the side of Rodney's neck. "I'd rather not have to listen to you bitch all day about tension headaches, especially if we're going through the gate, which we are. Humor me, all right?"

"I spend my life humoring you," Rodney muttered, but he stretched out on his stomach. John hid a snort, thinking it was usually the other way around.

He shifted to straddle Rodney, palming the bottle and opening it, pouring some of the oil inside into his hands before setting it down. "The Athosians make this," he said, smoothing his hands over Rodney's back. "There's some berry or something that grows on the mainland. Works as a source of fuel, a light...and personal use as well."

"You have no idea of the allergens that could be..." Rodney's voice trailed off when John pressed his thumbs into the nape of Rodney's neck, on either side of his spine. "Oh..." That was lighter, almost stunned.

"Non-toxic. Relax." John slowly ran his thumbs down Rodney's spine, keeping the pressure steady and firm. "We'll worry about it if you turn purple."

"Thanks," Rodney said, muffled by the pillow. "I'm touched, as always, by your concern for my well-being."

John grinned and kept working the tension out of Rodney's muscles. "Just take it easy, Rodney," he said, digging the heel of his hand into a knot. "Just take it easy and relax for me."

Rodney made some sort of incoherent mutter that could have meant any number of things, but his breathing was slowly evening out, deepening, and the muscles under John's hands were warm and almost relaxed. Almost, John thought wryly; getting Rodney truly relaxed was probably going to take a miracle. But for now, this would do. This would more than do.

He stretched out on top of Rodney, chest to back, arms stretched over Rodney's arms, legs pressed against Rodney's legs. "This would feel a lot better if we were both naked," he murmured in Rodney's ear.

"In case you haven't noticed, John, you're lying on top of me. That makes it exceedingly difficult to do things like take my clothes off, move, or breathe, depending on--"

"You seem to be doing just fine with talking, which means your lungs aren't in any danger," John interrupted mildly. He kissed Rodney's shoulder, tasting the faint, tart flavor of the oil. Not unpleasant at all, and Teyla had assured him that there was nothing harmful about the berries.

"For now," Rodney said, but there wasn't much acid in his voice.

"Relax, Rodney. I won't squash you." John wormed his hands down under Rodney's body, meaning to unfasten his pants, but as his fingers brushed over Rodney's ribs and over his stomach, Rodney made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a strangled laugh and twisted away. "Why, Rodney, you're not ticklish, are you?"

"No," Rodney said definitely. "I'm not."

"Really. So if..." John fluttered his fingertips up Rodney's sides and nearly fell off the bed as Rodney convulsed in helpless laughter, curling into a ball to protect himself.

This was too good to let slide. John grinned and attacked, fingers digging in, loving the way Rodney squirmed and flailed against him, unable to keep from laughing and twisting under John's hands. "Enough!" Rodney half-begged, rolling away from John. "You've made your point, can you stop torturing me before I stop being able to breathe?"

John smiled and kissed Rodney's shoulder. "Okay," he said. "But only if you get rid of your clothes now."

"First you decide to exploit an unconscious weakness and now you want my clothes off. This doesn't exactly seem--"

John shut him up with a kiss, long and lingering and slow, until Rodney stopped trying to do anything but lean into John's mouth, letting John pull him down on the bed, breaking the kiss just long enough to get their clothes off.

"What do you want?" John murmured, brushing kisses over Rodney's jaw, behind his ear. Rodney groaned a little, low in his throat, and his head turned to the side to give John better access. John indulged him, tracing patterns on the skin with his tongue, feeling Rodney shudder in his arms. "What do you want tonight, Rodney?"

Rodney shook his head. "I don't care," he said, and even if he was good at lying John would have known that was false.

"What?" John stroked his fingers down Rodney's neck, amused when the man arched into it, like a cat. "Come on, Rodney, it's not like you've ever been shy before. Bed's just another place to experiment, right?"

Rodney leaned into John's caresses. "Yes, well. I don't...I mean...that is, what I meant to say is--"

John wrapped one hand around Rodney's cock and jerked, once. "What did you mean to say, Rodney?" he asked softly.

Rodney shuddered, thrusting into John's grasp. "Your hands," he managed, and his eyes were closed and his head turned away. "Like this."

It wasn't like they'd never done that before, John thought in amusement. He wondered why Rodney was having trouble asking for it now, even as he cradled Rodney's head in his arm and kissed him over and over as his other hand twisted and pulled Rodney's cock. John swallowed Rodney's groans, holding him close as Rodney pushed into his hand and his breathing grew rapid and shallow, John's hand working him until Rodney gasped something into John's mouth and came.

John blinked as Rodney didn't ask, didn't say anything, just slid down John's body and sucked down his cock hungrily. "Fuck--" Rodney was as good in bed as he was anywhere else and there were times John thought he'd earned a doctorate in giving head. It was all John could do to keep his eyes open as he looked down at Rodney's mouth on his cock and Rodney's hands on his hips. "Christ, Rodney...oh, fuck..."

Rodney hummed around John's cock, sucking him easily, expertly; John's head fell back and he saw white behind his closed eyelids as the world fractured around him.

When he could see again, he tugged Rodney up his body, kissing him deeply. "Spend the night," he said, pulling at the covers to get them settled.

"I can't." Rodney stretched out against John's body, yawning. "It's too dangerous."

"I get up at 0600. I'll wake you then. You can sneak back to your own quarters with no one the wiser." John stared at the lights, gratified when they dimmed. "I'm tired of this waking at four in the morning crap."

"Oh, and six a.m. is so much better?" Rodney asked skeptically.

"It is if it means we're waking up at the same time, yes." John kissed Rodney's temple, feeling the languor in Rodney's body, the sleepy, relaxed way he nestled against John. It made an interesting contrast to the tense edginess in his voice.

Pieces and patterns, edges and shapes. What Rodney said and what he meant, two different pieces of the same puzzle. Both true, but only one mattered right now.

"Stay," John said again, running fingers down Rodney's arm where it lay across John's stomach. "C'mon, Rodney. If anyone asks you can tell them you woke me up early for something."

It probably was a bad idea, but at that point, John didn't really care. It was too good to have him there, to have him curled against John, warm and pliant and solid and real.

Rodney sighed and pulled the covers up a little higher. "If we get caught, we're never doing this again," he muttered.

But he stayed.

Part 3: Patterns

They didn't get caught, and they didn't act like anything was wrong, and when Rodney tripped over a hole in the ground and nearly fell about ten meters before John caught him and he and Teyla pulled Rodney up, they didn't even blink. Then again, John thought as they ran back to the jumper, just ahead of some giant creature that looked like a cross between a T-Rex and some kind of many-legged thing, that sort of thing was becoming commonplace.

It turned out that Rodney had sprained his ankle when he'd fallen, something no one--not even Rodney--noticed until they were back in the jumper. Ford wrapped it for him, ignoring Rodney's bitching, and John ignored them and flew the jumper home. He knew it wasn't too serious; if it had been, Rodney wouldn't be griping so much. The quieter Rodney got, the more serious the problem.

With the ace bandage and John's help, John got him to the infirmary, where Carson poked and prodded and Rodney snapped and grumbled and took the ibuprofen Carson gave him with sullen grace. Carson, used to this by now, merely told John that the ankle wasn't broken, just sprained, and if Rodney stayed off it and kept it elevated and iced it, he'd be fine in a couple of days.

"Come on," John said, handing Rodney the crutches. "I'll make sure you get back to your quarters."

"I have a sprained ankle, not a sprained head," Rodney said testily. "There are plenty of things I can do in the lab that don't involve moving."

"Yes, but you're going to get up and move around and probably hurt your ankle more than you already have. Zelenka can ride herd on the idiots for an afternoon, and Carson said you should--"

"I don't need you to be my mother," Rodney snapped at him.

John bit back the response he wanted to make. No. He wasn't Rodney's mother. He was--theoretically--Rodney's CO, but more importantly, he was Rodney's lover, and it would be nice if once in a while he got to exercise some of the privileges of that. John sighed to himself, knowing how futile a wish that was. Rodney was many, many things, but low-maintenance wasn't one of them. "Just take a couple hours, okay? If things go to hell we'll get you."

"I don't need a couple hours. I need to work." Rodney swung himself down the hall in the direction of the lab, his one boot thumping against the floor.

"All right. Fine." John swallowed his frustration and caught up with him. "Will you at least let me come by tonight?" he asked quietly.

Rodney stopped in the middle of the hall. "What are you, Florence Nightingale?" he asked.

"No." John grinned. "Just someone who has a vested interest in making sure you're all right. Come on, Rodney. I'm not trying to mother you, just see how you're doing."

Push and pull, two steps forward and one step back. Patterns on both sides of the puzzle and only one made sense. John waited for Rodney's answer, knowing it would fit something into place, not knowing what that would be.

"I don't need you to take care of me," Rodney said finally. His voice was a little harsh, tight with pain he wasn't admitting to and frustration he was trying to hide. "But if you want to come by..." He trailed off. "Well, that's up to you."

"C'mon, Rodney. Invite me over." John started walking again as Rodney swung himself down the hall, keeping pace easily.

"You'll show up anyway," Rodney pointed out irritably.

"No, I won't." Nice big piece, fitting so neatly against the others. "Not if you don't ask me to."

"That's never stopped you before." Rodney stopped again.

"Maybe I don't want you to take me for granted." John rested a hand on Rodney's arm. "Maybe I want to know you want me to come by." Maybe he wanted to know that he wasn't the only one who felt that there was something here.

Rodney looked down at John's hand, then at John. He tried to glare, but he couldn't quite muster the requisite annoyance to do so. "I have work to do," he said instead, heading down the hall.

"So you've said." John grinned. "Come on, Rodney. What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not!" Rodney said that a little more loudly than he'd probably intended, given the way he shut up immediately. "I'm not," he repeated quietly. "If you want to come by tonight..." Rodney sighed. "I've got some more Trek," he said after a moment. "And Doctor Who. If you...I wouldn't mind the company."

Bingo. John grinned and squeezed Rodney's shoulder. "What time?"

"Nine?" Rodney offered.

"I'll see you then. Try to stay off your foot, okay?" John walked away before Rodney could bitch at him again.

He couldn't quite keep the grin off his face all afternoon.

Dinner came around and John found himself shanghaied by Beckett, who wanted to talk to him about this and that and the other thing and John was pretty sure they discussed first-aid kits for the jumpers and field team kits in there, along with caber tossing, although how the two went together he had absolutely no idea. But he nodded and ate his food and made the appropriate sounds at the appropriate times, and Carson went away happy, leaving John content, if a bit confused.

He patrolled a little bit after dinner, heard snatches of conversations and saw random glimpses of people. Outside it was cool and breezy, and he took the opportunity to get some time alone, looking out over the endless ocean, horizon dipping to meet the water in a nearly unbroken expanse of blue and orange and pink as the sun slid below the gentle waves. Beautiful and lonely, all at once, and John spent a good half hour standing on one of the piers just looking as the sky went from pink and orange to gray and blue, til he couldn't see the difference between the water and the sky.

John wondered if Rodney ever came to stand and look out at the ocean, if he ever just took five minutes to look around outside and marvel at where they were, at what they'd done just to get here. Then he snorted, because of course Rodney didn't. He was either too busy, or off-planet, or trying to save the people who probably didn't understand half of what he did but relied on him to routinely produce miracles anyway.

The thought made his mouth tighten a bit and he made himself relax before knocking on Rodney's door and stepping inside.

Rodney was stretched out on his bed, foot propped up on a pillow and draped in a ice-gel pack, laptop on his stomach. "See, Florence? I'm obeying doctor's orders." Rodney turned his head, giving John what would have been a glare had he actually put any effort into it.

"Uh huh. And this is after you put in a full day at the lab and had dinner and probably hopped around until Carson or Elizabeth ordered you back here to rest, right?" John kicked off his boots, climbing onto the bed next to Rodney.

"What they did or didn't do doesn't matter. The point is--"

"That you have absolutely no idea how to take care of yourself, despite your compulsive worrying about citrus or hypoglycemic shock," John interrupted. "Both of which, I admit, are valid, but Rodney, you suck at taking care of yourself."

That earned him a real glare. "If you're going to lecture me, you can leave," Rodney said in a clipped voice.

"I'm not leaving." John leaned over and kissed him. "I'm just making an observation."

"It's an unnecessary one and untrue as well." Rodney stabbed a couple keys on his laptop and closed it. "I didn't get to this point in my life by not knowing--"

"Take it easy," John told him. "Don't bite my head off for making a point."

"First you badger me into--" Rodney sighed and closed his eyes, lying back against the pillows. "No. I'm not going to have this argument with you. You're going to think what you want, and clearly the fact that I have been responsible for my own well-being for decades now and have managed not to die or end up in a situation in which my health was clearly a problem has escaped you."

Interesting. John was pretty sure he heard hurt in there, under the anger and the snappishness. He wondered what sore spot he'd accidentally trod on, marking the area as one to return to later--when Rodney wasn't pissed at him. "Okay. I'm sorry." John stroked Rodney's hair back from his face, running his fingers down Rodney's cheek and his throat. Rodney was tense as a board under John's hands, lying there stiffly, but as John stroked his face and his neck, petting him, Rodney began to relax.

"You want to watch Who?" John murmured, pressing gentle kisses to Rodney's temple, along his hairline. "Or do you just want to neck?"

"You've got me at a disadvantage," Rodney said, eyes closed. "I can't really move."

"You don't have to." John kissed Rodney's collarbone, pushing his T-shirt up. "Just lie back and let me make you feel good." He grinned and pulled Rodney's shirt off before following it with his own, tossing both on the floor.

"No, I don't--" Rodney blinked, pushing himself up on his elbows. "I don't--that's--" He looked a little frustrated. "That's not what I--"

"You don't have to do anything for me," John told him, a little amused by Rodney's inability to spell it out. "Honest. Just let me--"

"No," Rodney said again. "That's not--well, it's not really fair, and it's not like I can do much without causing myself pain, which isn't really part of how I perceive sex. Granted, it's what--" He stopped himself and took a deep breath. "What--you don't have to," he said carefully.

"What if I want to? It's not all about mutual orgasm, Rodney." John pressed him back against the bed, gently. "What if I just want to please you?" Granted, orgasm would be nice, but he could do without for once, and watching Rodney was almost as good as getting off himself. Almost.

"Please," Rodney said with a snort. "You're a guy. For a guy, it's always all about the orgasm."

"Is it that way for you?" John asked simply.

"I think we can safely say that I am not a typical guy; ergo, I don't count."

Patterns and pieces, things locking into place. "Rodney, you're about as typical as I am. Okay, maybe a little less, but you get the idea." John stroked a hand down Rodney's face, kissing him lightly. "I've managed just fine with my own hand for years, you know. I don't need you to get me off."

And Rodney just froze. His whole body went tense; John didn't think he even breathed for a moment. "Then--"

John felt something crack, even as he felt a picture begin to emerge. "This isn't about just getting off," he said as calmly as he could. "You know that, don't you?"

Rodney didn't say a word.

Christ. John sighed and lay down next to Rodney, pulling him as close as he could. "If all I needed was to get off, I've got a bottle of that oil and my own hand," he said, running a hand up and down Rodney's back. "I'm military, Rodney. I've survived on that before. This isn't about just mutual getting off. It's never been."

Rodney still said nothing, but he relaxed a little, letting John snuggle against him.

Baby steps. One piece at a time. John tilted Rodney's chin up and kissed him gently. "Wanna check out the TARDIS?" he asked.

That got him a snort and a nod as Rodney sat up, retrieving his laptop. John took the ice pack off Rodney's ankle and arranged himself and the pillows so Rodney could lean back against him, the screen of his laptop lighting up with a blue phone box.

After one story arc of Who, Rodney was yawning and rubbing his eyes, half-dozing against John. "Bedtime," John said, shutting the laptop. "You need help with anything?"

"I'm fine." Rodney set the laptop down carefully and looked at his ankle. "Although--"

"Hm?" John shoved his pants off and turned to Rodney.

"Can you help me rewrap it tonight so I can sleep? It's a little tightly wound." Rodney sounded embarrassed at having to ask.

"Sure." John pulled Rodney's foot into his lap and unwound the ace bandage, letting his fingers skate gently over the skin before he wrapped it again. Tight enough for support, loose enough for comfort; Rodney sighed in relief when he was done.

"Thanks."

"Hey, us goons have to be good for something." John slid into bed and looked at Rodney. "You mind if I stay the night?"

"You're already here," Rodney said instead of an answer, which wasn't great but was about the most John figured he could hope for. "Besides, I'll probably need some kind of help showering in the morning."

"I think I can handle that," John said solemnly. He leaned over and kissed Rodney and thought off at the lights and the room darkened. And while he didn't sleep with Rodney in his arms, their bodies touched all along their length and if John turned his head he could see Rodney's face, and that worked just fine for him.

He had to help Rodney get up and showered and dressed in the morning, which was mildly annoying due to the constant bitching. On the other hand, when John sank to his knees and took Rodney's cock into his mouth, Rodney shut up rather abruptly, and the only sounds John heard from him were gasps and soft moans and at the end, John's name in a broken whisper.

"Carson said you'd need the bandage another day," John said after, matter-of-factly rewrapping Rodney's ankle. "Minimum."

Rodney looked a little dazed; he just nodded. "Okay."

Note to self, John thought: Sex apparently shut off Rodney's bitch factor, along with many of his higher brain functions. He bit back the snicker and stood, handing Rodney his crutches. "Breakfast?"

John hadn't said anything to Rodney about coming to his quarters that night, and one thing and another kept them both busy during the day, which meant that it was dinnertime before John saw him again. Rodney looked tired and there were faint lines of pain around his eyes--which meant, John guessed, that he'd been hopping around too much and his ankle was bothering him.

He didn't say anything about it and he didn't say anything about spending the night together. Neither did Rodney.

And John didn't go to Rodney's quarters that night. He stayed in his own, trying to read and only succeeding in driving himself crazy wondering if Rodney was going to stay away, or if...

There was a knock on the door, a thump more than a rap. John got up and opened the door, seeing a rumpled and tired Rodney on the other side, leaning on his crutches--he must have used one of them to knock, John thought. "C'mon in," he said, stepping aside to let Rodney in.

"It really wasn't fair of you to make the injured man do all the walking," Rodney grumbled, sitting down on the bed. "I could have fallen and done more harm to myself, and then where would we be? Do I need to--"

John kissed him, using the most effective method he knew to shut Rodney up. He was more than a little pleased with the way Rodney almost instantly melted into it, his mouth becoming soft and yielding under John's, his lips parting for John's tongue. "You didn't have to come by tonight," John murmured, running his fingers through Rodney's hair.

"And listen to you whine at me tomorrow? I think not." The words didn't have much bite, though, and Rodney responded to John's prompting easily, leaning against him, tipping his head up for another kiss.

John could almost feel the cardboard fitting under his fingers. "Admit it," he said, nibbling along Rodney's jaw. "You didn't want to spend the night alone."

Rodney let his head fall back, almost unconsciously. "I didn't say that," he said, swallowing.

"What, you think I'm going to kick you out for it?" John snorted. "Come on, Rodney. Relax, would you? If I haven't kicked you out already--which your astounding powers of observation should tell you I haven't--it's not like I'm about to do it now."

For a moment, Rodney didn't say anything. John kissed his chin and drew him in closer, licking a line down Rodney's throat. "Admit it," he said against Rodney's skin. "You wanted to come here."

Rodney sighed and turned his head into John's shoulder. "Does it give you some kind of perverse pleasure to make me admit that?" he asked wearily. "I mean, really, John. I realize you like to downplay your intelligence, and I'm sure there are all sorts of reasons why, but you're not a complete moron. Is there some reason in particular you feel the need to make me admit the obvious?"

"Because maybe I want to hear it from you," John said quietly. "Maybe I want to hear that you want this too."

"I told you I'm bad at this," Rodney muttered. "I warned you. Didn't I--"

"Rodney. Shut up." John let a bit of amusement slip into his voice. "If you don't want to be here, all you have to do is leave." John just hoped he wouldn't.

"I don't..." Rodney shook his head, talking to John's shirtsleeve. "I don't want to leave, okay?"

Once again, it was the best he was going to get. At least for now. John fitted the piece where it belonged, in a section that hadn't--quite--connected with anything else yet, and pulled Rodney down on the bed with him.

He took his time, petting and stroking Rodney, making Rodney squirm against him, making soft groans and gasps in the back of his throat, until he hooked Rodney's legs over his shoulders and pressed into him slowly. Rodney's breath caught in his throat and he turned his head to the side, biting his lip, panting for breath. "John," he whispered, hands fisting in the sheets.

"Look at me," John managed, swallowing hard. "Rodney, please, look at me--"

He began to move, hands on either side of Rodney's arms, leaning down to lick his throat, taste the sweat on his skin. He raised his head and saw Rodney's eyes, wide and needy, looking at him like John was the only thing real in his world, the only thing...

John groaned and kissed him, crashing his mouth on top of Rodney's, demanding everything he had, swallowing Rodney's moans and his whimpers. "God--Rodney--" He could barely breathe, couldn't think, not with that look in Rodney's eyes and the way he just--John grabbed Rodney's wrists, pinning him, his hands tightening as he drove into Rodney over and over again, and Rodney whined and writhed under him, breathing harshly.

But he didn't look away.

"Christ," John whispered. "Rodney--God, Rodney, come for me, I need to see you, c'mon, come for me, let me see you, let me feel you, c'mon, c'mon.."

Rodney's head fell back and he cried out as he came, panting and shuddering, his eyes fluttering closed. He sank back against the bed, his whole body going limp. "John," he breathed. "Oh, fuck..."

"Rodney--" John kissed him again, hard enough to bruise, teeth scraping against Rodney's lips. "Oh, fuck, Rodney, God--"

"John," Rodney said again, ragged, almost pleading. "John--"

His body was tightening and he was so close, and he wanted this, needed this, and-- "Mine," John hissed, grinding into Rodney, seconds away from coming. "Mine, Rodney, do you understand, do you--"

He came, shaking, falling to pieces, and through the blood pounding in his ears and the stars in front of his eyes he heard Rodney's whisper.

"Yes."

Rodney burrowed against him, after, hiding his face in John's shoulder as though he was ashamed of what he'd said. John was about to say something when he remembered the look in Rodney's eyes.

Ashamed? Or afraid?

John wasn't sure, and he was just worried enough about his own actions to leave it. He held Rodney close, stroking back his hair, listening to him breathe until they both settled down a bit.

His. John was honestly not entirely certain where it had come from, only that something had snapped into place when he'd said it, something important. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

Rodney nodded against his shoulder. "'m fine," he mumbled.

"You sure?" John pressed. He shifted a little, looking into Rodney's face. "You sure you're all right?"

Maybe it was afterglow, maybe it was something else, but Rodney just nodded and tucked his head against John again, breathing evening out slowly. John closed his eyes and held him, seeing patterns behind his eyelids and having no idea what they meant.

Part 4: Pictures

The next day was taken up with trade negotiations on John's part and something arcane on Rodney's, and with the harvest festival John and Teyla ended up having to go to, he didn't get back to Atlantis until well after dinner, Atlantis time. John was frankly exhausted, and by the time he was done being debriefed by Elizabeth, all he wanted was a shower and his bed.

It would be nice if said bed had Rodney in it, but after last night, John didn't think it was going to happen.

He made his way back to his room and stripped, walking into the shower and leaning against the wall, letting the spray pour over him. It would have been entertaining to have Rodney with them today, but given the...diplomatic nature of the mission, John was just as glad he hadn't been.

The thought made him smile a little before he reached for the soap.

Clean, toweled off, and naked, he walked back into his quarters. Sweatpants, maybe a book, maybe he'd just go to-- "Rodney?" he said, dumbfounded.

"Yes?" Rodney looked up from his laptop, blinking. He wore pants and a T-shirt and his legs were stretched out in front of him on John's bed. "You really shouldn't leave your door unlocked, you know," he said, chiding. "You never know who might walk in."

John picked up his sweatpants and pulled them on. "I'm pretty sure I did lock the door."

"Yes, well." Rodney gave him an innocent smile. "Maybe I just convinced the door to open." His voice was light but his eyes weren't, and John couldn't figure out what he was hiding. He wondered if it would be worth it to push before deciding against it. Not tonight.

"So in other words, you picked the lock." John sat down on the bed next to Rodney.

"Do you mind?" There was something in Rodney's voice, something uncertain and at the same time, almost...

John shook his head, unable to put his finger on it. "Normally I'd be annoyed at the invasion of privacy--as I'm sure you would be, if the tables were turned," he said pointedly. "But I think I can forgive you this time."

He didn't miss the way Rodney relaxed, just a little, as if he hadn't been quite certain of his welcome. But if he hadn't, then why had he--

"I thought you might." Rodney smiled again, and there was that hint of something in his voice--fear? Shyness? But no, it was more than that, it was...John cursed inwardly, unable to pin it down.

"Okay." John exhaled deeply. "Not that I don't want to see you, and not that I'm not glad you're here, but...why?"

"You have a better view." Rodney closed his laptop and set it aside. "And..." He sighed. "Maybe...maybe I didn't want to sleep alone tonight."

Whoa. John had no idea if the rattle he heard were pieces falling apart or things falling into place, and either way he had no idea what it meant. "Rodney, last night I had to push you to admit you even wanted to be here, and now you're picking the lock to my door. What changed?"

Rodney looked away. "Nothing, really."

Uh huh. And John was the King of England. But something told him pushing it wouldn't be a good idea. He shrugged casually and stretched out on the bed, linking his hands behind his head and trying to think.

It had to be something from last night. Had to--

Mine.

Yes.

The pieces John had, the patterns he thought he'd seen--he'd thought Rodney would panic at that. He'd thought Rodney would--

But he'd never thought Rodney would have said yes. He'd thought--

One of the patterns he'd thought he'd made broke itself apart and formed something new and John was left staring at the ceiling, more confused than when he'd started.

It didn't make sense. If Rodney was willing to admit it, then why was there fear in his voice? Why--

Only...what if Rodney hadn't thought John had heard it? What if...

John nearly groaned in frustration and shoved it away, turning to look at Rodney, watching as Rodney pulled off his pants, leaving him in boxers and a T-shirt, lying down next to John. "You tired?" Rodney asked.

"Yeah." John rubbed the back of his neck. "Long day. Good, but long. You?"

Rodney shrugged. "The morons weren't quite as moronic as usual." He didn't say anything else, which meant that he had to be tired. Otherwise he'd be babbling and ranting about whatever he'd been up to that day.

"Sleep?" John offered, yawning.

"Yeah. Okay." Rodney crawled under the covers, holding them up for John to slide underneath. He did, and Rodney got the lights, and John pulled him close.

He waited until Rodney was almost asleep. And then he kissed Rodney's forehead, resting his mouth against Rodney's temple. "Mine," he whispered.

Rodney just...relaxed against him, and John closed his eyes and wondered why.

In the morning, Rodney was gone, leaving no clue why. John was a little surprised, a little confused, and--although he squashed it down--a little hurt. He shook it off and got dressed and went to start his day.

While he saw Rodney at the morning briefing, it wasn't exactly the time to say "Hey, why did you sneak out of my bed in the middle of the night?" John entertained himself with imagining the reactions of those around the table for a moment before forcing himself to pay attention.

After, though, he had a little breathing room. Not much, but enough to track Rodney down in his lab and stand over him until Rodney glared up at him. "What?" he demanded irritably.

"I need to talk to you for a moment," John murmured. "Alone."

Rodney looked around the very much not alone lab and sighed. "Fine." He got up, limping only a little as he preceded John to the door.

The small corner wasn't entirely private but it would do. "Where'd you go?" John asked quietly.

"Is that what this is about?" Rodney blinked. "You're pissed because--"

"I'm not pissed." Well, not much. "I'm just asking."

Rodney sighed again. "I woke up at five and couldn't go back to sleep. I thought I'd do some research--I had an idea for--well, anyway, it doesn't really matter. You were asleep, so I left."

That wasn't all of it, not by a long shot, but this wasn't the time or place. "Okay," John said, nodding. "Sorry. I just--"

Rodney shrugged. "If I'd been planning to slip out in the middle of the night, I wouldn't have come by to start with," he pointed out logically. "And if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my lab before some idiot tries to blow up the city."

"All right." John shrugged. "Your place or mine tonight?" he asked, a little curious.

"Mine. I'll see you later, okay?"

John nodded. "Okay."

And then it was back to work, back to routine, meetings and workouts and patrols and all the innumerable things that made up his day. Somewhere around 1600 there was a problem with a section of the city unexpectedly locking down and trapping two scientists, a Marine, and an Athosian in a very small area, resulting in a rather harried scramble to get them unlocked before life support decided not to work--which, as Rodney kept repeating, was unlikely but possible so if they could all kindly get out of his way, thank you very much, he might actually get them out before any permanent harm was done.

Of course he did, and of course the life support was just starting to flicker when the doors slid open, and of course getting that area unlocked resulted in a bigger problem, one that affected life support to a much larger section of the city, and all in all it was a typical day on Atlantis.

John was exhausted by the time he called it quits for the day and went in search of a cold drink and a flat place to sleep. He'd have given almost anything for a cold beer, but that wasn't an option, so he settled for a cold glass of water before stumbling into Rodney's quarters.

"You look like hell," Rodney said by way of hello.

"Thanks." John kicked off his boots and groaned in relief, dropping down on the bed. "You don't look much better."

"Yes, well, saving the lives of everyone in this city does tend to take a toll after a while, as I'm sure you know, and it's been rather a long day." Rodney rubbed the back of his neck.

John leaned over and kissed his shoulder. "You did good out there today," he said softly, wriggling into a comfortable position and pulling Rodney down with him.

"I know," Rodney said, resting his head on John's shoulder, almost talking to John's T-shirt. "I always do." He sighed a little and closed his eyes, and John hugged him a little closer and kissed the top of his head.

Eventually Rodney tipped his chin up and kissed John, all lazy tongue and soft lips and warm, welcoming mouth, and John shifted to roll Rodney onto his back, but Rodney pushed at John's shoulders and made him lie down. "Let me," he said quietly, pulling off his shirt, running his hands up under John's, pushing it off, leaning down to kiss him again, slow and easy, relaxed and erotic.

A new pattern, a new picture; Rodney's hands on him, stroking him, caressing him, undressing him. His mouth followed his hands, tongue swirling over John's skin, teeth scraping just where John wanted it, just where he needed it, soft kisses and sure caresses and John was floating, lost in sensation, hard and wanting and somehow, oddly, held in place by nothing more than the gauzy clouds Rodney was wrapping around him.

He heard the sound of a bottle being opened, smelled the oil, and when he opened his eyes it was just in time to see Rodney drizzle it over both their cocks, his eyes half-closed and his mouth parted just a little and then Rodney put the bottle aside and leaned down to kiss him and his mouth was hot, intent, and their cocks slid together, rubbing against each other, slick from the oil, and God it was good. John reached up for Rodney, pulled him down into a deeper kiss, canting his hips up as Rodney thrust against him, sliding and slipping, panting into his mouth. "John," he whispered, breathless, and John managed to look at him and meet his eyes.

Oh. God.

Hunger and want and passion and overriding it all was a kind of desperate fear, terror and need, and Rodney moaned and twisted against him and John felt Rodney's heart pounding as he came, come and oil mixing between them, Rodney shaking in his arms. John rolled them over, kissing him, grinding against him, rubbing and thrusting until he gasped out Rodney's name and came.

He was exhausted after, barely managing to roll off Rodney when Rodney shoved at him, but the oil was going to make a mess and he was already starting to feel sticky, so he let Rodney bully him to his feet and into the bathroom where they cleaned off and John pulled Rodney close for a kiss before they stumbled back to bed. John stretched out against Rodney, one arm over his stomach, head on his shoulder, and listened to him breathe.

"Why are you so afraid?" he asked finally, quietly, when Rodney curled into him and his breath was the soft almost-snore John knew meant he was relaxed, drifting off. "Why, Rodney?"

He didn't get an answer, not that he'd entirely expected one. John sighed and kissed Rodney's arm and settled in to sleep.

John was already floating, already in that delicious stage of almost-unconsciousness, when he heard it. A whisper in the darkness, nothing more, something he wasn't even sure was real.

Three words.

"Because you matter."

He still didn't know if it was real in the morning, but they were awakened by an alarm and Elizabeth demanding their presence in section B-5 due to a transporter malfunction that had them scrambling into their clothes and running out the door with no time to say hello, let alone discuss pillow talk of the night before.

Storms were brewing, thunderstorms that wouldn't break but hung over the city all day, threatening dark clouds that laced everything with the scent of ozone and had everyone, even Carson, on edge. Rodney was even more irritable than usual and after seeing him rip into Kavanagh (who, admittedly, probably deserved it) John decided to just stay out of his way as much as possible and talk to him later.

John didn't have a whole lot of time that day to think about what he might have heard the night before, and when he did, he was almost ready to convince himself he hadn't heard it--except for one thing.

Rodney wouldn't look at him.

Lightning flashed through the clouds, thunder rumbled, but no rain fell. John glared up at the clouds and went inside for target practice. The thought of putting holes in something was too appealing to ignore, just then.

It was his turn to miss dinner, grabbing a couple of powerbars in lieu of whatever was in the mess hall and finding an outside balcony where he could watch the lightning and feel the humidity against his skin and wish for rain.

The ocean wasn't quite as smooth as usual, the waves choppy and capped with foam. John watched them, imagining for a moment what it would be like to cut through the water, to swim or ski or surf out into the middle of nothingness, just water and wind and sky.

Behind him, the door opened, and John knew without turning around that it was Rodney. He didn't say anything; neither did Rodney, who came to stand next to the railing next to him, arms propped on it, looking out over the darkening ocean. They stood in silence, listening to the rumble above, and John had no idea if Rodney was working up the courage to say something or if he just--for once--had no words.

There was no warning, not even a fat drop of water between them before the skies opened up and they were instantly drenched by the downpour, water pounding down on them, soaking their clothes and their hair, running off them in little streams.

John turned to go in and stopped, looking at Rodney, who was looking at him with that same desperately terrified expression from last night. As soon as Rodney realized John saw him, he turned, but John grabbed his wrist, holding him back. "Why?" he demanded over the rain. "Rodney, why?"

"Can we discuss this some other time when we're not about to get pneumonia?" Rodney snapped.

"No." John tightened his grip, knowing it was now or never. "No--Rodney, come on, just tell me why?"

"Because you matter!" The words hit John with the force of an explosion; Rodney's face was stark white through the sheet of rain, his hair plastered against his face. "Because you matter too much, John, because regardless of what you say, it's not going to last, because regardless of what you call me, what you say, you matter to me and God, do you think I ever signed on for that? Atlantis needs me, John, it needs you, and I never thought I'd--oh, fuck, John, just let me go, just let me, please, I can't keep fighting this anymore, I'm too tired, and I can't--"

"No," John said, pulling Rodney against him slowly, surely, his other hand around the back of Rodney's neck, and the rain kept pouring and John didn't care. "No--Rodney, I'm not letting you go. I saw you, remember? I saw how you reacted. Mine, Rodney," he said insistently, tightening his hands, and Rodney shuddered and gasped in a choking breath, shaking his head. "You think I signed on for this? Christ, Rodney, I signed on to explore, not to find myself in charge of a bunch of Marines and scientists trying to find a way to defeat a race of soul-sucking aliens that defeated the Ancients! You think I signed on for you, for this?" John shook him a little, raindrops flying everywhere. "It's too late, Rodney, we're already here, we've already gone through the gate."

"Just let me go," Rodney pleaded. "It'll be better this way, a clean break--"

John slammed his mouth down on Rodney's, tasting rain, coffee, ozone, desperation, need--Rodney moaned and melted against him, unable to deny the pull. "No such thing as a clean break," John said against Rodney's lips. "Not here, not with us. No break, Rodney. This is what you've got."

"Why?" Rodney asked, breathing hard. "Tell me that, John. Tell me why you said it, why you're doing this. Tell me."

"Because you're mine," John hissed, hands gripping Rodney's shoulders tight. "Because you need me, Rodney, because Atlantis needs us both and we need her and we're better this way. It's not the sex, Rodney. It's not just about the sex, it's about us and this and we can't keep doing this alone. Because you need someone who understands, just like I do, and we're both royally fucked up but at least we go together. Because you matter, Rodney. Because you matter to me."

Rodney's mouth worked silently, but no sound came out. "John," he said finally, desperately, and John didn't let him get out another word, just kissed him, hard and long, and Rodney groaned and fell headlong into it.

"Okay?" John asked, chest heaving as he fought to breathe normally.

"No," Rodney said, but there was the glimmer of a smirk behind it. "God, John, this is so fucked up, this--"

"So?" John challenged.

"So if you're going to be this fucked up..." Rodney took a deep breath. "The least I can do to save Atlantis' sanity is to be fucked up with you. Someone has to make sure you stay alive."

John grinned, shaking wet hair back from his face, not that it did much good. "Say it," he said, goading Rodney. "Tell me."

Rodney closed his eyes. "John..."

"Tell me," John insisted.

"I..." Rodney opened his eyes, and John saw need and want and more--but no fear. Not anymore. "Because you matter," he said, softly, but John still heard him through the rain.

"Yeah." John kissed him, licking rain off his lips. "Because you matter, too."

"Can we go inside now?" Rodney said after a moment. "I'd like to dry off and find some new--dry--clothes before I catch pneumonia, because we just established that Atlantis needs us and I'm not going to be any use from an infirmary bed, and--"

John rolled his eyes and dragged Rodney inside.

And as they squelched down the hall to the transporter and their quarters to find clothes and change, John felt the final piece fit into place.