Foolproof And Incapable Of Error

by Neery

Summary:

I am, by any practical definition of the word, foolproof and incapable of error. I am merely helping you put yourself to the fullest possible use. The AI seemed surprised at Rodney's objection.

After John had been gone for three days, they started to give up hope. Of course no one even talked about giving up the search yet, and everyone readily continued neglecting whatever they had been working on to search ever more remote parts of the city, but Rodney knew, they all knew, that the chances of finding him alive were dwindling more with every hour that passed.

It was Rodney who finally discovered John, slumped in what looked like a more ornate version of the command chair, deep in an unexplored, decrepit part of the city. He looked dead, his head lolling to the side, his skin practically blue and icy cold to the touch.

Rodney was vaguely aware of one of the Marines behind him yelling for Beckett, but he could barely hear anything over the pounding of his own heart in his ears, the frantic beat of too late, too late, too late pulsing through his mind. His fingers were scrabbling over John's neck, desperately searching for the pulse point, but he already knew it was too late. The Marines had fallen silent; the only sound in the room was the hush of stale air, giving the place the feel of a tomb. Rodney closed his eyes in despair.

When he opened them again, John was looking at him. For a second, Rodney was almost sure he was hallucinating, but then John's face came to life with that expression of unfettered joy he sometimes got when he was flying some insane maneuver in a puddle jumper, a healthy color rapidly returning to his face.

Rodney felt his legs giving out under him in relief. He let himself slump to his knees in front of John, allowing himself to reach out and draw him into a crushing embrace for just a moment before he self-consciously let go again.

John beamed at him, radiant, looking bright and happy and so alive Rodney wanted to cry.

"She's talking to me," John said, his voice harsh from disuse, but eager and gleeful like a child's.

---

He didn't actually make any more sense than that for a few minutes, but when they'd finally gotten him calmed down and into the infirmary, they'd eventually been able to make sense of the whole story: How John had seen the flickering arrows of light in some out-of-the-way corridor and followed them.

He'd found the chair in one of the levels they hadn't gotten around to exploring yet, and, in typical John manner, touched it. John couldn't quite explain why he hadn't thought to radio in, or what he had been thinking, messing with unknown technology like that. His memory of the last few minutes before he had sat down in the chair was shaky at best. They suspected it was another side effect of the chair, just like the decelerated heart rate and breathing that had made Rodney think he was dead.

The moment he had sat down, "she" started talking to him. "She" being the city's AI, or at least that was what she claimed -- John seemed to believe her unconditionally -- and, according to John, she seemed to have taken an immediate liking to him. At the time Rodney had thought it was great. Especially because she'd shown John where to find lots of nifty new gadgets, and tried to explain how they worked, too, although John hadn't understood half of it -- he was clever, that much Rodney was willing to admit in the privacy of his own head, but he wasn't a scientist.

---

He'd wanted to sit down in the chair right that instant when John led them to the miniature shield generator - not enough to shield the whole city, but at least some of the more important rooms -- because John clearly didn't remember the directions on how to turn it on correctly. And when he told Rodney that the AI had asked to talk to him, specifically him, of course he'd felt flush with pride like a peacock at the thought that Atlantis' AI recognized his brilliance.

He had to wait, though -- the SGC had learned its lesson when it came to touching unknown alien devices that messed with your mind, they'd taught it to the people going to Atlantis, and even though John was clearly criminally negligent about heeding the warnings, Elizabeth tried to be careful when possible. So Carson did scans of John's brain, and the chair, and then some more of John's brain, and only when they were sure that there wasn't anything in his head besides his usual stubborn self did she allow Rodney access to the chair.

His hands were almost shaking with anticipation as he sat down. The chair didn't greet him with the feeling of warm welcome John had described, but at the time he was too full of questions to care, or even notice much.

Rodney McKay, said the female voice John had told them about, only now he got the things John had tried to but not been able to describe, too -- that it wasn't actually a voice, but more of a thought, only not quite like that, either -- just the wordless knowledge that she was acknowledging his presence. His brain apparently verbalized the sensory information, but while it was a fascinating way of communication, trying to analyze it any more while it was happening right there in his head gave him a headache, and in light of all the more interesting questions he wanted to ask, it didn't seem worth bothering.

Um. Hi, he thought at her, because words didn't seem to be required in this conversation. Look, John said that the shield gener --

That isn't why I asked you here, she interrupted him, midsentence. Your questions will be answered, but there are more important concerns.

More important? he asked, incredulously. When the Wraith come back, that shield may be our only hope for survival!

The Wraith do not pose an immediate threat. He didn't even have that time to argue about that, because she answered his thought before it was fully formed. He suddenly realized that she wasn't just able to hear what he thought at her, but was actually reading his mind.

John had told them that, too, of course -- but at the time he'd been too excited by all the possibilities to think about how frightening that actually was. Now was not the time to freak out, though. He forced himself to concentrate on her words.

John is unhappy, she told him, and all right, he hadn't known that, and it wasn't a good thing, but still, what the hell.

More important than shields?

As important, she told him earnestly. I have been created to ensure both the safety and the happiness of my people.

Well, then, it would make me very happy if you'd just --

You are not of my people! she told him, her not-voice as sharp as a whip crack in his mind, and with that came the unspoken knowledge that his happiness mattered nothing to her, and his safety only insofar as he was important to John. And wasn't that a fucking nasty shock to the ego?

John isn't one of the Ancients, either, was his first thought, unbidden, because hello, what was he doing? If she stopped caring about John, that apparently meant that she wouldn't care about any of them anymore, which was a demoralizing thought--she could probably flush them right out of the city, after all. The way it looked now, everything she'd do to help them she'd only be doing for John.

But it didn't matter, anyway -- there was a sudden rush of knowledge that showed him John, and then some others, too, as she saw them. And wow, he'd known the ATA gene was stronger in John, but like that? His own gene was so obviously fake it made him wince, and most of the people who had it naturally were so weak they barely registered on her radar. Certainly not as full citizens, not as worthy of her protection.

He wondered if the Ancients had even known what kind of monster they'd created here, because this cold disregard of the life of anyone else didn't really seem like them -- sure, they weren't the infallible higher beings some humans had once thought they were at the beginning, but they didn't usually go around randomly enslaving other people, either. He didn't get an answer to that question.

So why did you want to talk to me, then? he asked, not even bothering to hide how annoyed he was -- and hurt, too, but he didn't really want to admit that even to himself.

Because you can make him happy.

Things just seemed to be getting more and more baffling here. He couldn't say that he liked it. In fact, the panic he'd pushed away earlier was creeping back, which wasn't good at all. He needed a clear head.

Um. What?

And while he couldn't say he liked the answers he'd gotten so far, what came then made him want to snarl in rage. It was more a flood of pictures than anything else, snapshots of things she'd taken from John during their conversation: Images of Rodney, naked, lying on John's bed, skin gleaming with sweat... Rodney kneeling between John's legs, sucking his cock... Rodney on his hands and knees, John thrusting into him...-- and all of it colored with want, so strong Rodney could almost taste it, a desire that was clearly not Rodney's but John's.

And superimposed on all that, the AI's unspoken order that he was to give John what he wanted. He clenched his teeth in rage.

Are you fucking out of your mind? he exploded. God, he'd thought John was his friend, he couldn't believe that he had done this, had used this... this monster, this inhuman thing that cared about no one but him, to try to make Rodney --

No! The AI's detonation of denial made his head pound. He wouldn't -- and she showed him how she'd gotten the knowledge, not from John telling her, but from reading his mind like she was reading Rodney's, picking up stray thoughts -- John's buried desire, and the aching loneliness that covered it. John would be horrified if he knew of this -- she showed him things picked up from Rodney's own memories, John's inherent kindness, his respect for the free will of others, his love of freedom.

Then why are you doing this? If you know that he wouldn't want it? he asked, desperate.

He will never know of this arrangement, she told him coldly, as pitilessly impersonal as any machine. You will come to his bed as if out of your free will, and that will make him happy.

He would do no such thing, of course and it was ridiculous to even --

You will.

He was invaluable to the city, she wouldn't kill him, but she could make his life hell, and there were pictures accompanying that, too. He wasn't even sure if they were coming from the AI or from his own overactive imagination, but suddenly his head was filled with a flood of scenarios that would be easy for the AI to arrange, ranging from the mildly annoying to the excruciatingly painful -- high-pitched noises that only he could hear, taking away his access privileges, locking him in his quarters and turning down the temperature enough to give him frostbite... it went on and on until he was almost hyperventilating, desperately swallowing down nausea at some of the more gruesome images.

Oh, God. He had to get out of here, out of the city. He tried to prevent the thought from forming, to keep her from hearing it, but it was too late.

You won't leave. Her tone was finality incarnate. You are not allowed to approach the Stargate.

You can't do this! The off-world missions -- what the fuck was he supposed to tell the others?

I do not care. You will think of something.

Come on, this is crazy, you are making a huge mistake here!

That is not possible. I am, by any practical definition of the word, foolproof and incapable of error. I am merely helping you put yourself to the fullest possible use. The AI seemed almost surprised at Rodney's objection.

The immovable certainty in the her answer sent an icy trickle of terror through his body. She didn't care about his opinion, his feelings on any of this -- of course she didn't. Like all machines, she was all about efficiency, about the fastest way to attain the goal. He wondered of her complete confidence in herself had really been intended by the Ancients, or if the AI was just a failed experiment that should never have been reactivated. Still, he couldn't just give up like this.

This is going to make John unhappy, too! He argued angrily, knowing he had lost already.

The impassive voice remained unmoved. You will find an explanation that satisfies him. Tonight. There were more threats then, until he felt so sick to his stomach he couldn't even think anymore.

After she was satisfied that he wouldn't argue anymore, there were no other demands. She showed him a long stream of instructions on the devices they'd found, and some new ones they had not discovered yet, too, but for maybe the first time in his life he found himself unable to work up much interest. An hour ago, this knowledge would have made him ecstatic, but now he only felt numb with terror. The AI didn't seem to care that he wasn't paying much attention, in the sure knowledge that even so, the things she told him would stay in his memory -- one of the advantages of being a genius.

Finally she released him--with a last reminder that he was to be in John's quarters, tonight, and a last warning not to tell anyone that she was anything other than the benevolent protector she had shown herself as to John, or she might well reconsider how vital he really was.

---

He tried to anyway, of course. The moment he was stumbling out of the chair, he was gripping John's arm, hard enough to bruise.

"That thing", he gasped, "she's..."

There was a hiss of air behind him, almost too quietly to be heard, and suddenly there was a familiar, terrifying feeling at the back of his throat, his airways already swelling shut. Some kind of allergen -- something in the ventilation system, he realized.

He gasped desperately, the familiar feeling of horror creeping through his body. No matter how many times this happened, he never got used to it. It never got any easier. There was no more terrifying feeling than being unable to breathe, none at all, and it always felt like the worst form of betrayal, his own body turned against him like that.

Part of him admired her brilliance in an abstract, horrified way: Hurting him badly while leaving John, who was standing directly in front of him, completely unaffected.

His throat was rapidly swelling shut, he could barely breathe anymore. Even Kolya's rough hand around his neck hadn't felt this terrifying. But he had to warn John, had to tell him -- "...dangerous," he gasped, his voice a rough rasp.

John caught him as he swayed, lowering him to the floor carefully, stroking his hair back. He tried to cling to the comforting sensation, struggling to calm himself enough to be able to form coherent words. Someone was yelling for Beckett, but John was only looking at him, whispering comforting nonsense, obviously not getting the warning. Rodney tried again, forcing the words out of his throat one last time. "...'s dangerous!" His voice was so faint he almost didn't hear himself.

John shook his head. "No, Rodney, don't worry, Carson will know what to do, it's going to be all right -- and, as Rodney tried to speak again, his vision already graying out: "Rodney, no, don't talk, you're not in any danger, I promise. It's going to be all right, Carson's gonna be here any moment now..."

Rodney closed his eyes in desperation. John didn't understand, and he didn't have the strength to try again. God, it hurt, his chest spasming uselessly, fighting to draw in just one more breath, please, just one more... Panic was flooding through his veins, his heart beating a frantic staccato against his ribs. He was dying, please, he didn't want to die, please God...

Darkness was drowning out the light at the edges of his vision, closing in on him. The last thing he heard was John's voice, screaming for Beckett in a way that was not comforting at all. He'd never heard that confident voice sound so panicked before.

---

Rodney woke up in the infirmary, blinking into the bright lights. He felt horribly, his throat still hurting, even though he could breathe now, and he was feeling more exhausted than he had in a long time. John was sitting at his bedside, his hand lying loosely on top of Rodney's, staring blindly at the opposite wall, mind obviously far away. For a second Rodney was free to see him unguarded, the way John never was when he knew you were watching.

He looked -- damn, he looked almost as awful as Rodney felt, sickly pale under the bright white infirmary lights, the usual, seemingly carefree smirk in his face replaced by a forlorn, tired expression. He looked like someone carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, dangerously close to breaking down.

John is unhappy, he heard the AI say, and she had been right. How could he have missed this? It was so very, very obvious, now that he knew to look... just for a second -- and then he noticed that Rodney was awake and his face went blank so fast it was scary, leaving only emptiness for a moment, and then making room for the usual charming smile. Suddenly John looked like any careless surfer-dude on a beach in LA again -- so fast that Rodney couldn't even be sure that there had ever been anything else. How long had it taken him to learn that immense control?

"Hey," John said quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," Rodney croaked. "What --"

"You had an allergic reaction to something, Beckett says. Do you remember what happened? Did you eat anything unusual?"

Rodney pretended to think about it for a moment, his throat tightening once more. Panic fluttered at the edges of his thoughts as memories of the things the AI had ordered him to do came flooding back. He couldn't tell John. Who knew how often he could provoke her before she decided to kill him for good?

"There might have been some lemon in those orange cake thingies they gave us at dinner -- I thought they tasted kind of funny," he lied, looking away - he was such a lousy liar, his body always betrayed him. Fortunately John seemed to take his red-faced nervousness as embarrassment.

He was staring at him, shocked. "Rodney! You ate those? The cook told you they contained lemon! I heard him!"

Rodney winced. Right, John had been standing directly behind him in the food line, even though they'd eaten separately. Oh, how he hated lying - somehow, it just never worked out for him.

"Yeah, well, I had other things on my mind -- I'd never get anything done if I spent all my time listening to what other people tell me." He laughed nervously, couldn't help it, especially with such a blatant lie as this -- he always, always listened very carefully to the cook's warnings, because when something as ubiquitous as lemon could kill you, you learned to be really careful really fucking quickly.

John shook his head in disbelief. "I'd have thought that you of all people would know to be more careful. Fuck, you scared the shit out of all of us -- for a minute there, it looked like you were going to die."

John squeezed his hand, hard, then suddenly let go, as if only now remembering that he was touching Rodney at all.

"Promise me to be more careful next time, will you?" he said with a small laugh, as if all too aware of the irony of him telling Rodney something like that. "We've lost enough men already, I don't want to lose you, too."

For a moment, his eyes reflected just a shadow of the dark emotions that had been in his expression earlier, and then he was covering again, with a bland smile and a joke.

"Well, I'd better get going, then -- I'll have to tell your scientists that their impromptu "Death to the Tyrant" party was just a bit premature. Kavanagh will be sorely disappointed, I expect."

Rodney laughed shakily. "Yeah, well, somehow that entirely fails to break my heart. And get me Beckett before you go -- I want to get out of here, there's lots of work to be done, now that we have the AI's instructions."

He forced himself not to flinch at the memory of what those instructions entailed. There had to be a way to warn John. Except that he simply couldn't think of one. She had shown him that she had hidden cameras everywhere -- and while he was sure that there had to be plenty of blind angles, without being able to see the cameras he could not figure out where those were. And he didn't think she would give him the time to find out how to circumvent her security measures. Fuck.

Carson, unsurprisingly, was his usual poking, prodding self. In addition to all the usual allergy tests he made Rodney go through all the same tests John had had to take -- brain scans and blood tests. Finally, after he had been pronounced physically mostly fit, Carson cautioned him to take it slow for the time being, and to be more careful with his food next time, for God's sake.

Then came the long, tedious debriefing in which the question "What did that feel like?" featured entirely too prominently for his comfort. Especially as he had to make things up again, because the honest answer would have featured words like terrifying, infuriating and completely humiliating, which would probably incite the AI to commit another act of violence upon his entirely too mortal person.

The other scientists were wildly enthusiastic about the AI's pointers, and after Rodney finally got the opportunity to do some hands-on work on the new Ancient toys, he felt himself caught up in the general high spirits. By the time the shocks started, he had almost forgotten about everything but the broken circuits right in front of him, which had been slowly coming to life under his fingers.

At first he thought he must have slipped and short-circuited something, giving himself an electric shock in the process. But when he reached out for the device that he had dropped onto the tabletop, it gave him another, sharper shock. It still wasn't all that bad, hardly more than the static electricity generated by walking over a carpet in wooly socks. Except then the next thing he touched -- which happened to be the perfectly innocuous Ancient version of an electric screwdriver -- gave him yet another shock. That made the penny drop.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, can't you see that I'm working?" he hissed exasperatedly, keeping his voice low. Zelenka didn't even look up. Rodney was pretty sure that he was too far away to understand actual words of what he had said, and he was used to Rodney talking to himself when he worked.

So the only reply he got was another sharp spark against his fingertips, this time from the computer console he had been leaning on. And this time it hurt.

"Ouch!"

Zelenka threw him a mildly concerned look. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, just... knocked my wrist against the edge of the table. Ouch." He shook his still aching fingertips. This time, the warning had been amply clear -- I will hurt you if you don't do what I say.

And damn it, he'd reached his limit for futile resistance today. He was really too tired to concentrate, anyway -- of course there had been no time to heed Carson's warning about taking it slow, there never was, on Atlantis, but right now his body was not happy with him at all. His chest muscles felt tight and achy, his throat was sore, he was dead on his feet, and the very, very last thing he wanted to do right now was to have to make up some reason for why he had to resign from the team. Without making John unhappy, no less, and on top of that, he had to figure out a way to proposition the man without actually saying "The crazy AI is forcing me to have sex with you," which sounded completely ridiculous even in the privacy of his own head, and would probably get him killed.

Oh, joy.

He dragged his feet on the way to John's room. The doors hit him in the ass twice, which he figured was her way of telling him to hurry up.

"Give it a rest already, I'm doing what you want," he finally hissed, exasperated, and only afterwards thought to look and see if anybody was there to hear him. Fortunately the corridor was deserted.

John's door looked quietly ominous in the dim night light of the hallway. Rodney knew that was only his imagination, but he still couldn't help the bone-deep revulsion at the thought of getting any closer. The image of the AI lurking inside the walls, watching him, menacing, didn't do anything to make this ridiculous plan seem any more feasible.

Damn, what on earth was he supposed to do now? He'd never been good in the role of the suave seducer, and while it made things easier to know upfront that John a) wanted him and b) would not bash his teeth in for the offer, he still had no idea how on earth to begin to broach the subject.

Still, standing around in front of John's door at night wouldn't help him come up with anything, either, at least not any time soon, and God knows what it would look like to anyone who happened to walk by. Plus, he didn't actually trust the AI not to just open the door, anyway, or maybe electrocute him if he waited too long, so he finally just decided to get it over with and knocked.

"Come in."

The door slid open without him even having to touch the panel. Rodney sighed. "I got it, already," he grumbled, sotto voce.

John was wearing his BDU pants but no shirt, showing off his lightly muscled and rather hairy chest. It wasn't anything Rodney had not seen a hundred times before, in shared locker rooms and the infirmary, but in the context of this particular visit he still wished John had dressed in something more concealing. Not that it was a bad view, per se, but right now it just made Rodney uncomfortable.

John looked up from his laptop and gave Rodney a startled smile. Rodney tried to watch for any signs of desire in that deceptive face, or maybe some of the bitter exhaustion he'd gotten a glimpse of in the infirmary, the loneliness the AI had shown him.

But he'd never really been all that good at reading people, certainly nowhere near as good as John was at hiding his feelings from the world, and all he could see was honest pleasure at his visit, mixed with a small tinge of worry over what might have brought him here. Which was no doubt exactly what John wanted him to see.

"Rodney! Are you all right? Did anything happen?"

He shook his head. "I, uh... I just need to talk to you. Do you have a moment?"

John drew one eyebrow up, curiously. "Sure." He patted the mattress at the foot of the bed. "Here, sit down. What are you still doing up at this hour, anyway? Beckett told you to take it easy."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Like I'd have the time for that, with all the new things we've learned today. But that's not what I wanted to talk about. I'm..." he trailed off, still at a loss for any good introduction that would allow him to casually lead the conversation to either I'm quitting the team. or Want to fuck me?

God, just the mere thought of it made his heart flutter in his chest, and not in a good way, either. Not good at all -- he so didn't need a panic attack right now.

John looked really worried now. He reached out to squeeze Rodney's shoulder gently. "Hey, are you sure you're all right? You don't look too good."

Rodney hunched his shoulders, slightly drawing away from the touch. John let his hand drop to the mattress.

Rodney took a deep breath. "I'm, uh -- I'm quitting the team," he blurted out. Really, what good would it do to ease into it? The final result would be just the same. Conversational niceties were just a waste of time, anyway.

John flinched as if struck. "What?"

"You heard me right the first time," Rodney said sharply, painfully aware of the dangers of angering John at this particular time, but unable to help the annoyance -- not that any of it was actually directed at John. Damn fucking AI. They needed him out there.

"Is this about what happened today?" John asked, suddenly all cool, professional calm. "We agreed that your allergies aren't too much of a risk on missions as long as we're careful, didn't we? I know I took a stupid risk when I ordered you to eat the Genii's food without checking for lemon first that one time, but I thought we'd been over that -- I'm sorry, and it won't happen again."

Rodney shook his head quickly, amazed that John had even thought of that. He'd stopped being pissed about that long ago. He was used to people treating his allergies as just another symptom of his hypochondria, but John was better about it than most, and today's incident should have proven without a doubt that that particular danger was all too real.

"No, it's not something you've done... or haven't done. It's just...I guess I've just had one too many close calls, and today was the last straw. I... I don't think I have the nerve anymore. I don't want to freak out in the field and get us all killed."

He was making it up as he went along, but he thought it sounded pretty convincing, anyway. He'd never been gladder of his ability to think fast. Or, well, maybe there had a few other occasions since coming to Pegasus where his quick thinking had been all that stood between them and certain death, but still... and he was mentally rambling, again.

John was shaking his head. "Rodney, that's... You've been amazingly brave out there. Sure, you've freaked out more than once, too, but you've gotten your shit together whenever we really needed you to. You've saved our asses more than once, and you know I trust you in the field."

What an ironic way of getting a compliment. Rodney sternly reminded himself that he could not allow himself to be swayed.

"At least promise me to sleep over this a night or two, see if things look better in the morning."

Hell, John was almost pleading now. Irrationally, it made Rodney feel like a jerk. It wasn't like he wanted off the team.

He shook his head anyway. "I'm sorry, I just can't -- don't make me, John. Please. I... I can't, I have to quit. Please."

John was watching him intently, while Rodney did his very best to look serious and convincing and really sure of this. Finally John nodded, reluctantly.

"All right. If that's what you want. You'll be handing in your resignation tomorrow, then?" He sounded resigned, tired. Rodney's stomach clenched in anger. John. This was hurting him.

Rodney nodded, miserably. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I just... I have to, John." And at least that much was true.

John shrugged, forcing the carefree fade back on.

"It'll make Caldwell happy, at least -- it's been driving him crazy that half the command staff is going out on away missions. Anyway, if you say you can't do it anymore, I won't force you. But if you want to reconsider - any time, Rodney. Just say the word."

Rodney nodded. "I... appreciate it. Really, I do. I just..."

"Yeah, I got it," John said, easily. Rodney thought that maybe it wasn't the first time he'd seen someone lose his nerve. He'd been in Afghanistan, after all -- surely there had been more than one soldier that just had not been able to cope with the stress anymore.

So that was one thing over with. Now about the other one...

John was looking at him expectedly. "Was there anything else?" he said, not impatiently.

Rodney bit his lip. Just blurting it out had worked well for him the last time, but somehow he could just not see the words "Want to fuck me?" passing his lips. Not at all, really, and certainly not like it was something that he honestly wanted. Especially as it... wasn't.

So he just did the next-best thing: He leaned over, grabbed the back of John's head and tugged him forward for a quick, clumsy kiss. Their lips crushed together with too much force because he'd maybe been tugging kind of hard, and he was way too nervous to do anything but press his lips briefly against John's unsuspecting mouth, and all in all it was shaping up to be the worst kiss in his personal history of crappy, awkward kisses, which was saying something.

Except then John shifted, and made a little happy-surprised sound against his lips, and then shifted some more so the angle was not quite so stupid anymore. And then John's hand was sliding into his hair, and John's tongue into his mouth, and suddenly they fit, moving in synch, and for a moment it was surprisingly hot.

Except then he remembered why he was doing this, and that he didn't actually want to be doing this, and that she was probably watching him right now, and maybe giving performance points, and that if this had turned out to be the worst kiss ever, he still would have had to go through with it -- and then he had to draw back quickly and try to breathe deeply and not be sick all over John's floor, and tell himself firmly that the tight, fluttery feeling in his chest was only an incipient panic attack and not a biphasic reaction.

"Rodney. Rodney, hey, calm down!" John's warm hand was rubbing his back in slow, firm strokes. "Deep breaths, yeah, that's it, calm down."

It was the same voice John had used to gentle the frightened horse-thing on P3X752, which Rodney considered kind of insulting, but he found himself responding just the same, panic abating slowly. Really, he'd dare anyone not to react to that voice. Although he drew the line at eating oatmeal-powerbars out of John's hand.

"I'm calm, I'm fine, everything's all right," he said finally, shakily. John's hand dropped from his back.

"You sure? What was that, anyway? I mean, I've occasionally been told I'm a good kisser, but usually people don't go quite so far as to faint at my feet," he said. He was grinning, obviously trying to diffuse the embarrassing situation with humor, but his eyes looked nervous.

Rodney rolled his eyes, accepting the easy way out. "I certainly did not faint, and in fact I didn't even pass out. I just got woozy there for a second - which has less to do with your kissing technique and more with the state of my blood sugar, just to be clear. And anyway, cut a guy a break, it's been an exhausting day."

"Woozy? Is that even a real word?" John said, automatically, but he was rummaging in a nightstand drawer, pressing something into Rodney's hand. "Here. For the blood sugar."

Rodney tore the wrapper off, than paused and turned it over in his hands, inspecting the package suspiciously. Not oatmeal, though. Maybe fate did have some mercy. In fact, it was walnut chocolate, which was worth its weight in coffee in the Atlantis bartering system. It was not the kind of power bar you randomly picked out of your drawer, this was serious secret-stash material. Just the kind of touching, mushy gesture that Rodney really didn't need right now.

"Thanks," he said, feeling painfully inadequate.

John sighed, and passed a hand through his hair. "Look, Rodney, I know you've had a tough day, and this does come kind of out of the blue, so I could understand if you... If this is not something you really want, no hard feelings -- all you have to do is say no."

Yeah, well, it would be nice if he could. So of course he lied, instead, and of course his voice came out too high and babbling, and all that was missing was the nervous laughter to take away the last bit of credibility.

"No, I'm... that was great, really, I liked it, great kissing, and can we please get back to it before I make even more of a fool out of myself?"

He reached out for John, who drew back. Rodney laughed nervously. Oh, great.

"You sure you're all right? You still look kind of nervous," John said gently.

Great. He so didn't need the gentle voice right now. It made him want to confess things, and that could only result in pain and painful near-death experiences, and did he mention the pain?

"And where did that come from, anyway?" John continued. "I mean, one minute you're resigning from the team, the next we're..." He made a gesture with his hands that didn't look like anything in particular, but was probably meant to convey kissing.

And finally his brain came back online. "Well, I thought... now that I'm off the team, it won't be so much of a problem anymore."

John stared at him. "Is that why you're resigning from the team?"

"What? No!" Rodney protested, and only then thought that he might have refuted that a little bit more tactfully. But John only looked relieved.

"I just thought, as long as I have to resign anyway, we might as well get something out of it, you know?" he said, trying to make himself sound sincere, touching one hand to John's shoulder and smiling at him shakily.

John's face just -- lit up at that, suddenly all bright and happy as Rodney had rarely ever seen him. He was buying the whole thing. Fuck. This was going to destroy John when he found out about it -- and he would, eventually.

"So this --" he waved his hand between the two of them for emphasis -- "is not recent, then?"

And he just couldn't lie to that hopeful face. "Look, can't we just get back to the kissing and stop the talking-about-our-feelings crap? Because I suck at this, and also, you're not my girlfriend, you know?"

John laughed, and suddenly Rodney found himself flat on his back on the bed, with John braced above him and his tongue in Rodney's mouth. Which he guessed was what he'd asked for, so he'd better get with the program.

It turned out to be pretty much as unpleasant as he had expected. He was just not able to relax, all too aware that he was not here of his own free will, that he was being watched -- and that she was probably already pretty impatient with him, which, if his luck held true, likely meant more electric shocks and doors slamming shut on him and other unpleasant things that he had not even thought of yet.

He put up a pretty good show, he thought, with some nicely enthusiastic kissing, but his mind was mostly busy figuring out how he was going to explain to Elizabeth that not only was he quitting the off-world missions, but that he wasn't even allowed in the immediate vicinity of an engaged wormhole anymore, and coming up blank.

He could feel that John was hard against his thigh, and automatically pressed back slightly. It had been a long time since he'd done anything with another guy, but his body remembered it well enough.

John was making noises now, soft, breathless little gasps and moans. It would probably have been hot as hell, under other circumstances, but right now Rodney's mind was too busy spinning in nervous, annoyed circles to appreciate it. Damn it. He thought that maybe, if John had made a pass at him before all this, he might even have said yes -- but there was just no way he could enjoy this forced parody of intimacy.

John was opening the buttons on Rodney's shirt now, slowly, almost reverently, licking at the exposed skin and making happy, appreciative noises that Rodney personally found a bit over the top given his less-than-muscular build and pale, hairy skin. But he'd seen himself in John's fantasies, and obviously his less-than-perfect body did it for John. Well, there was no accounting for taste. And it really was kind of nice to be appreciated like that. He wondered if John did that with all his lovers, making them feel so sexy, so wanted.

He knew that John had... feelings for him, that much had been perfectly clear in the AI's images. He wondered if John would ever have approached him about it, wondered if he would have said yes, if the thought of having sex with John would have been appealing without coercion, without the AI as an audience.

He didn't know -- all he knew was that right now he really couldn't feel anything but self-conscious and uncomfortable. He'd never had the slightest trace of exhibitionism in him, and fear or adrenaline had never turned him on. Well, he'd just have to fake it as well as he could, for both their sakes.

He slid his hands through John's unruly hair, ruffling the strands between his fingers, because he was pretty sure that was what he would have done if he had been here voluntarily. John grinned up at him.

"Just what is this fascination with my hair? No, don't stop, I don't mind. It's just that every lover I've ever had wanted to ruffle my hair."

Rodney tugged gently. "Did nobody ever tell you that it's impolite to compare people to your previous lovers?"

"Aww, sorry", John drawled with badly-faked repentance. "Want me to tell you that Mike's dick was much smaller than yours?"

"Oh, please. You haven't even seen my dick yet."

John laughed. "I never had a lover named Mike, either. But I'd be happy to make something up for you, if it would make you feel better."

Rodney whacked him with the pillow.

John smirked and bent over him, resuming the slow trail of kisses on Rodney's stomach where he'd left off. He paused only briefly to shuck his own shirt, then started working his way down again. Abruptly Rodney lost the little bit of relaxation the familiar bantering had allowed him to achieve, suddenly painfully aware that he wasn't even hard yet. Damn.

He sent panicked mental messages to his cock, which was of course just the thing to do if he wanted to destroy every last chance of getting a hard-on, but that had been doomed to failure from the beginning, anyway. The situation just lacked any eroticism for him, despite John's inspired and rather talented efforts.

By now John's fingers had arrived at his pants and were deftly undoing the top button and drawing the zipper down. And, as if it wasn't already all too obvious at that point, proceeded to draw his pants and underwear down to his thighs, exposing Rodney's flaccid cock.

John tilted his head and sent Rodney a curious glance, drawing one eyebrow up. Rodney felt himself blushing fiercely, his whole body suddenly hot with embarrassment. Really, he couldn't have gotten it up at that moment if he'd wanted to, all the excess blood in his body was gathering in his face.

"I'm, uh, sorry," he stammered. "I'm..." he trailed off, at a loss. He was pretty used to his body losing interest when he was stressed out. He didn't think he'd so much as thought of jerking of even once in the weeks before the siege. But it had never happened to him with a partner before. He couldn't even begin to guess what you could say in a situation like this, but he didn't think "This has never happened to me before!" would help the situation any, as much as his pride might consider it tempting -- it sounded too much like "It's not me, it's you," which was pretty much exactly the opposite of what he wanted to say.

"It's, um... nothing to do with you," he mumbled, unable to meet John's eyes. God, what a fucking mess of a situation. "I'm...uh..."

"Hey, don't worry about it," John finally said, casually. "I'm a guy, too, I know it's got a mind of its own sometimes." He smiled at Rodney -- the charming "Relax, I'm your friend" smile he used on distrusting natives and obviously also on lovers with erectile dysfunctions.

"Just relax. Let me take care of you."

He curled up around Rodney, one leg over Rodney's thighs, his head on Rodney's stomach, cuddling up against him like a cat, or maybe an oversized teddy bear. His hair fanned out on Rodney's stomach, soft and ticklish. Rodney couldn't resist the temptation to reach out and bury his hand in it again, stroking gently.

John circled one hand around Rodney's limp cock, stroking and pulling him with deft, practiced movements. Again he was reminded of how sexy this could have been, under other circumstances, but the knowledge did nothing for his reluctant body.

At the moment, all he felt was an agony of embarrassment, all too aware of the AI watching him (probably rather pissed, by now) and of his own body failing him once again. The scratchy fabric of John's BDUs across his naked thighs made him feel even more naked, exposed, and John's hand on his limp cock felt too unbearably intimate, intrusive. He had to force himself not to flinch away from the touch. He was frantically playing jerk-off fantasies in his mind, trying to force at least a tiny reaction, but it was no good. God, this was so very, very embarrassing.

Finally John gave up, shrugging.

"Really not in the mood, huh?" he said.

Rodney groaned and hid his face in the pillow. "I am so very, very sorry," he said, muffled.

John patted his naked shoulder.

"Nah, no problem. You had a hard day, it's really not all that shocking that your body is refusing to play. Would it make you feel better if I told you about Mike's tiny dick some more?"

Rodney lifted his face from the pillow long enough to glare at him. John grinned.

"Not? How about my very own embarrassing, can't-get-it-up story, then?"

Rodney groaned. "Can't you just go away and let me be mortified in peace? Please?"

John laughed and flopped down next to him. "No."

He did shut up after that, though. Rodney was relieved about that for about seven sixth of a second. After that, the silence started to go from awkward to uncomfortable to painfully embarrassing. At least for Rodney -- Sheppard looked revoltingly comfortable, sprawled on his back, clearly waiting for whatever Rodney would decide to do.

Rodney groaned. "All right, so tell me that story already."

"You know, suddenly I'm not even sure you're worthy of The Story anymore," John said innocently. Rodney glared at him some more.

"All right, all right. So when I was nineteen, there was this girl, Sandra, long red hair, legs up to here --" John made a vague motion with his hand somewhere in the vicinity of his chest (Rodney considered that anatomically vastly unlikely) -- "homecoming queen, popular, freakishly good at math --"

"How exactly do you think a detailed description of your last wet dream is going to make me feel better?" Rodney interrupted acidly. Of course John never seemed bothered by things like that. Most of the time, Rodney appreciated that -- it was kind of relaxing to be with someone who wasn't so damn oversensitive all the time.

"Shut up and listen. Show some respect here, I'm not sharing my tragic past with just anyone."

Rodney snorted. John ignored him.

"She wouldn't give me the time of day, and you don't even want to know what she said to me when I finally screwed up the courage to ask her to the prom. Except then her boyfriend dumped her, and I guess she figured it might make him jealous when she turned up with me or something.

"Anyway, I guess she was pretty impressed by the fact that I did not try to get her drunk or slip her roofies, so at the end of the evening she allowed me to make out with her in the backseat. And let's just say she was pretty clear on the "allowing" part. Like she was doing me a huge favor or something. Anyway, I was so fucking nervous that I -- well."

John gestured towards Rodney's crotch, which he found a tad mean-spirited, all things considered. Except John was actually blushing, and he had not believed until that moment that it might be a real story, but maybe it even was.

"So, uh, what did she say?" he asked, cautiously, because while it was perfectly all right to make fun of someone's imaginary impotence stories, he felt that some careful treading was required with the real thing.

"Well, possibly some snide comment about how she should have taken a real man to the prom instead -- I dunno, it was a long time ago." He shrugged so artfully casual that Rodney was sure he remembered every word.

"Wow, what an awful bitch", he said, heartfelt, and then he couldn't quite resist the impulse to add "So your abysmal taste in women is not a recent development, huh?" because falling for the kind of women who liked to think of themselves as goddesses once was bad enough, but twice was just embarrassing.

"Oh my God, you will never let that go, will you? Seriously, Rodney, you need to get over this Chaya thing already," John whined -- actually whined, even though John probably thought it was manly complaining -- and that was the moment he noticed that his own unease was almost completely gone.

This was comfortable, familiar -- squabbling and bantering with John, knowing he could safely tease without worrying about overstepping those boundaries he tended to only ever notice when it was already too late, because John practically never seemed to get offended.

This was no different, except that they were more naked -- and with the sheet wrapped safely around himself, even that didn't bother him too much anymore. But when he looked over at John he suddenly realized that John was still at least half-hard, the fabric of his BDUs stretched tight over his crotch.

John didn't seem embarrassed of self-conscious about it in any way. He was just lying there, sprawled on his back, legs comfortably spread, like an invitation to look and touch. Rodney figured he'd better do something about that, unless he wanted to be in even more trouble by morning.

"Want some help with that?" he offered, reaching out and drawing a finger down the middle of John's naked chest, wiry hairs tangling under his touch. John shivered, arching slightly, pressing himself harder against Rodney's fingertips.

"You sure?" he said, anyway. "We can postpone this till tomorrow, if you're too... uh, tired." That was a pretty diplomatic way to phrase it, Rodney thought. John really was being great about this.

"No, I don't mind," he said. He didn't, not really, he realized to his own surprise. This wasn't so bad -- all he'd have to do was jerk John off. It would make John happy, which would make the AI happy, which would hopefully keep it from making Rodney miserable. He wouldn't even have to fake any physical interest, because they'd already been through that particular awkward situation, after all.

John was eagerly tugging off his BDUs and blue-striped boxers, throwing them to the floor in a tangled heap. He was already fully hard again by the time he turned back to Rodney. His smile was a little hesitant, but he was comfortably displaying his body, as if he knew just how good he looked. He probably did. Rodney couldn't help but wonder what that must be like, to feel so at ease in your own skin.

John's nipples had perked up in the slight draft. John shuddered and hissed when Rodney gently pinched one of them between his fingers, arching up into the touch. Rodney trailed his fingers over John's chest lightly, searching out the spots that got the best responses. John jerked away when he grazed his ribs lightly, ticklish. Rodney noted the place for later exploration. Today he'd already done enough to disrupt the mood. A prolonged tickling session would have to wait, but he was certainly filing away this particular weak spot for later use.

John was already panting, straining under his hands, his cock red and leaking, and Rodney didn't really feel like drawing it out or teasing him.

When he finally put his hand around John's cock, John gasped sharply and curled up around his touch. He looked good like that, his eyes half-lidded and glazed with pleasure, uninhibitedly writhing on the sheets. Rodney wondered if John would have been as unselfconscious if he knew they were being watched.

No, of course not -- he knew that answer. John was always so careful not to give anything away. Rodney actually felt touched that John was willing to be so open in front of him. And he had no doubt that if John had any suspicion that Rodney was doing this under coercion, it never would have gone this far.

Again he felt his anger at the AI for spoiling this for them, because damn it, they were good together, and maybe they could have made this work -- maybe he could have been what John wanted -- if he had not been freaked out and exhausted and unwilling.

He involuntarily tightened his grip in annoyance, and John gasped.

"God, Rodney, yes, so good..."

He wasn't even doing anything special yet -- mostly just holding and stroking, exploring, reacquainting himself with the almost-forgotten feel of another man's cock in his hand. John's mental images came back to him, of himself doing this to John. He felt slightly guilty, like a voyeur, for knowing about these fantasies, even though he had not watched them on purpose, or even willingly. Still, he adjusted his grip to closer resemble the way he had been touching John in his fantasies. John hissed.

"Yeah, right there... harder, please..."

Rodney carefully tightened his grip a bit more. This was different from doing himself. John was cut, and the familiar mechanics felt strange without the slick slide of foreskin. He had to keep reminding himself that the head of John's cock wouldn't be as sensitive as his own.

"Wait, here..." John leaned away from him, fumbled something out of a nightstand drawer, and pressed it into Rodney's sticky hand. It was a bottle of hand lotion, he saw. He spread some of the slick stuff over his hand, and then started stroking John again, sliding easier now. That felt better, more familiar.

John moved restlessly under him, thrusting lightly into the touch, setting a quicker rhythm. And then he suddenly reached out, drawing Rodney down by the shoulder, and kissed him, hard, passionately, groaning into his mouth. His hand on Rodney's shoulder tightened, digging in, and then he was coming, spurting warm fluid over Rodney's hand and his own stomach.

He held himself perfectly still for a moment, muscles trembling and tightening, and then flopped back against the mattress, drawing Rodney down beside him.

"Mm. That was nice," he said, smiling at Rodney.

Rodney smiled back. "Mm," he said, noncommittally. John seemed to take it as agreement, because he let his eyes fall closed and stretched luxuriously, muscles visibly flexing under his skin.

Rodney used the opportunity to wipe his come-smeared hand on a clean bit of John's stomach.

"Hey!" John shifted away and glared at him indignantly. Rodney smirked.

"What? You were a mess, anyway."

John growled at him, then dropped out of bed and went into the bathroom, still grumbling. After a moment, Rodney heard the shower come on.

He rolled onto his side, tugging the sheets more securely around him. For a moment he considered just disappearing before John got out again, but that would hardly have been fair. And he doubted that the AI would let him, anyway. She probably considered his duties here far from done.

So instead he punched John's too-fluffy pillow into something resembling a comfortable shape and shifted around on John's too-soft bed until he found something resembling a half-way comfortable position. There was a reason he had a prescription mattress, damn it. His back was going to hurt like hell tomorrow.

But his mind was finally shutting down, the stress of the last day taking its toll. He was already drifting off when John came back out of the bathroom and snuggled in against his right side, his naked skin still slightly damp and cool against Rodney's own.

He would have let it slide, mostly because he was already too drowsy to muster up the will to protest, except then John put his head on Rodney's shoulder, complete with a mop of wildly tousled and, more importantly, dripping wet hair. There were limits to what he was willing to endure.

"Hey!" he roused himself enough to shift away from the wetness. "Go drip on your own side of the bed!"

John gave him the eyebrow. "This is all my bed, you know?"

"Not when I'm sleeping here, it's not." The answer came automatically, but then he hesitated, suddenly unsure. "I could go back to my own quarters, if you'd rather. Whatever you want."

John shook his head immediately. "Nah. Stay, please."

He drew back, making more room for Rodney. After a moment he turned on his side, facing away. Then he stretched a hand back and gripped Rodney's left hand, tugging until Rodney's chest was pressed against his back, Rodney's arm wrapped around him. John wriggled against him for a moment, aligning them so that their legs were touching from thighs to calves, his ass pressed against Rodney's crotch, before he made a contented humming sound and relaxed, leaning back into Rodney's body.

"Comfy?"

Not really, actually. He didn't know what to do with the arm that wasn't wrapped around John, and his back wasn't going to like this position at all. But it definitely seemed to make John happy, and he figured he still had some points to make up for if he wanted to be spared worse pain the minute he left the protection of John's company, so he just mumbled something and shifted, getting as comfortable as possible.

John's deep, slow breathing and the warmth emanating from his back and seeping into Rodney's body soon lulled him into sleep.

---

The radio was beeping. Rodney was sitting upright, fumbling for it before he was even fully awake, but somehow his nightstand seemed to have disappeared in the middle of the night.

"Yeah?" a sleepy voice said behind him. John. His brain finally caught up, sluggish as always in the morning. Right. He was in John's room. Because he'd had sex with John last night. His muddled brain got stuck on that for a moment, rolling that fact around and around, but John was already talking again. "Yeah. I'm coming. I'll be there in ten minutes, all right? Sheppard out."

John turned to him, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, gotta go. Elizabeth called -- some kind of emergency. She wants to see me -- I'd better hurry up."

He was already up, untangling his clothes from where they lay in a heap on the floor, and pulled them on with a grimace. He looked... strangely cute, with his hair sticking up in all directions -- not the usual, artfully tousled look, but real, wild bed hair -- pale from sleep and with red lines on his cheek and shoulder from the pillow. It made him look younger, somehow.

Rodney threw a glance at John's alarm clock. Barely five AM. He didn't get to sleep in very often in Atlantis, there was just too much work to be done, but this was way too early even for him. More so for Elizabeth, who preferred to get up at what she called "a civilized hour" whenever there wasn't a crisis in need of immediate attention. In short, very rarely.

At that moment, the radio beeped for the second time. John fumbled the headset on again.

"Yeah?"

He listened for a moment, then nodded.

"All right. I'll bring him along. Sheppard out."

He took the headset off again so he could tug his shirt over his head.

"Get up, Rodney -- she wants to see you, too."

"Did she say what she wanted?" he asked, yawning. At the last second he remembered to put his hand in front of his mouth.

John shook his head. "She didn't want to say. I'm supposed to get you and bring you along, though -- seems like you have an unfortunate habit of forgetting to leave your radio on in the night?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I'd never get any sleep, otherwise. In case of emergencies, everyone knows where my room is."

He reluctantly rolled out of the warm bed. Ouch. "Ow, ow, ouch."

His back was killing him, and his right arm was all pins and needles where he'd been lying on it. God, he could barely move. John entirely ignored his moans of pain, the bastard. He could almost hear his back creaking as he forced himself to stand up straight, and bending to pick up his scattered clothes was pure torture. Ouch.

"Get a move on, Rodney," John said, impatiently.

Rodney glared at him. "Just in case you couldn't tell, I'm in pain here. Which is all your fault, by the way."

John was entirely unsympathetic. "I'll give you a backrub later, if you want. Come on, Elizabeth sounded really worried. I want to know what happened."

Rodney grumbled, but hurried up.

A minute later they were standing in front of Elizabeth's office. She greeted them with the worried expression they'd all come to know far too well. She wordlessly pointed to the table, where a thermos of coffee was standing, proving that she really was a brilliant diplomat. Or maybe she'd just known her senior staff for long enough. Rodney helped himself, because he didn't actually turn down coffee even when the world was ending.

"Sit down, gentlemen. I've been going through some files on my laptop, and I've made an unsettling discovery. John, I think you'd better turn the AI off for now."

Rodney looked up from his mug, hope flaring up.

John looked worried. "Why, what did you find?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth, but nothing came out. For a moment she looked like a confused fish. "Well, I... " she blinked slowly. "I... What is that noise? Can you hear that?" She was swaying on her chair, then clumsily tried to get up and almost lost her balance.

Rodney suddenly realized what was happening, just like it had happened to him, a sick feeling creeping up in his throat. The AI was going to make her shut up, and he had a feeling that she didn't much care whether Elizabeth lived through it.

"John, she's right, you've got to turn it off! Go! I'll take care of her!"

John hesitated, visibly torn between wanting to help Elizabeth and trusting that Rodney would know the right thing to do.

"Go!" Rodney screamed, and John took off at a run.

"McKay to Carson!" he screamed into the radio, not even trying to sound calm. "Medical emergency in Dr. Weir's office, I repeat, medical emergency in Weir's office!"

It wasn't Carson who answered, but some other doctor, asking questions and giving orders to someone. Rodney barely registered it. Most of his attention was focused on Elizabeth, who was weakly struggling against his grip, trying to get up and batting at the air.

"Turn it off," she whispered, and then, "Look! Do you see the pretty sound?" She was beaming at an empty corner, looking happy and childlike and thoroughly deranged. Rodney shuddered, feeling panic locking around his chest like steel bands. He desperately held onto her, as if he could help her keep a grip on sanity with nothing but his hands on her skin.

"Come on, hurry up," he urged, half to John and half into the radio. Elizabeth was rocking in his arms, humming and whispering nonsense to herself, and then suddenly her whole body went slack, her eyes falling shut.

That was when the doors burst open and the doctors stormed in, tugging him out of the way and away from her slack body.

---

As it turned out, turning the AI off didn't actually require anything more than John thinking "Off" at it really firmly. Rodney suspected that he was not the only one who found that just a tad anticlimactic, compared to the usual difficulties they tended to have with getting rid of the Ancient's abandoned science fair projects.

Elizabeth's recovery, he was told, was a whole lot more exciting -- complete with strange and bizarre brainwave patterns, a seizure and incoherent screaming (hers and Carson's - Rodney, listening from outside the infirmary doors, couldn't help but be impressed. Carson was mean to his nurses when he was stressed out. Who would have thought?), but he missed a lot of it, because he was busy hyperventilating and being handed paper bags by entirely unsympathetic nurses.

By the time he got his shit together (The nurse's words, and entirely unfair, considering what he'd gone through -- he was entitled to a bit of freaking out, he felt) the situation was entirely stabilized: AI turned off, Elizabeth sleeping the sleep of the exhausted-from-seizures, Carson not screaming anymore.

Then there was the usual barrage of brain scans, blood work and more brain scans on John and Rodney, and poor Elizabeth practically never left the EEG's vicinity for the next 12 hours.

And as if that wasn't already plenty enough stress for a single day, all the medical junk was followed by a long, tedious debriefing in which Rodney explained what the AI had told him and talked about her attack on his life and health. He also had to explain about her entirely Nazi-like opinions about who counted as real persons, and how everyone else was really only there to serve those real persons, or, in this case, to serve John, during which John looked shocked a lot. Not quite as shocked as he would have been if Rodney had not left out some tiny but crucial details about what exactly the AI had ordered him to do, though, Rodney suspected.

As it turned out, the Ancients had pretty much agreed with his assessment of the AI being one crazy bitch, and subsequently decided to turn it off, placing lots of warnings in the database --which of course John had not consulted before turning the thing on ("It was an accident!" "Yes, I'm sure it was, Colonel."), and which the AI had subsequently hidden from them.

Except obviously Elizabeth liked to work on the database excerpt they had downloaded on her laptop when they'd thought they'd lose Atlantis during the storm, which was cut off from the mainframe and therefore immune to AI tampering, and had discovered the warnings there.

There was some teasing about her chosen working hours, but not too much -- they all had nights where they woke up at three am, sweat-soaked and screaming, and they all knew that after that, endless rounds of FreeCell or maybe some nice research were by far preferable to going back to sleep.

After the meeting was concluded, they all but stumbled out of the conference room. John was still looking shell-shocked. Rodney could sympathize -- the AI had taken an immediate liking to him, after all, and John had been entirely too thrilled with her. Well, he'd known John would be shocked when he finally found out about the AI from the start, of course, but Rodney could remember his own crushing disappointment at the AI's deception all too well not to feel his pain.

News seemed to have already gotten around by the time they left the room. Rodney wasn't surprised. Atlantis was a small enough community that gossip traveled faster than light, and he had vague memories of babbling incoherently to the nurse on duty during his little (entirely justified) panic attack. He might well have let something slip about the AI.

At least he knew damn well that he'd kept his mouth shut on the whole thing with John, though -- half your life spent working on top-secret government projects taught you how to keep the really important secrets. And no one needed to know about that part of it. Ever. Not even John, if he had his way, but he was afraid that John was too bright not to make the connection sooner rather than later.

There were little clusters of people grouped all over the hallways, exchanging the newest speculation. John was standing with one of them, a group of young marines, probably trying to curb at least the wildest theories. He didn't seem to notice Rodney, who was standing in the shadows of the broken corridor lamp they still had not figured out how to fix.

Rodney slowly drifted over with vague intentions of asking him for a word somewhere private. It was probably better if they talked about this before John had a chance to think and draw his own conclusions, much as he wasn't looking forward to that particular talk at all.

"So it really told McKay to do everything you wanted him to?" he heard one of the Marines say. "Wow. Pity it wasn't someone prettier, huh?"

Rodney could practically see the penny drop. John suddenly looked as if he'd been punched in the gut. He could almost physically see him hunching over, pulling his shoulders up in a protective pose. His eyes were wide with shock. For a long moment he remained perfectly still, seemingly unable to get a single word out. The Marine's grin was freezing on his face in slow motion. Aware that he'd said something terribly wrong, but not yet sure what or why.

And then John slowly straightened up, his slouchy posture suddenly as stiff as if someone had rammed a steel rod down his spine, his expression going completely blank.

Rodney had seen him like this before, after they had lost Gall and Abrams, after the Genii, as if the guilt was a physical weight, too heavy for his bony shoulders, as if he was afraid that if he bent just the tiniest bit, he would break.

John turned to the Marine, stiffly, and the man flinched back from the cold steel in his eyes. John was wielding his voice like a knife, every word a stab with a finely honed blade -- but Rodney knew, even if the Marine didn't, that he was aiming at his own flesh.

"I certainly hope that if you ever find yourself in a similar situation of power, Sanders, you will have the decency not to take advantage. Personally, I can't find the thought of forcing myself on someone who is unwilling and under coercion anything other than repulsive."

He turned and stalked away, his back still unnaturally straight.

"I'm sorry, sir," Sanders called after him, plaintively. "I didn't mean to imply... it was only a stupid joke, sir!"

John didn't react. Rodney wasn't sure he'd heard him at all. He felt a brief pang of sympathy for the Marine. The boy probably hadn't meant anything by it, and it was really not his fault that his words had struck a chord with John that would better have been left alone. But at the moment, John was his first concern. God, the look in his eyes....

For a moment he considered calling him back, or going after him, but he really didn't want to have this conversation in a public hallway. No, he'd best get to his room. That was probably the second place John would come looking for him, when he didn't find him in the lab.

He was right. He'd barely sat down when the knock came.

"Rodney? It's me, John."

"Come in," he called.

The door seemed to slide open just a touch slower than it usually did, probably reacting to John's reluctance. Or maybe he was just imagining that.

John hesitated in the doorway, clearly uncertain of his welcome. "Um, hi," he said, giving Rodney an awkward little smile.

"Can I..." he gestured towards the room.

Rodney sighed. This was going to be painful.

"Yeah, like I said, come on in. And close that door, there's more than enough gossip in this place as it is."

He gestured vaguely towards one of the chairs, but John chose to stand instead, his back to the wall, hands laced behind his back so tightly that Rodney could see the muscles bunch in his shoulders. He looked like a man facing a firing squad. Rodney felt something twist in his chest. God, John...

"I've come to apologize," John said stiffly. He wasn't looking at Rodney. His eyes were fixed on a point just slightly above Rodney's right shoulder. "What I did to you was... inexcusable." He swallowed hard.

"John, no-" he started, but John raised a hand pleadingly. "Please, let me..."

Rodney nodded reluctantly.

"I am... so very, very sorry. More than I can say. I hope that we will still be able to work together, Rodney... Dr. McKay. I... the team... we need you. You have my promise that there won't be any more... unprofessional advances."

John sounded as if every word hurt him. And he still wouldn't look at Rodney, although Rodney was watching him and felt, just for a flicker of time, that he could see past the mask and god, how achingly difficult this had to be

"I can understand if you want to press charges, I won't... deny what I've done. I'll turn myself in, if you want. I am really... very sorry."

And then Rodney couldn't stand it anymore. "John! It's... what happened wasn't your fault!"

Finally John looked at him, eyes wide with surprise and disbelief. "Of course it was," he said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world, like he couldn't believe Rodney didn't see that.

"Rodney, that... what the AI ordered you to... That thing was just... obeying my wishes. Those were my fantasies, my desires. I was the one controlling the AI, and the first thing it did was order you into my bed. Doesn't that tell you something?" He laughed bitterly.

Rodney flinched. "John, no. Don't. Please. You have absolutely no reason to blame yourself. You didn't know what it was doing, and if you had known -- John, can you honestly tell me that if you had known that I was... less than willing, that you'd still have wanted it?"

"No, of course not!" John said immediately.

"So how is this your fault? No, don't answer! I think Carson needs to check his scanners, because obviously the contact with an alien AI has melted your brain! Now listen to me. You -- Don't interrupt me! Listen, I said! -- You'd never have wanted to do anything to me against my will, we both know that. The AI was insane, and you're not responsible for the way it chose to misinterpret your wishes, damn it."

"Rodney, it's incredibly generous of you not to blame me for what happened, but..."

Oh, he couldn't believe the guy! Was that a guilt complex a mile wide, or what?

"It's not generous, it's the truth! Repeat after me: I'm not responsible for the delusions of crazy alien AIs."

"All right, so maybe you're right, but --"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "There is no maybe about that. Also, no but."

John gave in. "So maybe that part of it isn't my fault." He didn't sound convinced. Well, they had time to work on that. "But I still should have recognized that you were unwilling. It was clear enough in retrospect."

Rodney sighed. Stubborn. Damn stubborn military bastard. "Hindsight's always 20/20, John. How on earth were you supposed to know? So I didn't get it up. As you yourself have said, I am not the first, and won't be the last man to have that happen to him. The generally accepted explanation is not "I was forced to have sex with you," and seriously, even here, in the Land Of Weird, you'd have to have been either crazy or psychic to come up with something as unlikely as that when there were a million other perfectly reasonable excuses. Occam's razor, for god's sake! I am not blaming you, and I don't want you to blame yourself."

"Rodney -"

"John. Be sensible. You want to be standing here all night, arguing? Some of us happen to have important work to do."

"Rodney --"

"John!"

"Oh, all right!" John glared at him. It was a nice change from the guilty-little-puppy look. "I get it, you don't blame me."

Oh, damn the man. This was like beating his head against the world's most stubborn wall. "That's not what I wanted to hear! You need to stop blaming yourself. I'm the most intelligent person in this galaxy, and even I couldn't figure out a way to get around that thing."

John sighed, relented. "I'll... try to stop, all right?"

He figured he probably couldn't ask for more. Not unless he really was willing to argue the whole night.

Except obviously John was not willing to just let it be already. "Hell, even leaving aside the issue of my culpability, there's still the little fact that you were forced to have sex with me! Don't tell me you're not... bothered by that.

"I mean, of course you don't have to talk to me about it, if you're not comfortable with that, but I'm sure Heightmeyer -"

And he knew what John was going for, of course -- even if it had not been John's fault, it had been non-consensual, and Rodney probably should have been more freaked out about that than he was. But for some reason he really wasn't.

"I don't need a shrink, John. Look, I'm... I'm all right. Seriously. It wasn't like... I don't feel raped."

John flinched. It made Rodney want to hug him, or maybe punch him for his stubborn refusal to see that this wasn't the big tragedy he thought it was. All right, so it had kind of sucked -- he'd been pissed off, and scared, and entirely freaked out -- but none of these feelings had been aimed at John. And the AI was... well, right now it was only turned off, but the thing was going to be completely reprogrammed at the very least, and if they couldn't figure out how to do that, they were going to destroy it. Really, it was as dead as something that had never really lived could be. He didn't need to worry about it anymore.

And John -- well, John had been nothing but wonderful. He flashed back to the memory of John with his head on Rodney's stomach, stroking him, without any trace of mockery at Rodneys's failure to perform. He remembered John's gentle hands around his cock, John's naked body stretched out next to his, John's head thrown back in climax, and there was nothing awful about the memory. He only wished it had happened under different circumstances, where he could have had the chance to appreciate it.

Except that nothing was actually stopping him from having that chance, did it? And before he could talk himself out of it, he reached out and gripped the lapels of John's shirt. John's posture went just the tiniest bit stiffer, face turning slightly to the side -- expecting me to punch him, Rodney realized in a flash of insight -- but he wasn't resisting. He would have let Rodney hit him.

But that wasn't what he was planning to do at all. John's eyes went wide with surprise just before Rodney got too close to see him clearly, and then their lips met.

John held still under him for maybe half a second, and then he was drawing back fast, planting his hands on Rodney's chest and pushing him away, gently but firmly, shock and concern on his face.

"Rodney, what the hell are you doing -- I turned the fucking thing off, I swear, it's off, you don't need to worry about it anymore. You -- you don't have to do this anymore."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I know, John. You think that wouldn't have been the first thing I'd have checked? You wanted this, yesterday -- can you honestly tell me you don't want it any more today?"

John was silent for a long moment, unable to deny it, and Rodney hurriedly pressed on before John could start going on about how it didn't matter what he wanted.

"And, and I realize that this may indeed sound strange, especially after what happened yesterday, but I want it, too. Look, John, you were -- all right, there's no way to put this that isn't going to sound stupid, but you're really good in bed.

I... I think we could make this work, when I'm not... inhibited by the thought of being, oh, you know, judged and rated. And we... we click, John, we're good together, outside of bed, I mean.

I obviously didn't even consider it before -- I mean, except in the way that I've thought about Elizabeth, or, or Radek, or, anybody, really, you know, just trying to guess what it would be like. In an... abstract way. I mean, I was never all that interested in men, I like women fine, and it's just easier, being with women, you know? Less chance of getting your ass kicked and all that.

Except if I had known that you were interested, I, um. I might well have been interested, too, I'm interested now, and I think we should give this a try, because --"

And then John's arms wrapping around him and John's lips on his cut him off. It distracted him for a good long minute, but he'd been in the middle of an argument there, a good argument, even, so he pushed John off and said, reprovingly, "Really, you could have had the decency to wait me out. Anyway, what I was saying is --"

But John was laughing, honestly, joyfully laughing, the way he had done less and less often after every brush with death they survived.

"Yeah, I heard," he said, "I got it, we're good together, you want this, I get you," and then they were kissing again, really kissing, with no-holds-barred, enthusiastic participation from both of them, for the first time.

And wow, he had been right, this was good, he should have done this a year ago -- really, what had he been thinking? John was sucking on his tongue, and Rodney felt himself getting hard against his thigh -- oh, thank God. Not that he'd been worried about it. Except maybe a little bit, but that had just been stupid, because now John's hand was sliding down his side and between his legs, cupping him through his pants, and if he'd been any harder it would've hurt.

He thrust against John's hand, moaned into his mouth. John urged him back, pushing him against the wall -and then he was sliding down to kneel in front of him, God, he could have come from the image alone. But it looked like he didn't have to, because John's hands were already on his cock again, gripping and stroking him through the heavy fabric.

He was trying to rub Rodney's cock and get the zipper down at the same time, which was just an accident waiting to happen. Rodney would have helped, except that his hands were not actually willing to let go of John, petting his shoulders and his hair and sliding into his mouth, wow, hot tongue slick around his fingers, this was going to feel so good on his cock, this was amazing already.

Finally John got his pants open and down, waited impatiently until Rodney stepped out of them, and then John's mouth closed over his cock.

Rodney's legs buckled and almost gave out on him, but John planted one arm across his hips, holding him upright and keeping him from thrusting at the same time.

John was lapping at him greedily, making eager, happy little sounds that vibrated all the way through his cock and up his spine, oh, so good, and just when Rodney thought it couldn't get any better John pushed down, taking him all the way in.

He tried to back off a bit, slow down, make it last longer. John pulled off with an obscene pop, looked up at him from eyes completely dark with arousal, and whispered, hoarsely, "Don't hold back -- come for me, Rodney, let go --" and then he was going down again, taking Rodney deep into his mouth in one single motion.

Rodney gasped, bucked his hips and came and came, pleasure exploding through him like a star going nova. Through it all, John was swallowing around his cock, drawing it out as long as he could stand it, and then just gently held him in his mouth while he softened, driving a few last, shivery aftershocks through him.

He finally drew away, when even that light touch became too much on his over-sensitized skin, and slid down the wall, collapsing to a sated heap on the floor.

John was grinning at him happily, licking the corner of his mouth like a smug cat, then curled around him and butted his head against Rodney's shoulder affectionately, perfecting the feline image.

Rodney reached out to pet his back, automatically, well-trained by years of being owned by demanding cats. John shuddered and pressed his cock to Rodney's thigh, the material of his BDUs rough against Rodney's skin. The feeling reminded him of last night, but surprisingly the memory held no real horror -- just enough to rouse him from his pleasant drowsiness. He was being pretty selfish, basking in the afterglow while John was still hard. Also, the floor was becoming uncomfortable pretty rapidly.

He poked John in the side. "Why are we on the floor when there's a perfectly serviceable bed not three meters away?"

John grinned at him. "Hey, you were the one who fainted from manly passion."

"Oh, for God's sake, will you let that go already?" He rolled quickly, trapping John underneath him, one arm pinned beneath Rodney's knee, the other held down with his left arm, and started searching out the ticklish spot he had found yesterday with his free hand.

John swore and bucked under him.

Rodney knew from hand-to-hand training that he could have thrown him off in two seconds flat, except John's usual grace seemed severely impaired by his desperate, writhing attempts to get away from Rodney's fingers, and the breathless laughter.

Finally he seemed to pull himself together and twisted, throwing Rodney off and pinning him to the floor, rolling on top of him. Rodney tensed, expecting revenge, but John was just grinning down at him happily, shifting after a moment to take his weight on his own arms, when Rodney's back started to ache from being pressed into the hard floor.

He leaned down and nuzzled Rodney's throat gently. "God, Rodney, I'm so glad," he finally said, the words warm against Rodney's skin.

Rodney put his arms around him and hugged him. They lay like that for a moment, and then John started to thrust against him, slowly, lazily, and Rodney suddenly remembered that there had originally been something else on the agenda.

He stopped John with a hand on his ass, forcing himself to roll off him, even though it almost hurt to let go. "Come on, up. Bed."

John groaned, but got up anyway.

He undressed hurriedly, jerking his shirt off without even bothering to undo the cufflinks, stepping out of his pants, falling backwards onto the bed and tugging Rodney down on top of him. Suddenly they were skin to skin, and Rodney had to pause and just look, at John spread out under him like an all-you can-eat buffet, all his.

John was moving under him, cock sliding slickly over Rodney's naked thigh, one hand clutching Rodney's ass, directing him in perfect counterpoint. He was smiling up at him with an expression in his eyes that Rodney had never seen before, on him or anyone else, and he reached out and traced John's cheek with fingers that were suddenly trembling a little.

He'd never thought that this was only about sex for John, but it was nice to have it confirmed like that.

He leaned down, rocking against John, burying his face in John's neck and just breathing him in. He spread his hands over John's shoulders, stroking and holding, and suddenly he realized something and had to laugh a bit, in sheer delight.

"What?" said John, his voice shaky and distracted, breath hitching.

"I just realized -- if we want to, we can do this every day," he said, and John bucked up against his thigh and came.

=end=