It’s late and the labs are quiet, no sounds other than the low hum of his computer and the slow drip of the coffee percolator – just how Rodney likes it. With the panics of the day long over, he is now free to lose himself in the smaller projects - the ones that don’t require he find a solution in the next two minutes before they all die a fiery death. He can take his time with these, indulge his curiosity, and regain his balance.

 

“You standing me up, McKay?” a voice drawls from the doorway, breaking Rodney’s concentration. “Really, if I didn't know better, I'd start to think you didn't love me after all.”

 

“What?” Rodney snaps, startled by the sudden interruption. Looking up he sees Sheppard leaning slouched against the door and feels his heart both leap and sink simultaneously. “Oh, it's you. Very funny, Colonel. Don't you have anything better to do than sneak around the science labs disturbing my vitally important work?”

 

“Well,” Sheppard replies, pushing away from the door coming to perch on the edge of Rodney's desk – a position designed to cause maximum irritation, Rodney is sure. “I thought I was going to get some action tonight, but it seems that I was mistaken.” He leans towards Rodney and proceeds to shake a wooden box under Rodney's nose.

 

“Oh, was that tonight?” Rodney asks, trying his best to imbibe the words with a suitably distracted air and waving away the box with a flick of his hand. He quickly turns back to his laptop, determined to rise above Sheppard's jibes and carry on with his work; willing down the flush that he knows is starting to spread across his cheeks at the teasing words.

 

“Yes, Rodney,” Sheppard replies patiently, “that was tonight. And don't think you can get out of it now – I finally have you in my sights, McKay, and tonight is the night you're going down!”

 

Rodney can't help snorting at this. “Please, as if you could. You're not entirely terrible; I'll grant you that much, Colonel. But there's no way you'll be taking me any time soon.”

 

“True - not if you keep flaking out, I won't,” Sheppard challenges and Rodney can practically hear his eyebrow rise.

 

“I am not 'flaking out',” Rodney insists in irritation, turning at last to look at Sheppard and raising a finger at him to emphasis his point. “I'll have you know I am currently engaged in some delicate calculations and am on the verge of some very interesting, potentially ground-breaking even, conclusions.”

 

Sheppard twists his body to the side so he that can look at Rodney's screen. Taking a few moments to assimilate the display, he then lets out a disappointed sigh. “You're drawing pictures, Rodney.”

 

Rodney manages to resist the urge to push Sheppard off his desk, but it’s a close thing. “They are not pictures, as you well know, Colonel,” he glares up at Sheppard; honestly how the man could go from being annoyingly endearing to just plain annoying in less than two seconds flat is beyond him. “They are schematics. And just because they're not schematics of a weapon or a spaceship, doesn't mean they aren't important.”

 

“Just less fun.”

 

“Yes... wait, I mean, no,” Rodney scowls. “Well, okay, yes. Less fun,” he amends in resignation. “But still important.”

 

“At 2100 hrs?” Sheppard asks sceptically. “What are they of anyway?”

 

Rodney sighs, “Oh, it's just a side project, really. Something...” but before he can finish, Sheppard has jumped off his desk and is pulling Rodney bodily from his chair.

 

“A side project - then what are we waiting for? Come on, McKay. Time's a wasting and I want to kick your ass before our mission tomorrow.”

 

~*~

 

As Rodney lets Sheppard pull him down the hall towards the living quarters, he can't help but think that they could both really use a vacation. Really, there is something seriously wrong when the highlight of their respective days is a game of chess. The mere idea that the attraction lies in something other than the challenge of the game is something on which Rodney steadfastly refuses to dwell.

 

Nevertheless, Rodney has found that it is just that - the highlight of his day; the highlight of pretty much every day for some time now. It has become so much of one that it’s starting to scare Rodney a little. Hence his sudden preoccupation with his side projects each night; they serve as a useful safety mechanism to which he can turn when he feels himself start to slip. This too has become normal, this dance they do around each other when things get a little too close for comfort, when John gets a little too close. It never lasts long, the distance; it can't, not out here in Pegasus when anything can happen and each day could be their last. But still, sometimes Rodney just has to put a little space between himself and Sheppard to enable him to re-build his defenses and once again achieve the correct mindset of mere friendship. At the moment, Rodney is feeling just a little too vulnerable to be in close proximity to Sheppard without being afraid that he is going to let himself slip.

 

Rodney isn’t quite sure when it had all started; sometime during those first few weeks in Antarctica he supposes. The run-up to the expedition had been a frantic rush of inspiration, calculation and preparation. Even now he can only recall brief snatches of it; Jackson’s flash of brilliance about the eighth glyph, his and Carter’s extrapolations from this insight, Carson’s difficulties with using his gene contrasting sharply with Sheppard’s utter joy at so doing. And perhaps that had been the start after all; their shared wonder in the mysteries of the universe that had started to unravel before them as the Ancient outpost responded to Sheppard’s command and Rodney’s guidance.

 

The first time Rodney had consciously noticed that there was something there had been during the whole incident with the personal shield. He'd been so thrilled at finally being able to manipulate Ancient technology that his normal caution had been swept aside in the excitement of discovery. When he realized what the shield was capable of, his first thoughts of who to test it with had been Sheppard. That it was Sheppard with whom he wanted to share his discovery, and not Zelenka, Carson, or one of the other scientists, should have served as an indication that something was up. But the pattern had already been established in Antarctica; playing with cool Ancient gadgets was something that he and Sheppard did together. And not only had Rodney enjoyed testing out the capacity of the personal shield with Sheppard (and really – inertial dampers – how cool was that?!), but before he knew it, he found himself wanting to be brave for Sheppard too; wanting to save him, along with the rest of the city, wanting Sheppard to be proud of him.

 

Further proof, if Rodney McKay selflessly risking his life for others were not proof enough, had come during the hellish journey back from the Wraith planet. Sheppard's life had been slowly being sucked out of him by some kind of Wraith tick whilst their puddlejumper was trapped halfway through the stargate. Looking back on the whole ordeal, Rodney doesn't think he'd ever been quite so terrified before, although he certainly has been since. Before then, he'd really only be scared for himself, or at least primarily for himself. That time however, he had been forced to sit aside and watch helplessly as the man who had, in such a short amount of time, come to mean so much to him was being steadily taken from him with every passing second. There had been absolutely nothing he could do to stop it – for the first time in his life his intellect was useless and he had found himself cursing it. It was then that Rodney learned two very important lessons; first, just how much the then-Major John Sheppard meant to him and second, that Pegasus was more than a match for his genius.

 

Both things drove him for months afterwards; were still driving him to this day, truth be told. Before he knew it, his life revolved around two things; John Sheppard and Atlantis. Rodney threw himself wholeheartedly into his work as both head of the science department and as a member of SGA-1. To this day, he is determined to never let them down.

 

It has become, for Rodney at any rate, rather complicated for a one-sided love affair – riding on the edge of terror and hatred just as often as exhilaration and passion. Of course he's always known that the likes of John Sheppard would not want for female companionship, but it still manages to hurt Rodney deeply whenever he is presented with evidence of Sheppard's blatant heterosexuality. Rodney knows he should be better prepared for these situations. After all, he is under no illusions that Sheppard might actually care for him in any way other than that of friendship; furthermore he is no stranger to rejection, as very few people in his life have actually returned his attentions, be they those of friendship or of the more amorous kind. Nevertheless, seeing Sheppard mooning after Chaya, or living apparently happily with Teer, or schmoozing with whoever was the latest bimbo of the week, never fails to magnify the steadily creeping ache that’s been growing slowly in Rodney's chest. What hurts even more is the fact that these women never seem to want Sheppard for himself, there always seems to be an ulterior motive involved – his gene, his position on Atlantis, the lure of ascension.

 

Just how much of his emotions Sheppard is aware of, he’s not entirely sure. And, upon reflection, Rodney decides that this is probably a good thing. Although he’s fairly sure that Sheppard is not a bigot, despite being a member of the US military, he doesn't want anything to affect their friendship. Nor does he particularly want to take his place in the long list of people who have fallen for John Sheppard’s charms. Besides, it is clear that the Colonel does have some feelings for Rodney, and from this Rodney takes heart. Sheppard never seems to mind when Rodney is being pissy and sarcastic, never appears to take genuine offense at Rodney’s many and varied personal insults, and is always ready with a quick riposte of his own in reply to Rodney's snarking. He risks his life for Rodney on a daily basis in the field, and still seeks him out in their off-duty hours; prising him away from his lab and insisting that they go to dinner, watch a movie, or play a game of chess. Yes, they are friends; close friends; best friends, from Rodney's point of view at any rate. And if, at times, Rodney finds himself, in the dark of his own quarters late at night when he is entirely alone, acknowledging the fact that he is in love with his best friend... Well, that is nobody's business but his own.

 

 

~*~

 

John grins in anticipation as he makes his way down the corridors and back to his quarters, chessboard under his arm and Rodney in tow. He should have known that Rodney would be hiding out in his lab; it was just like the man to go to ground when John is finally about to take him down. Still, if Rodney thought hiding in his labs and burying himself in random Ancient schematics is going to save him, he has another thing coming. John can practically smell his triumph.

 

“You know, Colonel,” Rodney's voice interrupts John's visions of impending victory. “We do have a mission tomorrow and it is rather late, so perhaps it would be best for us to take a rain check.”

 

John stops walking and turns to look at Rodney, lifting an eyebrow in challenge. “Oh no you don't, McKay,” he growls. “I've just spent the entire day compiling supply lists and approving mission reports. The only bright spot throughout it all has been the prospect of finally whupping your ass, so there's no way you're getting away from me that easy!”

 

Interestingly, Rodney's first reaction to this is to flush a deep crimson, but then he scowls at John. “Oh, alright, fine. But when we get stabbed to death by pitch-fork wielding natives because you're too tired to charm them, don't blame me,” he huffs.

 

“I'm never too tired to charm,” John replies, ducking his head and peering up at Rodney through his lashes to demonstrate. And yup, there it is - the flush is back. Oh man, it’s always almost too easy with Rodney. But then, instead of regaining his composure and snapping back the Kirk related put-down that John is expecting, Rodney’s mouth crumples at one end and he turns away quickly and starts off down the corridor at a fast pace. John feels a pang of something at the disillusionment that has been almost palpable in Rodney’s face, before hurrying after him.

 

“Hey,” John calls out, concerned for his friend. He’d just wanted to tease Rodney a little, it’s want they do after all; he hadn’t meant to upset him. He catches up to Rodney in a few strides and proceeds to halt his escape by clasping a firm hand on his shoulder. “What’s up, buddy?” he asks as Rodney turns in his hold.

 

Instead of replying, Rodney just stares up at him out of wide blue eyes and John finds himself unconsciously tightening his hold on Rodney’s shoulder. “Hard day, huh?” he asks, wishing he could do something to wipe away the misery that has painted itself all over Rodney’s expressive features. After all, he knows all too well what it was like - the pressures of their jobs, the seemingly endless list of things all requiring immediate attention their immediate attention, the cold bitter fear that can just hits so hard sometimes without warning that it threatens to floor you completely.

 

Rodney blinks rapidly a few times and then shakes himself, knocking John’s hand aside in the process. John is relieved when he finally starts to speak. “Umm… yes, hard. Day, I mean… in the lab… what with the… you know, the idiots and all…” he trails off, still looking slightly shaken.

 

John nods in understanding, but can’t quite quash the disappointment that wells up inside him. Damn it, he’d really been looking forward to playing with Rodney tonight. Still, it looks like what Rodney needs most at the moment is his bed. “Yeah,” John says with a sigh, “Yeah, buddy, I do know. Come on, then. Let’s get you to bed; our game can wait for another night.”

 

Rodney’s only response to this is to nod as he starts to make his way slowly down the corridor once more. John falls into step beside him, trying to figure out what to say next. He’s not used to a quiet Rodney; that’s part of Rodney’s appeal – the fact that he is always brimming with ideas and energy that rush out of him in streams of endless words. In that he’s pretty much everything John isn’t. Oh sure, John can turn on the charm and the small talk when necessary, but it’s not really him. He feels much more at home, much more himself, when he can just sit back and just let Rodney’s continual flow of words surge over him while they eat, or watch a movie, or play a game, or just, you know, hang out. Recognising that words will never be his strong point, John moves a tad closer to Rodney, letting their shoulders brush as they walk and hoping that his friend will draw strength from the contact.

 

Once they reach Rodney’s quarters, Rodney turns and glances up at John with the same look of slight unease in his eyes. “So, I’ll just be…” he makes a motion towards his door with his hands. “Are you sure it’s okay about the game… postponing it, I mean?”

 

“Yeah,” John replies. “It’s no problem. Though I will keep on your case about it, McKay,” he teases, hoping to raise a smile.

 

A corner of Rodney’s mouth lifts briefly as he responds, “Yeah, you do that, Sheppard. Not that it’ll do you any good.”

 

“Yeah, yeah - you’re all talk, McKay,” John quips back, relieved that Rodney seems to be once again approaching normal. “Now, go on – get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

~*~

 

As the door to his quarters slides closed, Rodney lets out a heavy sigh and quashes the impulse to start knocking his head against it. Just what the hell had he been thinking out there? It is one thing to avoid Sheppard when he’s feeling particularly susceptible, like he is at the moment, but quite another to let himself openly moon after the man. Cursing quietly, Rodney realises that he has got to get a handle on his reactions before things get completely out of control and John starts to suspect something. He can only count himself lucky that John misinterpreted his reaction tonight and that it is only a game of chess he has lost and not his best friend.

 

Perhaps John is right and it is the pressures of his work that is at the root of his troubles after all. But then snapshots of John’s smile, the curve of his hips, the calluses of his hands, flash in quick succession through Rodney’s mind. With a groan, he gives into temptation and leans forward to bang his head a couple of times against the wall. Who other than John Sheppard could reduce him, the smartest man in two galaxies, to this? It would serve Sheppard right if Rodney were to cause irreparable damage to his brain as a result of Sheppard’s thoughtless teasing and they all die slow and painful deaths on their very next mission because Rodney is unable to fix whatever alien doohickey requires repair this time around.

 

Squeezing his eyes closed, Rodney lets himself rest for a moment against the wall, his forehead pressed hard upon it and his hands braced, palms open and fingers spread wide, on either side of his head, his eyes squeezed shut. Finally, he pushes himself away with a sudden burst of determination. Right, that is quite enough of that. He is a genius, saviour of Atlantis – hell, of the entire damn galaxy - many times over. He absolutely refuses to let one messy-haired and loose-limbed Air Force Colonel get to him like this. John is his friend – he cares for him, is concerned about him, and that is enough.

 

With a final nod, Rodney pushes all thoughts of John firmly out of his brain… well, his conscious brain at any rate. As he does so, a wave of exhaustion hits him and he realises that he really is in need of a good night’s sleep. His side projects may very well be fascinating, and they do provide handy excuses for avoiding things he’d rather not concentrate on, but he has been spending far too long in the labs over the past few days and working at far from his usual efficiency. Stumbling awkwardly out of his clothes as he walks, Rodney makes his way towards the shower. As he stands under the spray, the temperature turned up so high that the water is hot enough to make him shiver, he promises himself that he’ll do better in the coming week – more efficient research, less John-related thoughts, and only strictly buddy-time with Sheppard. As if to disprove his prior assertions, Rodney feels his cock twitch as the thought of spending time with John flows temptingly through his mind. Clenching his fists to prevent him from reaching down and jacking his dick to full hardness, Rodney ruthlessly drops the shower temperature to cold. Shivering violently, he scrambles out of the shower on shaky legs, grateful to see that the icy water has put the kibosh on his inappropriate John-induced erection.

 

As he stumbles into bed, still partially wet and wearing only a hastily donned pair of fresh boxer shorts, Rodney’s too tired to prevent his final waking thought from being one of anticipation for the next evening he will get to spend with Sheppard.

 

~*~

 

Back in his own quarters, John tries to decide whether he’ll be tired enough to be able to sleep if he goes ahead and gets ready for bed now, or whether he needs to do something beforehand to help him unwind. After a day spent trapped behind his desk, John feels can’t help but feel the need to do something. He’d gone for his usual run with Ronon that morning, but had become tense and coiled over the course of the day as he sat working his way stolidly through the seemingly endless reams of paper. He hadn’t had a work-out session with Teyla planned, so the only other gaps in the tedium had been his trips to the commissary at mealtimes. And even there he’d been cornered by people wanting to talk shop; Elizabeth had nabbed him at lunchtime for an impromptu meeting about her concerns regarding gate team membership and at dinner Lorne had ambushed him and they’d spent the next two hours going over both the military and civilian training schedules for the next few months.

 

John rolls his shoulders, feeling the muscles of his back flex and click as he twists his neck into the stretch. All things considered, he decides that he does need for some kind of release; something to help him unwind before he’s ready for the day to end. An evening spent in Rodney’s company would have done the job perfectly - pitting his wits against Rodney’s brain and relaxing in the comforting stream of Rodney's constant chatter. He’s disappointed that Rodney has had to cancel, but he can’t begrudge Rodney his sleep. John, of all people, is aware of just how hard Rodney pushes himself; working tirelessly to ensure that Atlantis is running as she should, conducting countless studies and experiments into how to increase their power output and efficiency, as well as doing his utmost to earn his place on SGA-1.

 

The thought of Rodney in the field brings a smile to John’s lips. It really is amazing how far Rodney has come over the years. To an undiscerning eye, Rodney appears to be the very antithesis of who you would want with you on an off-world team; on the surface he is unfit, cowardly, annoying, insulting, with an over-inflated ego. However, within just minutes spent in the man’s company, John had learned pretty much all he needed to know about him. Even after all the trials and traumas of the intervening months, he can still hear the pure wonderment in Rodney’s voice and see the bright spark of curiosity and genius in his eyes: Major, think of where we are in the galaxy. Since then, he has proven his worth time and time again as he’s saved them all from certain death. Of course, John has also done more than his fair share of saving, but John’s career military and it is his job; Rodney’s a scientist and, whichever way you look at it, risking his life for others really isn’t in his job description. But he has; John had watched with his own two eyes as, even in that first week, Rodney had walked into the energy cloud to what could very well have led to his death and, by so doing, had saved every last one of them.

 

That day, in particular, stands out in John’s mind as the one that best summarises Rodney – his excitement at being in the lost city of Atlantis and finally having the gene, his utter joy at testing the personal shield, and the fact that it was John he chose to test it with. And then him being overcome with terror at discovering that he was unable to remove it – that it was precisely because of this flaw in his character that he faced isolation and starvation. And then, to top it all off, his act of ultimate self-sacrifice – a stark contrast to his earlier words and actions and confirming to all the paradox that is Rodney McKay.

 

From that time onwards, John has learned never to underestimate Rodney. He may be flawed, but then who of them isn’t? He may fail, but again, they have all failed, time and time again, in their years here. John grimaces as his own failings pin-wheel through his mind; the faces of people he’s killed, images of feeding Wraith and culling beams ripping through innocent people, the countless deaths for which he feels personally responsible.

 

“Oh, yes, that’s right. You alone are responsible for every single person in this galaxy, Colonel,” Rodney’s sarcastic voice from a previous conversation echoes though his head as his thoughts take this maudlin turn. “Of all the idiotic things I’ve heard in my time, I think that has to rank at least in the top ten… And people say I’m too full of self-importance!”

 

Rodney had said that to him, and much more besides, the night after a particularly bad mission. They’d been on PX-blah-blah-whatever, earlier that day on a routine meet and greet, with hopefully the added bonus of a successful trade agreement. It had been a promising start; the suns had been high and bright in the azure alien sky and the scantily–clad natives had been friendly and welcoming. It hadn’t lasted. The whine of darts came from overhead and screams started to fill the air as the culling beams struck.

 

They’d come through the gate on foot, so there was no jumper in which to shelter or from which to mount a successful counter-attack. Instead, John found himself with no other option but to shout for his team to take cover with the villagers and, sparing a moment to grab Rodney, had sprinted into the dense undergrowth to hide. He and Rodney had hid in a ditch under a blanket of dense vegetation. With Rodney as safe as John could get him, trapped securely under the weight of John’s body, he’d watched in horror as the beams indiscriminately caught scores of villagers - men, women and children. When their despairing cries had become too much, John had been about to grab his P-90, break cover and just shoot at the fuckers, distance be damned. But before he could so much as twitch, Rodney had squirmed around underneath him and got a firm hold on his tac vest, hauling him roughly back down and hissing furiously in his ear, “Don’t you even think about doing anything so stupid!”

 

“But, god, Rodney, they’re dying out there...” he’d replied, trying to twist away, but Rodney’s grip on him had remained strong.

 

“I know,” he’d gritted, “but there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. You go out there now, you’ll just end up being harvested yourself and then what will I-” He’d been cut off at that point by a rush of fleeing people stumbling over them in their attempt to escape, but John had got the point. Acknowledging that Rodney was right, John had settled back down, squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and started cursing himself for having been the cause of all this death and destruction.

 

Eventually the attack had come to an end, an eerie silence lying thick and heavy in the air. The team had re-grouped in the village, along with the remnants of the once thriving community. They’d done what they could; offered support, supplies, aid, and relocation - anything within their power to help them to recover from their loss. That night, John had been determined to lock himself away and... well, he's not exactly sure quite what he would have done, but it had been a moot point because no sooner had the door to his quarters slid closed than the chime had sounded and he'd been faced a very determined looking Rodney, who'd barrelled past him without so much of a by your leave. He'd come prepared and, lifting a finger to forestall any of John's protestations, had proceeded to set out his laptop, a case of DVDs, and a large bottle of whiskey. So they'd watched bad sci-fi, gotten horrendously drunk, and had a rather embarrassingly earnest heart-to-heart about their worst fears and nightmares of Pegasus. They were both sufficiently drunk to legitimately claim ignorance of the conversation later, but John knows that they both do remember what was said. He finds himself recalling Rodney's words of trust and friendship whenever he is feeling particularly low.

 

With that thought, John finds the strength to cast asides the rest of the dark memories he can feel circling his head. He instead concentrates on the good things that Atlantis and Pegasus have brought him; the endless wonders of the stars, the solemn charge of people he protects, the joy of friends he loves, and the security of the place he can finally call home.

 

With a contented sigh, John decides that it really is too late now for any kind of physical activity as SGA-1's mission tomorrow is scheduled for the morning slot. In lieu, John starts stripping off his clothes and heads for the shower to help ease the knots in his back and shoulders. He washes himself clean with military efficiency borne out of too many years of sharing showers with dozens of other men. He's finished within a couple of minutes, but he lingers in the warming spray and, as the stream rises, the last of his tensions and cares float away.

 

John runs a still soapy hand down his chest and reaches down to cup his cock, tugging on it gently to jack it from semi-arousal into full erection. Pausing briefly to get more soap, he wraps his slick hand more securely around his dick and starts pumping himself with long easy strokes. He leans back against the warm wall of the shower, out of the direct line of spray, and braces himself with his legs apart so that both his hands are free. He keeps up the slow smooth rhythm, pumping leisurely into his fist while he runs his other hand over his chest, scraping his nails over his pecs and then running his fingertips over each nipple in turn. While John plays with himself, letting his arousal build slowly, his usual fantasy images float through his mind. There's nothing particularly specific or complex there, it's all rather clichéd, really – flashes of generous breasts, tight ass, and long legs, memories of this one particularly hot experience he had on leave in Germany, and scenes from the latest porno flick that is doing the rounds on one of the Atlantis sub-servers. His cock is starting to pulse, he's leaking steadily now, the pre-come oozing out over the head of his dick and starting to run down the length of his shaft. He brings his other hand down, away from his nipples, and starts rubbing his palm over the head of his cock whilst he speeds up the strokes of his fist, adding a tight twist on each down stroke. He lets his head fall back as his balls tighten with his impending climax. His hand is whipping up and down his shaft with sharp hard strokes now, his hips jerking into each thrust. The images in his head start to blur, and then suddenly it's images of hands that he sees – hands touching, caressing, cradling, embracing; expressive, gentle, broad yet oddly graceful hands. He gasps aloud as his climax rips through him, sending a spurt of come high up onto his chest and then a second and third pulse out into the shower's stream.

 

John comes back to himself slowly, gently releasing his now hyper-sensitive cock and carefully cleaning himself off again. He steps out of the shower on shaky legs and dries himself off quickly. He grabs a t-shirt and a pair of boxers from a drawer and then tumbles into bed, the pleasure of his orgasm still buzzing gently through his system and sleep tugging at the edges of his consciousness. As he starts to drift off, he finds himself idly wondering whether it's odd that it should be images of hands that had pushed him over the edge just now. What would Heightmeyer make of it? She'd probably say something about John's unconscious desire for physical and mental closeness with somebody and then look meaningfully at him. John can just hear Rodney's snort of disgust at this diagnosis - and that's when the realisation comes to him. They weren't just any hands he was picturing when he climaxed, they weren't even any woman's hands – they were Rodney's hands. But then sleep overtakes him and John is completely unconscious before he can properly assimilate this revelation.

 

~*~